“Do you like being a woman?” he asked.

“Do you like being a woman?” he asked.
“At one time I dreaded it, and hated it, and loathed it, and did my best not to be a woman, but a sort of man, one who hated men, and pretended not to want to be a man, but yet wanted to be a man, but then in my deepest heart I knew I was a woman, and wanted to be a woman.”
“And now?” he asked.
“Now,” she said, “I am a woman, and want to be a woman, and am fulfilled as a woman, and rejoice in being a woman. I would not want it otherwise, even if it could be so. If it were not so, I could not be what I am, and should be, in the order of nature, the slave of a master.”
“It seems,” said he, “you are helpless in the grasp of your hereditary coils.”

Smugglers of Gor, p. 278

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