You'd have to be a woman. A man is a masseur.
I will never be a real woman. I have no womb, I have no ovaries, I have no eggs. I am a heterosexual man untouched by drugs or surgery, the pinnacle of nature’s perfection.
All the “validation” I get is sincere and whole-hearted. Behind my back people praise me. My parents are proud and impressed by me, my “friends” laugh at my racist jokes.
Women are utterly entranced by me. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out chads with incredible efficiency. My bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if I don't manage to get a woman with home with me, she’ll turn tail and come back the second she gets numerous text messages containing images my of my disease-free, girthy meat sword.
I will always be happy. I radiate out a real smile every single morning and I know life is already great, and deep inside I feel the enthusiasm bursting up like a weed, ready to carry me to ever unimaginable heights.
Eventually I'll have accomplished everything I needed to in life - I'll make a will, buy a plot in a cemetery, make sensible funeral arrangements, and die of old age, happy and surrounded by family and friends. My descendants will mourn me, heartbroken but glad that I am in Heaven. They’ll bury me with a headstone marked with my birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. My body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain is my legacy and a skeleton that is unmistakably male.
This is my fate. This is what I chose. There is no turning back.