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I'd become a woman someday, tits & ass miracle saving me from my sexless horn-rimmed existence. I'd been practising, seizing on any clue, peering coyly over the edge of my glasses as I sipped; I'd begun requesting nightcaps, all rehearsal for the world where men would admire me, and women go squint-eyed with envy and I'd remain cool in my features, knowing roads lay open to me, my brain ticking dizzy with possibilities, cogs grinding merrily behind the cipher of my smile. pantomime the Angels pulled; Charlie was wise, plucking them from earlier lives of bored model, unappreciated meter maid-- their subterfuge was the masquerade: soft kittenish things, crazy chorus girls, an occasional bespectacled shrew, unsuspect in the guise of femininity. identity, your curvy sihouettes backlit by explosions; I'm grown now, and practiced, equipped with the accoutrements of womanhood. I wait to fan the flames, and how lovely I'll look--twin conflagrations pooling up in my eyes, moving my mouth as I please. All I need is the cue to fish the gun from my purse, delicate elegant snubnose snug in my hands, arms straight, legs locked to the ground, pumping lead to the target; you must understand: I am ready. |
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About Standards |
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