Chapter Fifty
Christy Hurts Herself
To my bedroom I quickly denude myself, tossing aside the starched white uniform. I have a cocktail dress at the ready, sleek, adhering to all my curves, so sheer and clingy I would probably be arrested for wearing it in public.
As I unhook my bra and step out of my panties, Christy enters, tray laden with a glass of Champagne. I have before treated her with views of what she envies, but that was when well trussed in suspension.
“Pick up my clothes. Get my shower going.”
These are tasks I have not before demanded of Christy, intimacy before denied. But her transition is progressing. It is time. And for me there is no shyness. Being naked with an emasculated Christy is akin to exposing myself to a pet cat.
Christy momentarily gawks, evidence of male
