Bet You Kiss Them On The Lips.

doms who will make it so it’s borderline impossible to get off without their help. they throw away your vibrators, promising a new one that never arrives. they beg you to only touch yourself if it’s with them nearby even if they’re asleep. they just want you to be comfortable in front of them, of course! before you know it, you don’t touch yourself at all anymore. every time that heat creeps into your hips, you find yourself grinding down stupidly on their leg while the hands on your waist set the pace. they just want to help you, baby!

the realization that you’ve forgotten how to make yourself cum might hit you one night as you’re stuffing little fingers in your hole and frowning about how it feels wrong.

maybe it occurs to you to ask about how they do it. you’re sheepish asking, wondering how long you’ve been relying on them to get you off without ever paying attention to how they do it. any inquiries are met with a grin that’s almost familiar but distinctly sharper than usual, more predatory. the understanding that it was all intentional settles heavily in your stomach, but the hand reaching into your underwear soothes away any panic before it can arise.

“no baby, you don’t get to know how i do it. that’s just for me. you couldn’t do it anyway, you’ll just have to ask for my help next time!”

this post is about lesbian sex, men and minors dni.

it’s safe to say i think about this video at least four times a day, i can quote almost the whole thing from memory

FUN FACT:

some girls when seeing pink text are much much more likely to do what it says! and also sometimes get horny with little understanding why!

Woah, incredible 😲

Hajime Kinoko

Serving my country 🫡🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

You ever hear that old chestnut about how most people neglect the part of the story of Icarus where he also had to avoid flying too low, lest the spray of the sea soak his feathers and cause him to fall and drown? You ever think about how different the world would be if Icarus died that way instead? If the idiom was to Fly To Close To The Sea? A warning against playing it far too safe, about not stretching your wings and soaring properly? You ever think about how Icarus died because he was happy?

You ever hear that old chestnut about how most people neglect the part of the story of Icarus where he also had to avoid flying too low, lest the spray of the sea soak his feathers and cause him to fall and drown? You ever think about how different the world would be if Icarus died that way instead? If the idiom was to Fly To Close To The Sea? A warning against playing it far too safe, about not stretching your wings and soaring properly? You ever think about how Icarus died because he was happy?

Double post cause fuck this hit me hard. Death before detransition. Etch it on my fucking tombstone. Nobody can take this magic from me.

I don’t know how anyone expects me to be “normal” again. after transitioning.

like I could ever go back to that numb, half-version of myself now that I’ve finally started to feel.

There’s a whole new language living in me. Thoughts that weren’t there before. Feelings that crept in slow and now won’t leave—soft, girlish things that’ve carved themselves into my vocabulary. A blush when a girl holds my gaze too long. The way I catch myself swaying to music that feels like home in my hips. The aching desire to just be held without needing to explain why.

And then there’s my autism—sweet, difficult, intimate autism. The way I stall right before doing something, because my brain wants a blueprint first. I don’t need a push, I need a hand. Someone to whisper, “Here’s how it's done.” and maybe smile as they guide me through it.

But most people? They get uncomfortable with those kinds of requests. They don’t like slowing down, or making space, or walking me through the step by step. They get impatient.

Except trans girls.

Trans girls get it. We’ve all stumbled through these messy, glowing awakenings together. We’ve all had to relearn how to live in our own skin. And so when I hesitate—when I stammer or freeze or overthink—another transfem will often just… know. She’ll soften her voice, offer a reassuring look, maybe graze her fingers against mine like she’s saying, “I’ve got you. Let's try this again.”

It’s tender. It’s playful, too—how we flirt with our fear, tease the tension away. How a “let me help you” can turn into “let me hold you,” and suddenly, you're melting into her arms wondering how you ever existed without this.

And if I happen to fall in love with every girl who walks me through it?

Well… I think that’s just part of the magic.

Time shifting

––

I wanted this but the original poster is transphobic