Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 51.

I sat in the ships dark store room space with my head in my hands. The dull throb of the engine filled the air and became the background music of the dark drama playing out before me. Here I was, shunned by Devina, on a cargo vessel moving through the dark night, on a black river headed who knows where.

At times life really can seem a little desperate. I know my luck has not been the best, but I still consider myself ‘lucky’. After all, this emerging Andrea inside me was flourishing as she came out into the light of day, generally speaking. My business, according to my partner Steve, was flourishing. And while it did look like I may be being trafficked into a diabolic future with little hope of survival, on the whole my life was better than that of nine tenths of the human race. After all, I could be Belgian.

In hours that followed I had plenty of time to think about my predicament. A few blankets, one dim lightbulb, a pillow and a bucket were my only other comforts. A tray appeared while I slept, and it had a hearty breakfast on it, along with several bottles of water and a paper back crime novel. Well, at least someone was being thoughtful. The door out of the storage room however remained resolutely locked.

“Feminine mind, feminine body,” I mumbled to myself and huddled beneath the blanket. Just at this particular moment I wasn’t…