Her voice was bell like, not the deep chime of the Church, but the light lilt of a dinner bell.“It does not.” I simply stated and sipped my drink ...gain. “What was your name before you were a slave?”She looked up at me then. Her brown green eyes pleaded with me directly for a second, and then dropped back down. “Please Master, that girl died when I became a slave. Any name you wish is acceptable to a slave.”I knew, of course, her real name and could have named her that. Frankly it makes things. It would be obvious toall that she was at least a cross- dresser, possibly even a trans-genderperson, and not just a man playing at being female.So I decided to make the leap for her. I knew it would mean changes inour relationship if she became open publicly about her inner self.However, we will be ok with those changes and even if it goes down roadsshe may not have seen, it will not mean that I don't love her or needher. So you can expect to see more of Missy in my life, and hopefullyfor. More

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