And not only discuss.I asked him to show me what he meant, playing innocent as best as I could. He lay down on his back and asked me to sit over his face in reverse position. Then he instructed me how to lie down on top of him and scissor his head with my legs. As if I needed instructions! I think he was surprisingly impressed with how well I manoeuvred him and how I did it without the slightest hesitation. I gripped him tightly with my thighs, without applying pressure at first, just enjoying the moment.This was the first time a man asked me to scissor him. It was the first time I scissored a man as an adult, the first time I had the possibility of really using mythighs the way I wanted to. My thighs had now become very muscular and powerful, capable of squeezing men into total and painful submission and I was dying to get an opportunity to do so. The moment had come at last! I felt my heart beating extremely fast and I had butterflies in my stomach.I tensed my thighs, slowly. I didn’t think I was gay. I didn’t want to be gay with all of my heart. Of course what I wanted to be defied reason. What I wished the world was like was an impossible fantasy. For me sexuality wasn’t as simple as being born LGBT. For me it was a spiritual torture caused by how I learned about sexuality. Mine was a product of guilt, of right and wrong, good and bad, a labelling of certain sexual behaviors as sinful that created a person like me. It created a boy who wanted to have a woman’s experience in bed yet wanting to avoid the intimacy with a man that this experience would require. I don’t think I can exaggerate just how odd this made me feel. I couldn’t imagine kissing a man. I couldn’t imagine him hugging me, groping me, penetrating me. I couldn’t imagine dating a boy. Even with her anatomy, I didn’t have the vocabulary of a girl. If I had spontaneously changed sexes, even if I did so today, I believe I would be a lesbian at best and a slightly odd one. I doubt I could even.
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