I’m a mature cross-dresser with a filthy little streak and a mouth that knows how to tease before it behaves. I dress to be stared at—tight, shiny, unapologetic—letting a cigarette dangle from my lips, smoke spilling slow and lazy while I pretend I don’t notice the eyes on me. I let it hang there on purpose, ash growing long, daring someone to make me deal with it. I’m submissive, sure… but I’m a brat about it. I make them wait. I smirk around the filter before I obey. I love performing for transgender women and men who recognize the game: the sass, the sway, the deliberate defiance right before I give in. I flirt with control, push just enough, then melt when I’m finally put in my place—heels planted, cigarette still dangling, smoke curling, knowing I’ve been exactly as naughty as intended.