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My sissy, Stella. She keeps me constantly on my toes (and occasionally reaching for the headache medicine). Let’s be clear, I adore her. I truly do. But sometimes, dealing with her is an interesting process. Now, the allure of having a sissy is obvious, isn’t it? The delicate dresses, the painstakingly applied makeup and perfect hair, the eager-to-please attitude. It’s all very appealing, if you know what I mean. She’s a blank canvas ripe for artistic expression and lets me do anything and everything to her holes. And believe me, I’ve been expressing myself.
But here’s the kicker: my little darling? She’s still got a few…Um…Glitches in the system. There are days when she’s the epitome of feminine grace, fluttering around in fancy dresses and stockings and lace, batting her eyelashes with the precision of a seasoned professional. Then, BAM! Out comes the “boy voice.” You know, that deep, gravelly rumble that belongs on a construction site, not coming from a vision swathed in pink chiffon!
