Illustration by Jacqueline Lin. But the meme happened to take over the internet just as my sudden sublimation into a single, cock-sucking transsexual slut was taking place. It felt good to channel an obscure libido of much darker origin into a familiar pact with others who were also seizing sexualities that had been stolen away from them.
Everything happened so fast. Lucas held me in one arm like I was weightless. I was folded in half, my breasts crushed against my thighs, pinned upright to his thick chest as my legs draped over his forearm.
My mind emptied like the shot-sized bottle of vodka that fell out of his pocket as I watched him fuck me in the floor-length mirrors. We watched Jarhead. He figured he ought to do what he wanted this summer, since everything would be on the line soon. So we fucked as much as possible, like we were fucking for our lives. I guess we were.
A new season had begun. With everything lost and nothing to give, I thought I might meet another Diana thrusting in the hot nights to come. Maybe she would be stronger than the one who died the day her love left. I would find her, and men would help by penetrating the barrier that has kept this imaginary, liberated version of myself unreachable for so long.
So, fueled by pop culture rhetoric and desperation, I returned to my roots, and began to transform myself to save myself. My stylist cropped my long hair to graze my shoulder blades, and my colorist lifted me to an ash blond. Is this how the hot girl I was searching for might look? I never loved anyone but one man, and until this year, I kept Diana just for him.
