I had sex with a man. At least, I thought she was a man.

No, she doesn’t dress like one but her house is just like a guys: dirty, grungy, things misplaced. She had this incredible African Grey Parrot named Elixir that spoke Latin. Do you know what was more impressive? The fact that I was having sex with a man.

She’s got great legs and is very pretty and sits exactly the way a woman sits in a dress that looks exactly like a dress a woman would wear.

I spent four hours thinking she was a man. She still might be. The only reason I stopped thinking she was a man, was because I thought, “God. I mean, that’s so much work. You gotta really want it. To have to get the right parts and the surgery, the name changing and uhhh, that is a lot of organizing and getting shit done.” Finally I was like, “Fuck it, you deserve this for all your hard work and if you are a guy, I’m just gonna not tell anyone.”

I felt her rib cage, very much like a man’s. Her kiss, like a woman. Her fingers look exactly like a man’s fingers, it’s dubious. Her breasts, a woman. Her butt, could go either way. Seriously, I’ve seen ass’s on guys that look just like that.

She is flexible. Cirque du Soleil flexible. Only a woman can contort like that. Or a man that has truly gone above and beyond what normal men can do and if she is a man and can fenagle herself like that; then she deserves to be whatever she (or he) likes.