Cargo shorts, T-shirts, dress T-shirts. Athletic socks, boxer briefs.
And then I went to grab my swimsuit from the tippy top shelf of my closet. Gray swim trunks and a women’s razor back swim top. Standard butch issue.
It only comes out once a year when we go on vacation or to the shore for a day or two.
“You know what I feel like when I wear this?” I asked W.
“A centaur. Only half of me feels right.”