Mr. Jackson was smiling. "So itlooks like you will be with us a few years rather than a few weeks," hesaid. "So the question is what do I do with you ...hile you and your whitebitch class mates are here?"I was shocked that he was calling me that. Shocked but aroused. Like itwas one of those sad but true kind of things. He had just caught me inthe cafeteria eagerly pleasing a buffet of his student's cocks; it wasnot like I could pretend to be some innocent bystander. I was right whereI wanted to. I would prance around the house (when no one was around of course) and marvel at how pretty my legs looked in high heels and hose. I was fascinated at why nylons and high heels were only worn by women and they wore them only to attract guys.Next came the dresses, which really completed my obsession (at least at a younger age). Pretty skirts, mini-dresses, flirty dresses, little black dresses, off-white girly dresses (my favorite), were all worn by me. It was wonderful and I felt like a real. My mom, never having forgiven dad and making sure he knew it, always called me Millie, or when I was in trouble, Millie Rose. When I started competing in rodeo after high school, dad convinced me that calling myself Ace might not sit well with the other competitors, so I started using Acey. Somehow I never got confused, and was comfortable with it.I was the only girl with three older brothers, so mom wanted me to be her little girl. Much to her disgust and dad's delight, I turned out to be a. “Yes, it’s concerning, but don’t worry about it for now. I don’t believe there is any danger in whatever is going on with Mr. Greenburg.”Anna, Yolanda, Tom, and I locked ourselves into the study Sunday afternoon after church. We spent a short time reviewing the November Estancia reports, which contained no surprises. The bulk of the afternoon was spent reviewing our plans for Monday’s meeting which I privately referred to as the big reveal.Monday morning, right after breakfast, I invited.
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