” Nothing.“Marta,” I said a little louder, then reached up and kissed her.She stirred slowly, smiling with her eyes closed. “My lord?”“I n...ed to pee.”Her smiled broadened. “On a scale of 0 to 10…”So I started to tickle her. “No! Don’t! Don’t tickle me! Stop it!”And she slithered off of me, and scampered into the bathroom, locking the door.I went off to the other bathroom, smiling, and making a mental note that she hated being tickled.When I returned, she was peeking out of the bathroom door,. It was natural for themto touch one's arm gently when explaining something or expressing acommon feeling. And although I was hesitant to start doing this myself,for the time being at least, I realised that it meant I was beingtreated as a female. Except, of course, that I was called Sissy. Andeach time my name was used, it was a reminder of my true state. Andalthough no-one made a big thing about it, using the word Sissy waseffectively their way of reminding me that they knew I wasn't really. More

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