His hair (now black again, no moregray and white) was modeled into a rather conservative bun, and there wasno longer a turban upon his head. He notice... what he could have swornwas a robe on his body, only it fit far more snugly. (If he'd spent timein the Western World, he'd know he was wearing a dress.) But the worstpart for Abdul was - he was no longer male! Instead, he was a younglady, and judging by the three bumps emerging from his chest and stomach,probably with child. As soon as he soaked. My wifereturned to the suitcase and grabbed a few more items. She thenapproached me, holding four pairs of handcuffs in her right hand."Give me your right hand."I paused for a moment, but only for a moment. Then I held up my righthand. She clicked the cuff of my right hand and closed it. She thensecured my right wrist to right post of the queen sized bed, She moveddown to the foot of the bed. She grabbed my right ankle ankle and closedone cuff around it and secured the other end to the bedpost.. Finally he sat back.“Okay, now try it,” said Bobby.Eric didn’t move. His face took on a look of worry.“I can’t move my hand,” he said. “I can’t move my whole fucking arm!” His other arm moved, and then dropped like it was dead. I was pretty sure it felt dead to him.“That’s enough, Bobby,” I said.Eric lifted both arms and flexed his hands.“Okay. I get it. I understand now. You are, in fact, the scariest motherfucker on the planet,” he said. “Can I have that drink, now?”“Sure,” said Bobby,. As any passionate, frustrated woman might!Alone in her bed in the dark, desperate for some measure of relieffrom the pangs of sexual hunger that now tormented her, John’s mothercaressed herself to sleep and dreamed of what couldn’t be and thenduring the waking hours buried her desires deep so as not to burdenher son with a dilemma no one could resolve but herself. And so themonths and then the lonely years passed and she lived her secret,double life on the threshold of dementia until John left.
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