The Giver and the Gifts

That's why I think of them, like my breasts, as gifts. Unfortunately, a lot of men don't care to accept such presents (although, quite frankly, more than a few do appreciate them). Brad, I feared, was one of the former, rather than one of the latter.

He'd said not a word, since hearing my poetic confession, as it were, of my transsexual--or hermaphroditic--nature and the offering, in my verse, of all of my charms to him as gifts that were, at the same time, "intimations of intimacy" to follow--if he wished to accept them and the additional gift--the gift of me, of my sex--that they implied. Obviously, Brad was not interested. He drove on, eyes fixed upon the road ahead, jaw like steel, shoulders stiff and formal, seeking, no doubt, the earliest opportunity to turn his car around and be rid of me forever.

My tears flowed; I couldn't stop them. I didn't want to stop them. I wanted--I needed--a good cry, to get the pain and grief out. Silently, so as not to upset Brad any more than he already was, I let it pour freely from my anguished soul, a lifetime of fear and anger, of sorrow and shame, of desire and passion, of self-doubt and misery, of conflicting and confused masculinity and femininity. I was more than attractive. I was fucking gorgeous. Both my friends and my mirror tell me this, and, well, I may have my share of faults, my share of problems, and my share of issues, but false modesty isn't one of them. I'm as beautiful as any actress who's ever appeared on the silver screen or the cattiest model who's ever strutted her stuff on a Parisian runway. My hair is perfect. My makeup is flawless. My breasts are magnificent. My butt is heavenly. I'm better looking, by far, than all but a few of the loveliest genetic girls--my cock and balls notwithstanding. The one thing I don't have, though, is the gaping hole of a bloody cunt, the so-called wound that never heals.

As unlikely as it seems--to me, at least--a lot of men still want a pussy, rather than a tight asshole inside a sleek, firm-soft ass, to fuck, and that I can't--or won't--provide. I have other, better gifts to give.