”“Maybe she wants to open up on some special occasion like your birthday,” I said and poked him. He laughed a little which didn’t stay for lon... and said, “No, she wouldn’t. I know her. She wouldn’t let me touch her.”“I would’ve if you were my boyfriend,” I said instantly and I regretted the second after I said it. I apologized, “I’m sorry.”“It’s ok,” he said. And with a depressed face, he said, “It’s not like, a girl like you would ever be my girlfriend.”“That hurts. Am I so bad?” I said.“No. He could never understand why his mother had to come up with that particular choice. Sure, it was the first thing she saw when she left her house after his birth, but why couldn't she have just stopped with Two Pigs? He had stewed and brooded about his name all his life, and had vowed to get even with the world, especially his mother, for having treated him so badly. His name bothered him so much that he became down right psychotic about it!He went through school with the constant teasing that. It was all so embarrassing at first but gradually I relaxed and realised I was beginning to enjoy opening up about the whole thing to someone who seemed to understand. And she also clearly had knowledge of cross-dressing from some of the comments she made and questions she asked me – especially when my confessions moved on to my visits to professional mistresses. Despite her probing, I managed to keep back from telling her about some of the most humiliating things that had happened to me. . I had always known that about him.We had worked together keeping the house tidy. I never had to badger himto do anything. He was so helpful before, during, and after our hostingfamily, friends, and neighbors. He continued to explain that he had longcraved to express his cleaning inclination in the most ultimate way: as aFrench maid.Of course, I interrogated him about his sexual fantasies. Gay? No. Trans?No. Cuckhold? No. Sissified? No. Babyfied? No. Feminized? No. And on andon I asked. I was up.