"My real story, the one covered in a greasy layer of iniquity and come soaked cash, begins when I finally understand that I’m not really gay. To fully comprehend the hell that has been churning inside of me you first have to understand that not all men who fuck other men are gay. Some of us are simply women trapped in the wrong body. Imagine looking into a mirror and never understanding what you see. Imagine hating the person the world sees with such vehemence you want to tear your skin off, re-sew it, and then put it on like a dress.
My face is wrong. My body is wrong. Most of the time I think my brain is wrong. The one thing I know to be right is what happens when I put on makeup, slide my hairless body into a slinky lingerie nightie, and slip my feet into high heels. I wait in the near dark for a knock on the door. I wait for another lascivious client, one curious about the joys of my flesh. I hunger for him too, but not because I long to fuck him. There will be sex, but it’s something the man is going to pay for."
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