In the two months after I got my transition clitoris, Mustapha played hisrole as my master with great conviction, but also with a lot of tendernessand affection. His power was not to be questioned. I had to submit, serveand obey. As a woman, I had felt a strong drive and obligation tosurrender to this force. Mustapha was the one and only focus of myattention. He was the centre of my life as a woman. Every morning, I wouldwake up first, go to the kitchen, fix breakfast and then wait for him tojoin me, in a pure, anticipating state of mind. When I would finally be inhis presence, I would kneel, keeping my eyes to the floor in respect, wishhim a good morning and then wait for a word of his. He would normally waita few seconds, during which I could feel his piercing, loving look brushmy head, then give me permission to stand and direct my eyes to him. Atender kiss would then reward my propriety and compliance. He would thensit, take me in his arms and kiss my belly all over. While he was. That meant that she was going to be out of the shower and maybe coming in here to scream at me and call me the degenerated rapist that I truly was.I listened, in the bed, hiding like a coward for a long time, as I heard the sound of the hairdryer for a while and then a very odd sound that was like my sister's voice only it couldn't have been her voice because she was singing. Humming a happy melody in the bathroom and then in the suite beyond the bedroom door.What could this mean? I thought, as I listened to her high pitched, melodious la la la la'ing, approaching the very door behind which I hid. Had she gone insane?Then the door opened and Ellen, wearing a white top and shorts, like the ones she wore to the picnic yesterday, came in and stopped singing as she looked at me and smiled and happily said, "Well, good morning, sleepyhead! It's about time you woke up!" Huh?" I've got breakfast waiting for us out here," she said merrily, "and I hope it hasn't gone cold. There's scrambled.
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