Übersetze folgenden Text in gut leserliches deustch, übersetze “Stockings” mit “Halterlose” und schreibe ihn in die Ich-Form um:”””The lobby is noisy and bustling with of people going about their business.  
 
You heels clicking on the shiny marble floor sound thunderous to you, wallowing in nervous self-consciousness but are in reality barely discernible above all the conversations and other noise.


Most people are too busy with their own conversations and activities but you can discern the odd stares and whispers. You don’t even need to look. 


You can virtually feel them as they cut right through you. 


You face is burning with embarrassment. 


You force yourself to keep mincing across the lobby in your stilettos, occasionally soaking up the feel of your pantyhose sheathed legs, exposed in public,nas they shimmer vibrantly under the glare of the bright lobby lighting. 


You arrive at the lobby bar and try to take in the room before finding a seat. 


There are groups of businessmen and Medien groups of men and women in business attire around the bar, standing, or seated on barstools, and smaller groups seated in armchairs around the tables.


Now the stares, the nudges are palpable, the whispers deafening. 


It’s you they’re looking at - in your plants hose, heels and tight, sexy pink dress. 


They know what you are. 


But you soak up the shame and embarrassment as you mince to the bar, take your room key out of your purse and order yourself another white wine,not be charged to your room. 


The female bar attendant smiles politely as she serves you. 


She’s probably seen it all before. 


With your wine in hand you mince over to an empty table in a far corner of the room. 


By the time you’ve seated yourself and adjusted the hem of your short, tight pink dress around your shimmery,pantyhose sheathed thighs, taking care to keep your pantyhose sheathed knees together, most people have reengaged in whatever conversations they were having before the transvestite minced into the room.  


Some, you sense, are talking about you.  You can’t be sure , but your intense self-consciousness tells you they are. 


Others are clearly still looking or stealing the occasional glance, as you savour the first sip of your wine, still burning with embarrassment but trying to absorb every sensation, emotion and thought from the rush of being in a public place - a busy hotel lounge bar, dressed as a woman, in shiny pantyhose, stilettos and a slightly teary, but effeminate pink dress. 


You gently caress your pantyhose sheathed legs - almost as if to pinch yourself, that your rally here,in public, dressed in womens clothes - admiring your pink nail polish, and takin pleasure from the pink lipstick mark on your wine glass. 


Over the next hour you indulge yourself in a a couple more glasses of with wine, ostentatiously touching up your lipstick occasionally.


You’re getting a little light headed as the crowd begins to thin. 


Then you notice that one of the businessmen, who’d been with a group you’d thought had left, returned to the lobby bar and made his way directly to your table. 


He was well groomed, sharply dressed in an elegant men’s business suit and smart silk tie, much as you had been earlier that day. 


He asked politely if you would enjoy “some company”. 


You were almost quivering with embarrassment. 


You weren’t attracted to him. 


You’re not attracted to men. Period. 


But being hit on, by a man, while dressed in women’s clothes in a hotel lobby bar was such a girlie rush. 


“Sure”, you replied nervously. 


He asked if he could buy you a drink and you indicated another chardonnay would be nice.


He asked you your name, where you are from.  You lied in reply both questions.  


Albeit polite throughout, he made no attempts at going through the motions of pretending you were a real girl. 


He compliment your on how “sexy” you looked and admired you courage to come into a busy hotel lobby bar dressed in women’s clothes. 


Some of his questions about your crossdressing seemed a little forward, but you nervously answered with some occasionally pregnant pauses. 


A few more drinks later you were getting very light-headed as he complemented you r “sexy legs” and how great they looked in shiny pantyhose.  He asked if he could touch. 


You nodded tentatively. 


His had caressed your pantyhose sheathed knee.


You thought he’d remove it then, but it stayed there before eventually caressing your thigh. 


Conscious that others in the bar kept glancing over, you were filled with shame but the sense of having your pantyhose sheathed knees and thighs caressed by another for them first time - by a man, in a public bar was exhilarating. 


It wasn’t any attraction to him.


It was the intense feeling of girlieness -bathe affirmation,of you femininity - in public - that compounded your alcohol induced intoxication.  


As the bar called “last drinks” he asked: