He's Older and Femme
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Sometimes this image floats into my mind.
Someone my own age. He’s a bit fey. His hair would be gray but he dyes it. Just a shade too emphatically. But I don’t mind.
The bright colors he chooses to wear somehow don’t look foolish. The clothes he wears fit so perfectly that he almost seems like a walking mannequin. You wonder if the has his socks dry-cleaned.
I never tell him that his facial expressions sometimes leave him looking a bit spinsterish.
Oh, he’s more than a trifle gossipy and bitchy at times. But when he snuggles up and rests his head on my should he makes me feel much stronger than I could ever be. And for that I’d forgive anything.