Journal

I think I was born the wrong gender. I don't belong to who I am. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up and everything will have worked itself out, like a shitty dream that went zoooop. Nope, I'm a female after all! I can breathe in and experience the senses, the gentle touch of a soft piece of cloth. Everything would make sense. Nothing makes sense as a male. It feels nice to be a female. Everything is softer, slower and more meaningful. I feel life, get experienced upon instead of bounding across it. I feel the touch of a man's tender lips running across my stomach. I love who I am. 

I've fallen in love with someone far better than I could ever wish to become. She, a natural beauty, radiance inside and out; myself, a hollow basin desperate for a fate God doesn't intend. How can it end? 1. Loathing myself for attaching my atrophy to the soft, warm light of another. 2. Allowing my soul to be grated by choosing to suffer alone.

How can I ever live happily? Am I truly destined to be unhappy? How can I live another day? Sometimes I honestly think I need serious help, like a dozen bullets to the forehead or a heart attack. I wish I were dead. 

So tall, beautiful. Plump, rosy cheeks, penetrating blue eyes, pale almond skin and a batch of short vanilla hair. We're alone. I shuffle behind her and run my hand through her hair, letting it flow through my fingers. My lips reach down and connect with her moist, salty skin. I gently suckle the back of her neck. I introduce myself. 

"What are you like on the inside?" I ask.   

"I love you," she says.  

I move to face her. I kneel down. She moistens her lips and closes her eyes. I spread her lips with my thumb and gently run my tongue along the rim; she lets out a breath. I nibble on her earlobe; she opens her eyes and moans distractedly. 

"My turn," she says.  

She sits up, forces me to the ground. She follows me down. I feel her entire weight upon me, her breasts pressing against my chest, her warm breath assaulting my eyes, her outstretched arms locking my wrists to the floor. She plunges in, taking control of my mouth. Her tongue swirls powerfully; her saliva moistens my throat. She comes up for air, dives in again. She overpowers me--she's possessed. She releases me. 

"Don't move," she whispers. 

She frees a hand to unbutton her jeans. She kicks them halfway off. Her panties are red and white striped, like a candy cane. She grinds the fabric into me, back and forth, woosh, woosh, woosh. She pauses, lets out a short breath and reaches for my belt.

She loosens the buckle, tugs the pants down to my knees and searches. She finds it, giving me a playful squeeze.   

"Don't move," she repeats.

She jerks her panties to the side, slides me across her thigh and gently guides me inside. Her warmth engulfs me. She adjusts her hips--I can feel every inch. I am inside her, lost deep inside. I am hers. We are one.

Only in my dreams can I connect.