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Trial of the Century By Cassandra Morgan The sound was shrill and painful, horrible on the ears. It was the cry of a wounded animal, the shriek of pain and torment, the bray of loneliness and agony. It was the sound of a woman in a horror movie, seeing the monster for the first time. There was desperation in that sound, and torture, and fear. It was the sound of a one person's world being ripped from her heart, of life itself being destroyed, of a world coming to an end. Angela Hopkins stood in the corner of her living room, watching as the detectives closed the handcuffs on Mary Anne, her mate, her Mama. They were leading her away now, toward the back of their squad car, and Angela was powerless to stop them. She dropped the vacuum cleaner hose and sobbed into the skirt of her apron. The officers had arrived that morning, holding some sorts of documents, the look of purpose in their eyes. They were a male and female team, and they were cold and efficient. They read Mary Anne her rights, and they were preparing to lead her away. Angela could not fully grasp what was happening, but she knew it was wrong. Mama Mary Anne was the world's most perfect creature, and Papa Barry was wonderful, too, and now the officers were leading them both away, like common criminals, as they talked about lawyers and charges. And so Angela cried, mournfully. She stood in the corner of the living room, dressed in a gray maid's uniform, her mascara running down her face. She struggled to control her sobs so she could breathe. She had been doing her chores, just like every day, when the officers came. Officer Larry Dickens and officer Julie Monroe had hands on their pistols as they showed their papers to Mama Mary Anne. They said something about a complaint, and they wanted to look around the house. Officer Monroe had looked at Angela and shook her head. "Are you all right, sir?" she asked. Sir? Angela tried to stop her crying. Who was this sir? "It's okay now, Mr. Hopkins," she said. "Your nightmare is over. We're here to help you." Mister? Who was mister? "Allen?" Officer Dickens said. "We're sorry. We know you're a victim here. We're going to give you back your life." Life? She had a life? She was Mama's maid. And Papa's. This was where she worked. That was her life. "You've been held hostage, Mr. Hopkins,"' Officer Monroe said. "You've had. your money stolen. They've taken your house. They've taken advantage of you. We want to see justice done." Angela blinked, trying to understand what the officers were saying. She was just the maid here. This was Mistress Mary Anne's house. Hell, she still had to finish her chores. It was her job. "You don't have to wear a dress anymore," Officer Dickens said. "You can change into pants if you want. You can take off those breast forms." Angela shook her head. She wasn't wearing breast forms. She hadn't for a long time. That was her now, after the surgery made her body correct. She didn't wear pants. She wore her uniform. Otherwise, it would be improper. Maids need to be in uniform at all times, she remembered. "Can you please let Mama go?" Angela said between jagged breaths. "Mama hasn't done anything. She's perfect." Officer Monroe smiled sadly. She was a tall woman, with her brown hair pulled tightly into a bun on the back of her head. She had never seen a victim like this, a man whose essence had been stripped from him, a man whose soul was laid bare. "Allen, your ... Mama ... has mistreated you," she said softly. "But that's over now. You aren't anyone's maid. You own this house. You own the cars outside." "No, ma'am," Angela said. "This all belongs to Mama. Like me. I belong to Mama. I always have." Officer Dickens shook his head. Allen Hopkins was a small person, one of those types who are easy to take advantage of. He ... she ... was wearing makeup, and heels, and fingernail polish. He even walked with a woman's stride, holding here -- his -- his hands from his body, placing one foot in front of the other as he stepped. Who would do such a thing to a man? Dickens wondered. According to the warrant in his hands, Mary Anne was Hopkins' wife. What sort of woman turned her husband into a mincing housemaid? What kind of wife would take over his possessions and live regally while he worked as some sort of domestic? God knows what else he was forced to do. Dickens shuddered. Were women capable of this kind of cruelty? Once, he had worked a case where a woman had become a serial killer, but this seemed worse. This was more personal. This was her damned husband. And she had him in dresses! "Mr. Hopkins, we're gong to take Mary Anne into custody now. She'll be arranged, and she'll see her lawyer. Tomorrow, maybe the next day, the judge will decide if she'll get bail, and if she does, if she'll need a restraining order to stay away from you. Do you understand?" Angela nodded, even thought she didn't understand all of it. She just knew that Mama was in trouble, and it was up to her to convince everyone that she needed her. Who else was going to look after her? She wiped her face again. She looked at officer Monroe. "Who?" she asked softly. "Who called you?" "I can't tell you that," Officer Monroe said. "It was someone who cares about you, though. They didn't want to see you suffer anymore." "I'm not suffering," Angela said. "Mama would never make me suffer. She only punishes me when I deserve it. She never uses a belt." Monroe and Dickens locked eyes. Dickens nodded slowly. "It's up to the court now, Allen," he said. "If the judge finds that Mary Anne is guilty, she's going away for a long time. I hope you understand." Angela nodded. Whoever was going to hire a maid at her age? * * The depositions began with Joyce Winters, the next-door neighbor of the Hopkins. It was she who had called the police in the first place. She had been a neighbor for years, since before her own marriage to Benny had ended in divorce, and she know both parties well. "Hello, Mrs. Winters," the tall man with the graying hair said. "I'm Thomas Bailey. I'm the assistant district attorney. I'll be deposing you today, if that's all right." "I....guess," Joyce said. "I'm a little nervous about all of this." "I understand," Bailey said. "But we must all do our civic duty. Now, please tell me why you called the police on June 19?" "Um, well, I was tired of seeing Mary Anne Hopkins mistreat Allen. He's a good man. He doesn't deserve that." "Can you go into more details, Mrs. Winters?" Bailey said. "What didn't he deserve?" "Being made a ... wimp," she said. "A sissy. Wearing dresses and doing housework all day long. Being made into...a freak." "Mrs. Winters, are you certain that Allen wasn't a willing accomplice?" "Well, he was at first," she said. "Mary Anne -- we used to be close -- told me that it all started with bedroom games, with swapping each other's clothes and fooling around. Role-play stuff. But Mary Anne got to like being in charge. She started to take advantage of him, putting him into dresses, making him serve her and her friends at dinner. It was a big laugh for her. She told me once that she had taken charge in the bedroom, that she was the one who did the penetrating when they had sex with one of those ... plastic things. She seemed quite pleased with herself." "Back then, you didn't try to stop it?" "No," Joyce said, her head drooping. "I thought they were just playing bedroom games, you know? It was just fun for them both. It was only later that Allen was in those maid's uniforms all the damn time. She started introducing him as Angela. He became more and more... girly, I guess is the word." "So what was Angela like?" "She was like a pet cat," Joyce said. "She was so meek, so docile. Her legs were shaved, and she was always in makeup. She wore the reddest lipstick you can imagine. Her hair was longer, and she wore heels. She would curtsy when she saw you. It was sad to see." "Why was it sad, Mrs. Winters?" "I ... I cared about him," she said. "He had always been so nice to me. He'd fix my computer. He hooked up my stereo. We'd talk about things -- movies and politics and stuff. I didn't want to see him turned into a half woman." "A half woman?" "You know, a sissy," she said. "A Tinkerbelle." "Do you have something against gay people, Mrs. Winters." "No. I swear I don't. I didn't care if Allen was gay. I just thought he should be the same old Allen." "So Allen was spending his days as a woman, you were saying." "A half woman," she said. "Mary Anne said she wouldn't let Allen be a full woman, because that would disrespect all women. But she certainly made him act the part. Then Barry started hanging around, and everything went to hell." "Barry?" "He was Mary Anne's boyfriend," Joyce snarled. "They weren't even discreet. They were all over each other while Allen watched. It ruined him, I think. I think it wrecked his brain. It would wreck anyone's. God knows what Barry made Allen do." "Still, it doesn't sound like a crime." "I don't think to that point, it was," Joyce said. "But they made him sign papers that turned the house over to them, and the bank accounts, and the cars. Allen moved into a small, cramped bedroom, and did all the chores like some fucking domestic. They coerced him into signing his life away. They gave him breasts. They tattooed one of those sissy flags -- pink stripes with the male insignia in the middle -- on the small of his back." "You saw it?" "Mary Anne told me about it. She bragged about it. She thought it proved how much in charge she was." Bailey sighed. He looked at the paper in front of him. "If this goes to trial, Mrs. Winters, we'll ask you to testify." "If it will help Allen, I will," she said. "I like being a woman, but he shouldn't have to be one." Bailey nodded. He would clean up the courtroom with Mary Anne Hopkins. And if not, well, Angela could clean up for him. * * Mary Anne Hopkins sat across from Bailey at a small wooden table. To Mary Anne's right was Robert Robinson, an attorney. "Hello, Mrs. Hopkins," Bailey said. "You know why you're here today." "Excuse me," Robinson said. "But Mary Anne isn't talking. She knows her rights." "Mr. Robinson, we're just trying to understand what happened here." "My client is an upstanding citizen," Robinson said. "She doesn't deserve to get the third-degree because her husband decides to wear a dress. A lot of men are cross-dressers, Thomas. You know that. I'll bet you've worn panties before, haven't you?" Bailey shook his head. "No, I haven't," he said. "And I'm not being interrogated here. I want to know how much of this was Allen's idea, and how much was Mary Anne's." Mary Anne looked at Bailey but said nothing. Robinson had warned her not to say anything, and that then, maybe the charges would be dropped. "Thomas, you've seen Allen, haven't you?" Robinson said, flipping his wrist to indicate that Hopkins was gay. "He loves this shit. Mary Anne was trying to be an understanding wife. She didn't think his dressing should cause a divorce." "She seized his assets," Bailey said. "Angela ... Allen ... begged her to take control of the finances. It was the only way for him to truly submit to her. He wanted her in charge so he could be a maid. It's part of some people you know? It was his idea to buy the maid's uniforms, to augment his breasts, to pierce his ears. God know why a man would want any of it. But Allen did. He was a sissy, born and bred, and if Mary Anne and he had never gotten together, he'd still be scrubbing toilets. It's who he is." "She made him a cuckold," Bailey said. "Again, that was his choice. Hell, did you ask him about the men he slept with? One night, it was three different guys, one after another. I can get statements from all of them. He sucked all of them off multiple times, and then he let them mount him. There was nothing forced here, Thomas. Just a man who likes a penis in his ass." Bailey winced."Mrs. Hopkins, how did you discover that your husband was ... this way?" "A transvestite?" Robinson interjected. "Because she walked in on him when he was putting on her wedding dress. Mary Anne didn't know whether to be outraged or amused. But the more she thought about it, the more she believed it wasn't hurting anyone. She tried to go along with it. She tried to make their marriage work." Bailey looked at Mary Anne. "Mrs. Hopkins, will you add anything?" he asked. "I'd love to," Mary Anne said. "But my attorney has advised me not to . I need to get home to poor Angela. She needs her Mama." Bailey exhaled. This hadn't got as he had wished. Maybe he shouldn't offer to try this case. Then, as she was leaving, Mary Anne turned to him and winked. "Anyone ever tell you that you'd look good in a dress?" she said, giggling. It was then that Thomas Bailey decided that Mary Anne had to go to prison. She was evil. * * "I don't know if we can prove it," Bailey was said. "But in my gut, I know she's guilty. She turned that man into a quivering lump of ectoplasm. He's a sissy. A panty boy. I don't know if he'll ever be normal again." Jeff Zimmerman, Bailey's boss, leaned back in his chair. "I agree he's a sissy," he said, flipping through the photographs. "But who made him a sissy? Did she really orchestrate this? Or did he become one all by himself?" "I think she did it," Bailey said. "He's not strong enough to do this on his own. Look, he was never the most macho guy in the world. But a man has a right to stay out of panties if he wants to." "Did you depose him?" Zimmerman asked. "I tried," Bailey said. "But he's broken. He keeps talking about how wonderful his 'Mama' is, and how he should be doing his chores. It's the Stockholm Syndrome. You can't trust him on the stand." "Can we win this case?" Zimmerman said. "I think we can. We'll let the jurors see that she's in control of him. We'll let them see what he's turned into. We'll remind them that this could be them in the maid's dress." Zimmerman steepled his fingertips. He blew out air. "I like our conviction rate," he told Bailey. "I don't want to hurt that because some sissy won't cooperate." "I understand, sir," Bailey said. "Will Mrs. Hopkins be in control while she's being cross examined?" "She...she was dying to talk during her deposition," she said."Her attorney wouldn't let her, but on the stand, she's a wild card. She'll want everyone to know she was in charge and he was her paper doll." Zimmerman nodded. "I want you to continue your depositions. Get statements from every man he's slept with. Get the doctors. Get the pizza delivery boy. Everyone." Bailey nodded. "Sir, this case is weird enough that it'll get a lot of press. A local businessman is turned into a woman by his wife. If we can win this, it'll make you look good." "Yes," Zimmerman said. "But if we lose, we'll be as big a freak as he is. We'll look like villains arresting a woman for playing games in her own bedroom." "Then let's win," Bailey said. Zimmerman nodded. "Let's," he said. "Otherwise, we all might as well be in panties when it's done." * * The trial began on a Wednesday, Judge Ralph Delgato presiding. He was a stern man who seemed to favor defendants most of the time. Mary Anne wore a simple black dress with pearls. She seemed like the president of the PTA. Angela-- Allen -- was in the third row. He was wearing a blue dress and heels. His hair was in an updo, and his legs were shaven. He thought he looked nice. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Robinson began. "I'm here to defend Mary Anne Hopkins, a housewife of eight years to Allen, who was minding her business when the police barged through her door and chastised her for what she did in the privacy of her own bedroom. You'll hear that her longtime husband liked to wear women's clothing of his own volition. No judgments; some men are cross-dressers. But Mary Anne tried to help him be the person he wanted to be. No, it isn't what some fictional housewife on TV would do, but this isn't that world. In our lives, we have the right to keep what we do in the bedroom from ending up in court. We'll prove that Mrs. Hopkins is being railroaded here, that she's a nice woman who tried to make allowances for her husband, who now goes by the name of Angela. Thank you." "Mr. Bailey," the judge said. "Please give us your opening statement. "Thank you, your honor," Bailey began. "Honestly, people, I don't care what Mary Anne and Allen did in their bedroom. They could have handcuffed themselves and rolled boiled eggs at each other. If your mind can imagine it, two people are doing it in their bedroom right now. But the law has a problem when someone holds someone hostage, when they take their assets, when they enslave them into an uninvited life. We'll show you that Allen is still a victim here, that he's been shredded of his dignity so thoroughly that he thinks a maid's life is a proper one. Mary Anne is quite a figure. She looks like she's sending little girl scouts off to sell cookies. But deep down, she's a Mistress, and she tells her sissy what to do under the threat of punishment. I ask you to keep an open mind. She's a bad person who stole from their marriage, and bad people deserve to be punished." "Thank you, Mr. Bailey. Mr. Robinson, you may call your first witness." "Thank you, your honor. The defense would like to call Miriam Henshaw." Miriam Henshaw was the owner of the Uniform Store, where Mary Anne had purchased six maid's uniforms for Angela. She had helped him get the right fit, and she had picked out matching heels for him. "Mrs. Henshaw," Robinson said, after she had been sworn in. "Would you tell us about the first time you met Allen Hopkins." "Well, she was introduced to me as Angela. Like a lot of men who come into my store, she was nervous when Mary Anne picked out her uniforms. Mary Anne bought a variety of colors of uniforms, and she told me that Angela wanted them. Angela tried them all on -- every one of them. As I recall, she liked the white one the best." "Is it common that men come into your store and try on dresses?" Robinson asked. "It's more common that you'd think," Henshaw said. "There is a lot of stress being a man today. Sometimes, men want to wear something pretty and be told what to do. They beg for it. Angela was that way. She was completely comfortable in a dress. I thought 'this one is in it for the long haul.' " "So this was all her idea?" "As near as I could tell," Henshaw said. "Her legs were already shaved. She wore a wig into the store. If you didn't know it was a man, you couldn't tell." "Thank you, Mrs. Henshaw." Robinson strolled to his seat like a prizefighter who had just won a decisive round. "Hello, Mrs. Henshaw," Bailey said. "You said that Mary Anne bought the uniforms. Is that correct?" "Well, yes, she had the credit card." "Records show that it was his credit card. Did you notice that?" "No...no sir." "Mrs. Henshaw, do you think a Mistress can take over her submissive so completely that he goes along with whatever she says?" Bailey said. "Well, sure. I've seen how some Mistresses are very assertive. They're in charge all the time." "Is it possible, Mrs. Henshaw, that Mary Anne Hopkins is such a Mistress? Could Allen ever have told her no." "It's...possible," she said. "I can't see Angela telling her no." Bailey smiled. "No more questions, you honor," he said. Round one, Bailey thought. It was a draw. * * The next person to take the stand was Julie Chadwick, a 40-year old woman who was also a psychiatrist. She was there as a defense witness. "Good afternoon, Miss Chadwick," Robinson began. "Could you tell us a little bit about the lifestyle that Mary Anne and Angela are living?" "Certainly," she said. "It's a fetish, a dominant-submissive relationship. He views her as perfection. She views him as a domestic. It is mutually satisfying for both of them." "I see. And does the dominant party have to force the submissive into doing things?" "Oh, heavens no," Miss Chadwick said. "The submissive -- the sissy, if you will -- loves to serve. It's what turns her on. The power, the strength, overwhelms her. She would do whatever she felt the dominant would want." "So if our hypothetical sissy thought that the dominant wanted her to, say, have sex with a man...." "Then she would." "Have you observed Angela?" "No, sir. But I've read her file. It's standard sissy behavior." "Is the submissive gay?" "That's an outmoded concept, Mr. Robinson," Miss Chadwick said. "A sissy's life is a fluid one. In her mind, she's a hybrid between male and female. She can be a sex toy, or she can be a domestic servant. It depends upon the relationship." "But a dominant wouldn't have to exert undue pressure for her to do her bidding." "Oh, no. Just a suggestion is reason enough. This is all meant to please the Mistress. The clothes. The hair. The makeup. Everything is with the Mistress's happiness in mind. I suspect Angela would light her hair on fire if she thought Mistress wanted it. She'd even get a complete gender reassignment." "Wow. She's a real mess, isn't she?" "Not at all. She's just committed. She adores her Mistress, and she is forever trying to please her. She wants to look as feminine as possible. She wants to kneel. She wants to serve." "Of her own free will?" "Of her own free will." "No more questions, your honor." Bailey approached the jury box carefully. "So you admit you've never examined Angela," he said. "I've never had the pleasure." "So you're talking about generalities here." "Life is generalities." "I would think each case would be unique." "There is a common thread that runs though most dominant-submissive relationships. That's my blueprint." "Have you examined the welts on Angela's backside?" "No sir." "Personally, I think that's the blueprint." * * * The next witness that Robinson called was Mary Anne Hopkins. It was unusual to call the defendant so quickly in a trial, but the defense wanted to present the key witnesses and get out of the jury's way. That way, it demonstrated how confident they were in their case. "Hello, Mary Anne," Robinson said. "How are you today?" "I'm ... overwhelmed," she said. "I know that the role play my husband and I had is unusual. It was kind of embarrassing for me, too. Who was her husband in a bra? But I was trying to help Allen. I didn't want to divorce him over something as trivial as clothing." "I understand. Did your husband want to be a woman?" "No sir, Not totally. She liked her...thing. She just liked posing in the mirror while she was wearing a dress. She liked to clean. It wasn't hurting anyone." "And did you have a name for her?" "She wanted to be called Angela. I thought it was sweet." "So did you feel like a lesbian?" "Sometimes," Mary Anne said, allowing herself a small smile. "We were girls together. We swapped lipsticks and perfumes. We could wear each other's heels. We talked about the men we knew." "The men?" "Angela is ... bisexual," Mary Anne said. "It started when she asked me to take a lover, and she would lick us clean after sex. It's embarrassing to talk about now. But she went from that to performing oral sex on Barry and other guys." "Barry Walters?" "Yes. He came to be my boyfriend." "And Angela's?" "Sometimes. But Angela liked variety. She slept with a lot of men. I tried to understand. We all have needs." "So if anyone was in charge here...?" "It was Angela," she said. "I was just trying to keep up. Even when she signed over her assets -- voluntarily -- I was doing what she wanted." "Thank you Mary Anne. Your honor, no more questions." Bailey knew this would be a difficult cross for him. Come on too strong, and the jury would protect her. Come on too weak, and she'd get away. "Mrs. Hopkins," he said. "Did you ever spank Allen?" "Sometimes," she said. "It's part of maid play. The girl likes to be disciplined. But I never really hurt her. I'd just smack her ass sometimes." The people in the courtroom tittered. "Mrs. Hopkins, do you realize that is assault?" Bailey said. "It was playtime," she said. "She liked it when I spanked her. Sometimes, she'd beg me to spank her." "Did she like it when you started driving her car?" "That car needed to be driven," Mary Anne said. "It was rusting in the driveway." "Mrs. Hopkins, I read that some fetish couples have a safe word to assure that no one gets hurt. Did you two ever have a safe word?" "We didn't need one. She could tell me anytime that she wanted to stop. But she didn't. She liked the sissy life. She liked having someone in charge of her." "Did you like it too? Maybe more than you should have?" "I did it all for her." "You gave her breasts. That's kind of permanent, isn't it?" "Breasts can be removed, if someone wants them to be." "Are you aware, Mrs. Hopkins, that Allen, as Angela, told Carol Peters at the Cut and Curl Salon that she was doing this because you were making her?" "Hearsay!" Robinson sprang to his feet. "Overruled," Judge Delgato said. "We can always call Mrs. Peters to the stand to testify. The witness will answer the question." "I'm sure that Angela had a lot of doubts from time to time," Mary Anne said. "I know I did. It wouldn't surprise me if she said that to Carol. But every time I gave Angela a chance to back out, she didn't want to. She loved the women's clothes, the makeup, the heels. Even now, if you'll look, she's wearing a dress. It's been a month since I was arrested. She didn't have to wear a dress to court today. But she did. What does that tell you about his nature?" Bailey tried to keep acting as if he were in control. But he knew he had been beaten. Mary Anne was a smart one. And he felt stupid. * * The prosecution, trying to mirror the defense's strategy of calling key witnesses first, started their turn by calling Allen Hopkins to the stand. Bailey wasn't confident. This could go too many ways with Allen's subservience. "Hello, Allen," Bailey began. "Angela." "Excuse me?" "Could you call me Angela?" Hopkins said. "Of course," Bailey said. "Now, Angela. You're wearing a lovely dress today. Why are you wearing it?" "I like dresses," Angela said. "Mama said they make me look pretty. I want to look pretty for the judge. Besides with my hair and, well, my chest, I look funny dressed as a man." "Angela, isn't it true that all of this sissy stuff was the idea of Mary Anne?" "No sir. It really started when I was a child. I would wear my sister's clothes and play with her dollhouse. My mother got tired of making me change. Finally, she just let me dress the way I wanted to dress. That was the start of it." "How did you meet Mary Anne?" "We were in college together. Biology 103. She asked me out." "Oh. Did you tell her you liked to wear women's clothing?" "She kind of figured it out," Angela said. "We would go to parties. We would swap underwear. She found out about me, and it didn't bother her. We had fun. She accepted me. When we were married, and I started dressing more, she was okay with it." "Was it her idea to call you Angela?" "Isn't it always the job of a Mama to name people? I liked being Angela." "Did you like having sex with men?" "Sir, it isn't up to me to like or dislike. If Mama says I'm to make a man happy, I do it." "Do you enjoy it?" "Yes, sir, I admit that I do." The courtroom murmured louder, until the judge had to bang his gavel. Angela went on. "Dicks are fun, sir. I know that some people in our society don't like to hear it, but I like having a cock in my mouth. Do you know you can feel a man's pulse through his cock? It feels right as he slides it in and out of your mouth. There is a spot, just below the base of a cock, at the top of the ball sac, that drives men crazy. The cock quivers, and then he comes, and all is right with the world. I can't believe that any sissy doesn't like dick. Mama likes it, too." "You call her 'Mama?' " "She likes it better than Mistress or Madam," Angela said. "Are you aware that she has taken all of your possessions as her own, Angela?" "No. But it's okay. Everything is Mama's." "And the breast surgery?' "I love my boobies, sir. Don't you?" "Men aren't supposed to have boobies, Angela." "They should want them," Angela said. "They're great to play with while you're watching Mama make sex with Papa." "Angela. Are you wearing anything else. Maybe something that set off the metal detector today?" "Um, I have my cage on, sir." "Your cage?" "My chastity cage. Mama likes it when I wear it. It's a small one, but Mama said it keeps me in control. I'm also wearing a butt plug. It feels very nice." The crowd chuckled again. This was more fun that the O.J. trial. "Angela, do you know that people laugh at you? Make fun of you?" "They don't understand, sir. I love being a sissy maid." "And men?" "I like them, too, sir. Mama told me I would be a good girl if I let them make sex with me." "Does Mama tell you to do most things?" "Everything, sir." Bailey thanked her. He turned over the witness and sat. "I just have one question, Angela. Do you think Mama has ever been wrong in the way she treated you?" "Of course not. Mama is the kindest, most wonderful person I know." "No further questions, your honor." * * Joy Winters was next on the docket. She told of what she had seen over the years, and what she had heard, and why she had called the police. "Why is this important to you?" Bailey asked. "Because....I love him," she said, and the room gasped. "I've always loved him. I saw the way she transformed him, the way she feminized him. He's more woman than man now. I don't know if he'll ever be the same. But inside, he's still Allen." "And you think Mrs. Hopkins is to blame for his changes?" "I know she is. She bragged about it to me. She laughed about what a sissy her husband was. She said that Barry was a lot better man than he was." "Mrs.Winters, do you think she did anything criminal?" "Yes. She seduced him into doing what she wanted. She dominated him. She cuckolded him. She made him have sex with men. She stole his money." "She said he wanted this." "He didn't. Not until he didn't know any better." "Thank you, Mrs. Winters." Robinson stood. "Mrs. Winters, you were next door, but were you in the bedroom?" "No sir." "So you don't really know what they were to each other, do you?" "I guess not." "Mrs. Winters, you admit that you're in love with Angela. Doesn't that mean you would say anything, even things that would hurt other people, to plead his case?" "No sir." "I think we know better. Thank you, Mrs. Winters." * * In a surprise move, it was the prosecution who requested the testimony of Barry Walters. He was a co-defendant awaiting his own trial, and Robinson objected, but the judge allowed him to speak. "Mr. Walters," Bailey said. "How are you today?" "I'm fine, Matlock. How are you briefs?" The crowd giggled. Walters smiled. He liked making fun o lawyers. "Mr. Walters, what can you tell us about your relationship with Angela Hopkins?" "The fag?" Walters said. "He's sucked my dick a couple of times. Except for that, we ain't having relations, Perry Mason." "Sir, 'Fag' is an offensive word for someone who shined your shoes, isn't it? Someone who cooked your breakfast and washed your boxers?" "Angela is what she is," Walter said. "She does what she's told. Even you Johnny Cochrans should know that." "And did someone tell her to be a maid? "No one had to tell her. Shit, she loves it. But Mary Anne was in control. Hell, he was her ex-husband, after all." "So all of this was her idea?" "I think it was everyone's idea. Hell, Angela is a sissy. Everyone knows that. And if a sissy smarts off, well, you spank her ass." "Did you ever spank Angela's ass?" "Sure. You got to keep a homo in line, Darwin." "And Mary Anne let you spank her." "Shit. Mary Anne enjoyed it. She counted while I was beat the sissy's ass." "Objection," Robinson said, standing. "Overruled," the judge said. "Did you split Angela's money with Mary Anne?" Bailey was taking a wild shot here. "We didn't split it. But I got my share. And I got to drive one of the cars, a Toyota." "Do you know that's illegal?" "I know the powerful are in charge of the weak. God made Angela a sissy. I was just letting a chicken cluck." "Objection," Robinson said. "Overruled, again. Now sit down and be quiet or I'll hold you in contempt. Proceed." "Barry, did you have sex with Angela." "I told you. He's blown me a couple of times. No ass sex though. Not yet." "Did Angela volunteer to have sex with you?" "Volunteer? Angela is a sissy. She doesn't have to volunteer. If I want sex with her, well, if you want sex with her, just bend her over. Pull down your pants and she'll suck you. She doesn't have any choice." "Thank you, your honor. No more questions." Robinson stood up. He was obviously flummoxed. "Mr. Walters. Did you ever hear Angela object to anything as far as being a submissive?" "No, sir. She liked it. Especially the dicks." "No further questions, your honor. But at this time, I'd like to move for a mistrial if it pleases the court." "Denied, Mr. Robinson. I'm sure we'll hear your objections at Mrs. Hopkins' appeal." "Yes, sir." * * It was the clumsy testimony of Barry Waters that won the day for the prosecution. Mary Anne was sentenced to seven years in the state penitentiary. Bailey had no doubt she would be the Cell Block queen. After his own trial, Walters was given five. Bailey thought he would be the Cell Block bitch. The appeals are still pending. After the trial, Joyce approached Angela. "I'll take care of you now," she said. "You'll be my Mama?" he said. "No. I'll help you return to manhood," she said. "I don't want to go back," Angela said. "Oh, baby. You will. Just give it a chance. You don't have to be a sissy anymore." And so it went. The next day, Joyce laid out a nice blue suit for Angela. But when he came downstairs, he was wearing a pink maid's dress. He started to wash the dishes. "You don't have to do that anymore, Angela," she said. "You should wear men's clothes." "Well, if I don't clean up, who is going to do it? It's my job. I'm the maid." "You can be the man of the house if you want?" "I can't wear dresses anymore?" "Do you want to wear dresses?" He nodded."I do. Pants are yucky." Joyce frowned. "How about your breasts? Do you want them reduced? How about your cage?" "Mama, I'm who I am. Being a sissy is all I know. I don't want to be a man anymore. Is that okay?" "It's okay, Angela. You can be whoever you want to be." "I'll keep your house clean, Mama. I'll be a good girl." As the months went by, Joyce was sure that, any day, Angela would start to become Allen again. But he didn't. He kept flouncing around their home, scrubbing and polishing, whistling through his lipsticked mouth. Angela was never manly in bed, either. They would kiss and cuddle, and Angela would go down on her, but their relationship remained unique. Should she give up? Should she make Angela happy and guide her through her chores? Should she introduce her to Joyce's brother Charles? She sighed as she sat at the kitchen table, thinking. She had never been a mistress before. She had never told anyone what to do. But if this was the direction than love took, well, she could adjust. She would adjust. She would be Mama. "Sissy," she said. "I want you to mop the floors. Now." "Yes, Mama," Angela said brightly. She went to work. Deep inside, it felt like justice. (c) 2020