I hate my therapist. He’s a guy, he’s never gone through second puberty. He thinks I should wear skirts and dresses and tights and makeup and all that crap just to “accept the female me” well fuck that. It wouldn’t be so bad if he hadn’t also convinced my crazy mom. Bye bye gym shorts, hello sports bras.
Andrew had made one too many remarks to his girlfriend about women in the gym and their shapely sportswear. “Mmm, look at that fine girl’s tight pants; why don’t you wear stuff like that all the time, hot stuff?” he’d said, slapping her rear.
“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” Nathan said sweetly to his best friend, playing with the skirt and dangling his keychain near his little “V.”