The skimpiness, the see-through, the butterflies with the open crotch—little strings of fabric running down under either side of my pussy and leavin... the middle exposed. They’re supposed to go with a shaved little-girl looking thing, right? That’s how it’s supposed to be, but here they’re not covering a damned thing, hair not even poking out but just everywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I kind of like it. It feels aggressive, somehow. He bought them, he keeps putting them on and leaving me here. Lots of it. I had to spendpractically all day padding my nipples dry with a cloth. I wasn't annoyedor anything. It was just inconvenient. A big part of me, however, wassavouring the moment, being a woman and a mother next to my man. For theoccasion, Mustapha was acting in a much less authoritarian way, helping mecope with the physical and psychological aspects of this change. In hiseyes, I could see Love with a capital L. The Love of a Man who had justbecome a father and longed to live his. More

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