Slap. I must have screamed or something, because my master said,softly, in his beautiful, resonant voice, "You must be trained, Slave." "Why are ...ou punishing me, Master?" I whined. "If I ever feel the need to punish you, Slave, I guarantee it will hurt more than this. Thisis just testing you, establishing a baseline for further training." He began to slap me regularly,about once a second. I learned later that he used an ordinary wooden ruler, twenty-nine cents ata school supply. My dad was even your dad's exec in the tankcompany during their first Middle East deployment! Stop this idiocy andget back into boy clothes-and maybe someday people will forget aboutthis crap!" Billy, leave me alone! This isn't a joke or a game-I was born with amedical condition that prevented me from being a real boy. My dadwouldn't accept it, and I really don't care if you do or not! My familyand real friends do, including my grandfather, the General. Oh by theway, did I tell you he's. More

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