He does not like shaving

https://old.reddit.com/r/lesbianfashionadvice/comments/1azdfj9/one_of_my_fave_outfits_and_i_need_more_any/ks3eitj/?context=8

comments which caused seethe:

lol

bonus coomer:

cope:

!transphobes

!chasers !cuteandinvalid

show ur support for her in the comments

!actualbiofoids !metashit !ghosts

!cuteandinvalid !chasers

This week is the first #TransHistoryWeek . Trans people have always been there and always will be. pic.twitter.com/uRn1G4T85u

— Serious trans vibes Comics (@AssignedMale) May 8, 2024

i just posted a screenie of something i found interesting and @ThatHoeOverThere banned me for "justifying r*pe". frick off you and i both know i wasn't trying to justify it and ur just banning me bc im trans. !metashit

!goomblers !grillers

porn starts after the * * *

We all hear the familiar security chime and the door swing open. I perk up, quickly set down the ladle and briskly walk—no, almost run—to the door. I throw my arms around William and bury my face in his chest.

“Hi, honey,” he says. I can feel and hear the vibrations of his voice in his chest.

“Hi baby,” I say. He brings his hand around my head and runs his fingers through a thin lock of my hair that managed to escape my bun. “I made chicken marsala, your favorite!” I tell him.

He lets out a soft chuckle, and we come to the table with the two kids.

“Mom, I'm hungry,” Johnny says.

“Now that Dad's home, we can eat. Boys, go serve yourselves. And Johnny, help your little brother out.”

“Okay,” Johnny says to me. He gets up out of his seat and walks over to Kelvin, who's reading a picture book about cars and trucks. “Kelvin, put that away now, we're going to eat dinner now.”

“Okay,” Kelvin says in his cute little voice. William and I have a beat of shared happiness watching our little Johnny helping out his brother.

Johnny goes to the stovetop and serves himself. Kelvin obediently stands behind his older brother, watching his every move. Johnny turns to him and serves him, though probably a little too much for his smaller stomach. My husband and I follow behind, serve ourselves food, and when we're all sitting down, we say grace and dig in.

I finish wiping down the countertop. The boys are in bed and William is showering after a long day's work. After putting away the leftovers and closing the fridge door, my eye is drawn to a family picture held under a magnet. I take the picture off of the fridge door and smile. It's a picture with me, my husband, and our two kids, taken a year or two ago by my sister while our family was playing at the local park. I love it so much because of the genuine joy on all of our faces, and because of my pride in the family that I have built. My hand feels the growing bump in my stomach, and I know that the picture will be outdated soon.

William steps out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet with steam billowing out of the open door. Almost instinctually, I perk up out of bed and bite my upper lip seeing his body like that, only obscured by a small towel. He smirks and starts running his hands through my hair, and I let out some kind of instinctual sound that I can't quite describe. William presses my face against his towel, his peepee throbbing underneath. I can smell his pheromones through it.

He lets go of the towel and it falls to the floor. His peepee flops onto my face, and I instinctually start sucking. He palms the top of my head with his hand, pushing my head towards and back, towards and back again. From so much experience, my gag reflex has been completely disintegrated. His peepee moves back and forth in my mouth, inching farther and farther back in my throat every time. It feel so good to feel and taste every square inch of his peepee filling my mouth and throat. His imposing figure—as seen from down where my eyes are—only makes me hornier.

Eventually I need to take a breath. I push back, and William's hand seems reluctant, but it lets go. I gasp. I grab his peepee, ready to keep sucking but William has other plans. He scoops me up and throws me on the bed, turns me around so that I'm laying on my back and my kitty is facing him. He grabs the waistband of my leggings and my panties and tries to take them off, but the leggings end up inside out, still snugly attached around my ankles.

“Stupid woman,” he says to me. “Why wouldn't you be ready for me?”

I giggle, say sorry, and kick my legs up to finish taking them off. As soon as they're off, he grabs me by my waist and brings me closer to them so my kitty is flush with the edge of the bed, and he goes inside. His hands on my waist, he pulls me into him and thrusts into me. My heart absolutely pounding, butterflies swarming about from pure love, I let out an involuntary moan, trying to keep quiet for the kids.

He thrusts into me more and more. He's so horny that I can feel his rapid heartrate beating through his peepee. Every bit of warmth he transfers to me, every inch he thrusts—it fuels my absolute desire for him, for him alone and no one else. I let out another sound, this one a deliberate release of my pent-up joy.

His right hand grows curious and moves its way up my chest under my shirt. He rolls my shirt up and grabs my breast as he fricks me. I make eye contact with him and smile, and then in pleasure I bite my upper lip. His breathing is heavy and labored.

He goes harder, his hip bones smashing harder and harder into mine. “Mmmmmmm~!” I say, my upper lip still bit. I wrap my legs around him, feeling what I can of his musculature with my thighs and the sides of my legs. He puts his hand on around my throat, and presses his thumb against my trachea. He lets out a soft grunt under his increasingly labored breaths.

I can feel in the rhythm of his thrusts and redness of his face that he's about to c*m. I wrap my legs around him and pull him close into me. As he exhales an exhilarated “Frick” under his breath, I feel the c*m squirt out of his peepee and into me. I moan now and c*m too.

He breathes heavily, exhausted. He kisses me and the baby in my stomach and then flops down to me. I lay my head on his chest, and he runs his fingers through my hair a few times. We fall asleep like this.

i wrote this myself. it is an extremely personal fantasy that feels almost strange to share online.

the most painful part about all of this is that this (or something close to it) is a reality for many women. it's just that God decided to curse me for some reason and now i am forced to be an onlooker to the life which i so desperately want to live. i believe that people are wired to want to live a certain way, so some women want to start families with their husbands in the suburbs, and others don't and would rather live in a lesbian relationship in the city. i dont have anything against the latter, its just that i have been cursed to be wired for the former. and it is thus that the life that i was made for only exists in my head.

i seriously think about killing myself everyday, maybe then i'll have a chance to be reborn as a woman, or at least be dead and not have to live through this.

Day 6 Update: No Laffy Taffy

I don’t need to go any further. Laffy taffy is eliminated from my food.

Overall, here is what changed:

- lost 5lbs of fluid in 5 days
- stomach is flat
- mind is not busy
- hunger cravings are gone
- fasting is easier
- sleep is better
-… pic.twitter.com/YfwnHLPrzB

— Erik (@e_cdalton) April 30, 2024

!goyslopenjoyers !r-slurs

As a trans man, I am getting kind of sick of whacky clown-like trans women making shit up like this and discrediting the whole concept of being transgender in the eyes of most people.

No, it is not your "time of the month". You do not have a womb, hence no womb-lining to shed.

Trans men have periods. Cis women have periods. Trans women do not.

A bit of rationality goes a long way towards winning acceptance.