Chapter Twenty-Four
Well watered, bathed, testosterone injected, Jack dresses, always with that wounded puppy look when contemplating walking the streets of Manhattan in female clothing. Since I don’t otherwise feminize, his appearance is quite conflicting for the typical passerby. A flimsy pullover dress, panties flashing beneath, the heeled sandals of a young girl, yet male styled hair, no jewelry, no make up.
Having shaved him during his bath, his arms and legs are uncharacteristically hairless for a male, bringing even more confusion in assessing his gender.
I must respond to his pouting.
“Jack, would you prefer your blanket instead? No dress, no panties... you’d need to grip it well,” I chide.
“I’d rather dress as a man,” the words defiant but his tone humble.
“I will not allow
