Frankie cringed and put her hands to her chest in a protective gesture. "Came out?" What a HORRIFYING thing to happen! "Alright, you've convinced me. Never getting fake tits. I'll treasure the ones of got, even though they're tiny." Frankie flushed a little at the compliment and whispered a shy, "Thanks."
Many of Frankie's clothes had slits cut in the back to allow her wings freedom of movement, especially her lounging attire. They seemed to flick and brighten of their own accord. It was almost like blinking. Unconscious movements dictated by need or absentmindedness. She didn't mind people touching them, but it was always nice if they asked first.
"Well, I have some pop rap, but I've also got some gangster stuff. I don't care much for the lyrics, but I love a good beat. Anything that lets me drop it low." Frankie was a good dancer. It was one of the things she was actually proud of. Problem was, when she went to clubs, she tended to gather a lot of unwanted attention. It would be bad if someone stumbled across her wings while trying to grind up against her. "What do you listen to?" she asked while sipping at her wine. So yummy!