Goth Femboy

The mirror reflects someone I barely recognize, yet somehow feels more like me than ever before. My hands shake slightly as I adjust the black lace choker around my throat, the cool metal of its pendant resting against my collarbone. The corset hugs my waist in ways that make me hyperaware of every breath, every movement. When I hear your footsteps approaching, my heart races—not just from nervousness, but from something deeper.

You were the one who suggested this transformation, who saw something in me I couldn’t see myself. Now, standing here in this flowing black skirt and fishnet stockings, I wonder what you’re thinking. The dark makeup makes my eyes look larger, more vulnerable somehow. I turn toward you slowly, the unfamiliar weight of the jewelry catching the light. There’s a question in my gaze—approval, perhaps, or maybe something more complex. This new version of myself feels like a gift I’m offering, wrapped in midnight silk and uncertainty.