The bedroom is a box, filled with a mess of pink and leopard print. Black and white photographs of fashion mannequins adorn the walls, while fake flower arrangements filled with pink petals and glitter hang above them. The rat cage sitting on top of the dresser is filled with pink bedding while the rodent is asleep in the leopard print hammock strung between the wires.
Clothes are stuffed into all five drawers of the small dresser. The top drawer is overflowing with flirty underwear and socks, some of which have lost their partners. The second drawer is filled with a stack of colored t-shirts, a stack of black and white t-shirts, and the occasional argyle sweater. Third down is stuffed to the brim with more sweaters and sweatshirts, a faded black sleeve hanging out the left side. The next drawer down contains pants, messy but in order of fabric and color. The blue and black jeans float near the top.
The last drawer seems obvious enough. Some more winter clothes, some shoes, something to combat the fierce Boston weather. What resides in this drawer though, the fifth drawer, is a gender-fuck of whips, dicks, heels, and handcuffs.
The very bottom of the drawer is lined with the patterns and stripes of boxer briefs, and tight spandex belonging only to that of breast binders. Near the back, three soft phalluses lie each with a different size and color. They look worn, stretched, and discolored. A warped harness floats directly under one of the nude shafts. These do not look like sexual toys, but rather a representation for a man who is without the flesh and blood of his own organ.
Snaking around and resting on top of another dick is the frayed thick tip of black leather, connected to a long braided rope and handle. This whip is not for torture, but temptation. For pain, pleasure, and power.
With this drawer open, the room begins to take on a new identity, breaking out of it’s perfect, flirty, feminine box. The photographs on the walls depict mannequins, yes, but these mannequins are clad in black lingerie and are tied up and chained. The faux flowers above, a campy attempt to hide the content, or as it seems now, to critique, question, and play. This fifth drawer is a box in a bedroom filled with conflicting identities. This is the bedroom of a male identified female sex worker.
This is my bedroom.
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