A Fun Dinner Date – Myra Glass

“You know you look good for a sissy boy” the Crypt keeper croaked on this 5th glass of wine. “Most sissy boys have an uncanny valley effect going on with their faces. Makes them hard to look at but you got some nice girly features babe! Good price too!” A smile crawled across his face, the wrinkles simply too numerous, waves violating an ugly sea of rotting skin. This man should have been dead. His continued existence is a vicious parody of masculine beauty. With his sharp jawline, deep blue eyes, and chiseled cheekbones I know he fucked, no doubt. He spent the best years of his life going through holes, breeding them raw. Interns, housewives, trannies, and twinks all were annihilated by his throbbing member. All that is behind him though. His hair is gone and his flesh haplessly clings to his bones, he’s relegated to sexually assaulting escorts. That doesn’t stop him from talking like it’s 1975 and he’s plowing pussy in Studio 54. Money seems to be a decent enough shield for his ego or maybe it’s the coke? I could tell this man was coked out his mind on a 24/7 basis. Hands all jittery with nothing to do, boundless potential dripping out of his pores. The grindr pics he sent me were all blurry in an oddly avant-garde way, gave me vibes of an artist trying to capture the grimy energy of faggots slamming each other’s prostates within the magical world of a lonely alleyway. It was beautiful really.

Normally, I’m not fond of my johns referring to me as a “boy” let alone a “sissy boy” however my rent was due so I am completely obliged to allow this decrepit creature to degrade me. 900 bucks a month is a small piece to pay to be away from my hickass home town. At least this old man has good taste, taking me to this fine restaurant is nice I guess. “You enjoying that meat sweetheart?” I pulled my luscious lips into a smile, “oh darling, I absolutely adore it! What kind of steak is?” Of course, I know it’s Wagyu. How could I not know it’s Wagyu since it’s so marbled to shit? But boys like retards. Daddy’s girls. If having extra chromosomes gave girls fat tits every special ed teacher would be a man. What I wasn’t sure about was if the meat was supposed to bleed this much, massaging the dead heifer with my chopsticks and it was squirting red pussy juice like a virgin on prom night. The blood lets me know it was alive at one point, I wonder if I cut myself would I bleed as much as this cow? Did the cow live a better life than I am? God knows I’d pay for someone to take an air gun, pop my skull, and feed me to the pigs of this godless nation. I Envy this carcass.

“It’s Kobay beef, imported from Japan. Say what you want about WW2 those Japs sure know how to raise some cattle.” Did this idiot even read the menu? Like that meat is not even legal in the US. Am I really going to fuck this senile piece of shit?

I couldn’t hold back anger any longer. “It’s not kobay beef.” He looked back blankly at me, “what did you say, sweetie?” “Turn up your fucking hearing aid, it’s not Kobayashi beef. That’s not even on the menu. I don’t know how a man as rich as you can be so utterly cultureless?” “Also while we’re on the subject of being cultureless I’m not a ‘sissy boy.’ I have D-cups implants, I use the women’s restroom. My blood is pumping with estrogen so I don’t have to think bout being a boy. I don’t know how many trannies you’ve molested in your life but you should know better than to call me a boy. Do I look like a fucking man to you? Do I sound like a man after the years of voice training? Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck,” the sobbing is ruining my makeup. Everyone in the restaurant is staring at me. The old man is not even fazed in the slightest. I’m just going on, “I don’t care how much money you offer me you old faggot, you can stuff it up to your ass, eat shit! I hope you croak!”

Then I felt something crawling up my throat, lurching through the meat pipe the rottenness rolled and tumbled out of my mouth onto the table. There it was, a living breathing fetus, all slimy and moving. Oh God, I’m a mother again. Struggling to speak with an umbilical cord hanging from my throat I let out a long sigh, “this… uhhh…happens sometimes, hormones and all that stuff… I need to powder my nose.” I picked up the little fucker and ran to the bathroom. The stalls were all empty but I went to the one that was in the back, away from any other women. I looked around before shutting the door just to double-check that no one was around then I locked it. This fancy toilet that I’m staring at is going to become a gaudy golden coffin for my dumpster baby. I drop the little bitch and stomp on its head, twisting with my high heels to make sure whatever is in there is dead, deader than dead. A meaty mash without even the slightest hint of life within it. The cherry spatters from the corpse blends into my dress but leaves an ugly gooey residue on it. Doing a fun magic trick I yank on the meaty handkerchief hanging out of my mouth and keep on pulling. The toilet is clogged. Overflowing with a bodily soup, I keep on flushing but God hates me so it just doesn’t go down. I’m drowning this restaurant in the blood of my under-cooked child. I stare down for a solid minute at the mess and I’m simply not there. None of this could be real. This is all fake shit. A cheap horror movie with bright red goop on doll parts and a camera in the background, I’m just waiting for the director to yell cut so I can walk off set and never return.

Washing my hands I’m hit with an ugly wave of gender euphoria. Nothing in this world will make you feel more like a woman than killing a child. It may seem cruel to those who can’t shit out a fleshy watermelon but it’s motherly. Sparing one from the ugliness of this foul world. How can it not be seen as an act of love? If my mother loved me I wouldn’t be here, covered in crimson, and letting my mascara drip into the sink. Nobody loves you Martha, nobody. No amount of dick can make you feel whole. The world hates you. That doesn’t matter though because you’re a woman. A woman that bleeds, breathes and lives on this earth. You’ve worked for it. Buying breasts, pop pills to get hips and an ass. Fumbling around with makeup for years just to airbrush the man out of your face. Reading the entirety of War and Peace in a valley girl voice so you can vocal fry your voice box into Oblivion. You did all of this shit to be here. To be the most beautiful woman in every room. You did it. You really fucking did it. You’re alone but you’re the peak of feminine beauty. Don’t let these subhumans take that away from you.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and walk out of the bathroom. Forcing my head higher than any giraffe I can feel every eye in that god-forsaken restaurant on me, trying to stab me. Worthless faggots. They can’t handle all this woman. A creaking voice of my John traveled across the room, “sweetie, where are you going?” I didn’t respond, he’s not worth responding too. None of these johns are worth my time. Fuck them. Fuck them all.