Bi-Sexual Female / 33
One Man Punched My Clock, And My Head Keeps Ringing
I have a confession to make. I am most definitely female, but I am five ten, 165 pounds. I'm blonde with blue eyes. I grew up on a ranch in the west, mastered horseback riding, hunting elk and deer, drove farm equipment when I was ten. I love watching bull riding, and was pissed it wasn't a girl sport. I wear boots instead of heels, jeans instead of slacks. I can shoot many different guns, long and short. In any other world I would be a man.
Someone thought it was a good idea to send me back east, to become a journalist. So many smaller women, some so pretty I held my breath, others quite plain. A cold night, a pretty girl keeping me company, pretending I was the man. But no matter what you do, your hips just can't move like a man's.
I went to a paper, then a station, before landing on tv. The pretty girls tended to be head strong, unappealing to me. I wanted a lady friend, pretty and smart. I landed at a cable news network, met that lady there. Long cold nights were not a problem, I was able to act out my alter ego.
But, back out west, where I went hunting with my father and a business friend of his. When night fell, the moon was high, I had a man between my legs, whose hips moved the right way. I woke up to the realization, this man could have made me pregnant. Now I had a problem of major proportions. The more I talked to him the more I shut up, he insisted on a early morning ceremony, as the sun rose over our shoulder.
I'm married now, I love having my lady friend with me, I have two boys as rambunctious as I was at their age. Sometimes I put on an apron. Sometimes I don't wear a bra, sometimes he comes up behind me. And moves hips against me until I give up. He likes a solid woman, one whose hips can carry the load.
Whole he is working or traveling, my lady friend is by my side. But once his shadow crosses the threshold, I open my arms to welcome him home.
Someone thought it was a good idea to send me back east, to become a journalist. So many smaller women, some so pretty I held my breath, others quite plain. A cold night, a pretty girl keeping me company, pretending I was the man. But no matter what you do, your hips just can't move like a man's.
I went to a paper, then a station, before landing on tv. The pretty girls tended to be head strong, unappealing to me. I wanted a lady friend, pretty and smart. I landed at a cable news network, met that lady there. Long cold nights were not a problem, I was able to act out my alter ego.
But, back out west, where I went hunting with my father and a business friend of his. When night fell, the moon was high, I had a man between my legs, whose hips moved the right way. I woke up to the realization, this man could have made me pregnant. Now I had a problem of major proportions. The more I talked to him the more I shut up, he insisted on a early morning ceremony, as the sun rose over our shoulder.
I'm married now, I love having my lady friend with me, I have two boys as rambunctious as I was at their age. Sometimes I put on an apron. Sometimes I don't wear a bra, sometimes he comes up behind me. And moves hips against me until I give up. He likes a solid woman, one whose hips can carry the load.
Whole he is working or traveling, my lady friend is by my side. But once his shadow crosses the threshold, I open my arms to welcome him home.
