Mediocre.
She chose to spend her life searching for a new way to perfect herself. Selectivity served as her sole operating moral, and a menagerie of pricey perfume was her motivation. As a child, she fashioned her mother's pearls and lace for anyone who would watch. While other children at the park were captivated by a cheap sandbox, she could not settle for something so common. She would huddle in the sun with her B.F.F. and choreograph spontaneous ballet and cheerleading moves. She was the first in her class to wear the "other" underwear. It wasn't long before she realized the benefits of being born XX instead of XY. She grew to fit comfortably in her body.
High school and college bore no differences. She was generally seen with a trail of XY's. She never admitted it, but she enjoyed the attention. She asked real nice for them to purchase her the new designer handbag, and as they slapped their whitecollarcash on the counter they envisioned her small body nude (as XYs often do). Breasts tugging at air, nipples erect, ass tight and round. They were bidding for the first to be able to touch lips to skin, but the exchange led them to the back of the line. Majoring in business, she graduated near the top of her class (those parties last semester she couldn't remember were detrimental to her GPA). Her classmates envisioned a similar body barely worn by time. A few of them were fortunate enough to see it. She didn't regret it.
She dated a few XYs, but found no one to keep her interest in perfecting herself. A health professor of Indiana University found her curious, and decided to marry her. She agreed. When they fucked, her toes would curl when he prepared to finish. The experience was nothing she had experienced in college. She made a baby, and then another. He made love to a younger woman in his class. She left town in an attempt to discard her devastation and procure a sense of pride once more.
Now she can be seen in the Hillsdale Assisted Living Facility. Her children, both women, feel disgust for the poor state of the Hillsdale residents. They are especially embarrassed for their mother. Her hair is grey and strays hang from her bun and favor her face. Her cheeks are furrowed and the corners of her mouth are downturned. At this sunset, she is not concerned with perfection. She is not concerned with XY. She is.
High school and college bore no differences. She was generally seen with a trail of XY's. She never admitted it, but she enjoyed the attention. She asked real nice for them to purchase her the new designer handbag, and as they slapped their whitecollarcash on the counter they envisioned her small body nude (as XYs often do). Breasts tugging at air, nipples erect, ass tight and round. They were bidding for the first to be able to touch lips to skin, but the exchange led them to the back of the line. Majoring in business, she graduated near the top of her class (those parties last semester she couldn't remember were detrimental to her GPA). Her classmates envisioned a similar body barely worn by time. A few of them were fortunate enough to see it. She didn't regret it.
She dated a few XYs, but found no one to keep her interest in perfecting herself. A health professor of Indiana University found her curious, and decided to marry her. She agreed. When they fucked, her toes would curl when he prepared to finish. The experience was nothing she had experienced in college. She made a baby, and then another. He made love to a younger woman in his class. She left town in an attempt to discard her devastation and procure a sense of pride once more.
Now she can be seen in the Hillsdale Assisted Living Facility. Her children, both women, feel disgust for the poor state of the Hillsdale residents. They are especially embarrassed for their mother. Her hair is grey and strays hang from her bun and favor her face. Her cheeks are furrowed and the corners of her mouth are downturned. At this sunset, she is not concerned with perfection. She is not concerned with XY. She is.