Anna-Marie With Her Shotgun -- Part Eleven -- Hemato-Tomato -- A Head On My Shoulders

High school was like a boxing match while dancing in the nude, deranged men wanting touch you all over, despite being of the opposite sex. No mater how much one may be perceived as male, there was no escaping the similar feeling that other girls experienced when dressing like men, and the male protagonist not being able to explain why they were turned on by you. This was part of why it was so much easier to court men, and not ladies, despite my obvious sexual preferences to the contrary. And the seemingly contradicting caring nature I possessed, not wanting to burst into the room when Ashley was getting dressed for the prom.

There are good things and bad things about those perceived as women, as the gender that they were suppose to be; there was no reason to be jealous of the beauty of other girls, although this did not stop the traditional feelings that other girls had for wanting to be the prettiest. By up to my senior year it was like going to the cafeteria would blood on my face. People were not sure whether I wanted to cut their heads off and eat them, or take them out and suck their dick. So I spent many years dining alone, as there was no Anna-Marie, there was only Emily Duncan, whom had similar appearances, and yet did not possess the same degree of innate charm that existing for the girl "out of time." On some level, it felt inevitable that I would only date Anna-Marie, despite my contradictory repulsion of love and hate for French culture.

But there was something about Anna-Marie, whose total beauty was beyond the mortal sphere, a goddess on the throne of Olympus, throwing down a cupid bow right into my ... trans lady parts. But there was more than this, something that I had no wanted to admit, something that continued to plague me.

When I interacted with most girls, there was an inevitable feeling of lust.

My body a decaying suit of metallic rust, falling apart in the wind. Turned to powder and dust. Leaving behind the remains of some demonic skeleton. Yet there was something about Anna-Marie, something more vulnerable, that she had seen in me. Something that I had not even seen at the point before her execution by the state. She knew my secret, in some vague fashion, before I expressed my interest in decapitation. Her severed head sitting in my lap, me embracing it as if it were dying sibling love.

My tale of forbidden romance.

A dance of death and beyond.

 

posted by JustSarah @ 22nd Sep 2018, 7:52 PM