walk into the local in a skirt and a guy calls me a “fucking faggot”, and i explain to him that im actually a femboy not a trans woman and he says “oh sorry lad, so you still relate to masculinity in some sort of way” and im like yeah and hes like “sorry mate” and im like ur fine honestly happens all the time and hes like “buy you a drink?” and one turns into two turns into three and he’s hilting in me in the mens and im panting and my mascara’s running and my tits are bouncing and my skirt’s up over my little estrogenated ass and he says “good girl” and i moan and he says “i fucking knew it” and clatters my head off the wall and i go down and he doesnt even have the good grace to finish on my unconscious body hes so mad. anyway can you pick me up i have a concussion
not to be a slut but i would love to sleep next to someone
your life is not an optimization problem
Ah yes, time to return to a singular moment from the past, standing like a boulder at the edge of my memory shore
Assuredly I will be able to revisit it always. What could possibly do away with so solid a thing as this? The gentle lapping of the sea of time?
huh weird.