Balls to the wall

I was once told to never show up at a party again in 'those old clothes.' I took that to mean dresses and high heels. Corsets. Feminine sexy.

 But I feel sexy like this too, damn it. Those heels are only half of me.

 Entering the crowded room, I suspect there will be murmurs, glances, hushed conversations and looks. I feel sexy damn it. This side is not afraid to scream 'fuck you.' I'm willing to pick a fight. I'm willing to get raw, dirty, filthy and primal. Fuck the people that want the heels. The pretty little piece of ass, pussy and tits. Fuck you, people that want the pretty package, the box checked off, the smoldering look from long, curled lashes. Fuck you for thinking my jeans, my athletic wear wasn't as much a part of me. Fuck you, who only sees the perky tits framed high in the corset or bra. Tomorrow I'll agree with you. Tomorrow I'll put on the dress you like and feel sexy as sin. Tomorrow I'll be that someone else. I was yesterday. That other half.

 Tonight, I'm the side I hated. The side I hide.

 Athletic shorts, a black wifebeater. Simple, really. They hide compression bras and a jock strap. Fuck yes, I'm packing; a weighty bulge between my legs that feels right in this moment. Do you know what I want? I want a fight. A knock-down, hardcore brawl. Grappling on the floor, sweating, pinned. I want shoved up against a wall, across a table, face-first onto the floor. Ass high. I want my hair pulled while you make me roar. Fill my ass while I feel my 'package' bouncing. Balls deep, balls to the wall. You want this bitch, this boi? You think you're man enough to take me when I have the balls to say 'make me?' I dare you to break my boi. Make my boi pay for saying 'fuck you.' Challenge him. Best him using your mind, your control. If you don't - if you can't. If you're not man enough? I'll shove my 'dick' in YOUR face.

 It's that simple.