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22 Lancaster, PA Transgender


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I’m looking for

  • Women
  • Ages 18–45
  • Near me
  • For new friends, short-term dating, casual sex

My details

Last online
Jul 6
Bisexual, Pansexual, Lesbian
White, Other
6′ 0″ (1.83m)
Body Type
Mostly anything
Other, and laughing about it
Libra, but it doesn’t matter
Graduated from high school
Open relationship
Doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t want any
Dislikes dogs and likes cats
English (Fluently), German (Poorly)
My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
We're not going to talk about me. This is about you.

PSA for certain men out there: I bet your value for a child’s life is significantly lower than average. In fact, I’m willing to bet that you have a disposition that is, overall, obtusely sexual in nature towards children of a certain age. I have a prediction that you will struggle with the possibility of future girlfriends being inappropriately young.
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
> "Have you been drinking and driving...?", you can practically hear Melissa rolling her eyes through the landline.
> "I'm taking the kids and I'm living with my mother until you figure out syntax commands". Melissa runs the back of her frail but peachy palms down her halter top in an arousing albeit suspicious display of cat and mouse.
> Melissa, while distracting you and your party with her breasts, has brandished a .357 and before you can say snack time, all 326lbs of your trucking tank hardbody drops, shattering the glass coffee table and ounces of blood spatters her glossed lips and a generous portion of the sectional, where you once sat on a Christmas night, hoping to hear from Santa Claus or at the very least, your parents, who locked you in a decorative capsule once when you were 11 years old, and you felt yourself regressing and plummeting within the absence of night and day. I would recommend crawling across the cold marble, but a gun like that doesn't leave your beloved narrator and God Mommy a reasonable amount of headspace to entertain the idea that you might have a fighting chance against this bad motherfucker. It looks like its over for you, cowboy, but will your spirit live on? Or will it fester in the cracks of the couch, on the crime scene, until the crumbling ceiling forces your dissent in the harsh reality of being forgotten?
would you like to interact with Melissa in her apartment? Before its too late, and she turns you to the street?
use all caps to engage with us. passion resurgence. the tapping sound that Melissa's shoes make when she steps off from the bar stool and intentionally shows you her pussy which judging by the dynamic lighting is completely lathered in either discharge or gelatin. Your eye twitches as it reluctantly notices a congealed portion of whatever it is tumble to the marble tile. She smiles shamelessly and kicks it against the bar floor, slightly smearing it.
"I will see what your eyes do but I can never see how they appeal to a savage like me," Melissa puckers her lips and giggles, a cartoonish utterance of how much of a psychopath she really is, in all simplicity. It is getting more and more difficult to create reasons not to kneel down and eat bits of jelly directly out of her vagina as if you were a beagle in a cage and a hand were pushing bits of hot dogs through the bars. All likenesses, especially the metallic taste, are sincere in this comparative feasting.
"I don't have a phone anymore," she says after you ask her to be checked out. She is more excited now that she senses how afraid you are of her "intergalactic treats", a coin termed by her earlier in the evening when she was vague enough not to encapsulate you in disgust or reveal that there are those who feed from her like animals in that way
Maybe you should try vacuuming out my you-know-what," Melissa spins around on the bar stool and then says "except my vacuum cleaner is filthy" and your lips personify sourness immediately.
A phantom conscience that has been banging incessantly within for the past hour finally forces its impulsion upon you: "THIS IS FUCKING DISGUSTING" and you shoot up from your seat and shove the chair aggressively against the table, and the familiar stare of hysterical frustration comes upon you too-- you're sweating, you're cold, and you have a menacing dooming assurance that you'll slip completely out of control and beat Melissa to death with either a fireplace poker, 4 paces to your left, or the universal TV remote which is within reaching distance, right here, right now. Its time to psyche out and get lost in the ape that surges deep inside you yearning to fist fightwith those weaker than you
The up side to the TV remote is that you'll have dozens of rubber pads that bounce off the human skull and cause very small amounts of damage at a time. If you use the remote as if it were a simulated knife, there is a faster chance that you'll smash her hard enough to prove your point. Where are you now, anyway? Where you at now?
Melissa is an ex-convict, but criminals harbor passions that cannot cross the river of bullshit, which is basically what awaits you back at the truck stop. Its either more bean burritos or a chopped up souvenir at this point. This is not your place but nobody seems to live in any adjacent rooms, which makes you feel like this is a figment of your imagination and there is the possibility that you're on a date right now with a beautiful woman and she's afraid of you because you're acting like an animal
What will it be, the cold embrace of a boring date or an exciting flippant psychotic plummet that guarantees the freeing obscurities that await when you wrap your head around the PLAIN, SIMPLE FACTS: YOU WANT TO DIE SO BADLY THAT YOU'LL VISUALIZE ANYTHING, YOU'LL STEP ANYWHERE-- TO INHABIT THE DESERT THAT TEASES YOU WITH THE POTENTIAL FOR WATER, A QUENCHING JETSTREAM OF ALTERNATIVE HUMAN CONTACT, A SIDESHOW OF EXCUSES, BENDING ENTIRELY FOR THE MOMENT TO COME.... MELISSA.....
is all simple now. geometric faces of angels rotate above you and a steady, unending jestream of urine pours out of your dick all over Melissa's face and she is smiling and you are caught in a propeller of relief. blue skies and loving is in the air, that is for sure. the urine intricately obeys gravity and matter as it splashes as a basin for a waterfall within the dimples of her cheeks and wets her mouth. She is making a face, closed eyes, that resembles one that a woman would make during a massage or a visit to the spa. This is great! You're really involved here, but will the piss ever end? will you quickly realize the terrors of this new kind of stifling commitment? She is ugly to you. Your penis is ugly to you. Your urine smells foul. Its clear that yet again Melissa is the only person having fun at the party.

Lets get pissed this summer. Bird bath or water torture? I Can't say
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Just take it from me,
I'm just as free as any daughter.
I do what I like,
just what I like,
and how I love it
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
I hate it when things don't work out in a way that leaves me just as uncaring as before. I prefer to realize terrible things. Melissa is becoming a deep socket in my toxic ventures in all these regards. I like to write about her invincibility. How many times has she died now? Twice? You can't stop ultimate warriors and if you can't stop em then why bother challenging them? In other news, I rehearsed a meeting between Stephen and I (I'm assuming he can't read this, only to assume that its not disrespectful if that is true) using clay. It went poorly because I lost control. Its easy to appropriate roles to dolls, but can you, with a straight face, call your own miniature self soiled over and over again until the drive hikes ya up high enough to lash out against everyone
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche
Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs
Word Virus by William S. Burroughs
A variety of Sigmund Freud's writings
120 Days of Sodom by the Marquis de Sade
Juliette by the Marquis de Sade
Justine (Good Behavior Well Chastised) by the Marquis de Sade
The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

"Scarface" directed by Brian De Palma
"Videodrome" directed by David Cronenberg
"La Planète sauvage (Fantastic Planet)" directed by René Laloux
"Tetsuo: The Iron Man (鉄男: Tetsuo)" directed by Shinya Tsukamoto
"The Decline of Western Civilization" directed by Penelope Spheeris
"Faces of Death", all original volumes, by Conan LeCilaire
"Nowhere", directed by Gregg Araki
"Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom", directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini
"Psycho" directed by Alfred Hitchcock
"Hellraiser" directed by Clive Barker
"A Clockwork Orange" directed by Stanley Kubrick
"Hackers" directed by Iain Softley
"Begotten" directed by E. Elias Merhige

As far as music goes, I have a wide taste. Best to touch inside.
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
If I could form this admission in a 6-point hexagon, rather than in linearity, I would. I seek others who think the same.

1. Sex
2. Drugs
3. Rock n Roll
4. Violence
5. JRPGs
6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6. 6.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
myself & maybe you
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
i don't understand the guys who roll up yadayadyaayyada, always shaking their head at me and leaning in for a cigar kiss.
Listen here; ANYONE can ride a motorcycle. NOBODY can survive a sideswipe from a tractor trailer against a guard rail and rapid beyblade action underneath the excommunivative fat. fucking. ruckus of all wheel drive on the turnpike that's something only a Mack Truck can put on your burger boys and girls

Keep Truckin', valley kings and queens. Tomorrow is a day for scrubbing brain matter of the chrome of ya big boi, ya land mammal, 18 wheels 18 years old, lets party
if you associate a wheel per year, you'll be 36 if you can figure out how to make a mack truck FUCK
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
There's no fun in the game if I give freebies.
You should message me if
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