Mistress was wonderful to me. She tried so hard to make sure I wasn’t alone and that I was taken care of. We were in an odd place since I was trying to do the same thing for her. When comparing losing a job to being attacked the latter won out in my mind. Apparently in Mistress’ mind, the former was the victor.

I gave her the whole story as I could. It took me a couple days to get my brain together enough to be coherent. I wasn’t myself totally and so I probably missed a lot of her reaction to the story, but at that moment I was a bit too depressed.

It was an odd depression too. At one time it was severely down and very much “who cares”, but at the same time, my brain kept making plans. I would be washing dishes with no thoughts in my head and suddenly I would be thinking about the priorities of job hunting. I would be mentally writing my resume’ and formatting it, at the same time I was apparently staring off into space without a conscious thought in my brain.

I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t shake the feelings of personal failure and futility. I knew that I was suffering from something like PTSD, but I wasn’t sure of the exact medical term. I was down and I needed to do something.

“Sissy, I’ve called a friend who is a psychotherapist. She’ll see you in a couple days if you want to talk to her. I’ve written all the information down here.” Mistress’ voice sounded so sweet and so distant.

I knew she was looking out for me. I didn’t know how to operate anymore. There was no rules, no orders and I was floundering, drowning without them. If Mistress hadn’t been there, helping me by giving me some structure and orders, I don’t know what might have happened.

***

Two days later I was sitting in the doctor’s office. She was a petite blonde with model looks and a very compact body. But like most people I associated with being physically small, she had a personality that lit up the world. She was always smiling and seemed to genuinely care about me.

The cynical side of my brain told me that it was probably her professional training to make it appear that she cared.

Nevertheless, I found myself warming to her. I started talking and I didn’t stop. All the stuff that I had been trying to deal with over the past several years, from the desires to be playing hopscotch instead of working on cars, the confusion I felt when I was mean to people in High School, to my decision to go into the Rangers, Sissy, the whole scene that happened in the beginning of October, to losing my life in the Rangers and all that mess, to “what do I do now” came pouring out. I couldn’t stop it.

I was crying well before the end of my tale of woe. I know it wasn’t manly to do so, but I didn’t feel much like a man OR a woman right now. I just hurt.

It was very easy to forget myself and all the masks that I normally wore. I didn’t want to hide any more, I wanted to get help. Lord knows that I wasn’t able to get anywhere on my own, and while Mistress was trying to help, she was as unsure as I was about how to proceed.

One hour turned into two. I talked and cried until I was horse and my head stuffed. The Doctor didn’t say much, but she was obviously listening, encouraging and offering suggestions. I don’t remember the exact thoughts and words said, but the gestalt was some of the problems took on a new perspective.

So I lost my billet; big deal. It didn’t change the good I had done in the past. It didn’t it make the men I had saved somehow dead.

When she helped me realize that, I felt better about leaving the Army. I still hated that they didn’t want me. Despite all of my achievements that the service would find it so terrible that I liked to dress as a woman. I wasn’t gay, yet I was labeled gay. Different is wrong and homophobia runs rampant in the military.

Actually I can understand that. There’s a part of very macho people which wonders what it would be like to be small and weak. But the macho man fears that and anything associated with that. It is almost as though they think they’ll be “contaminated” some how and become what they fear. They’ll lose their masculinity by being around or seeing or acknowledging anything feminine not-masculine.

Real ostriches there. They bury their head in the sand hoping that by doing so they can make it go away. But the “lalalalalaIcan’thearyou” strategy had been a proven failure since before the Greeks sacked Troy.

The doctor pointed out that I could, if I wanted to, become something of an activist for all those gay soldiers who still had to hide. I didn’t know if I was up for that. I wasn’t gay, I wanted to be sexually active with women, not men.

The problem I needed to focus on and deal with first was who I was. Did I want to be Greg Taylor, or Sissy? Who was the most real me?

***

At home later that same day I lay on Sissy’s bed and just thought. I had avoided Mistress for a while, not because I didn’t want to be with her, but because she was another source of confusion for me.

I was so indebted to her that I didn’t know how to get out of it. I hated owing people something. It put me under a personal obligation until I paid it back. She had already done so much for me that I didn’t want to be even more in her debt.

I got tired of lying down and I needed to relax. I pulled off my jeans and t-shirt and decided to take a shower. On second consideration, I drew myself a bath instead. I knew I was more relaxed by lying in the tub that one time.

I started the water and sprinkled some bath crystals in, along with some oils for my skin. I didn’t need to clean myself since I had showered that morning, but I did need to relax and de-stress.

I lay back and floated while the hot water soaked into my pores, soothing my muscles convincing them to relax. If I ever get a place of my own it has to have a hot tub. If it doesn’t I have to get one immediately. Maybe a sauna too. I just floated and relaxed.

My mind wandered a lot while I lay there. I knew that lying around the house like a slug wasn’t a good I needed activity. Ten years in the Army made a weekend off with nothing to do impossible. I resolved to continue my physical training the endorphin high was just too good to miss.

But it left the question of Sissy or Greg? He-self or she-self?

I pushed that question aside determined to see what was available out there for each. After my run tomorrow I would have to get some help wanted ads and start looking.

I got out of the tub after about an hour; the water was cooling down too much to enjoy anymore. I dried myself off and powdered in the right places, luxuriating in the scents I had come to love.

I moved back into my room and finally looked around it again. It was obviously a girl’s room. Frilly pillows, pink, purple and light blue everywhere. There was my makeup vanity and over there was the cabinet holding dresses. All it would take was a few steps to throw away Greg and become Sissy again.

The point of this time was to relax. I didn’t want to have to be the big strong man taking care of everyone right now, I wanted to be someone who was taken care of, and that was who Sissy was. I opened up the cabinet and pulled out a conservative dress, knee length and short sleeved. It looked like a uniform and it was actually a maid’s dress from a hotel. But instead of making it obviously unfeminine and ugly, or over the top sexy, it was conservatively cut, wide lapels, cuffs at the sleeve ends, dark grey and a nice zipper up the back.

It was the kind of quality uniform you would find in a five star hotel. It looked wonderful without screaming “MAID HERE”. Without much thinking I pulled on my small clothes, corset and stockings. Apparently somewhere in the luxuriating in the tub I had shaved my legs. I didn’t even remember.

I pulled the dress on and selected some 3” pumps to wear. I styled my hair as best as I could since that I didn’t have much hair in the first place. A light application of makeup, some earrings (and resolved to get them pierced when I could) and I was ready.

A spritz of perfume in the air, then walking through the cloud on my way out the door and I was finished.

I got into the kitchen and heard distant sounds of a scene going on. Mistress couldn’t stop her life and her finances just because she had a damaged idiot in her care.

I started preparing a meal. I didn’t know or care which one it was, and I didn’t look at the clock to find out. I just started making pancakes from scratch and some bacon strips. I didn’t make a whole lot since I didn’t know if Mistress was hungry or not, but I made enough for her too. Two slices of bacon for each of us, two pancakes each, a jug of syrup and some orange juice and milk. It was a good meal.

I put the meal aside for myself and made up Mistress’ plate as well. I left it on the other side of the island in the Kitchen for her. I settled myself and started eating. Truth be told, I wasn’t that hungry, but I knew I had to eat something.

I finished fairly quickly as it wasn’t nearly the hearty breakfast I was used to eating, but then again, I wasn’t burning 2500 calories a day either. I could get fat if I didn’t watch it.

I walked back to my bedroom and got an MP3 player, put in a bunch of rock songs that I loved listening to, and started cleaning. Apron on to protect my dress and I just did dishes, cleaned the counters and stove, turned on the self cleaning cycle of the oven and then went through the refrigerator make sure everything was neat and tidy.

I didn’t lose all my training though. One of the deadliest things that could happen to a soldier in the field is to let someone sneak up on you, so I kept an eye out for Mistress involuntarily.

She came in wearing a latex outfit, meaning that her client had contracted for an orgasm, Mistress would cause it with tools or occasionally her hand, but she wore a latex bodysuit to keep the mess off her. This meant the dungeon needed a good cleaning and bleaching, and she would be hot and sweaty.

She smiled tiredly when she saw me, and I helped her out of her outfit. Once it was off, Mistress kissed me briefly on the cheek, and put on a robe and sat down to her meal. I took the latex into her bedroom and washed it off inside and out and hung it to dry. I turned on the shower for her so she could sluice off, and then went to clean up the dungeon.

If I could do these simple chores to repay Mistress for her kindness was worth it. Service to my lady for all of her kindness and help was the least I could do.

I smiled to myself as I got her boots, all of them, and started shining them. It was going to be a long night.

***

The smell of shoe polish brought me out of the shower and to the dungeon where Sissy was sitting on the spanking bench shining my boots. She was so focused on the boot that I didn’t want to disturb her.

She’d been busy for a while, three boots were already done and she was working on the fourth. There were only two more pairs to go and it looked as though she wasn’t going to be happy unless she had them at a mirror finish.

“You should be a bootblack,” I said. She didn’t jump or act startled, just looked up a bit and went back to her work.

“I kind of already am,” she said.

“No, I mean in the BDSM professional sense. There are a lot of leather events I go to where they have submissives and slaves who offer service by shining shoes. It gets a lot of recognition and a lot of credit.”

“Maybe I could get a stand in the Airport too, shine your shoes for two bits.” She used a tone letting me know that she was getting her sense of humor back.

“I’m serious. It’s a respected subset of the leather community. But I’m not sure you’re ready for that level of immersion yet.”

She frowned a bit at a scuff and fell silent.

“Mistress, I have no clue what I want to do now. I’m a killing machine. Not many openings for people who kill. The police arrest, soldiers kill. Bodyguards take bullets and clear areas. Martial Arts instructors teach how not to die. I’m not good for very much.” The downcast look on her face had me near tears.

I went over and hugged her. I let the towel fall off as I did. “I think we can figure that out with each other.”

I knew exactly what I wanted her for and what I wanted her to do. All I had to do now was to lead her into that gently.