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Tariq telephoned immediately. Vasilla’s slow, husky voice was refreshing over the static ridden line. Before Vasilla finished, however, Tariq ordered him to stay put.“Samira,” yelled Tariq.He could hear the water running. He knocked frantically. He had never doubted Allah’s plan. There was so much to be done. ‘Such an important child at the hands of a prostitute,’ he moped. He removed two heavy suitcases from the closet. Samira came from the bathroom, wiping her face with a hand towel.Stumbling over one of the suitcases, she threw the damp towel to the floor. She threw the kurtas and skull caps into the suitcases. It was time Tariq return to the rest of the world.He strung up the blinds. The sun blared through the room. Samira kept packing, rhythmically moving from bureau to suitcase.Tariq scouted the Kaa’bah. He gazed at the station of Abraham who built this house of stone, the meteorite from the heavens providing the last piece to this overwhelming puzzle.Allah had empowered him to. "That's my brother!" I looked at her beautiful face, mortified, and incredibly embarrassed that I was sat there in such an iconic girly dress. "We didn't do anything.." I stammered. "Damn right because my brother isn't a sissy-fucker!" She took a deep breath, "Right, you can't come to school like that, you'll have to borrow a uniform off me. If I were you though as soon as he drops us off I'd fuck off home and change unless you want everyone to know you're a sissy." I nodded slowly, and unzipped the dress and took it off, along with my tights, leaving me stood there in just my bra and panties. She smiled, she was loving this. On her bed there was quite a big shirt and some boot cut black trousers. Clearly girls, but not that bad. I went for them and Leila stopped me, "No, that's my uniform. Yours in on that chair" She pointed to a chair in the corner of the room with a small pile of clothes on it. I sighed, but knew I couldn't complain, so I pulled the sheer black tights up my legs,.
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