Killjoy

I liked your tattoos; you seemed cool. Our matching danger days tats immediately singled us out as something I’d enjoy. But I was kinda a poser, always a softie, and you were an emo boy.

Your vision of your future shared a sliver of what I’ve always dreamed of wanting. Dancing under the Vegas lights. Your home. Thought that would take us into a future together.

We fit together easily, two punk kids that happened to be trans. That made me comfortable as I was just exploring the beginning of what it meant to attract men as a girl. You were just a tranny chaser, in the end, Barbie always warned me.

For the first thirty days of being yours, you’d pull up every night, a blunt rolled and Red Bull in the cup holder for me. I’d spent the last two hours doing my makeup, shaving, oiling my body, picking out lingerie, wearing my pleasers so I towered over you like an Amazonian, and you were just a little boy.

We’d fuck every day straight for the next month and try everything as what we were was brand new to anything I’d explored. Having the ability to pick your dick size, you’d just carry four different sizes depending on the kind of freak I wanted.

We started off small in the beginning, and as the cycle progressed, you’d stretch me out to take the biggest one every time, and you’d bite me, kiss every inch of my body, cover my nipples in hickies. I’d fuck my very first pussy, and it would become a regular thing to make me cum, but you’d fuck yourself after with a giant dildo to cum after you had already fucked me for hours. Hours of being banged kept me coming back for more, yet our dynamic never felt correct.

The girl I was becoming wanted a man, and you were just a tranny-obsessed boy chasing the idea of masculinity, trying to impress a girl like me.

My whole life I’d never fuck, I was a girl after all. I just always wanted to be taken by a man, bent over and filled. Fucking you felt wrong. You never fucked me until I came, and I wasn’t skilled enough to make you cum. I felt like your body was foreign to me, but you obsessed over mine, so it was attention I’d continue to entertain.

Something was always off. I had daddy issues, and you had mommy issues. You projected too hard trying to be a man, but you wanted to be fucked like a little boy and held by a mommy. Crazy how quickly a flame like that, which burned intensely bright, could go out so quickly.

You met all my friends and took me out to the bars. We built up so fast until I cut it off in an instant. I shut down the idea of us in a flash. Something along the way, maybe how you were never fully supportive, shit-talked my twin, and it just gave me the ick.

The OnlyFans content we created would sum up the experience of us: a fleeting moment of lust between two extremely horny beings. I just wanted validation yet confused love for attention like the Leo in me seems to always do.

Dedicated to “The Porn Star”