The lovely and magnificent Heather writes brilliantly that:
In the past I have frequently felt ashamed and tried to put these feelings far enough away that they would never come back, sometimes for weeks and months, maybe even a year or two, but they inevitably return with great pent-up furious pink silky passion. I wrote in another posting today that this is like an ocean; there are high tides and low tides, occasional thundering tsunamis, and frequent scary undertow that threatens to drag you under.
Absolutely.
Recently I have felt the wind of 'pent-up furious pink silky passion' blowing particularly strongly. I just have to let myself go, and I will fly deliriously into my true femme home, where I will land, kicking and squealing, basking in my newfound - or rediscovered - bed of femininity that makes a Claire's store look butch.
Yet also I feel delicate, naked and exposed, vulnerable in this wind.
And also I weary of it's blustering, pulling me too quickly, allowing no rest or pause for thought.
Yet something electric enters me; I am compelled. I submit to the pink wind.
Femme Debbie I am, absolutely. Absolutely and wonderfully. Wheeeeee!!
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