A Step Off the Path

My face and . . .

I was born with an affliction. One that would ultimately have a profound effect on my life. What was it? It was my face.

I was a boy, but I was born with a girl's face.

I have memories of numerous incidents that occurred throughout my early years, like teachers who didn't know me, putting me in with the girls rather than the boys, of being told off by some strange man for using the wrong toilet, people saying 'why are you wearing your brother's clothes?' and so on.

I quickly learnt that getting upset or angry about these things only made matters worse. So I mostly just went with the flow.

Another thing that didn't help, was that my parents had named me Val. Just Val, that's all. God knows why.

Apparently, they thought that Val was supposed to be a boy's name, but it's dodgy, isn't it, at least in our part of the world. Of course, my folks weren't to know at the time I was born that I was going to keep my cute girl's face as I grew up.

So what did I get:

"Val, that's short for Valerie, is it?"

Sigh. "No, just Val. And I'm actually a boy."

"Oh, really," (doubtful laugh).

With the benefit of hindsight I can see that when I first started school, I found that the girls seemed to be more friendly towards me than the boys and this led to me playing with them much more than with the boys.

It flowed on, and throughout my early years of schooling, I think that I must have been associated with the girls more often than with the boys - sitting with them in class, eating lunch with them and so on. I don't really recall being conscious of this at the time; nor can I recall being teased about it.

I suppose you could say that things steadily accumulated over the years. Stuff like, whenever we had drama or put on a play, I was always cast in a female role; I was invited to many more girls' birthday parties than boys; and, I was directed more towards sports deemed suitable for girls rather than for boys.

More obvious incidents at school were:

"Val, are you trying to be a tomboy?"

"Girls, please pay attention. Megan, Valerie, I'm talking to you two."

"No, Val, you can't join in. This is boys' stuff."

"Val, would you tell your friend Megan, that Peter likes her."

"That's a stupid haircut, Valerie. You should have your hair the same way Cate has hers."

"Do your want to try this nail polish, Val."

Not long after I'd turned nine, I went with Megan (my best friend) to her place on the way home from school because she had something to give me.

"Mum said to give you these 'cos they no longer fit me, but they should still fit you."

She handed me a plastic shopping bag with some clothes in it. They were Megan's old school uniforms.

"Er, okay," I blinked. "Thanks."

I showed them to Mum, I couldn't really avoid it.

"Oh, good. It will save me from having to buy you some new things. Come on, let's try them on you."

"Yes, they are a good fit. How do they feel, love?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Great. You can start wearing them straightway because your other school clothes have just about had it."

Didn't anybody remember anymore that I was a boy?

I suppose I just gave up. Everybody treated me as a girl: the kids at school, the teachers, my relatives, and even the neighbours. I guess I behaved accordingly.

The next 'major event' occurred shortly before I turned fourteen. Perhaps it was bought on by the fact that my girlfriends were developing their breasts.

I confronted my mother. I lifted up my skirt and pulled down my panties, exposing my small penis and testicles.

"Mum, have you forgotten about this?"

"Oh, darling, I suppose I had. Of course, we have to do something about it, and your chest development as well. Don't worry sweetheart, I'll get moving on it straight away."

Doctors, hospitals, injections, nurses, tablets, talks with this person, this and that. All a bit confusing.

. . . . . . . .

I was sixteen, at a friend's place, in her bedroom. There were five of us and we were being stupid.

"Who's got the nicest pussy, do you reckon?"

Arguments, laughter, teasing, yelling, etc, etc.

"Come on, let's have a pussy show."

"No, no," I squealed, "that's naughty."

More yelling, more laughter.

"Yes, yes, showtime girls. Let's see 'em."

We did it.

I have no doubt that my new pussy was the prettiest.