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256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2018
I decide it's an eighty percent kind of night. (...) I punch in the settings, climb into my chamber. Ten seconds before start-up, I get that fluttery feeling. Why not go all the way to ninety-five? Ninety-nine? One-hundred percent. I shout the number just before the flash. Hold on, kids. We're in for a change.The other weird thing is what those percentage points are significant for. The answer is very, very clear: the higher your percentage, the more you are drop-dead SEXY.
It's been so long since I took myself to the end of the spectrum. I do a full range of Degas poses, just to take it all in.The constant references to how very, very sexy Rick is, because he is not 95%, nor 99%, but 100% percent female, get old really fast, and have stuck in my craw ever since. It's just a world of nope. I mean, we have a world here which suffers from no shortage of people who are "100% XX", and yet somehow are not ultra-femme Cosmo-bodied sex goddesses. Holy hell. And anybody writing a story about fluid, transitional, or nonbinary sex, should know a hell of a lot better than to crow about how being "100%" is the sexy, sexy ideal.
Hips? Check. Lips? Yes. Tits? You bet.
(...)
Here I am, one hundred percent XX, heels up to here and woman-parts like nobody's business, and the whole point of looking this way is to be the brashest eye-magnet in the house.
She made damn good money as an assassin, but if her mother was upset about the supposed millinery business, Biantera could only imagine what she'd have to say about the Other job.The constant juxtaposition between hatmaking and murder makes for great roguish fun, and Biantera's methods are clever and refreshing.