My name is Rosie, Big Rosie."I blushed at her compliment. Her smile screamed mischief. Her outfit screamed confidence, considering her size. Her blous..., with two buttons undone, barely held in her massive breasts; it also showcased her immense cleavage which left little to the imagination, although my imagination was already playing tricks on my straightness. Her black skirt was as short as today's provocative teenagers wear,and her four-inch pumps were three inches higher than I ever wore.. I signed up for the Army 'cuz that's what Daddy did, and got sent off to Camp Hood, Texas, for my trainin'.Now I'd heard tell that the Army wasn't too smart about usin' the talents a feller might have. You know, sendin' him to jump school when he was scared of heights, or makin' cooks outta guys what didn't have no taste buds. But lo and behold, I got attached to the 8th Engineering Battalion, Mechanized Division. They was goin' to make me a real bona fide mechanic.For the next three years, I. Heasked me (asked!!) if I wanted to go for a birthday lunch first.I couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked me for permission.I liked that too.But I had reservations. Such as, no one outside of L'Academie desFemmes had seen me dressed as a woman. And I was certainly dressed thatway that day.I was wearing what could best be described as a late 1950s pink-with-white-trim, "cocktail dress." With only two petticoats. Pink, seamed,fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings. Pink. But I didn’t have an endgame after that. So I lost my nerve. And I’m glad I did.I heard Walker’s shower turn on and glanced at Como’s modern version of the grandfather clock. Orange, with exaggeratedly long thin legs, over 6 feet tall. It wasn’t yet 8:30. Good, we could make it to Town Topic in plenty of time to be hungry again for lunch.That fucking Blenheim.One Saturday morning on a non-Mindy weekend, I smiled at my son, “Okay, hoss, show me the nude.”Walker didn’t pretend Peggy hadn’t sent.
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