Her tail hangs on the wall across from my bed. Her diadem lives in my bag of chainmail jewelry. Her boots, moccasin style, are occasionally worn without her preferred outfit: my black wrap dress.
She is one of my alter egos, a persona I love to don when I’m feeling sexy yet playful.
I sometimes think of myself as a vixen, with all that might entail. Sexy. Confident. Gleeful. And, of course, foxy.
She is older than my school girl, more wise and life lived. She is less humble, less demure than my school Gir sometimes can be.
I initially encountered her during my first summer at Ren Faire. Many people walked around the gravel encampment, most in personas that seemed appealing. Was I a bar wench? A lady of the court? A scoundrel or rapscallion? A pilferer?
As we circled around the fairgrounds, I came upon a store that sold, among other things, fox tails. At once I knew: one of those was mine.
I thought about a tail dyed red, but that didn’t seem right, even if it was one of my favorite colors. No, I found a black one, felt it, and at once knew it would be mine. I bought it and attached it to my backside immediately.
When I wear my tail, I have a little more pep in my step. I swing my ass a little more. I feel more like a me I love.
I’ve worn my tail in times where I needed comfort. Or when I wanted to be silly. Or sexy. Or just cause.
I have many personas, all of which I love. But Vixen… She is one I am so glad I found. I will never let her go.
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