"Get dressed and get out." Marilyn didn't have time to react before the bundle of her clothes hit her in the back of the head. They were what she usually wore for her nightly "work." She pulled herself to her feet and grabbed her bag from the floor, the one that held everything she owned. She had been kicked from the motel room she had spent so long in, and was forced to carry her things wherever she went. Slipping away into the apartment bathroom, she dressed herself again, comforted by the pocketknife that rested in her against her thigh in the pocket of her shorts, and then attempted to scramble from the apartment, but was stopped by the man she had just serviced as he pinned her against the wall. "We should do this again sometime," he purred, running a hand up her thigh. In a panic, Marilyn bolted from the room without a word, dashed down the stairs and out onto the street. She walked quickly down the streets, which were spattered with droplets of water from the light rain that had just started. The only light was the dim glow of the city street lights. She made sure to keep underneath them as she moved. She was out again. She'd only had a single client the entire night. She needed to find someone else soon or else she definitely wasn't eating tomorrow. This was the only way she had to make money, as much as she hated it. She couldn't put limits on herself if she wanted to make enough to survive. Men had asked her to do some pretty messed up things and she'd agreed to almost all of them. As long as she got paid it would be fine. Maybe one day she would be able to sleep with someone that actually saw her as a woman and not some sort of glorified drag queen, maybe one day have some sort of family to raise. It was something she wanted more than anything, but had long ago accepted she would never have. But oh, how she wished she could. She could give love to people. She just wanted someone who wouldn't see her as a man, whether that person be a man, a woman, or someone in between. Her own parents still saw their son. She hadn't spoken to them in nearly ten years. She could be a motherly figure to someone, regardless of what she had between her legs.She loved children. When she was younger she had often taken care of her younger cousins when her aunts and uncles hadn't been able to. She didn't even get to see them anymore. If coming out hadn't been enough, the sex for money thing had been enough for her never to be allowed to see her cousins again. The only family member she still spoke to was Devin, her twin brother. He had always been there for her. Her gender had never mattered to him. He was always checking up on her, making sure she was safe. Even now, while he was away at film school, he was constantly calling the cell phone he had gotten her, sending her things when she had somewhere to stay. Marilyn missed him, and she felt guilty. He shouldn't have to worry about her. She should be mailing him things and worrying about him being away at school. He had tried to go when they were younger, but he had given it up to help her. She should be sending him things, worrying about whether he was okay or not. She knew that doing this was dangerous, especially tonight. She was completely alone. She normally looked for people with gay men so nobody would get the wrong idea about her parts, but her "friends" weren't with her tonight. She'd often been beaten up by men who didn't realize what parts she had, and Tammie, an old friend of hers that was also a trans woman, had been found strangled and shoved under a bed a few years ago. They never did catch who did it. Marilyn wished they would. She missed Tammie a lot. Her death had broken Marilyn. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the side of a parked car and leaned closer to check herself. She smoothed down her honey blonde curls and inspected her makeup. It seemed okay, though her lipstick had smudged just a bit. She fixed it as best she could and then went on to the rest of herself. She wore a red corset top and black leather shorts with fishnet stockings underneath them along with black high heels. Marilyn noticed her apparently lopsided chest and frowned as she noticed that her left breast form was nearly falling out. "I'm losing my left tit," she said quietly, fixing her top. "God damn it." She looked toward her lower half, making sure her parts were hidden. Even if the people who wanted her needed to know she had them, it definitely wouldn't look right to have a bulge in these pants. Upon seeing that she was fine, she stepped back to survey her entire reflection. She was fortunate enough not to grow a lot of facial hair, it took several days for her to get anything really visible, but that didn't stop her from being incredibly paranoid. She hated the way her body looked. She was about 6'0" without heels. She lacked feminine hips, though the corset helped, and the closest she had to breasts were the silicone ones she put in her bras. Without that, she was just as flat as her twin brother. That could change with hormones, but she couldn't afford them at the moment. Then there was her lower half of course, something that never ceased to make her uncomfortable with herself. Hormones could only do so much. After that, surgery was her only option. She nearly jumped three feet in the air when she felt someone touch her shoulder. She whipped around and took a few steps backward when she saw the man who had tapped her. She sighed quietly, slightly relieved that he wasn't just grabbing her and trying to hold her down. That had happened before, but a high heel to the groin normally sent them running. "Can I help you?" she asked, putting on the usual sultry persona she always used for this. It was the total opposite of how she was in reality. She was normally very shy, but that wouldn't work for her, not now, not for this.