... ten paces, turn left at the swing-set

... ten paces, turn left at the swing-set and start digging. I cleared away the cedar chips and found a pink shoe-box that I had buried there in 1987...

Lifting the box lid, I saw a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses, some dusty cassette tapes - including U2's Joshua Tree, the Dirty Dancing soundtrack - and a pair of jelly shoes.

This corpse was from the late 80's for sure. I scooped it up out of the coffin and carried up to the funeral parlor's break room. My plan was bleak and twisted but also inspired.

skirts for nothing. As he fondled the exposed thigh flesh of my stand-in corpse I got jealous that the undertaker was paying more attention to a long dead stiff than to living moi!

I soon understood why. Gunther von Hagens, who had overseen the construction of my dopplecadaver, had devised a dead moi with an improved physique, a better rack, tighter buns.

It was not meant as a snub to me, perhaps I could take it that way, but I knew the limits of my own body well enough. Instead, I was to be the bait. Naturally, I needed sex appeal.

So I teased my platinum blonde hair up, painted my lips red & put on my white halter-style dress. Then I stood right over the grate of the sidewalk & pretended to be surprised when

a garbage truck nearly ran me down. "Git outta da way, lady!" one partcularly burly garbageman shouted at me. But I stood my ground, hot air blowing my dress up, revealing my true

identity-- I was a man. The garbageman's jaw dropped. He was in shock. But I didn't care anymore. My days of cross dressing had only begun.