- The Collection - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 -

 

Pink Goth.
Copyright 2012, 2018 by Raymond Johnson. Third edition.
Main cover photo provided by Adam Wasilewski. (iStock Photo).
Pink Goth cover photo provided by Vinct. (iStock Photo).

Dedicated to everyone suffering problems of gender. Remember you’re not alone.

“Nobody really wants to be a trans woman, nobody wakes up and goes whoa, maybe my life would be better if I transitioned, alienating most of my friends and my family.” – Imogen Binnie.

Mimi is a very timid, quiet and confused young woman who suffers from low self esteem caused by her own gender confusion. Technically speaking she’s not female at all for she was born male, but since puberty has been taking hormones to suppress her male characteristics and enhance her feminine looks. Luckily for her the treatment is a complete success and no one suspects that she’s not a true female, but she still feels a deep resentment of her own body and hates having a penis. She has been repeatedly rejected for gender reassignment surgery on account of her failing a test given to her by a psychiatrist, and as her depression increases is on the brink of performing the surgery herself using a kitchen knife.

 

 

Chapter 1 – Sleepless Night

Whilst laying wide awake on top of my bed alone in my bedroom I stared at the darkness, deep in thought, thinking about nothing whatsoever. It took a lot of concentration to keep my mind clear, but I knew if I allowed myself to think then my thoughts would knot themselves in a vicious spiral forever trying to reach an unending conclusion. It was the usual ritual I spent every night before trying to get some much needed rest, but I knew I’d be lucky if I got more than a few hours sleep each night.

It was midsummer and rain was pouring down, tapping against the windowpane as if trying to get my attention, yet my mind was too preoccupied to give them much thought. I would have been pleased if it was the kind of rain that cooled the heat of the night, but instead it was the kind that had the opposite effect, feeding the humidity and filling my pores with a sticky sweat. The rain even removed the option of opening the window to let in some much needed air.

nstead I continued to lay while my skin emitted ever more body odour. My beautiful bedroom with all its perfect furnishings and decoration stank of armpits mixed with the salty odour of sweaty socks. It was times like those that I was glad to live alone.

lthough in some ways the distraction of thinking about the hot weather and my bodily smells rested my mind, for I was then no longer thinking of my usual plight. Of course, the mere realisation that I was being distracted reminded me of my unsolvable problem once again. If there was only a way to distract my thoughts long enough then I may be able to drift into sleep.

listened to the pitter-patter of the raindrops as they splashed against the pane while the drizzle of the downpour echoed in the background. I wondered how many raindrops there were, was it in the millions, billions or trillions? It didn’t matter so long as it kept my mind busy in the attempt to work it out. Counting raindrops was easier than counting imaginary sheep.

It was no use, I couldn’t occupy my mind with emptiness. I was in for another sleepless night yet again. I couldn’t just lay there though, boiling hot, while my mind mulled over the same thoughts again and again. I needed to do something.

I sat myself up in bed then switched on the bedside lamp. I noticed my pillows felt damp with warm sweat as I puffed them up and placed them behind my back resting against the metal headboard of my large double bed.

I momentarily glanced my eyes around the room waiting for them to adjust to the light then picked up one of the many books I kept beside my bed. I was into graphic novels, particularly manga comics due to their varying plotlines. There was something about Japanese comics that intrigued me, something about the way they were drawn and the exaggerated expressions each character possessed. They were usually blissfully happy or depressingly sad, rather like myself in many respects. American comics were always larger than life superheroes, huge muscular men who put on a disguise by wearing a pair of glasses and looking like a nerd. Even the female heroes were the same, albeit with large breasts instead of muscles. Japanese comics never insulted the reader’s intelligence in the same way.

My choice in reading material had even influenced me when choosing a name for myself. Obviously Mimi wasn’t my given name from birth, it was a name I had gotten from a comic book, a name of a positive strong female character. My original male name was something I tried to forget long ago as it was something always linked with bad memories.

I stared at the book in front of me, it was one I had read many times called Love Hina. It was a quite a perplexing title that sounded rude that was complicated further due to the fact that there was no character named Hina within it. Sometimes titles were lost in translation. It was a comedy and very silly at times, and I needed cheering up.

I slammed the book closed then held it against my chest while I stared ahead at the wall opposite. I wasn’t really in the mood for reading.

My bedroom was large, with ample space for my large soft bed. The walls were painted a pale purple, with a bright glossy pink skirting board that still looked wet. The floor was tiled with a fake wooden effect giving the illusion the floorboards were rotten being eaten away by woodworm. I also had a big fluffy white mat beside the bed that had the tendency to slip if I stepped out of bed too quickly.

In many ways my bedroom was tacky, with furnishings looking completely out of place in my Victorian home. But I liked it, everything about its design reflected my personality and it was something that someone special would have to get used to if they were to ever share my bed.

 

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