Perhaps he had putmy clothes down as some kind of new Stepped-out-of-the-Slaughter-House-Goth look, or something.I went a little further, then stepped...behind a VW rabbit pickup,glanced up and down the street to be sure no one was watching, andexamined my clothes. The pickup, now high enough for me to stand behindwithout anyone seeing me, would have done a poor job of keeping mehidden back when I'd been a man.The stains weren't *too* bad. The ones on my blouse were the worst,obviously blood. A woman dressed like a refugee from a renaissance fair was walkingtowards them. She was beautiful, tall and blonde; her breasts were largebut not too large. Nowhere near as large as Simmons', how he had wantedto get his hands on those tits, Jones thought. He couldn't understand thethoughts popping into his head, he had never thought of Simmons that way.Simmons got to the woman first and instructed her not to move. The womanlooked shocked. "How dare you think you can command me," the woman. More

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