It's already become freakishly normal. I crawl out of bed at 7:30 in the morning, stretch, and slink to the washroom. I sit on the toilet. I brush my teeth. I undress from the tank top and shorts I use as pjs. I run a brush through my hair because I've learned that if I don't, it gets all tangled in the shower and then it's impossible to un-knot. I'm thinking abut cutting it... the way I see it, even if I just get it cut once, it will mostly grow out by the time I give this body back. Assuming I get the chance to. It's only August. It feels like an eternity will pass between now and next spring... and who knows what might happen by then.
That's usually what I'm thinking of, every single morning, see. How whether I like it or not, I'm stuck for now, and if I don't make peace with it soon, it's really going to kill if I can't get back where I belong. I breathe a deep sigh then step into the shower, fussing with the knobs to get the heat just where I want it.
I just stand in there for a while, letting the water fall over me. I used to clamp my eyes shut but there's no point. I already know every inch of skin on this girl, you know? Every hair and mole. The one thing that still kind of excites me is when I soap up, because hey, even if I'm the naked girl, it's still a naked soapy girl. I feel the weight of my dripping wet breasts in my hands and lather them in a circular motion. I'd be lying if I said I didn't at least like that. I get my own private show every morning if I like it or not. And if I'm not in the mood, I just put it out of my mind.
Horrifying, then exciting, then normal, and then sometimes exciting again.
After I turn the water off, I take a moment to try to wring out my hair. If I'm in a hurry, which I usually am, I give it at least a blast with the dryer and wrap it in a towel. Then I slip into a nice warm fuzzy bathrobe and tiptoe back to my room.
I've already talked a bit about what it's like to get dressed, to choose from my options when it comes to clothes. I prefer to cover as much as possible, but Angie seems to have favoured loose, skin-baring clothes. I try to make it so that at least my bra is covered. I think it's weird that so many girls are just cool letting guys see their brastraps. Like, to me, that counts as underwear. But Angie doesn't own a lot of t-shirts and hoodies, which is what I mostly wore as a guy, so I just choose something that looks okay and layer a cardigan over it, despite the heat. (Actually, Vancouver's climate is quite breezy.)
Once I'm sure I've got everything fitted properly and in place, I take one last moment to breathe. That's because I know Derek's out there. He's such a couch potato it's almost revolting. I don't know what he does all day, besides watch TV and maybe play with himself. Must be nice, but we're going to have a PROBLEM soon.
He's just ALWAYS there. Usually he falls asleep on the couch at night, so when I get up it wakes him up. And when I get home in the evening, he's still there. I'm trying to get him to clean the place, do dishes, maybe even cook and do laundry, but I think he just thinks of this as a vacation and he doesn't have to do anything. I hate that kind of self-important attitude. I just feel so intimidated by him, and maybe it's because of the way he looks. For one, he's way taller than me, so anytime I get upset he just stands up and stares me down and basically dares me to challenge him. I'm not going to attack someone who's 6 inches taller than me and a girl - even if I'm technically one too.
I think maybe I'm just conditioned to be forgiving to attractive women, which Derek sadly is, and he's aware of it.
I've heard otherwise, but I'm not willing to accept the idea that I might be one too. Sometimes when Derek's feeling nice, he'll call me "Bright Eyes" in a really sweet tone on voice. The other day I was running around picking up garbage and he said "Hey, you know your butt really jiggles when you walk around like that."
I froze and turned to him. "Don't tell me that."
"Maybe it's just because you're so clenched tight. Get the stick out of there."
And I was just burning with anger because if he thinks that, then guys I work with, or see in the store, probably noticed and think even worse things. Every time I think I'm getting comfortable and acting like myself, I notice some guy give me the "look" and it sends a chill up my spine. Like, no thank you, I'm not interested. Gluh. Can't I just be? Or maybe it's my fault, and I need to learn to take a compliment about this body.
I just need a break, a little privacy and space. I'm starting to get edgy here with this routine.
Why can't men tell the truth without repercussions?
Why cant men tell the truth without repercussions?
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