My uncle officially has too much money. After your first billion, spending it fast enough and showing it off become the only limiting factor - you can only drive one sports car at a time, after all, and there’s only so many rolexes you can wear at once before you look like a tool.

So my uncle became a woman. Not for any deep seated emotional reason, beyond simply pride. Womanhood opened new avenues of conspicuous displays of consumption, not least the boastful flaunting of having the finest plastic surgeons on payroll by the exquisite craftsmanship of his delicate new form. Womanhood opened up couture fashion and glittering jewelry for him to drape himself in, turning his body into nothing more than a display of his bank balance.

Even then he was unsatisfied. Every month a new face, new breasts, each more beautiful than the last.

When he offered me a job, I declined - his greed and his disregard for genuine trans people offended me. He doubled the pay, then tripled it. Again I declined. I’ll always remember the expression on his face - as if he’d never been turned down by anyone in his life. He pursued me endlessly after that, like a cat chasing a mouse. Denying him brought me no end of pleasure.

Until the night I found him naked in my bed, pressing his beautiful, warm body against mine.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can offer you?” he whispered.