Sex With Indian Maid

" No doubt most of their customers were flaming gays who gottheir kicks out of channeling their inner RuPauls, and I wondered if Iwas making a huge mistake when a matronly woman greeted me at thegingerbread door of a Victorian house on Castro Street. "You must beCissy," she said, reciting the phony name I'd used to make anappointment. "I'm Madame Fabulous." Yes," I stammered. "I lost a bet, and I need to make myself look likea woman." Of course," she said, appraising me with a critical eye. "Frankly, I'malmost embarrassed to take your money, considering how feminine youare."Her words were a dagger to my heart. "I have a medical condition," Isaid defensively. "Is it really that obvious?" Sweetheart, in a few hours I'll have you walking out of here lookinglike you've been a woman all your life. Is that what you want?" Not really," I answered honestly. "It's a long story." I have nothing but time for my customers. Tell me about yourself."* * *Later that day, I emerged from. ’ ‘So, fess up,’ she said. ‘It’ll also drive you away.’ ‘And you don’t want to do that?’ ‘I like you enough to keep you around a while longer.’ ‘I don’t scare easy.’ A shake of his head was all Travis could do. ‘Fine, but know that I hate losing and you might wind up hating me.’ ‘Just give.’ He took a breath and steeled himself. ‘I’ve got a slave,’ he said. She looked at him with wry skepticism. ‘You hardly seem the southern antebellum gentleman plantation owner.’ ‘No, a sex slave,’ he said. ‘I don’t count,’ she said, rolling her eyes in annoyance. ‘I can prove it.’ ‘Yeah, right,’ she sighed, collapsing back against the pillows. She rolled over a few times wrapping herself in the rumpled sheets. What she didn’t see was Travis rooting through the bookshelf. ‘Here.’ He dropped a photo album in front of her and opened to the first page. The large photo held in the plastic sleeve was a well dressed Travis in a non-descript room holding a leash. The leash connected to the collar that fit.
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