Chapter Thirteen
Mornings in the Caribbean are delightful. The sun shines. Birds sing. Soft breezes, neither cool nor warm, waft through my room. But when I arise and see Ming meekly struggling in his bonds, my evening of alcohol and exploration jolt me to full consciousness.
I contritely release the spreader bar and before I can untie the cord and hood, he is blindly trying to find his way to the bathroom. I order him to pause and then remove the covering, where upon he hurriedly moves to the adjoining bathroom, dragging his ankle chain along. Despite the fact that the patch no longer impedes normal urination, he squats on the toilet to relieve himself with hands submissively placed on top of his hand.
Knowing that he is without gender diminishes my bashfulness concerning my own nudity
