I could only see a couple of schoolgirls close enough. They were standing looking at me, one frowning, the other smiling brightly. There was no instan... recognition on my part, but the smiling girl had a vaguely familiar look about her. She stood; her smile still radiant, framed by her sun bleached blonde hair, waiting for my old brain cells to start working. Then click!'Emma?' I asked tentatively.'Who else?' She replied confirming my suspicions.I looked over this young woman, who I now knew to. Had I not gone to prison I might have continued to repress my female self and ended up like a lot of wannabe women who dream about expressing their femininity, but who either never do or who do so in a very limited manner, thus enduring a lot of frustration.I've talked before about how when I was 13 and beginning to masturbate several times a day, I rummaged through my Mom's dresser and felt of her nylon hose and panties. Before I knew it I had some of her red lipstick, the panties and hose on. More

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