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With it mostly all back inside you where it belongs, the last bit ofslime gets patted on to your puffy lips to savor, so you're reminded ofwhat you are every time you purse your lips in nervous submission- ahopeless little sissy cum guzzler.And then you realize, of course, no "normal", REAL man would have turnedhimself into such a pathetic caricature of femininity. You can't changewho you are, and unlike the rest of the world, you're not hiding what youreally are. You shakily climb to your feet, straightening your dress andribbons before pulling the compact from your little purse to powder yournose and fix your face. In the reflection, you catch a glance of theperson in the second story window who has been recording your entireprissy meltdown and clean up ritual.Your cheeks burn anew, but despite the previous emission, you feel astirring in your cage. Sighing the dejected sigh of a sissy that hasreluctantly accepted herself, you strut back towards the main street,shoulders back,. Do not remind me how my hair is growing thin; the waves splash cold against my skin. John’s Banka boat cuts through the foam-crested blue-green waves of the south Asian Sulu Sea. John is troubled by the eternal question: “Do I dare disturb the universe?” John’s mind wanders as he digresses lost in a fog of ennui. The soft ocean breeze triggers memories, fading distant memories; hints of the scented perfume from her coral colored dress tease his brain with almost recalled remembrances. Was she wearing a wrap? A shawl? Was she wearing either at all? John ponders and then ponders further, feeling old and tired, his mind deserting him, the sea breeze turning cold. John was “lost” again, his soul cast adrift, his moorings dislodged. He was once again trudging heavy footed through this vale of tears—valle lacrimarum! What was the point of it all? John asked himself the existential question as he measured out his life with coffee spoons. Feeling a tight pressure in his chest he hesitated;.
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