You:
-Sporting a miniskirt. Heavy emphasis on "mini." I don't know what you had to do to fold your package in on itself but it was an epic feat (without venturing above the midriff, I might add). I can only imagine it involves a quarter-roll of packing tape and a gram of Vicodin every single day to pull off. Bravo, to you.
- Six-foot four. I can't imagine where one finds a miniskirt for a six-foot four man. Is there some WNBA clothing store I'm not aware of? Do you just tape two of them together and call it a day? Being about your height I know how hard it can be to find good-fitting clothes. For men. You found a miniskirt that you managed to contort into right after you taped your balls to your pelvis.
- The hair. I know, I know. It's hard enough to shave your face. And the fact that you were born a hairy male isn't helping your cause either. The face was shaved, sadly elsewhere was not. But you wore it proud. I'd classify your grooming as "tranny casual." I do think, though, that if you really want to sell people you're going to have to do something about that back hair. Your tank top, despite a heroic effort, was no match.
- The tank top. What’s a boygirl to wear when they go the miniskirt route? You answered definitively by sporting a tank top. Sure, your hair wasn’t deterred by a flimsy women’s garment, but most people probably stopped at the miniskirt, so who’s going to notice, right? I did, buddy. But I think with a good proper razor and some strong discipline, your broad shoulders will finally have the time in the spotlight they so rightfully deserve.
- The button. You had no intention of stopping at a miniskirt and tank top. Normal transvestites, dare I say the majority of them, would have ended it there. Not you, good sirmadam. The “ALPHA FEMALE” button was the icing on your cake. It wasn't a small button, either. Don't worry, if no one had noticed by then that you probably had your package vacuum-sealed to your lower stomach under the miniskirt, then you would’ve been just another tranny walking by. But I tell you that on Election Day, when every man woman and in-between was wearing a button, a thirty-something six-foot four oddly-broad-shouldered individual with a baritone voice wearing a large “ALPHA FEMALE” button really made a statement.
I was very impressed (and nothing more, mind you).
