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Sunday 6th November 2011.

Today is my trinity Sunday it is the one day i can be nude from work,the one day i can pamper myself to her inside, the screaming transvestite or perhaps recline to that small boy image well before the doubled edged sword of work and the wearing of female clothes sunk their teeth so deep their is no hope of escape.
November is my month it is the month when i popped out into this world...it is also for me the first of the darkest months when all the demons gargoyles wail as one, their constant chanting to join their ranks in the Forlorn Regiment of melancholy madness in winter, is the most powerful, for as i have grown, each winter the more i pull up my collar hitch up my panties,fizz with my bra strap to clone myself around the word winter. Even the greatest word scribbled in the sand Masturbation creeps in the howling winds, hides in the warmest part of the crazy street mix carried in my pocket of wants...
November is also the month of remembrance as the unique numbers 11th hour 11th day 11th month and as they have portrayed it as the 11th year to remember the fallen from the great war and beyond..it is the one time of the year i feel ashamed to be a trannie...maybe the small signification that some macho still exists within, perhaps the small boy still has a shout  the urge to know innocence still cries the caw of the crow, those dark birds whom sit sway on winters witches fingers seem more domineering under the grey blanket haunting the leaf mould my feet trample through than any other time of the year.
November is also the month when death of the last of the summer flowers can be smelt on the breeze,the smell grips telling stories from down the tombs past, the frittering spiders webs cascade across soft skin the hanging dew on holly bushes is a mirror against the bright red berries even in all this i ask myself why such things pop into my mind during this the bleakest of months and yet as i stare towards this rooms window the sunshine plays tricks with the blinds shading me from the rush of the outside world where the word transvestite unless you are in showbiz hangs in the lost art of being normal and perhaps this November is a hiccup and my panties can relax.   

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bichoose
bichoose

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