Let’s start at the beginning. The first three years is the
most important in any person’s life. It is here where the
foundation of your personality is built and this will
follow you for the rest of your life.
My mother and Dad were Irish. They lived in the USA when I
came to this world. I have three brothers. I am the second
oldest. I have also been the black sheep of the family and
you will soon find out why
My older brother was born. Of course, my parents were glad
that he was a boy. It wasn’t long after that my mother was
pregnant with me.
Years later, she told me that she wanted a girl. As a
devout Catholic she prayed every night that I would be a
girl. She was confident that her prayers were heard. She
convinced my father that the nursery should be a princess
one, and the best one her daughter could have. Baby
clothes and everything was girls. I doubt I had any
idea when I was swimming in the womb as to what she was
praying and preparing.
My fate was destined. But Mothers can change the fate.
I came into this life as a boy. It wasn’t my fault, and as
a baby, I doubt I really knew what I was. I didn’t know at
that time, but my mother went through a depression. She
saw I was a boy and she felt that life has failed her. I
was meant to be a girl. What happened? Why did God abandon
her? I feel sorry for my mother, which set her hopes up
and was disappointed and depressed when I came out. It
must be hard for her to experience a depression and feel
disappointed that I was a boy, not a girl. She must have
thought about the nursery and girl clothes. What a waste
of money. What a waste of hope.
Life goes on, and after some time, my mother realized that
she loved me and will always love me. Decades after, with
all the sins I have done. This is very true. My mother’s
love has never disappeared, no matter what I have done and
how much society hates me.
Years later, she told me when she found her strength; she
held me in her arms and said, “You will always be my
princess.” This was the start of an identity crisis, a
nickname that would follow me through my life and me not
being a boy or a girl. It was here, years later that she
told me this that she tried to apologize for what she did
when I was a child. My answer was simple. She gave me love
and if I didn’t like her treatment, I would have
protested. She gave me something that many children do not
experience and unconditional love. Now I am getting ahead
of myself. We better screw time back again, so you know
what she did.
She must have decided that I was her little girl, and the
large “Clit” I had was just a mess-up from nature’s side.
Looking back, I wonder why people didn’t put a
straitjacket on her and thrown her into a padded room.
Thank God she didn’t.
She took her princess home. My Dad said nothing about the
girl’s baby clothes and the nursery. He loves my mother so
high and the only thing I can think of is that he turned a
blind eye. To be honest, I never asked him about it. We do
not have the best relationship and our talks are about the
weather and other irrelevant things
So I was brought home and treated like a princess. Of
course, I did not know that I was. According to my mother,
I was an easy baby. I slept and ate. That was my life.
Being a baby I did not care if I had pink clothes or blue
clothes.
As I grew, there was no need for the girl clothes. This
didn’t mean that I wore boy clothes. I had unisex clothes,
which had the hint of being both for boys and girls. There
could be pictures of flowers or princesses. My favourite
was trousers that had butterflies on them. I also had some
skirts and dresses, that I could dress up at home or when
we were far away from home. I loved when we were at a
supermarket and I had these pretty dresses on. My hair was
always down to my shoulder. My mother thought that boys
could have long hair as well. My brothers had short hair.
Looking back at pictures of me as a child, I did really
look like a girl.
My bedroom was the best in the world. I had boy toys as
well as girl toys. I loved a dollhouse that I had and
could spend hours playing with this and some Barbie’s I
had. I do not think I ever played with the guns and
rifles.
I had a few friends when I was this age. I am talking
about before I started in school. They all called me
princess. This was a happy time of my life. I had one good
friend, and for the life of me, I can’t remember his name.
I know that boys hated girls at that stage. But both
accepted me, as I was weird. I looked like a girl and yet
was a boy. I wonder today what other children actually
thought. Did they really care what clothes I had on, or
how my hair looked? I suppose as long as I was fun then
they were fine with it.
Even though Friends were fine with me, adults were not.
“Don’t you think his shorts look like a skirt?”
“Why do you put your boy in that t-shirt? My daughter has
the same.”
“Why do you call him princess? He will get confused who he
really is”
“Don’t you think that you should cut his hair?”
My mother just shrugged them off with the excuse that I
liked the clothes, and I liked the hair and I liked the
toys, which was true. I know I had what we now call a
gender identity problem. The question is, was I born with
it, or was it because of my mother? I remember once saying
to these nosey women in a loud voice, “I am a princess”.
As old as I am now, this is a strong memory. I felt like I
was a girl, and had a boy’s body. I was convinced because
my penis was so small compared to others that were just a
mistake. My pussy was closed. None the less that these
women were shocked by my outburst and my mother was both
embarrassed and proud.
Not all adults were so mean. Some called me princess and
told me how beautiful I was. They complimented my hair and
clothes. Some even said, "you are a good girl.” which made
me smile.
As for my Dad, he hardly spoke with me and spent most of
the time with my brothers that were 100% boys.
We have all seen pictures of boys below the age of five
dressing up as girls. They either are doing it because
they think it’s fun or because they have transgender
identity problems. As adults, we usually smile, even the
most conservative adult. However, when a boy grows up,
this innocent practice is expected to stop. Society’s
morals and traditions put a stop to this. Boys are boys,
girls are girls. We do not like people that are different.
I was about to find this out when I started school.
I started at school when I was about five. I remember the
first day. When I was closing the door, my finger got
stuck in the door. Mother took me to the school and sat me
down with ice on my finger. The teacher must have been
confused when my mother kept calling me princess. I do not
remember what clothes I was wearing, but you can be sure
that I had some clothes boys would not wear and that there
were hints of a girl in them. I do remember that I wore
tights. I always wore tights, and I wore diapers. This
irritated my mother, but I loved wetting myself and she
punished me by putting me in diapers. This is something
that I did not like. But I quickly accepted it and didn't
think about it.
The boys never accepted me as one of them when I started
school. Everyone called me princess and some called me
sissy or baby because I wore diapers. The boys used to
laugh at me and especially my hair that was now long and
brown. If you remember Zack Hanson when he was a child, my
hair looked like his. My mother never did it in pigtails,
but she would put the hair in many braids, like some
Africans or reggae star. This could be acceptable as a
boy, but it made me look more and more like a girl.
I didn’t mind the teasing from the boys. I just played
with the girls. This trend would last all my childhood. It
was fun playing with them. Especially house (where I was
always the baby) and with dolls. The girls didn’t consider
me a sissy. They did call me princess, or changed my name
to Stephanie, even though the teacher said to call me by
my right name.
It was also at this stage that I started sitting down when
I peed. In my head, I was more and more a girl every day.
It really had nothing to do with my mother now. It was how
I felt.
It was also at this stage, that I became interested in
sex. I remember that I had a friend home. His name was
Eddie. He was a bit darker in the skin than me. I thought
that he was a good friend. One day we were playing
superheroes. I loved playing this as a child. He was
Superman and I was superwoman. I had her costume that I
used for Halloween and he loaned one of my brother’s
costumes. I remember when he saw my penis and said it was
very small; maybe I was really a girl. I got embarrassed
and told him not to look. We played all afternoon and at
one stage, Superman was supposed to kiss superwoman. It
was not a French kiss or anything sexual. I really didn’t
know why kissing was so cool at that age. But it was part
of the game. Just as he kissed me on the lips, Dad and
Eddie’s mother came in. Here they both seen two boys
kissing and one boy dressed as wonder woman. Neither Eddie
nor I knew what gay was. Still, I got spanked and was told
that Eddie was no longer allowed to play with a sissy.
That meant me. He never spoke with me again.
I lost a friend and learned that parents can be so cruel.
I never did forgive my father for this. He never
complained that I played with girl’s things and had
“unisex” clothes on, or wore diapers and tights. But
kissing a boy was too much for him. Did he spank me out of
love or embarrassment or because I was a hopeless case,
not like my brothers that were good at sports and things
like that?
Then it was time to go to a primary school. It was a
private school in the USA. I did quite well in school. The
nickname followed me and I still looked like a girl. I was
teased because I had to wear diapers. This meant I was
always a baby in games. Not only a baby but a baby sister.
I liked these times. I never said no to it.
Years later when I had child psychology, I learnt that
there are status roles when children play role games like
this. The baby is supposed to be the lowest. I didn’t know
that when I was 7, so I was happy with the role. I got a
lot of attention, from getting changed. Girls wanted to
see if my nappy was wet and being innocent, I let
them. They also played brushing my hair, which was
down to my shoulders. They would brush it and brush it and
put all girly hair things in it. Of course, I was teased
and called sissy and princess, but I liked the attention.
It didn’t bother me that they thought I was weird because
I wet myself and that I wore tights and looked like a
girl.
One thing that did bother me was the teacher. She was a
woman and I really liked her. I know she liked my brothers
and thought they were normal and polite and all that. But
I was sure that she hated me. She would get mad at the
girls for fixing my hair. She would give a speech that
this was not for boys. She also asked when my mother would
give me a haircut. I remember once she tried to embarrass
me by saying everyone could see my tights and to pull my
trousers up. I was embarrassed and tears started to come
out of my eyes. She then asked the whole class, “Do you
think a princess should cry?” I saw the smile on her face
and knew that she hated me.
Many boys were told not to play with me. I still played
with the girls and didn’t think much about it. Their
parents must have thought that I was totally weird. They
probably thought that I would contaminate their children.
There was one boy that I played with. His name was Andrew.
We used to do a lot together, especially when we were
outside. I remember once that he visited me. He was
surprised that there were a few skirts and dresses in my
wardrobe. I admitted that sometimes that I wore them. I
also confessed that I thought I was a girl. I liked girl’s
toys. I liked girl’s clothes. I liked girl’s games. I like
girls everything. I said that God made a mistake and
forgot to open my “slit”. He was confused but said that
everyone thought I was girlish, why else would they call
me princess.
It was at this stage, that I was becoming aware of how
harsh people could be and the power of hate. My teacher
was an example. Andrew promised not to tell anyone what he
saw. He also added that he considered me as a girl. But I
was a special girl. I was a girl that he would like and
play with. Looking back, it was not me that had courage.
It was Andrew. He was not afraid to be seen with me and be
my friend. Maybe it is the innocence of a child. Maybe it
is because some children do not judge, but adapt and
accept things. But he had courage. When I was confirmed as
a Catholic years later, I had to pick a name. I picked his
name. This way he would always be a part of me.
Things developed between Andrew and me. We were about 8
when this happened. We were on the playground sitting and
eating our lunch. He asked me what I thought about
kissing. This was a strange question. I told him that I
kissed Jennifer, who was my age and lived a few houses
away. Andrew was surprised. Can a girl kiss a girl? I was
both surprised by this and confused. I explained that it
was her idea. My mother caught us and I had to read
Huckleberry Finn as a punishment.
Andrew then asked me a question that would be the next
important step in my life. “Do you think I am cute that
you would kiss me?”
Without thinking, I leaned forward and gave him a peck on
the lips. It was a peck that would last a few minutes. It
was not a French kiss or anything like that; it was a
puppy love kiss. When I pulled back, I could see that he
was in a daze. His only words were, “I love you and always
will”
Our new found love was cut short. Our teacher had seen us.
Of course, it was my fault. She sent me into the classroom
and I was not allowed to go out to the playground for a
week. I remember crying at the nurse’s office when I was
getting changed and complaining that it was not fair. The
nurse just said that boys should not kiss boys, and at the
same time, maybe it would help me to wear boy diapers, so
other boys would not think I am a sissy or what’s worse, a
girl. “From what I hear, many boys think that you are a
girl. You cannot run from who you really are and what’s
between your legs. If you do it will always give you
problems”
That summer we went to Ireland on a trip. Once again I was
to experience that some people hated me and some people
adored me. I had the looks as a girl and I had the charm.
I was different by now because I wet. My grandmother
adored me and she always called me a girl. Even my
grandfather used to take me on his lap and tell me loads
of stories. He loved the fact that while my other brothers
wanted to play sports that I would listen to him.
On my father’s side of the family, it was different. They
hardly spoke to me. My Grandmother used to tease me
because I wet myself and liked plucking flowers. That
happened when I plucked flowers for her. Her only response
was that there was no hope for me. That was the last time
I picked flowers for her.
My father’s brother, my uncle stole my childhood. We were
out driving one day and he was saying how pretty I was. I
was used to people saying this, so it really did not
affect me. He liked the girlish t-shirt I had on and the
shorts, which were so baggy that they looked like a skirt.
I asked some questions about the car and then he let me
sit on his lap. While I was driving the car zigzag over
some field, he was feeling my flat breasts and after a
while found out that I really had a pussy. His finger
fitted in it. I was confused. Was the same hole that I
used for other things really a girl’s hole too? It hurt
when his finger played there, but I was more confused if
it was really a girl’s hole. How stupid could I be?
A few days later, I was wearing a denim overall. You know
with straps over the shoulder. I had no t-shirt under and
the overall had Tinkerbell on its stomach. My uncle was in
the farmyard and I was playing with the dogs. He said that
I should wear a t-shirt; otherwise, he could see my boobs.
I laughed and said they were not big. Then he went a step
further and showed me his penis, which was very big. He
then dared me to see if I was really a princess. Yes, you
guessed. After coaxing me, I gave him a blowjob. I was
once again confused and didn’t know what was happening. Is
this what girls do? He told me to swallow because it was
good for my skin. I didn’t like the taste or that it
nearly choked me to death. Looking back, I am sure you
will all agree he took advantage of my gender identity
crises. He abused me. He confused any boy left in me and
showed me what a girl should do. I believed it but did not
understand why it had to be such a secret. With one step,
he has changed my life forever. He had manipulated me and
made me more of a slut than a girl.
At the same time, I am partly to blame. I accepted his
abuse. I did like sucking. I didn’t like swallowing. It
proved that part of me if not all of me was a girl. I was
now a true princess and I have proven it. I would give my
mouth to him and let him play with my bum. I remember once
when he was doing this, I thought about other girls and if
they did the same. I thought they did.
He taught me how to pleasure his dogs when he was not
there. Girls love dogs, he would say. “And you want the
dogs to be very happy”. He convinced me that my mouth was
also to make dogs happy. He called me a bitch at times and
that made me feel funny in my stomach. I liked when he
called me names and dominated me. “Maybe you were not
meant to be a boy or girl, maybe you were meant to be a
girl dog,” he would say.
I was now one of the statistics of the 10-20% of children
that were sexually abused. I was also one of the children
that kept it a secret because I was confused and afraid.
We went back to the USA. I had a boyfriend at this stage.
Andrew and I were very close to each other and enjoyed
each other’s company. There was nothing sexual in our
relationship. We acted like normal children that loved
each other. He would hold my hand, or push me on the
swings, or the puppy love kiss. I quickly forgot about my
uncle and was once again happy.
When we shopped for clothes, my mother picked my brothers
clothes. I was now 9 and I was becoming better at not
wetting during the daytime. When we picked clothes for me,
my mother usually tried to show me some boy’s clothes.
Asking if I thought they were nice. No doubt she knew that
I was being teased. She knew that I considered myself a
princess. Even though she didn’t stop calling me that
name, she wanted the best for me. I was getting so old
that I should be a bit more boyish. I rebelled. I did not
want my hair to be cut. I looked at dresses and girls
clothes and used my charm to get my mother to get them. I
continued with tights and now wore panties. It may have
been something that my mother started, but I was happy
whom I was. I didn’t mind being teased. I liked the
attention
My dad said nothing. Neither did he talk with me.
One day, my parents told me that we were moving to
Ireland. I was so sad. Why couldn’t Andrew move with us?
How would I live without him? What was there in Ireland?
My uncle! Would I have to pleasure him and the dogs? How I
missed the dogs, but not him. I kept all this bottled up
inside me and said to my parents that I was looking
forward to moving to Ireland. There I had my grandmother
and Grandfather, my mother’s parents.
I was nearly 10 when we moved. It was a culture shock. In
one way I was happy. I left behind all the teachers that
hated me. I could start with a fresh start. Schools were
either boy’s schools or girl’s schools they were not
mixed. I remember my first day at school. There was no
uniform so I was wearing some jeans with bell bottoms and
some bears on the pockets. I had a top on with some
glitter. We were not many in the class. I remember someone
asked me, “Should you not be in the girl’s school?”
I didn’t answer.
It was hard at the start. My classmates heard my brothers
call me princess and this meant that the nickname
continued.
Even though I tried to wear more boyish clothes at PE when
we had to change, they all noticed the tights or I
remember once I wore panties but with a bow on it. This
made sure everyone knew what I was. Once a friend to be,
Tim said, “You Americans are all weird. You are a sissy”
Everyone knew I was a sissy.
I could not excuse it saying that it was American fashion.
They also noticed that when we were taking showers, I
showed them my butt and hid my penis. That was far smaller
than theirs. Some bigger lads even noticed that I looked
at theirs. They would feel my butt and ask if I was a
faggot. I was silent. I didn’t even know what this meant.
The teachers were nice, although they could also embarrass
me. Once a woman teacher who was patrolling the schoolyard
came up to me and said my hair was down to my shoulders
and should be cut because I could be mistaken for a girl.
I said no I liked my hair. Then she stroked it and noticed
how soft it was and wished her daughters had hair like
mine.
But after a bit, despite I was weird in everyone’s eyes, I
was accepted. The principle that was very understanding
told me once, “Its Ok to be different. God likes different
people, just look at the saints. Remember that there are
people that will want to take advantage of you because of
who you really are. This would be sad.” How I should have
listened to him, but I really did not understand his
warning at that stage
I had many friends. They would never be seen dead in the
same type of clothes I had, but they accepted me for who I
was. This was a happy time in my life.
We lived several hours away from my uncle. So I did not
see him that often. His abuse stopped when he got married.
When I was 11, I started in secondary school. Now we wore
uniforms. Other children from the district came to the
school. I wore tights and panties and tops, but the
uniform saved a lot of problems. I refused to get my hair
cut. There was another boy in the class that had long
hair. He was from Holland. I had a secret crush on him.
At this stage, something happened in my body that should
not have happened. My breasts were like small eggs
sticking out. I was overjoyed because this just proved
that my body should have been a girl’s body. At the same
time, I was deeply embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone to
know. Only my mother knew, the doctor said it was probably
an imbalance with hormones, that I had too many girl ones
and few boy ones. I knew the truth. God has made a
mistake.
My life had some embarrassing moments at this stage. It
also had its good sides. On the whole, I was very happy
and felt that life was good for me. One embarrassing
moment was when I was in a scout camp. We hiked for miles
and had to sleep under some bridge. One of the mothers was
there, and she said after we had our campfire that it was
time that I was changed. All the other boys were confused.
I went to a corner and laid down while she put a diaper on
me. I still wet the bed. Then she helped me put my
nightshirt on, that was white and lacey and had snow white
on. I sat back at the campfire. The other boys just
stared. They said things like you look cute princess and
is that the nightclothes you wear in the USA, only girls
wear them here. I got a bit careless and my legs were
spread. They saw the diapers, it confirmed what they
thought. I was now known as a baby.
My life took another major step when I was 11. This is
where my childhood definitely stopped and I became
something that will bring tears to many eyes. It was the
weekend. I was walking through the park with Tim. I had
tank tube on and jeans that had lace sewn at the bottom
and around the pockets. They were my favourite jeans. Then
this man in a fine suit came and sat beside us. He looked
at Tim,
“What is your name, and is this your sister?” he asked
“He is not my sister, he is my friend. He is a boy,” Tim
answered laughing
“Oh, I thought you were a girl. I am sorry. You both are
very cute. I take pictures for magazines and would like
you two to be models. The thing is if you tell your
parents, they will have to give permission, and I doubt
they will. Then you lose the chance to try all these cool
clothes and be a model that will give you lots of money.
If you want to do this, meet me here next week.”
He continued trying to convince us to be models and then
it would be fun.
Tim and I talked about it. I could not get it out of my
head that he thought I was pretty, and I could be a model.
The glamour was what attracted me and also the problem
that I could not say no. Tim decided straight away that he
would not do it. He thought the man was strange. I said he
looked nice. He even had a suit on. But Tim would not
listen. I decided that I would meet him alone and Tim
promised that it would be our secret.
I met the man the following week. His name was Kevin,
which was the same name as my brother. He was happy to see
me and said that we could go to his studio, which was in a
town that was 7 km away. We drove there. My heart was
pumping fast and I remember counting the electric posts
along the road. Once in a while, I was looking to see if I
could see my Dads truck. Then I would be in trouble. When
we got to his house, his studio was in the basement. It
was well lightening but there were no windows. He said
that we should start straight away. He said that pictures
of me with a dress on would be pretty. I said OK. I said
yes to everything he wanted. I sat down on this bed in a
pretty white dress holding a teddy bear. He kept on taking
pictures. He told me to play with the teddy bear and I
pretended to play with the bear. Soon I forgot that there
were pictures being taken of me. It was when I kissed the
bear. Then He told me to hide the bear up my dress, but
raise the dress a bit so he could see my panties and the
bear looking at them. I thought this was strange but did
it. At the end, he took some pictures of me flashing my
panties. I was embarrassed as hell, but he said no one
would see this. He lied. Decades someone showed a picture
of me on MSN, and asked was it me when I was a child? I
was mad and shocked and had an anxiety attack. I told him
no. However, it was me wearing a white dress and holding a
teddy bear. If this picture was scanned in the net, what
other pictures were? Is someone still making money from
them? Now I am getting ahead of myself again.
I now had two lives. One as a model that was top secret,
and one for myself. I hated the secrecy and double life. I
was growing fast now. I was still naïve in realizing what
was really happening. I was like a bimbo in thinking that
people like Kevin cared about me, or that I would be a
famous model.
One day in school. A classmate came up to me. His name was
Paul. I never considered him as a friend. His family was
poor. I was on the way in the classroom where he stood
there. I was one of the smallest in the class, but he was
just a small bit taller than me. He put his arms around me
and kissed me. This was my first French kissed and I do
not know how long it was. I did not even notice that the
others in the class were looking. I let him kiss me and
kissed him back. When he was finished, he whispered. “I
love you princess. You are the prettiest sissy I know.” I
smiled, despite everyone laughing and calling me gay and
faggot. Someone fancied me since I knew Andrew; this was
all that mattered to me.
I continued being a model. The pictures developed the way
he wanted them to develop. Once we were down at a beach.
It was quite cold and windy, but the sun was still
shining. Kevin was taking pictures of me prancing through
the sand with a diaper on. This was embarrassing as he was
taking pictures of my breasts and diaper. I remember an
old couple passed where I was playing. They just said that
I should be ashamed of myself and grow up. Then he had me
playing in the water. I remember that the water was cold.
He kept on complimenting me and saying how pretty I was.
On my way home, I thought who would want pictures like
these, as I never seen pictures like them anywhere. Being
myself, I quickly got the thought out of my mind when he
gave me a present, Perfume.
As I said, I was living a double life. I was the innocent
“sissy” at school and I was a model that only Tim knew
about.
Paul kissed me a lot. One day his arms went up to my
shirt. I tried to stop him, but the feelings inside were
too much and I wanted to please him. He found my eggy
breasts and was shocked. He shouted that I was a girl.
Then it was like he went crazy and kissed me deeply while
feeling the “eggs”. Was he in love or was it lust or was
it just because I was different? I liked the attention.
Like Andrew, Paul knew deep down who I thought I was, and
he thought the same himself.
Kevin continued taking pictures of me. The difference was
that they were quickly becoming more erotic. I had less
and fewer clothes on and ended up being naked.
One day he bought a man that I never saw in the studio.
Kevin knew everything about me, including my uncle. So he
said to pretend this man was my uncle. I looked at him in
shock. Did he want me to be rude and to have pictures
taken of me being rude? Models did not take these sorts of
pictures! The strange man praised me and asked was I proud
of my eggs, and did they feel funny when he touched them?
While we were saying this, pictures were being taken. In
the end, I did what was expected of me. I pleasured the
man with my mouth. He squirted all over my face. While
this was happening I was looking at a spider web on the
ceiling, thinking how beautiful it was. I told you before
that I liked sucking. But I realized that pictures were
being taken, and when his white stuff was all over my
face, I heard Kevin say that this would be a priceless
picture.
These pictures continued. I know today that I was a child
porn star. I did not know at the time. I was too naïve to
know. Or I had chosen not to think about it. I now was
sucking more than most adults would dream about. Pictures
were taken with me with men and dogs. My mind switched off
when I was doing this. I think now that I got myself so
deep in, that I could not get out. I didn’t know how. I
didn’t know who to talk to, or who would help me
If you are about to shed tears out of sympathy, keep them
back. It was in a way my own fault. Things became worse.
It didn’t take much for him to persuade me. He rented me
out. While other 11-year-olds are playing football and
cycling. My mouth was doing something that most
11-year-olds don’t even know about. He told me I was
different. God made me a princess sissy with a small penis
and eggys to pleasure men. My life was leaning towards
this. Men would love me because I was a girl, and yet not
a girl. He finished his argument by saying that I liked
sucking.
This brought me to the darker side of life. I started
pleasuring many men. Some experiences I still get flashed
backs about, some that were forgotten. I was now a whore.
No longer a child. Not yet an adult.
I was happy at school. This is where I could really be
myself. It is where I had friends. Some which fancied me.
Most importantly, I could feel normal. Be interested in
clothes and the like, and be me. It was hard keeping a
secret about the model life, but I was good at forgetting
that until the time came. Some boys teased me. But I loved
being teased. I loved the attention. The break at school
and being an ordinary child probably stopped me from going
insane.
The model career developed and became what many would call
dark. Just before I was 12, I was no longer a virgin.
Another man was in the photo shot and he took my
virginity. I remember that it hurt like hell. But I did
not say no. I didn’t even question it. I just let him do
it. Kevin was happy; he said a picture of a sissy boy
crying while he was being deflowered was priceless. How
pretty I looked with tears. Years later, I thought that it
was on this day that I lost not only my virginity but also
my soul.
The whore boy had more men when he learned how to be a
full sissy. What I remember here and enjoyed it when I
went to the man’s house. I usually had a very childish
dress with tights and what not. I loved being in public as
a girl and felt like I was now allowed to be me. The price
was that I would have to be a slut for some man. It would
start with him praising and complimenting, then slowly
kissing and you can guess the rest. In time, I even
enjoyed sex- convincing myself that this proved that I was
a girl.
I was in a dark world, which one reads about in Eastern
Europe nowadays. I did not know how to get out. Ireland
was a very religious country, very Catholic. I was
religious, but at the same time involved in something that
would send me straight to hell. My mother and Dad turned a
blind eye. They must have noticed it. Once my mother asked
why there was £600 in my bank account. I said summer jobs.
Her answer was, “You are a good princess.” How could she
not notice? How could she be so blind? Years later, I
confronted my parents about my experienced, leaving out
the bit about my uncle. My dad’s answer was that I tried
to convince everyone that I was a girl. My mother said
never to mention it again, think what I was doing to her.
Things changed when I was 13. I decided to save the world.
I was going to be a priest. I was going to bring the love
of Jesus to everyone. The priests told me that I had to go
to a boarding school. Here I could see their work and when
it was time, I could join them. I was 13 when I decided to
start at the boarding school. I became serious about this.
My clothes were toned down, not a lot, but not as sissy as
what I did wear until now. To my mother’s shock, I also
got my haircut. It was still long; it was close to the
hairstyle that Cole and Dylan's spouse had. I was serious
about being a priest. I didn’t want to give up my
identity, but I wanted to be accepted. Years later, I can
see that my charm and the fact that I was different was
enough that I would be accepted by many.
I started at boarding school, and everyone quickly found
out my nickname. I was once again called princess.
Everyone noticed I was very feminine. The hair should have
been shorter, plus the tights and night dress. I loved
chains, Necklaces and armbands. Everyone knew I was a
sissy, and they could see my “eggs” during gym when we
showered or if I wore tight tops. I quickly got a
reputation for being a princess, and everyone knew that I
was a bed wetter. Sometimes they would come in my cubicle
at night-time to see my nightdress or to lift it up and
see the diaper. Everyone thought I was gay, and a whisper
of he is a faggot and half girl filled the school.
This meant that I had very little friends during the day.
But at nighttime, I had quite a lot of friends. Some older
boy would come in and sit down and talk about things while
he felt my “eggs”. When they knew me better they would
give me a massage where he would finger my pussy and I
pleased them by saying how much I liked it. I thought they
were friends. Even though I was often tired, I let them
use all my holes. Everyone in the school knew I was a
slut. I didn’t disappoint them. Of course, they gave me
presents for my services
On weekends when I came home. I would continue as the
whore boy. My teenage years were full of pleasing others.
At school, there was one priest called father Patrick. Now
I know he was a paedophile. He used to help me with the
diaper. But he never did anything except twist my “eggs”.
Of all the abuse I presented myself to and accepted. He
was the worse abuser. I was waiting for something to
happen, and it never happened. If it happened, it would
have been over with. But it never did.
I remember that every time I took a shower, he was there.
Once this boy was standing close to me. I turned my back
because I didn’t want him to see how small my dick was. He
pressed against me and I could feel his penis between my
ass cheeks. I turned red because I could see Father
Patrick looking.
Epilogue
I tried joining the priesthood. But I was also abused
there. Amazing how many gay priests there are. My puberty
was very late. I still had no hair when I was 14. I was
small and this made life difficult in some ways.
I gave up the priesthood and worked in England with
handicapped people. I was now a man. I left behind all the
girl things and persuaded myself that I had to grow up. I
think now I did this to forget being a whore boy.
I got married and have two children. They know nothing
about my past and I doubt I will ever tell them. They were
never abused
I became a teacher, and the happiest day in my life was
when I passed the exams. Besides my wedding day and when
my children were born.
I was also a scout leader
Like most of my life, there was a good side and bad side.
I turned my back on the previous identity I had. Once I
thought I was a girl. Now I was to convince the world I
was a man. I tried suicide at least 2-3 times every year.
I never told anyone.
As a teacher, I taught Kindergarten, I never abused
children here. In fact, I told them over and over; do not
keep secrets from your parents. I had a dark side and a
light side
I would be on the computer looking for pictures of
children. Years, after I think, was I trying to find
pictures of myself. It was like a movie. I would be
standing beside my body watching me search the net for
pictures.
Then one day I was arrested for downloading pictures. I
didn’t pay for them, I didn’t know the children. I was now
officially a paedophile. Just like my uncle. I hated
myself. I ate rat poison. I survived. I ate 50 tablets. I
survived. I cut my wrists. My wife put me in a mental
institution.
Here I was locked up. Everyone will think I was a
paedophile. My wife wanted a divorce. I told my mother in
law small bits about my childhood ten years earlier and
everything came forth, everyone knew I was abused. I
couldn’t take it. I hopped 10 meters down. I must admit I
am bad at suicide. I survived.
Now they tell me I have personality problems, I have
dissociation amnesia and I suffer from Agoraphobia and
severe anxiety attacks.
I do not feel sorry for myself. I no longer am mad at
myself. The charm is still there that convinces people I
am not as bad as I really am. I exist. Maybe one day I
will make a comeback. Maybe one day I will forgive myself.
With hope, you have a future