To my face, to her friends, to my friends. Since my junior year when we met, I said my name was Woody, but she would only call me Andy. “I want to see it on you, or else it just looks like a dick, you know?” It was my job to handle the production side. Face, honey, she'd say if pleasure drew me out of frame. In highschool, I was directed when I couldn't handle it. She showed me herself a few times, but her wrists got tired. Or, at least, she said, it wasn't as good. On Facetime it was easier for us both, actually. She said it was cute! How it would bounce with my blood. She dreamed that what I harbored would rise up against her, snapping and slobbery.īut, after a few hundred miles of wifi, what she found laid belly up on a lily pillow, A snake with its tongue lolled out, playing dead. When she and I first started having sex, when she was coming to understand my anatomy, she had to call “it” a “no no”. Sex will always feel like something wet pressed against glass. Like most emollennials, I fell in love on Facetime. Like most girls in highschool, I learned sex changes us at a cellular level.

Sissification: A True Crime Story Time Story Time Story How they’re my people.Īnd saying, “you know you get to prioritize your own needs sometimes, Mom.”Īnd her saying “Andy, if I do that, what’s everyone else gonna do? Actually, GeeET to school? Actually MaaAKE their appointments? Self care is not thinking about how these people are women, also. ‘It’ is not straining through the monitor at a grown ass-literal-women saying 'don't feel bad for, HE probably enjoyed it'.

It is not exploring how the other half lives. And the relief that, if I believe in myself hard enough, I can let go of my stigma I have against men.Īnd bacon egg and cheese on a egg bagel from actual fucking New York Self care is the relief that I'm not a boy, and haven't been for forever. We all sit around my head all day nibbling cuticles, murmuring, “valid, valid, valid”. Good because every tranny has trouble believing in ourselves at first. My therapist has not asked why one of my pronouns is ‘it’ because they are polite and know there’s no cure for what I got.Ĭonfiding in me that he witnessed our mutual friend mess up (lesbian sissys may disregard the previous two stanzas) The sissy, in reaction to seeing the fallacious depiction of cock within mainstream discourse (metonymically, or no), uplifts the fallace so as to return to it the dignity and complexity it refuses to self-generate.” It holds cock above all else because it’s mere existence undoes the phallus as a symbol of the intractable. Legally, the sissy holds no brains, no property. It devours cock like an incubus, mixed with a succubus, mixed with Iowa. The DeviantArt sissy hypno post I left open in my tabs, Umu ygser: 4068dhe79hd9 suggests: Self-care is going to school all online with your camera off.Ī thesis is a thing evil teachers made up to confuse me and everyone like me. Self care is (I think, but don't say) look at all these drag queens running around Self care is watching Season 8 on purpose 'cause they are all just friends at the end. ((time / expenses) X Sephora coupons) - how many cums = ? Self-care is a pre programmed himbo sporting nothing but a black bow tie and my Starbucks.Ībuse is not self-care. As I wander the blogosphere parched for inspiration, I see that, if there’s any commonality to be found, self-care is more of a mental state that has no exact direction, no thesis. Praise be, bitch, it’s a whole ‘nother body. Self-care is the transcendent shame you feel the first first time you Self-care is a couplet in the bath, celebrating today because this is the only time they could Self-care is putting your brain in the jar while you make grilled cheeseīecause you don’t know how to cook anything else. Self-care is p(l)aying a video game that tells you exactly what to do and how to use it. Self-care is chewing the nail bed to extract a little more claw. Self-care is not putting anyone in that position in the first place. Self-care is never asking your friends if you’re a good person. Tell by my hair which is getting softer with the estradiol.

If they could tell im good just by my shirt and how pointedly devoid of logo’s it is. I want to ask them over and over if I am a good person. My therapist should be more of a friend, I think. Self-care is removing the spiky collar for five minutes in the bathroom before returning to the party. Is this the best use of our time? They ask. I show them a Wiki How-To on properly filming your bath bomb to post to Instagram. More time and energy and thought than your little ASMR videos would have you believe. Self-care takes time and energy, my therapist says. “Oh!” I say to myself 19 videos in, “so you gotta twist the hair”. There is no way this essay will get done if I stop every five seconds to figure out “how to use a hair clip”.

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