Placing a hand at the top of my crotch, I saw my counterpart in themirror do the same. My hand moved downwards, feeling the smooth materialsliding un...erneath. I kept moving lower and lower. I stopped looking atthe image in the mirror and closed my eyes, bracing for what I almostknew to expect and yet hoped wasn't true. When my hand had moved belowwhere I usually felt the sensation of my penis, my heart began racing asI felt the soft and supple lips of my new labia being compressed by. She'd been anxiously waiting for him to finally declare it "time," but she didn't rush him. Partly because it wasn't her place to, and partly so she could savour the anticipation. It wasn't just that she might finally be permitted to have an orgasm. It was the thrill more than anything else. The adrenaline rush. For an hour each week, she was freed from her identity and reputation, freed from social expectations. This freedom was attained through anonymity and, paradoxically, slavery. When. More

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