She really thinks she is so smart and funny.

When I got on T I started thinking about men. Hair on pecs, veiny dicks, all of that shit. So I started kissing men, random men, whoever was around. And I found that kissing random men was like licking the underside of a slug. Smelling random men was like smelling old onions—old. Touching random men’s faces was like touching blubber crud with pointy hairs sticking out

What an asshole. If you hate them so much why are you fucking them pretending to be a gay man?

My encounters were not erotic; I’d never made it to full on, P-in-V sex with a cis man. But still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, nothing could poison my fantasies—Exploring the body of the man, a man I could trust, who trusted me enough to let me touch him how I wanted. To not have to feel him feeling my body, just feel him. Ideally, he’d be flat on a bed, tied up and hard as a rock as I ran my fingers down his chest, his stomach, his legs, his feet. I’d bite his neck, tickle him. Make a fist around his cock. Ease my pussy down onto his rock-hard cock and feel him filling me up.

The fantasy of every gay man, I'm sure. I wonder why you never made it to full on. Your disgusting vagina must smell like onions too.