I leaned in over my plate. “Listen. I like to fuck,” she said, leaning in closer. “I like to fuck a lot, and I like it spontaneously, and wh...never I have the urge. I discovered that about myself after I left my husband. I realized how much it is an expression of my sexuality and must not be…umm” Her eyes drifted up, searching for the right word… “Imprisoned…” Her face was just inches from mine. Her eyes were so intent and hopeful and open in the words she spoke. I felt her. (I have since learnt it is meant for atampon.) I tucked my penis away and then stood before my Mum with a nowflat groin and a smooth hairless body.Mum painted a henna pattern on my hands, arms, feet and neck because sheexplained it is Ramadan and most of the men in the mosque were Somaliand their woman wore these patterns during Ramadan.Next she stuck false breasts on my chest with superglue and thenstrapped me into my first bra and I was transfixed by the beautifulpatterns on my bra cups. (I. More

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