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Today I do what I can to help. Today I put myself out there and make one lucky man feel wanted, needed. Today I am a saint; the rest of the year I can go back to sinning. This is the day that I live the other 364 for. Today is Valentine's Day.

It takes me hours to get ready for today, but the time is not wasted. I need to prepare, not just physically, but mentally. Spiritually. I have to transform myself into the fantasy that lonely men desire. I have to become what they need. I have to be more convincing to myself than anyone else. On this most holy of days it isn't enough to simply pass as a woman. It isn't sufficient to be merely convincing. No, on this day I must become the most beautiful woman my man-to-be has ever seen. I have to become his ideal, and for that reason everything has to be perfect.

From the moment I wake up in the morning until the moment I'm getting ready to leave in the early evening I'm getting ready for you. I'm too nervous to eat, really, but I force myself to have some dry cereal and a piece of toast. It's all I can keep down. I'm up early, but it's not like I could sleep last-night anyway. I lay in bed, tossing and turning, dreaming about tomorrow, dreaming about your touch, your cock, your smile, your little orgasmic groans. I don't know who you are yet but I know how you'll feel, how you'll sound, how you'll need. I start with a full body waxing - I want to be perfect for you. I want to be smooth for you. I want to be your girl for tonight. It's not sensual -- the sticky wax isn't easy to apply, hot when I smooth It on, and painful when I tear it off, but this is just my first sacrifice for you. It's not easy to do it for myself but I can manage; I have a system that works for me.

When I've finished I feel very clean. The February air is cold on my tender skin. I'm sore, but needful. The pain is sweet and reminds me of what's to come.

Bare from the scalp down I turn my attention to my hair. I'm very proud of my hair and lucky to work in a field where it is appropriate for my male guise to cultivate it. When I'm hiding as a man I keep my hair bound, restrained, tied back, but for you I'll let it free. I'll let it loose to cascade around my face and shoulders like a boundless strawberry waterfall. Not yet, though. First I need to bind it again, tight under plastic, letting the henna sink in and permeate. I don't know who you are yet but I know you want me auburn, and so auburn I will be for you. All for you.

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