Help Me Forget

If I were her friend, I know what I'd do!  😉 

What about you? 

Text

Dear Mike,

I’m sorry I didn’t email sooner. That’s not how you treat the man who kept searching for you when everyone else thought you were dead. The night when you found me in that basement, storming the house like one of the fucking Avengers, was the happiest of my life. Thank you. 

To be honest, I’m not in a good place. My life was stolen, and when you rescued me, I finally thought I’d get it back. But it’s not that way at all. Like, for instance, I just got out of the shower. I used to love a steaming hot shower. Now? I hate them. See, during the rest of the day, I can ignore my body. You’ve seen me, so I know you think that sounds impossible, but it’s true. I wear baggy sweatpants, a loose t-shirt, and I bind down my tits to within an inch of their lives (yeah, that’s painful, but worth it). When I go to the bathroom, I close my eyes. Literally. Then I yank down my pants and sit (always), do my business, and bolt out of there. I definitely don’t look in the mirror. 

But in the shower, things are different. First, my skin is too sensitive to make the shower very hot. Then, I have to lather myself up with soap. That’s the worst. Suddenly my hands are sliding all over my boobs, my fat nipples, my soft skin, and my gross new pussy. Do you think it’s gross? It is, right? And the boobs look stupid on me. Don’t they?

The worst part is, even though I’m grossed out, I can’t help but get turned on. I want to touch myself. I need to touch myself. The thought makes me sick and incredibly horny. 

And that’s why I haven’t written you yet. Because I’ve been thinking about what happened last week and how it might affect our friendship if we ever talk again.

Do you remember how we met? It was on the playground. You’d brought in a Gameboy, and you were showing it off to everyone. You let me play Tetris. I remember I went home and told my parents I had a new friend named Mike. I can’t forget the past, no matter how hard I try. And, God, I want to forget. Because I think if I could forget who I was, maybe you and I could be more than friends. 

Anyway, I’m sorry, I kissed you. I’m sorry I told you I wanted you to fuck me. I wish I could say it was the whiskey, but I was only a little tipsy. No, I wanted you to kiss me. They say estrogen can change your brain. Well, all I can say is that shit is potent. I never thought of a man the way I’ve been thinking about you. 

So if I can’t forget who I was, maybe you can? Mike, I want you to be my first lover as a woman.

Please help me forget.

Your friend,

Alice / Alex

P.S. I’ve enclosed a picture of myself for you.