I was beginning to understand what Tamsin meant when she talked about being in character to the point where you experience a sublimation of the self. You enter a transcendental state like an actor in the Noh drama of Japan . Once the mask is donned the ego vanishes and the body becomes a receptacle for enlightenment. But that enlightenment might only be a glimpse; a momentary revelation of truth and that truth only a personal truth – but better than no truth at all. I turned and saw a white-haired old woman standing beside me. She smiled good-naturedly and I returned the pleasantry. Maybe Londoners were used to seeing people on The Tube with their faces painted in lurid shades of red, white and black. The train began to slow. “This is our stop, Peach,” Tamsin whispered. I felt a tingle of excitement as we left the train for a relatively quiet platform. We were in Soho . A few streets away from the Tube station there was a narrow alleyway – a relic of the city’s long history. I'd already experienced more than enough titillation for one day.However, that didn't keep the doctor from poking and examining my newtits. She lifted them gently and looked them over from every possibleangle. I was sure glad she hadn't done that kind of examination backat my house. Those guys would have probably been drooling and wantinga piece of the action.I began wondering if whatever she'd done during her examination of mehad caused my new tits to expand further. Even though I couldn't tellwith any certainty one way or the other, I was convinced that theyprobably had. It just made sense. Every other time my tits had beencaressed or tickled they'd grown larger.Once she finished her examination, I felt somewhat relieved. With allthe information they'd gathered on me, I hoped I'd soon be my old selfagain. Before I had the time to ask if I should put my sweatshirtback on, the doctor swabbed my arm and emptied a syringe of who knewwhat through a rather large needle she'd stuck in my.
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