struck. for real.
I’ve been writing these really weird short stories lately. Sorry for disturbing ya’ll in advance.
My mother ran out screaming, “Dale found her panties on her husband!” like it was something to advertise to the world. Now, I’m the woman people point at in the supermarket, “Her husband wears her panties and she beat him up!” But, back to my mother, didn’t she know her friends would never forget that moment and I wouldn’t let her forget how she humiliated me. There is something worse about private humiliation. That’s when you let the weight of your shame eat you up inside – but when you display it to the world, the pity comes tenfold and everyone feels sorry for you.
My husband seemed to have found an interest in cross-dressing, and when I’m not around, he wears my clothes. I was curious at first about how my clothes were stretching. I thought maybe I had gotten fatter, because let’s face it, I wasn’t born like a stick thin supermodel. Nor do I have a strict diet of snorting cocaine.
Soon my panties started evaporating into this black hole. I came home from work last Monday, I thought I would surprise Jim. I ran into our bedroom with the expectation of being fucked. He was walking out of our walk-in closet and on him were my bright pink lace panties. I was paralyzed with shock. What is the appropriate way to react when a woman busts her 6 foot 3 inches tall husband wearing her medium-sized panties? I think he was literally coming out to me.
This was God’s way of showing me what was wrong with my marriage. My husband likes to wear my fucking panties. His dick was hanging out to the side, I had this sudden urge to pierce it with my Louboutin, twitching on my right foot. My foot twitches for no damn reason sometimes, especially when I’m stressed out. I didn’t realize I was beating him with my heels until he was panting “Let me explain. Please Dale, let me explain.” I couldn’t hear the pleas of mercy. I was blinded with rage, I sat on him – my legs to the side and punching him and scratching his face like a mean girl.
Right then, my mother calls out from downstairs. She has this way of accumulating sets of keys to all of her children’s homes.
“Dale honey?” Are you okay?”. I hear her footsteps nearing the bedroom and I don’t yet know I am repeatedly shouting “You troll, you fucked up tranny asshole!!!!!!!” over and over again.
I find myself slowly getting up, with Jim’s blood on my fists. Not yet recovering from my outer-body experience, straightening my skirt and walking out of the room with my mother’s jaw dropping to the floor.
She runs behind me, and you know what she said.
kaelvas asked: If you have to give up a sense, what would it be and why?
Smell. Being unable to smell is something I think I could live without, whereas the other senses are just too important. I want to be able to see the world still, and I wouldn’t be able to handle not listening to music or attending concerts. I also can’t part with taste, because I’m a food junkie. And touch - everyone needs that.
kaelvas asked: Who is your favorite writer and why?
Hm, that’s hard. But if I had to absolutely die with some book(s), they would be Paulo Coelho’s. He’s a great writer and his books always have some kind of lesson, and offer spiritual awakenings! He’s amazing.
who-i-am-is-not-important asked: True or False... "This statement is false."
You are not distracting me. Only confusing me.
About to head out to a fundraiser to support an organization (Mamta Foundation) that raises/educates abandoned girls in India. Happy International Women’s Day!
there is no
and i feel
the dark right
in the pit
of my soul