.Call me Princess
Written by Dauphin
"A realistic story that shows how childhood can screw our lives and how cruel some people are." Diana
"This is the story of a friend. It makes one think on as many have a similar story" Dauphin
Being re-written, to correct the spelling and grammer mistakes
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 were 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 seen 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 crises, 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 done 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 strait jacket 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 bought 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 Boys 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 cock 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 its 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 in the school and sat me down with ice around 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 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 skin than me. I thought that he was a good friend. One day we were playing super heroes. 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 seen 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 baby, but 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 on how harsh people could be and the power of hate. My teacher was an example. Andrew promised not to tell anyone what he seen. He also added that he considered me as a girl. But I was a special girl. I was a girl that he could 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 as 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 in 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 in the classroom and I was not allowed to go out in 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. Mt 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 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 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 in 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 as 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 on 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 lighten 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 as 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 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 less clothes on and ended up being naked.
One day he bought a man that I never seen in 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. At 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 porno 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 leading 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 bought 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 important, I could feel normal. Be interested in clothes and the like, and be myself. 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 is 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 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 dresses. 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 nighttime 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 pedophile. 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.
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 pedophile. 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 pedophile. 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
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