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In public, we both come off as pretty masculine. We are both muscled, dress poorly, have rugged features, and beards. Hell, if we weren’t holding hands most of the time, people wouldn’t even think we were gay.

Honestly, I don’t really care. All that matters is that when we are alone, there is no doubt about which of us is the masculine one. Whether I am straddling him, bent over for him, or pinned against a wall, there is no doubt that he is the Man. I m his jockpussy, his princess, his girl, his boi, his whatever-he-wants-me-to-be, and we both love it that way.

(Source: adoradordepelos)

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