I’m Just Tryna Have A Nice Time Despite Knowing Facts And Information

Why are transfems so much funnier than everyone else

The only non-transfem i can think of that matches that level of funny is jerma

Jerma has that tgirl humor

Loving the implication that

A) you cannot legally possess a pet bear in the afternoon (mornings and evenings are fine ofc)

B) having gay sex with a large hairy man is illegal in the afternoon (again other times it's a-okay)

I love Thailand but I do think I should be allowed to legally enjoy an afternoon bear

rb to affectionately throw a crumpled ball of paper at a mutual

My home

Wish I was a blanket rn

since some of yall were sooo normal about my hands earlier here ya go, me groping grabbing my blanket :3

Tumblr creating normal distribution

With the ides of march fast approaching we must be prepared

Please reblog to make sure everyone is equipped!

*walks up to you in a bar*

"Hey my friend over there was wondering, like uhh, what's wrong with you. Like why are you like that."

*walks away*

How It Starts

It’s innocent at first—just two trans girls sitting way too close, sharing mirrors and brushes, pretending this is just about eyeliner techniques and not about the way our hands keep lingering on each other’s skin. You tilt my chin up, fingers brushing my jaw, and I swear I forget how to breathe.

By the time we’re negotiating our little trade—you’ll teach me how to wing my liner if I do your dishes—the tension has already shifted. The touches last a little longer, the teasing gets a little bolder. The compliments start flowing, layered between giggles and stolen glances.

"Your lips look so soft with that gloss."

"Your skin is so smooth—I could touch it all day."

And then—

It’s in that moment, breath catching, fingers hesitating over soft, shivering skin, that we both realize:

Trans girls who get flustered when you compliment them are so cute, like…

And suddenly, one of us is saying it out loud. Come here so I can feel how hard you are.

The words hang between us, thick with heat, a teasing challenge wrapped in a promise. Eyes flicker, lips part, and suddenly, we’re not pretending anymore. The playful touches become something else—gravitational, inevitable.

One moment, we’re giggling over how clumsy we are at getting each other’s tops off, fingers fumbling over straps, buttons, fabric that suddenly feels far too complicated. The next, our laughter is swallowed by gasps and soft, desperate moans, mouths crashing together in messy, lip-gloss-stained kisses.

Fingers tremble against bare skin, tracing curves we’re still learning to love, gripping hips as we grind together, slowly, achingly, lost in the heat. The world outside doesn’t exist—just us, two desperate girls making up for every moment we were denied this kind of love before.

Breathless, needy, we praise each other between gasps. You’re doing so good. You feel so good. Hands roam, nails dig into soft flesh, and for once—just this once—there is no shame, no hesitation.

Just pleasure. Just warmth. Just us.