Cheerleaders not wearing underpants

"Himiko?" Kokichi knocked on the door to Himiko and Tenko's room later that night. Himiko had taken a long nap after such a disappointing day. But, before she fell asleep, she reflected deeply on what Kokichi had told her. She had to admit that he was right, that she needed to a better attitude about herself. But, how to do that, she didn't know. She suddenly remembered his words: You should be smart, confident, and capable of doing things your way. Her way? What was her way, exactly?
"Himiko?" Kokichi whispered a little louder. Himiko opened her eyes, hearing Kokichi calling out to her. She scrambled out of bed and went over to answer the door. Kokichi smiled at her with his usual cheeky grin. "Hey, sleepyhead! Are you still planning on selling cookies?" Himiko took a deep breath and nodded. Kokichi had given her some courage to actually try things and take chances, to try and overcome self-doubt.
"Yeah. I'm ready," she said. There was still a part of her that didn't want to, but she forced that part of her into silence. She lifted her chin and smiled at him. "I'm ready, Kokichi." Kokichi smiled back at her.
"Alright, Monkey Buns!" he cheered, giving her a high five and then a hug. "Same place?"
"Alright," Himiko nodded. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. She remembered what Kokichi had told her earlier about being smart and confident her way. "But, on the way over there, can we stop by my, um..." She paused to whisper. "...secret lair? "
"Ooooh?" Kokichi murmured with a curious smile. "Yeah, we can stop by." Himiko nodded and retreated back into her room to grab the two tin bowls of cookies she had baked with Three and Ten.
"Nyeh...okay, I'm ready," Himiko said. Kokichi took her hand in his, and the two crept downstairs. Some of the others were still in the dining room eating dinner, so Kokichi and Himiko had to leave through the front door to get to Himiko's secret magic room under the gazebo. Kokichi stood outside to keep watch while Himiko went inside her magic room. Once inside, she went for her magical dream powder bottle and poured some of its purple, sparkly contents into a small vial, hiding it in one of her jacket's pockets. Then, she met back up with Kokichi.
"Now I'm ready," she said.
"Okie-dokie!" Kokichi replied, taking the tin bowls from Himiko to hold them for her. "Let's go, HimikoCocoa Bean!" They then hurried over to D.I.C.E. headquarters.
"Boss!" Four said, jumping up from the couch. "And Boss Lady!"
"Hey, Ichiro," Kokichi and Himiko replied.
"Wanna hear a song that I heard on the radio?" Four asked. He cleared his throat, and began singing without waiting for a response. "If you like piña coladaaaaas, and getting caught in the rai-"
"Okay, Ichiro, that's enough," Kokichi interrupted, wincing from Four's terrible voice.
"Urgh...thank you!" Five exclaimed as she wrapped Kokichi's cape around him. After Three placed Kokichi's hat on his head, she turned to Himiko.
"So, Himiko, did you sell a lot of cookies?" she asked eagerly. Himiko gave her an apologetic look and shook her head. Three's shoulders slumped.
"Oh..." she said softly.
"What? Why?" Ten asked. "Did they not like them? Because I put all my blood, sweat, and tears into those things! Er...well, not literally...duh."
"Yeah, I hope not!" Two exclaimed, sticking his tongue out in disgust. "I bet there are people in this world who actually do stuff like that!"
"Nee-heehee...I know a very horny someone who'd do something like that," Kokichi said.
"The tin bowls are still so full!" Three said, her voice dripping with disappointment.
"It's not really the cookies that people didn't like, Keiko," Himiko said. "It was because of me."
"What exactly do you mean by that?" Nine asked.
"Well, I'm not really popular at school to begin with," Himiko said. "But, I wasn't really trying my best to sell them because I didn't think I could."
"Ouch," Six muttered.
"Oh, well...still!" Three huffed. "They could have at least tried your cookies, anyways! Those...those...clowns! " Then she turned to nobody in particular. "No offense, me," she mumbled to herself before turning back to Himiko.
"Hey, no offense to the rest of us, either!" Four said.
"Should we take offense?" Nine asked. "It's not like we're actual professional clow-"
"We get it, Hideyo!" everyone but Himiko interrupted simultaneously.
"Nyeh, well...anyways, thanks to Kokichi, I've decided to try again," Himiko said, giving Kokichi a shy smile.
"Aww, HimiCocoa Bean, you're making me blush!" Kokichi teased, wrapping his arm around her waist. "But, I only get half the credit. You should give yourself credit, too!"
"And you should give us those cookies," Four said, pointing to the tin bowls in Kokichi's hand.
"Himiko, are you still going to sell these?" Kokichi asked. Himiko thought for a moment. She remembered what Tsumugi said about chocolate chip cookies being plain and boring.
"No," she finally answered. "Actually, I've decided to go with Ten's plan from earlier."
"Right! Um...wait, what plan was that again?" Ten asked.
"The plan to make the snickerdoodles," Himiko said.
"Oh, yeah!" Ten remembered, a grin crossing his face.
"But, I wanna add a secret ingredient of mine," Himiko said.
"I hope it's not blood, sweat, and tears," Two said, shuddering.
"Why not?" Seven asked with a creepy smile. "Don't you like that salty, metallic flavor in your cookies?"
"Ew! Yuck! Kokichi, make her stop!" Five said, covering her ears.
"Tsukiko, don't make me tell Emi to get Mr. Sparkles," Kokichi warned. Seven hid under a blanket.
"No, please. Anything but that accursed pink and plushy unicorn!" she hissed. Five grinned smugly at her.
"Can we help you bake again, Himiko?" Three asked hopefully.
"Nyeh...of course!" Himiko answered.

"Neat-o! Let's get started!" Ten said, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. Kokichi nodded to Himiko encouragingly, and she followed Three and Ten to the kitchen. They soon got started on the batter. Himiko removed the vial of dream powder from her pocket.
"Oooo! What is that stuff?" Three asked, entranced by the purple, glittery powder.
"Hopefully the thing that'll win over any potential customers," Himiko answered before pouring the powder into the mixture. She mixed the batter until it became a shiny, glittering harmony of many colors.
"Holy Constantinople-y!" Ten exclaimed. "What the heck kind of secret ingredient is that?!"
"The batter looks so...pretty!" Three breathed in awe. "It's so...shiny and sparkly!" Then, she lowered her voice. "Is this...some of your magic, Himiko?"
"Nyeh...that's right," Himiko nodded.
"I know this is might sound like a dumb question, but...are you allowed to do that?" Ten asked.
"Nobody at school knows about my magic except for Kokichi," Himiko said. "So, technically, it's not not allowed. And besides, Kokichi said that I need to be smart and confident my way. And magic is my way of doing just that."
Part Eight
Sunday afternoon. Himiko took a deep breath, deeply breathing in the warm air as a gentle breeze flowed around her. Today, she felt lucky. She stood behind her table at the front of the school. Above her was a more colorful, glittery sign she and Three had worked on with the word, "Snoozydoodles," written in swirly letters. Hopefully it would be enough to bring in some customers. Her snickerdoodles were laid out on three large trays in front of her so that the other students could see their colorful and sparkly design.
"Hiya, Himiko!" came a cheerful voice. Himiko looked up and was surprised to see Three.
"Keiko?" she whispered. "Nyeh...what are you doing here?"
"I decided to come and cheer you on...and to make sure the turd buckets here buy your cookies," Three replied. "I put some love and special care into those cookies, and I didn't bust my tail just to have nobody buy them!"
"Nyeh...but...Ten and I worked on them, too," Himiko pointed out. "And I put my 'special ingredient' in them."
"I know," Three said. "But, I feel like if I worked hard on something, either by myself or in a group, I'd like for the world to see it, that's all."
"I understand," Himiko said with a small smile. "Wait...this is supposed to be a competition between me and Kokichi! I don't think he'd appreciate you helping me out, especially since I should be doing this myself."
"Well, I'll just be here for emotional support, then!" Three said. Himiko smiled gratefully and nodded.
"I guess that's okay," she said. " Thanks, Keiko. I like your outfit, by the way." Three scanned her outfit proudly. Instead of her D.I.C.E. uniform, she wore an oversized, cream-colored fluffy sweater over a short, pink ruffled skirt. She wore a pair of white tights with some loose pink socks and a pair of black and white checkered lolita shoes with pink straps. In her hair were pink bows over each pigtail.
"Eeee! Thank you!" she squealed happily. "It's not very often I get to go out in cutesy clothes like this, unless I'm undercover! Well...I guess you might say I'm going undercover right now, but...eh, whatever."
"Speaking of which, why are your shoes checkered?" Himiko asked. "Won't that give you away? Part of the reason why people know your organization is because of the checker pattern scarves...which makes me wonder how people haven't suspected Kokichi being part of...you-know-what."
"Heehee...I call that the 'Sailor Moon Effect,'" Three giggled. "But, anyway, when members of the organization are wearing casual clothes, we have to wear some article of clothing with a black and white checkered pattern to let other members know our affiliation. The beauty of it is that there are people not affiliated with us who wear checker patterned clothing, so it gives us a chance to blend in as if we're just regular people. That's why we have a codeword to tell the difference between members and the 'reggies.'"

"What's the codeword?" Himiko asked. Three leaned in closer to Himiko.

"'Funny business,' " she whispered.
"Nyeh...that's actually really cool," Himiko admitted with a smile.
"Yeah! You should really join, Himiko!" Three said. "I think you'll have lots of fun!"
"Fun with what?" asked Tenko, suddenly appearing with Angie and Tsumugi behind her. She had a frown on her face and marched right up to Three. "Himiko, who's this girl, and what's she trying to get you to join? WAIT!! Is this girl the friend you were talking about?! The one who helped you bake cookies yesterday?!"
"Yeah," Himiko nodded.
"Hey! I recognize you!" Angie said. "You're one of the girls who rescued Himiko from that crazy girl many months ago!" Three brightened.
"Yeah! That's me!" she said.
"Tuh...I could have rescued Himiko, you know," Tenko huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at Three.
"Well...why didn't you?" Three asked.
"Urgh...!" Tenko scoffed. "Who do you think you are?!"
"I'm Michika!" Three lied, using one of her aliases. "I'm here to support Himiko with her cookie sale!"
"She doesn't need your support," Tenko said, stepping in between Three and Himiko. "Himiko already has me! Right, Himiko?"
"Umm..." Himiko mumbled.
"Of course you do!" Tenko interrupted.
"But...you didn't even let her finish," Three said.
"I didn't have to," Tenko said. "I already knew what she was thinking because we're best friends."
"Well...then...if you're her best friend, why dont'cha buy a cookie?" Three suggested craftily.
"Hmph! I will!" Tenko scoffed and turned to Himiko. "How much for a cookie, Himiko?"
"Nyeh...same as before," Himiko answered. Tenko paid ¥500 and grabbed a shimmery, glittering light green snickerdoodle from one of the trays. "Ooo, these are pretty, Himiko! Did you bake them all by yourself?"
"No, um...Michika helped me again," Himiko answered. Tenko glared at Three and flipped her hair at her.
"Well...they're okay, then," she said haughtily. "But, they're extra special because you helped, Himiko!"
"What are these cookies called, Himiko?" Tsumugi asked, scrutinizing a glittering blue cookie.
"Nyeh...they're called 'Snoozydoodles,'" Himiko answered. "They're snickerdoodles, but a special kind of snickerdoodles."
"Oooo! Why are they called 'Snoozydoodles?'" asked Angie.
"You have to eat them right before going to sleep to find out," Himiko answered mysteriously. Tenko hovered her cookie in front of her mouth.
"Oh! So, I have to eat this right before bed?" she asked.
"That's right," Himiko nodded.
"Aw, that's so creative, Himiko!" Tenko cried in adoration. "You're really clever, too! I bet you thought of the name!" Three rolled her eyes in annoyance. Himiko provided a little baggy for Tenko to put her cookie in, and provided some for Angie and Tsumugi, as well, after they had paid for their cookies.
"Thank you, Himiko," Tsumugi said.

"Yes! Yes! Thank you, Himiko!" Angie chirped.
"Well...I guess we'd better try out the other cookies," Tsumugi said. "Everyone else said they'd have different flavors of cookies, too. Although, I don't think I'll try Kokichi's after what happened yesterday. I can plainly still feel the burn on my tongue."
"Hmm...I thought his cookies were divine!" Angie exclaimed. "I have never felt such an intense rush of heat before! Especially in a cookie!"
"Leave it up to a degenerate male to bake something so...horrible! " Tenko spat. Three raised a brow at her.
"Degenerate male?" she repeated. She didn't like hearing her boss being referred to that way.
"Yeah! Males are all scum of the Earth!" Tenko said. "Kind of like...best friend stealers."
"I wasn't trying to steal your best friend," Three said, fed up with Tenko.

"Huh...why did you assume I was talking about you? " Tenko asked. "You know what happens to people who assume things, don't you?"

"They end up knocking all 32 teeth out of the person accusing them of assuming things?" Three replied, trying to keep her cool.
"And you're violent!" Tenko shouted. "You're clearly a bad influence on Himiko!" Three stared at her in disbelief, creating an awkward silence to linger in the air.
"Well, um...I guess we should be going then," Tsumugi said, hurriedly yanking Angie away. "C'mon, Angie. Tenko? Are you coming?"

"No. I think I'll stay right here and help Himiko, since she clearly needs my support," Tenko said, glowering at Three.
"Tenko..." Himiko sighed in exasperation, but Three merely smiled sweetly at Tenko.
"Oh, my gosh! Where'd you get your outfit?" she asked. Tenko looked down quizzically at her outfit.
"W-Why...do you want to know?" she replied with suspicion.
"It's just so pretty!" Three replied. "Are you, like, the Ultimate Princess, or the Ultimate Cheerleader, or something?"
"Um...n-no...I'm the Ultimate Aikido Master," Tenko stammered as a small blush appeared on her face.
"Oh, wow! That's even better!" Three exclaimed. "I bet you give those...degenerate males...what they deserve all the time!" The hardened look on Tenko's face from before disappeared.
"You bet I do!" she said proudly.
"Oh...I wish I could be like you!" Three breathed. "You're, like, my hero! I bet you're a hero to girls everywhere!" Tenko lowered her head bashfully, blushing like crazy.
"N-No...I'm not all that...great," she sputtered.
"I bet you'd do anything for girls, huh?" Three asked.
"Oh, yes!" Tenko answered. "So long as you aren't a degenerate male, you're a friend of mine!"
Says the girl who just accused me of stealing her best friend, Three thought to herself. "Hooray! I'm happy to hear that! But...to tell you the truth, I can't believe you just ditched your other friends. They were girls, after all, and you just let them walk right into the school where they could be potential prey for those boys-er...I mean, degenerate males." Tenko gasped with realization.
"Oh, my gosh! You're so right!" she cried. "But...what about Himiko?"
"I'll look after her," Three said. "You trust me, right? I am a girl after all."
"Ohhh...well, okay," Tenko said. Then, she smiled. "I'll trust you, Michika! Take care of Himiko!"
"Oh, I will!" Three said. "Bye! Goodbye!" Tenko waved goodbye, leaving Himiko and Three alone. Three exhaled. "Finally, she's gone!" Himiko stared at her in amazement.
"Nyeh...that was incredible!" she cried. Three shrugged modestly.
"Yeah, I guess I picked up a little bit of manipulation skills from the boss," she said. "He's way better at it than I am, though! That girl was so annoying, by the way! Is she seriously your best friend?!"
"Well, yeah, I guess," Himiko answered. "She wants to support and protect me all the time."
"Sounds more like she wants to breastfeed you, or wipe your butt after you poop," Three said in disgust. She and Himiko shuddered at the thought. "Well, anyways, now that 'Tin Cup' is gone, let's put you on the cookie map!"
"Right!" Himiko said, and gave Three a high five.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

Title: "Cult of the Cherry Blossoms"
In the bustling metropolis of Tokyo, there exists an unusual high school known as "Sakura Academy." Hidden behind cherry blossom trees, this school harbors a secret: its students are reincarnated cult leaders from history. Let's meet our four protagonists:

1. Fiona Phelps – The fiery redhead and leader of the "Westboro Blossoms." She's passionate about picketing school events, but instead of signs that read "God Hates Fags," she now holds up signs that say "Free Hugs."
   
2. Daisy Koresh – The mysterious transfer student with piercing blue eyes. She heads the "Branch Divas" club, where they practice fire dancing during lunch breaks. Her sermons now involve encouraging self-love and acceptance.
   
3. Juniper Jones – The charismatic girl who can convince anyone to drink the school cafeteria's questionable milk. She's the head of the "Jonestown Tea Society," where they brew herbal concoctions and discuss world peace.
   
4. Lily Hubbard – The brainy girl who always has her nose in ancient scrolls. She leads the "Scientology Scholars," researching past lives and auditing their classmates' chakras. Her catchphrase: "Clear your mind, clear your acne."
   

Episode 1: "Cherry Blossom Revelation"
The girls discover their true identities during a cherry blossom viewing party. Fiona, Daisy, Juniper, and Lily gather under the blooming trees, their memories awakening like petals unfurling.
"We were cult leaders?" Fiona gasps, adjusting her flower crown.
"I remember now," Daisy says, her eyes distant. "The compound, the flames...and the dance-offs."
"I used to preach about the end of the world," Juniper admits. "Now I just want a decent cup of tea."
Lily pores over her scrolls. "Our past lives hold the key to enlightenment. And maybe algebra."
As the girls navigate high school life, they face challenges:

• Club Recruitment: Fiona recruits members for the "Free Hugs Club," but her signs confuse everyone. Daisy's fire dancing auditions attract the fire department.
  
• Prom Night: Juniper insists on a "Kool-Aid" punch bowl for prom, causing panic among the teachers. Lily calculates the odds of romance using ancient numerology.
  
• Rival Cults: The "Heaven's Cheerleaders" (formerly Heaven's Gate) challenge them to a cheer-off. Fiona's pom-poms read, "Love and Tolerance."
  

"We're not just teenage girls," Daisy says one day. "We're rewriting our legacies."
"And maybe," Juniper adds, "we'll find enlightenment in trigonometry."
As cherry blossoms fall, the "Cult of the Cherry Blossoms" dances its way into the hearts of Tokyo. Their motto: "Live, laugh, and lead—without the brainwashing."
And so begins their extraordinary journey—a mix of teenage drama, spiritual awakening, and a dash of absurdity. Because even cult leaders deserve a second chance...and a good slice of cherry blossom cake.
Disclaimer: This anime is purely fictional and meant for entertainment. Any resemblance to real cult leaders is coincidental. Please don't try fire dancing at home. 🔥🌸
The anime characters were inspired by real-life cult leaders, but their traits are fictionalized. Here's the breakdown:

1. Fiona Phelps (Westboro Blossoms): Based on Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church. In the anime, she's fiery and passionate about picketing, but now holds signs that say "Free Hugs."
   
2. Daisy Koresh (Branch Divas): Inspired by David Koresh of the Branch Davidians. Mysterious and with piercing blue eyes, she leads fire dancing sessions and preaches self-love.
   
3. Juniper Jones (Jonestown Tea Society): Modeled after Jim Jones of the Jonestown cult. Charismatic and obsessed with tea, she now seeks world peace instead of mass suicide.
   
4. Lily Hubbard (Scientology Scholars): A brainy girl like L. Ron Hubbard, founder of Scientology. She researches past lives and audits classmates' chakras.
   

Remember, this is all fictional fun! 😊🌸
Certainly! Let's introduce three more female cult leaders to "Cult of the Cherry Blossoms":

1. Sakura Asahara (Aum Shinrikyo Sisters): Sakura is the enigmatic transfer student with an affinity for chemistry. She brews mysterious potions in the science lab, hoping to find enlightenment without the sarin gas. Her catchphrase: "Alchemy over anarchy."
   
2. Harmony Jeffs (FLDS Flower Maidens): Harmony, the soft-spoken girl, leads the "Flower Maidens." They wear pastel dresses and practice synchronized gardening. Instead of polygamy, they promote sisterhood and sustainable farming.
   
3. Kiku Raniere (NXIVM Navigators): Kiku is the tech-savvy genius who runs the "NXIVM Navigators" club. They optimize schedules, track chakra progress on spreadsheets, and offer self-improvement workshops. Her motto: "Empowerment through Excel."
   

These leaders add a delightful twist to Sakura Academy's already eccentric student body! 🌸

Let’s talk about rescue dogs!!
A really common issue we find when people take on a rescue dog is that they feel incredibly sorry for them - most often without having much information about their past we tend to imagine the worst case scenario and then use that to explain all of the dog’s unwanted behaviour!!
Don’t get me wrong some rescues are in a very sorry state and have had a traumatic time but in the everyday rehoming of dogs- the majority have just not been a good “fit” with their owners!
We then make allowances for every single thing they do by imagining the cause..
“he doesn’t like men as a man hit him”
“She doesn’t like mops so someone must have hit her with a mop”
“he doesn’t like people wearing hats as someone wearing a hat was horrible to him” when actually we have no idea what has caused it and to be honest the normal main cause is lack of socialising at an early age where they were not exposed to multiple situations and people wearing hats 🤷‍♀️
But even so we take them in and give them everything a dog could dream of without asking anything in return because they’ve had such an (imagined) terrible life!
So if you took in a foster child - with an unknown past, showing bad behaviour - would you make allowances for their bad behaviour and let them do what they please?
Let them go to bed when they choose?
Eat when and whatever they like?
Run around the house jumping on Furniture?
Shout and scream at you!?
And whenever questioned on their terrible anti-social behaviour explain that they had a bad life before you stepped in!?
No of course you wouldn’t because not only would you be allowing them to continue the behaviour you’re setting them and yourself up to fail in the future!!!
So you would impose simple kind boundaries like a bedtime, feeding routine, rules and boundaries and the child would begin to feel secure and safe! That would be the kindest thing to do - let them know what is expected and let them acclimatise and understand how to act!
But with dogs…. We bring them in and let them absolutely do whatever they want with no questions 🤣🤣 they rampage through our houses and lives and we say oh well - it’s because they had such a bad upbringing before we got them - well no actually it’s because they have no boundaries or discipline in your home because you feel so bad for them!! 🤷‍♀️
And yes some dogs have had a horrendous time but you know what?? Same applies we can’t feel desperately sorry for them forever we need to rebuild them and give them support and a cheerleading squad to show them there’s a brighter better life for them and that you, their owner is totally in control and you’ve got this!!! Give them trust and belief in your skills to move forward rather them see you as someone who is unable to make decisions and rules!!
It makes a massive difference!!
For anyone struggling with reactivity, these are a good place to start: https://braintrianing4dogs.com/Dog-Reactivity.
Having a reactive dog can be a lonely experience that affects your entire life. Knowing there are people out there who understand and empathize makes it easier.

Background info: When I was growing up, I was painfully shy around girls and was always super respectful (probably because my mom was domineering in my family), which led to me missing out on a lot of fun and “action.” I was a cute kid and I knew the popular girls liked me when I was a kid/tween (10-13 years old), but my parents didn’t like fashion at the time so I became uncool by the time I was in 8th grade/high school and thus undesirable to the girls I liked.
As that realization crept in, I became extremely depressed starting around sophomore year of high school all the way to college graduation due to missing out on basically everything. No date for prom. Barely partied in college and always the wallflower. Didn’t tailgate for college football. Didn’t even attend my college graduation ceremony (decided to move out and start my IT job right after finals). My confidence was shattered and I always relied on those rare instances when the pretty girls I crushed on and liked me when I was a kid gave me the time of the day, which happened off and on.
I was an extreme late bloomer to the dating scene and didn’t lose my virginity until a year after college (a meaningless hookup that I thought of as “practice” with a girl I didn’t particularly like). After I made a concreted effort to improve myself (workout, wear contact lenses, new clothes, ears pierced, tanning, strong cologne), I began frequenting bars because I didn’t find any of my female colleagues attractive (I’m an IT engineer, which might explain why). This was how I managed to get my first official “girlfriend” when I was like 25/26. She was 22 (about to graduate) and waitressing at this bar near her campus. We were together for 3+ years but broke up recently. She was exactly the kind of girl I wanted but thought was unattainable growing up: high school cheerleader, kappa sorority girl, blonde, tanned. Obviously, I embellished a lot of my past and pretended I was way cooler than I actually was in my schooldays because I was terrified she was dump me or worse, feel sorry for me.
But anyway, I’ve noticed I’ve become the exact opposite of my schooldays and the kind of guy I never wanted to be in high school: I openly stare/leer at girls I find hot, my eyes full of desire, even tho I know they probably would never date or even sleep with me (some are in college and might find me too old).
I shamelessly and openly flirt with waitresses and try to get their number or Instagram (I’ve slept with a couple of waitresses that way, but my success rate is low. Doesn’t deter me). I frequent hooters by myself (both my local one and whenever I travel for work) and both flirt and stare. Sometimes, I would send unsolicited flowers to a waitress to her restaurant the day after meeting her.
When I’m at the mall, I make obvious eye contact with girls I like and smile at them, sometimes even wink.
I follow Instagram influencers and not only like all their pics, but leave cringe comments and even slide into their DM (including my current celeb crush: Sydney Sweeney).
I hit on interns who work at the same building as me while waiting for the elevator.
Basically I’ve become quite shameless in my approach and stopped caring about what my “crushes” think of me. Is this just part of growing up and finally being secured/confident in myself and caring less about other peoples opinion? Or is this bad?
P.S. I’ve never used any dating apps because of the stigma of online dating from my 2000s youth and part of me always stubbornly think it’s beneath me. I also think the girls I would match with on apps wouldn’t be my type.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

hello! I hope this is allowed here...but I’ve always found queer spaces to be super safe. I do not identify as non binary. I am a bisexual cis female. I grew up very religious and sheltered. I’m about to turn 24 and I am feeling pretty lost when it comes to what’s comfortable clothing wise. I was hoping I could get some tips.
I am in a relationship with a cis male, and I have been almost only wearing his clothes for a while now. I think it’s like 30% that the clothes are baggy and hide parts i’m self conscious about, and 70% because masculine clothes feel more right to me. I used to always wear dresses and bows and all of the traditionally “gender appropriate” things, but now i’m feeling it was more conditioning than anything. I was a cheerleader from Jr High to college so it’s almost a requirement in that type of activity. For quite some time now i’ve been trying to really feel out what feels comfortable. I find myself wearing something feminine, and immediately when I get home I wanna rip it off my body, it is NOT comfortable.
I guess what i’m looking for is some fashion tips😅 I like to be fashionable, but I want to be comfortable…and i’m pretty lost on masculine fashion. (ps: the titties are quite large and I do not like to accentuate that.)
TIA🩷

(*I did my makeup here but used FaceApp for the skin and hair!)
I was raised conservative and Christian. I even went to a private Christian high school. I had written a very dark poem that I don’t even remember what it said…but I do remember how I accidentally left it in class and someone anonymously turned it in which triggered a meeting w me, my parents and the principle. My dad was so upset that my mom was so sad that I learned early on to “keep up appearances”.
Some of the usual suspects: Sneaking into moms shoes at a young age, when older I was sneaking into my sisters wardrobes. When one got married, I hated what I was wearing and was so envious of her wedding dress. I played video games as female characters (and still do even at 53 now). I was jealous of the cheerleaders in high school, as an adult I almost always went as a female character for Halloween like Elsa from frozen, Supergirl or Alice in Wonderland…the list goes on.
It was probably that last costume listed that I started thinking it was more than just cross dressing. I remember coming home from that and crying (again, adult) as I didn’t want to take that look off my face. I didn’t know it at the time but that was gender dysphoria.
I rarely dated as although I liked women and still do, there was something different in how I’d relate with them. I pushed things down, binged and purged clothes and makeup more than I can remember. Eventually about 20 yrs ago I started almost exclusively going out with women who were trans. I know there are a lot of creepy chasers out there but in my case, looking at all the signs over the years, I was clearly trying to see THEIR life, and sadly kind of live my life vicariously through them I guess. I even ended up marrying a woman that is trans and still am after five years. She knew about my background beforehand but I was still trying to convince myself and her that it was just sporadic cross dressing.
At my work, I am allowed to wear nail polish and at first I felt paranoid about this and only did a few days a week and by now it’s pretty much 24/7 where I often forget I’m even wearing it. My dysphoria starting shooting up drastically then and I suddenly started really (allowing?) getting jealous of women’s clothes and body shapes. I’d feel awful about it but it was and is relentless. Around this time my wife was getting breast implants and I found myself happy for her but almost immediately I got extremely envious. Once again the person I married was essentially living the life I wish I started DECADES ago and I hadn’t even started HRT. I wouldn’t allow myself to even consider it.
Well there was an unrelated crisis months ago where we both went into individual therapy. And one thing, the main thing, that came out of mine is that to no surprise at all getting diagnosed with gender dysphoria.
I have an appointment that was made MONTHS ago (Florida, enough said) and it’s finally a week away as of tomorrow. To say that I am excited, scared, worried and so many other adjectives is a huge understatement. I’m not going to chicken out but man my wife and I will likely be getting divorced (still be friends) and my family still doesn’t even know as they will likely be blindsighted. I predict my mom will cry and my older sister will get mad but maybe I’m wrong. My brother cut me off five years ago when he found out I was marrying someone trans. The one person in my family who DOES know this about me is my younger sister who I’m closest to. Fortunately she and I are the same politically and culturally.
Have any of you that are on HRT actually waited a certain number of months (or even a year or more?) to tell family so that you could tell how it was making you feel mentally while on it so you could know 100% you weren’t one of the rare people that STOPS taking HRT? I just don’t know when and how to break something so life changing to them. And they are in California so I can’t exactly have a face to face meeting unfortunately. Did any of you get on a video call and tell your mom or dad? My younger sister has agreed to support me in this way if I do it when she is available to be at my moms for a call. Originally I was going to call May 1. Then I thought day of the first injection on May 20…but again now I’m wondering if I should wait at least two or three months to see how I’m feeling and looking. But I’m also afraid if I wait too long that they will next see me and I will look androgynous or something. I don’t usually see them more than once every 2-3 years and I will likely look VERY different by then.
Thank you for those that made it to the end of this, I’m sorry it was so long. I’m very excited but very stressed about all the likely fallout from this too. I can only hope that because I had married someone who is trans that they don’t think she suddenly made me this way but instead that maybe it will soften the shock with it being closer in the family than a transgender daughter in law or sister in law when they essentially always had another daughtesister in our family.

Do you ever look at a passionate, creative, nerdy power couple like Matt Mercer and Marisha Ray or Clare Grant and Seth Green and think, "F***, they seem like they're having so much fun together! I would like to have a relationship like that."?
Do you find that you go a little crazy if you have not expressed your creativity or learned something new in 36-48 hours, and would like to have a personal cheerleadeco-conspirator to help inspire you and join you on the adventure?
Do you feel like you're a black sheep in the world that refuses to conform to pseudo-traditional expectations and like being around others like yourself?
If you answered yes to any or all of these questions, are currently receptive to new friendships/relationships, and potentially appreciate oxford commas - then I would like to get to know you!
About me:
39M, >6', cis PUNK (Professional Urbanite, No Kids), thriving in the Triangle area. I'm a well rounded nerd with a penchant for sci-fi/fantasy books, games, TV shows, and movies. I also enjoy working with my hands and being crafty, playing/listening to music, and discovering treasures in thrift stores and flea markets. Occasionally I bake bread or a cheesecake that has elicited more than 1 marriage proposal from those that tried it. But typically I enjoy cooking a nice Japanese curry, or having a fancy cup of coffee.
I love being inspired and inspiring others. Creativity is my drug, and it has made me one of those people that wakes up early in the morning (not a mutual requirement) without an alarm because I want to make the most of the day. I also like learning new things and gradually gathering skills and knowledge that is seemingly so eccentric but it might just keep us alive in a zombie invasion.
I definitely land in the 'alt' category appearance-wise if that is a concern you may have. I have a lot of black clothing, tattoos, and wear big dumb work boots almost every day. You by no means should feel like you have to match this aesthetic in your own choices. You be you. I just know this seems to be a big factor for some people.
Other things about me that could be deal breakers for some people so might as well get them on the table: I'm a giant - tall, broad, and currently a bit overweight (but been working on it with exciting results). I started going bald when I turned 30 (thanks parents' genes!) - I'm fine with it and keep it buzzed/shaved (but even before I started losing my hair I wore hats 90% of the time anyway). I'm not attached to my phone 24/7 - I'm just not, it's not my thing. If someone texts me I'll likely get back to them in less than an hour, but I'm pretty much never staring/looking at my phone for more than 1min at a time. This seems to be an odd deal breaker for some, but... I enjoy/prefer meeting people irl - it wouldn't have to be an immediate thing, there needs to be at least some repartee to feel comfortable with the idea. But I guess what I want to put out there is that I'm not really looking for a online only forever style of relationship. I want to go on adventures together some day, so please be open to the idea of meeting irl.
If you read all this, thank you! I hope you're having a good day today. And if this post appeals to your own desires, please drop me a message. I'm looking forward to it!

Let's break down self-confidence in simple terms. Imagine you're wearing an invisible superhero cape – that's a bit like self-confidence. It's the belief in yourself, the feeling that says, "Hey, I can handle this!" It's not about being perfect; it's more like trusting that you can take on challenges and learn from them. Self-confidence is your sidekick when things get a bit tough, reminding you that you've got what it takes. So, it's like having your own personal cheerleader inside you, boosting you up and saying, "You're awesome, and you can do this!"
If I had to explain it in one sentence, I’d say.. it’s about the trust that you’ll be okay no matter what.
Now boosting your confidence is like giving yourself a personal upgrade for navigating life's twists and turns. I wouldn’t just blindly go for some mantras or affirmations (you gotta know how to use them) or complex strategies (the mind usually dismisses them) but simple, everyday tricks that can turn you into a more confident version of yourself.
Outside of these tips and tricks, you need to remember that there's usually a REASON you don't feel confident. And though these tips WILL help you get a temporary boost, you need to find the SOURCE of your lack of confidence because naturally you're already confident, but you just covered it all up with fears, doubts, insecurities, etc that were created through life experiences. Please... get to the bottom of that if you want LONG lasting results.
And now... off to tips.
Power Poses:
Strike a superhero pose! Standing tall and taking up space for a couple of minutes can actually boost your confidence. It's like telling your brain, "I got this!"
Daily Affirmations:
Talk to yourself in the mirror with positive affirmations. It might feel a bit funny at first, but it's like giving yourself a daily dose of self-love and encouragement.
Shadow Work:
Digging into shadow work is like turning on a light in the corners of your mind where doubts and insecurities hide. By understanding and accepting those hidden aspects, you make space for genuine and lasting confidence to grow. It's like uncovering your true self, flaws and all, and realizing you're pretty awesome just as you are
Smile Power:
Flash those pearly whites. Smiling not only makes you feel better, but it also sends signals to others that you're confident and approachable.
Don’t Fake It Till You Make It:
Pretending you're confident, even if you're not feeling it might be tempting and you may convince yourself for a lil while, but it will not work long-term. Eventually the deep seeded belief about yourself and others will surface.
Learn Something New:
Pick up a new skill or hobby. It's like proving to yourself that you're capable of growth and learning, which does wonders for confidence.
Challenge Negative Thoughts:
When negative thoughts creep in, challenge them. It's like putting on your detective hat and investigating if those thoughts are really true. It’s a process and if you’ve never done any self-discovery or subconscious work, it might be work looking into.
Surround Yourself with Positivity:
Hang out with people who lift you up. Positive vibes from friends can be contagious and give your confidence a natural boost.
Celebrate Small Wins:
Acknowledge and celebrate even the smallest victories. It's like throwing a mini party for yourself, building up your confidence over time.
Happy discoveries!

I am 60 yo nowdays, and lived with only 3 different Woman in my whole life. This is my true life.
When i was child, i avoided other boys when unclothing at the swimming pool or sports grounds, because i was younger and less mature (i had jumped in a higher class). I also noticed my penis wasent making much big in my underpants, compared to others...
My first gf (who became my wife for 30 years) was disappointed because she wouldent cum, and used to humiliate me about the size of my penis. The fact is that she accepted to make love only once a month, and... i wasent performing at all, cuming very quickly because being "so" needy... It was another opportunity for her to criticize my sex. I started to jerk twice a week for years, in order to stay "in good health" and gradually fantazied on "being a sub" or "living as a slave" to her. I used to smell her dirty panties or nylons to get excited.
She often complained with me masturbating for years. When i suggested that i was "to some extend" her sub, and should wear a chastity device... she refused, shocked, and asked for divorce.
I was destroyed mentally and signed up a dating website with FLR orientation. My second GF was a real Dominant Woman, and educated me to be a good sub. she taught me how to lick properly, and managed to drain my prostate and even fist me. I had a narrow escape that She did not force me to wear a chastety device, but after She cropped me twice 50 hits, i completly stopped to touch myself and totally submitted to Her.
She also wanted me to be fine, and informed me that i had a "blood penis", so very small when flacid, but over the average in erection. She used my sex to please Her, and love cessions could last from 20 to 45 minutes. she said i was a "bull", not a cuck.
Now i have married an other Woman, who owns me, and still considers me as an obedient puppy and bull.
I did not know that there were "blood" or "flesh" penisses... and tought (wrong) for years that i was undersized.

so as a dry skin melanated girly, i think i’m really close to perfecting my base routine. i’ve been wearing makeup for a long time (had mac in middle school, i was a cheerleader) but if the “filtered look” is a 10, im probably at a 7.5 right now. i have normal to dry skin, but most tutorials i see are for oily skin.
i know to use water based products, but im TIRED of that dewy look. i wanna look matte and airbrushed, but not dry. i have a solid skincare routine and i dermaplane, but looking dewy all the time takes away from that “flawless” look. i’ve been building my new and improved makeup kit for about 8 months now, and i wanna add some must-haves to my stash.
so for the dry skin girls: what are your heaviest hitters in your makeup routine? drugstore and high end recs 💕 thank you!

(Sorry long read)
I've played a lot of games throughout my life. But one I've never tried was fallout. With the new show that came out (haven't seen it yet) and my former friends from hs having played it and mentioning it to me in the past thought I'd give it a go. Lucky for me epic games had previously given out fallout 3 and new Vagas for free, so I had them in my library. So I decided to start with fallout 3 and started it up. Played through episode 1 and I was a complete manic after bring given a pistol I killed as many people in the vault as I could. Before I learned how to pull the gun out of the inventory I punched a armored guard to death and stripped him of all this belongings. He laid in his underpants at my feet. I ran through the vault trying to get to the checkpoint of the mission and I ended up bludgeoning the overseer to death. His daughter came running and yelled at me for killing her father. So I killed her too. Before I made my way to the vault exit. Somehow she survived and met me there and I left the vault. The title for chapter 2 started flashing on screen. And I walked through the baren land and made my way to an atomic bomb worshipper area. I went up to a door that was locked so I picked the lock and saw people sleeping in beds. I walked over to them and shot them in the head till they died. I only saw 2 people in beds at first entrance into the shack. And I killed them both but somehow more people came and shot me to death. My body ragdolled across the room and I noticed I was only wearing underpants as well. I respawed and entered another building and saw more people sleeping. So I shot them in the head with my pistol. This time I was ready aimed my gun and took out as many people as I could that ambushed me but once again I was shot and killed. At this point I did not know why I was playing this game and used alt+f4 and went about my day.
Advice welcome, I want to be part of the community and would like to be a fan of the fallout games. My problems seem to be that the game is boring and not eventful, don't see the reason to continue it. The only thing that peaked my interest was where tf my father in the game went, wouldn't mind tracking him down.

So it’s commonly said that hypnosis can’t make you do things you don’t want to do. So how could Mr Krupp just so easily transform into Captain underpants considering his personality is so different? Well anyone who’s that nasty is usually miserable, and they take it out on those around them. Seeing kids who feel free to do what they want and not stick to the rules just drives home to Mr. Krupp how trapped he feels in his miserable life, that’s why he hates George and Harold so much. Deep down Mr Krupp wants to be a hero, he wants to be admired and he wants to let go once in a while. That’s why it’s so easy for the boys to hypnotise him into a superhero who wears nothing but underpants.
Sincerely, a parent who has every single captain underpants book on audible. (Help)

Went to a 7-day trip to Vietnam, tried using Patagonia Refugio 26L,
failed to pack all this in my kanken, so bought this one new since I was looking for a bigger bag.
Tried Fjallraven Raven 28, but it was heavier, always fall forward and the back panel is uncomfortable for me.
Went with Patagonia for the first time, and I absolutely love it.
Clothing worn on plane:
Sunglasses
Uniqlo Airism Underpants
Uniqlo Airism T-shirt loose fit for sleeping, used as pajama the whole trip
ABC Jogger, really comfortable, felt a bit warm for the weather, but perfect for the plane/nighttime stroll
Thicker socks for plane
Merino buff
Vivobarefoot Trail Knit FG
Light jacket (will be packed the whole trip)
Clothing packed, packed in Peak Design cubes M&S, and shoe pouch,:
Uniqlo Airism Underpants x6
T-shirt x5 (Mostly Uniqlo, for the lightweight)
Tank top x1 (H&M)
Socks x2 (Darn tough no show)
Swimming trunks (doubles as a everyday shorts)
Xero Shoes Z-trek ii
Toiletries all packed In MUJI Toiletries bag:
Matador Travel Towel
Toothbrush, Toothpaste
Razor
Deodorant
Facewash
Moisturizer, Retinol, Sunscreen
Bandaid
Headache, diarrhea, motion sickness medicine
Loop Earplug
Tech:
Macbook Air 13"
Apple Watch
Bose Headphones
Anker Powerbank
External SSD
Anker powerblock, USB-C x3, USB-A x1
Cable charger (USB-C #1)
Thunderbolt Cable (USB-C #2)
Short USB-C-USB-C (USB-C #3)
USB-A -> USB-C (USB-A #1)
Documents:
Passport
Wise card
Japan Residence card
Insurance card
ETC packed in MUJI rolling pouch:
Keytool + key, Repel umbrella, Mask, Ballpoint, Spork
What went right:

1. Packing was surprisingly easy even though it's an EDC pack, since I had to unpack all toiletries, clothing in each hotel anyway. The bag is really flexible, so repacking everything is a breeze.
   
2. MVP for this trip is the earplug, hotel rooms that I got was not soundproof, and if you know Vietnam, they blast their horn almost 24 hours. Arguably I can just bring wireless earphones instead of big headphones, but the weight, and the shape makes it so easy for it not to fall from my ear (tested, 8 hours of sleep, it stayed in my ear)
   
3. Bigger bag means more clothing, means I don't have to do laundry in this trip. I felt it's overpacking since normally I only pack max. 4 clothing and do laundry at least once in all my trip. But honestly, the burden-free feeling that I can just throw it in my packing cube is amazing (I am lazy)
   

What went wrong:

1. My toothbrush got flagged by airport security, not my umbrella, not my big face soap, not my laptop, toothbrush. It's a clicFIT brush, so I think all metal body and the handle part triggered them. I stayed still while the guy unpack everything and didn't find my toothbrush until about 15 minutes. Extra staff finally found out.
   
2. I got upgraded randomly by the airlines and then got moved to front seat, I was planning to try my pack underseat in front of me, but there's no seat, so can't do. The flight going back, there was a front seat, but I stupidly forgot about it and just put my backpack to the overhead luggage.
   
3. Wearing barefoot shoes is fine, but wearing barefoot sandals, without properly preparing my foot first was a mistake, I got blister on my heel and had to wear shoes the rest of the trip. Train your feet folks.
   

I'm really happy with my first Patagonia backpack, I think I'll buy their MLC mini or something for longer trip or if I plan to bring something back from my destination.
All and all, Vietnam is absolutely amazing place to travel to, I found my favorite food other than Banh mi there, which is Bánh cuốn, egg & salt coffee. I recommend it so much, I consumed them everyday when I was there.

Doomed to spend the rest of my life in love with my best friend
I apologize for how long this is in advance.
I hope my title is me being dramatic and this is something I move on from, but as of right now that doesn’t seem likely.
I (20s/F) recently went on a trip to my best friend’s graduation which was a few hours away from me (about a 4 hour drive). I was able to rent a car and get a hotel room to be there for her (as someone of my financial status those were big hits to take this month), but I would’ve done whatever it would take to be there to celebrate her.
For context, my best friend is one of the smartest and most talented people I know. Everything she touches turns into gold, from sports to academics to painting, singing, crafting and dancing she excels at everything. We met when we were only 11 years old and I was drawn to her from the start and wanted to be her friend so badly. Since that was over ten years ago, I don’t remember many details other than the fact that we became really close and I begged my parents to do everything possible so that we could go to the same high school. (We lived in different zoning areas that would’ve put us in different schools).
I am and always have been the complete opposite of her. She has the most colorful personality and wears so many bright pastels, neons and prints that bring out that aspect of her. She’s friendly and hilarious the type of person that brightens a room with her presence. She’s effortlessly beautiful and so kind that everyone seems drawn to her. I was always the opposite sticking to all blacks to hide my figure and kept to myself mostly with a few friends here and there. She was the popular cheerleader and I was the friend she would get made fun of for spending time with. (Think Regina and Janis from Mean Girls, except if Regina was the kindest, funniest girl there).
We were inseparable, doing everything we could together spending so much time at her house or going to the beach together. We told each other secrets I’ll never tell anyone else and she would make fun of my snoring during sleep overs. She helped me through my fear of different animals and showed me colors in this world I didn’t know existed.
I lead a fairly difficult family life and have struggled with very deep depression since I was fairly young, but I tried to trouble her with it as little as possible. To be honest I think she’s maybe only heard about my depression once or twice, because whenever I was near her it felt as if my problems didn’t exist. She made me see the beauty in each day. I was also very sick with some threats of terminal disease in my highschool years, and she was always so attentive to me. She would brings flowers and fruit arrangements along with letters expressing how much she cared for me and silly little gifts. When I came out of the closet as Bisexual to my friends in middle school, she made me a bracelet out of pony beads with the bisexual flag colors that said “I accept you” it made me cry then and it still makes me cry to think about now.
We graduated high school together and when it came time to plan our futures, I realized she was destined for great things, but was not. I am a caretaker for some disabled family members and I wasn’t able to go to school because my main priority was my family. She however got into her dream school and would be moving away within a few months. We spent the summer before she moved spending as much time together as we could, ending things off with a beach day spent watching the sunset together and crying about how much we would miss each other. Due to my low self esteem I found myself in a lot of different relationships with different guys whom most I can’t even remember, but my heart has never broken the way it did when she had to go.
We spent the first few months of her being in school facetiming at least two-three times a week, but of course as she had classes and new friendships to tend to, that slowly faded. We went from calling once a month to maybe once a semester and before I knew it, she was graduating.
Here are where things get really complicated and I become an asshole.
When she left for school, I was recently single out of a very abusive relationship that took over my last highschool year and had sworn off dating for a while. During that time I found myself wanting to be near her as much as possible and realized this might be deeper than just love for a friend. I tried talking about it with a few other friends at the time, but they all said it seemed as though I was just sad she was moving away, rather than having actual romantic feelings for her. About 6 months after she left I met the most perfect man I have ever laid eyes on. He’s kind, attractive, attentive to my every needs and everyone absolutely adores him. I fell in love hard and six months after we met, we became a couple.
When my best friend came down from school to meet him and spend time with me, she absolutely hated him. She gave him dirty looks and just didn’t want to interact with him at all. This wasn’t strange to me as she’s known me for so many years and has never liked any of my boyfriends, but it did surprise me a bit as her and my boyfriend have so much in common that other friends of mine have referred to them as the male and female versions of themselves. I was really worried because I was serious about this guy, but my best friend is so important to me.
With time, it seemed as though me and my best friend wouldn’t talk for months at a time and I fell deeper into my depression. She came back every now and then and we’d get lunch and catch up a bit, but that was the extent of it. On one of those occasions she spent time with me and my boyfriend and they got along so much better than before, laughing and joking with one another. It made me really happy.
During her time at school she had a few relationships here and there, but nothing really too serious up until recently. It seemed she also found the perfect guy for her and she has this new glow to her 8 had never seen before. He seems perfect for her in every way and when she introduced me to him, i could see they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. He looked at her the same way my boyfriend has always looked at me, but it made me so sad.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago and me, my boyfriend, and six other friends all travel to my best friend’s graduation. I cried almost the whole way there, not being able to believe she finally did it and being so insanely proud of her. ( I am a very emotional person and have been described as a cry baby many times haha). I found myself crying again walking into the graduation ceremony and once again when she walked the stage. At some point during or after all of this, I was finally told by one of our mutual friends that my best friend would be moving again in August, this time across the country to continue her education and pursue her master’s degree.
The rest of the trip is now a blur to me as I spent every hour of it as intoxicated as I possibly could be to cop with the new reality that I am losing my best friend for the second time now. It was so hard to keep in touch before when the distance wasn’t nearly as bad as it now will be and all of this has just brought back so many old feelings I thought I had repressed deep down.
All I remember from that trip is how beautiful she looked. She was like a princess in her cap and gown and how badly I wanted to spend time with her , but of course so did everyone else that had traveled to celebrate with her.
The thing is I adore my boyfriend, he does everything for me and I want to make him as happy as he makes me. Her boyfriend is also so great, he loves everything about her and loves her the way she deserves to be loved. He also has a really good family, a great job and is working his ass off at college. If anything would have ever happened between us two I would’ve done nothing but hold her back.
I don’t really have a purpose for writing this other than getting it off my chest and maybe the hope that someone will tell me “You’re not in love with her, this is normal friendship love” for my own mental sanity. I just know soon enough we’ll be distant memories in each other’s past who don’t have any real contact with one another. I feel like I had come to terms with that reality, but then seeing her again made that truth a lot harder to bear with, considering I saw so many old photos of us together as kids and teens. I wish I could go back in time and not have even said hi to her in history class so that I could spare myself the pain of watching her move on from me one day.

Doomed to spend the rest of my life in love with my best friend
I apologize for how long this is in advance.
I hope my title is me being dramatic and this is something I move on from, but as of right now that doesn’t seem likely.
I (20s/F) recently went on a trip to my best friend’s graduation which was a few hours away from me (about a 4 hour drive). I was able to rent a car and get a hotel room to be there for her (as someone of my financial status those were big hits to take this month), but I would’ve done whatever it would take to be there to celebrate her.
For context, my best friend is one of the smartest and most talented people I know. Everything she touches turns into gold, from sports to academics to painting, singing, crafting and dancing she excels at everything. We met when we were only 11 years old and I was drawn to her from the start and wanted to be her friend so badly. Since that was over ten years ago, I don’t remember many details other than the fact that we became really close and I begged my parents to do everything possible so that we could go to the same high school. (We lived in different zoning areas that would’ve put us in different schools).
I am and always have been the complete opposite of her. She has the most colorful personality and wears so many bright pastels, neons and prints that bring out that aspect of her. She’s friendly and hilarious the type of person that brightens a room with her presence. She’s effortlessly beautiful and so kind that everyone seems drawn to her. I was always the opposite sticking to all blacks to hide my figure and kept to myself mostly with a few friends here and there. She was the popular cheerleader and I was the friend she would get made fun of for spending time with. (Think Regina and Janis from Mean Girls, except if Regina was the kindest, funniest girl there).
We were inseparable, doing everything we could together spending so much time at her house or going to the beach together. We told each other secrets I’ll never tell anyone else and she would make fun of my snoring during sleep overs. She helped me through my fear of different animals and showed me colors in this world I didn’t know existed.
I lead a fairly difficult family life and have struggled with very deep depression since I was fairly young, but I tried to trouble her with it as little as possible. To be honest I think she’s maybe only heard about my depression once or twice, because whenever I was near her it felt as if my problems didn’t exist. She made me see the beauty in each day. I was also very sick with some threats of terminal disease in my highschool years, and she was always so attentive to me. She would brings flowers and fruit arrangements along with letters expressing how much she cared for me and silly little gifts. When I came out of the closet as Bisexual to my friends in middle school, she made me a bracelet out of pony beads with the bisexual flag colors that said “I accept you” it made me cry then and it still makes me cry to think about now.
We graduated high school together and when it came time to plan our futures, I realized she was destined for great things, but was not. I am a caretaker for some disabled family members and I wasn’t able to go to school because my main priority was my family. She however got into her dream school and would be moving away within a few months. We spent the summer before she moved spending as much time together as we could, ending things off with a beach day spent watching the sunset together and crying about how much we would miss each other. Due to my low self esteem I found myself in a lot of different relationships with different guys whom most I can’t even remember, but my heart has never broken the way it did when she had to go.
We spent the first few months of her being in school facetiming at least two-three times a week, but of course as she had classes and new friendships to tend to, that slowly faded. We went from calling once a month to maybe once a semester and before I knew it, she was graduating.
Here are where things get really complicated and I become an asshole.
When she left for school, I was recently single out of a very abusive relationship that took over my last highschool year and had sworn off dating for a while. During that time I found myself wanting to be near her as much as possible and realized this might be deeper than just love for a friend. I tried talking about it with a few other friends at the time, but they all said it seemed as though I was just sad she was moving away, rather than having actual romantic feelings for her. About 6 months after she left I met the most perfect man I have ever laid eyes on. He’s kind, attractive, attentive to my every needs and everyone absolutely adores him. I fell in love hard and six months after we met, we became a couple.
When my best friend came down from school to meet him and spend time with me, she absolutely hated him. She gave him dirty looks and just didn’t want to interact with him at all. This wasn’t strange to me as she’s known me for so many years and has never liked any of my boyfriends, but it did surprise me a bit as her and my boyfriend have so much in common that other friends of mine have referred to them as the male and female versions of themselves. I was really worried because I was serious about this guy, but my best friend is so important to me.
With time, it seemed as though me and my best friend wouldn’t talk for months at a time and I fell deeper into my depression. She came back every now and then and we’d get lunch and catch up a bit, but that was the extent of it. On one of those occasions she spent time with me and my boyfriend and they got along so much better than before, laughing and joking with one another. It made me really happy.
During her time at school she had a few relationships here and there, but nothing really too serious up until recently. It seemed she also found the perfect guy for her and she has this new glow to her 8 had never seen before. He seems perfect for her in every way and when she introduced me to him, i could see they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. He looked at her the same way my boyfriend has always looked at me, but it made me so sad.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago and me, my boyfriend, and six other friends all travel to my best friend’s graduation. I cried almost the whole way there, not being able to believe she finally did it and being so insanely proud of her. ( I am a very emotional person and have been described as a cry baby many times haha). I found myself crying again walking into the graduation ceremony and once again when she walked the stage. At some point during or after all of this, I was finally told by one of our mutual friends that my best friend would be moving again in August, this time across the country to continue her education and pursue her master’s degree.
The rest of the trip is now a blur to me as I spent every hour of it as intoxicated as I possibly could be to cop with the new reality that I am losing my best friend for the second time now. It was so hard to keep in touch before when the distance wasn’t nearly as bad as it now will be and all of this has just brought back so many old feelings I thought I had repressed deep down.
All I remember from that trip is how beautiful she looked. She was like a princess in her cap and gown and how badly I wanted to spend time with her , but of course so did everyone else that had traveled to celebrate with her.
The thing is I adore my boyfriend, he does everything for me and I want to make him as happy as he makes me. Her boyfriend is also so great, he loves everything about her and loves her the way she deserves to be loved. He also has a really good family, a great job and is working his ass off at college. If anything would have ever happened between us two I would’ve done nothing but hold her back.
I don’t really have a purpose for writing this other than getting it off my chest and maybe the hope that someone will tell me “You’re not in love with her, this is normal friendship love” for my own mental sanity. I just know soon enough we’ll be distant memories in each other’s past who don’t have any real contact with one another. I feel like I had come to terms with that reality, but then seeing her again made that truth a lot harder to bear with, considering I saw so many old photos of us together as kids and teens. I wish I could go back in time and not have even said hi to her in history class so that I could spare myself the pain of watching her move on from me one day.

LS and VIN required me to have a wide local excision. Not much fun at all, but hey, at least I don’t itch anymore. #facepalm #badjokes
The problem is that in the surgery, they had to remove part of my clitoral hood. So I seem to have a permanently exposed clitoris. Currently miserable for wearing pants or even underpants. Scratching my head as to what to do.
I am hoping, perhaps there still some swelling that needs to go down, and it will return to a more protected place when it does.
Anyone ever go through anything like this? Glad to have the VIN gone but….shoot