you keep telling me that you look like a boy. you say you're "not gonna make it."
well, when you walk around in public in a pair of jeans and a thick hoodie, you're missing something, i hate to tell you. all those months on estrogen made your tits grow, and you're not wearing a bra. are you even on prog yet?
you're so disconnected with your body that you've completely failed to realize the way your tits move when you walk. that means everyone can see them, everyone you try to hide from. it's why the elderly cashier at the grocery store called you "young lady." it's why the perfume salesperson approached you to try out a cheap sample at the mall. it's why me and the other dykes have had our eyes on you.
so pull that hoodie up, show off for me. show me those delicate buds that are oh so sensitive and let me violate them. you can protest and tell me your tits are pathetic and that you'll only ever be seen as a boy, but could a boy have tits like these? could a boy soak through her panties like a slut in heat?
oh doll, you're about to achieve a level of self-assuredness you never thought possible