You run your fingers through your short spiky black hair. You remember that you like girls. And were rather good at getting them in their pants.
You look over your body. Your tall, in fact there are few people you look up at. Your breast are on the large side, unusual for some one as muscular as you. You run your hands down your sides, past your six pack abs, stopping at your bubble butt giving it a firm squeeze, before flashing your pierced tongue at your reflection. Yeah you didn't have any trouble getting in girls pants. The problem is that you didn't know how to stop. And that led to things like having the school board walk in on you pile-driving your married principle in her ass with a twelve inch strap-on. Hence the move.
You get dressed, combat boots, shredded jeans, bra and leather jacket. You like black.
Heading downstairs you run into your mom.
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