He looked away in disgust and shame. So pale and scrawny, such a weakling.
He looked again, trying to flex his biceps, before quickly putting his arms
down and nervously glancing about the room, making sure no one had seen.
That no one had caught a glimpse of the nothing that happened.
Frankie hated looking in the mirror, hated what was staring back at him. Men were supposed to be strong and muscular, not weak and effeminate. Every time he looked in the mirror, Frankie had to deal with just how ugly he was.
If he had been born a woman, it wouldn't be bad at all. He would have made a beautiful woman. Which could have been how the fascination started. He always loved the way women dressed and had secretly hoped that if he dressed like them, he could be just as beautiful.
And now... Now he was spreading on eyeshadow and lipstick, covering his face in powder and dabbing mascara onto his eyelashes. Now he was dressing his feminine form in clothes designed for the fairer sex.
It depressed Frankie, how his clothes weren't meant to be worn by men, yet they fit him so perfectly. He almost looked like a woman. But he knew he wasn't one. He would never be as gorgeous as Columbia or Magenta. And he knew he would never be masculine or tough either. He was just a man in women's clothing.
But at least now, he could look at himself in the mirror.
Frankie hated looking in the mirror, hated what was staring back at him. Men were supposed to be strong and muscular, not weak and effeminate. Every time he looked in the mirror, Frankie had to deal with just how ugly he was.
If he had been born a woman, it wouldn't be bad at all. He would have made a beautiful woman. Which could have been how the fascination started. He always loved the way women dressed and had secretly hoped that if he dressed like them, he could be just as beautiful.
And now... Now he was spreading on eyeshadow and lipstick, covering his face in powder and dabbing mascara onto his eyelashes. Now he was dressing his feminine form in clothes designed for the fairer sex.
It depressed Frankie, how his clothes weren't meant to be worn by men, yet they fit him so perfectly. He almost looked like a woman. But he knew he wasn't one. He would never be as gorgeous as Columbia or Magenta. And he knew he would never be masculine or tough either. He was just a man in women's clothing.
But at least now, he could look at himself in the mirror.