I wrote that and used it to get a lot of crap off my chest. Yes, most of it is true. I do come from a broken home, my father did leave at 15, I was considered the man of the family (raised Mormon, so any male is automatically better than mere girls), so on.

I was in home ec. I could sew and cook, and I loved the gingham apron. I was one of three boys in there.

I did have to conform. I was in Scouts, I did play things like Army with them. I had Action Figures and cars.

Some of the details were skewed, like the comforter. I was in the Army, but not the Rangers. I wanted this to be the cry of someone who was forced to conform into a world he didn't want or like, and how it trapped him there.

I wasn't the popular kid, I was the outcaste. The one who was so far outside the groups that there was no group to contain me. I was one of them. Oddly enough, it allowed me to move around any group, just not to be a part of them. Never dating, no friends, just a loner with Mommy's underwear to hold.

I had tried to talk to others about it, talk to my mother about my feelings. It was dismissed as a phase that I would grow out of as I became sexual, and I was sent to the shrink. I never talked to the shrink about any of this. It may have helped if I had.

I wasted so much of my life trying to be in the male world. I bought the whole shebang, all of it. I never wanted it. I do remember trying to play dolls with some girls and being welcomed then forced to play with the boys by the gr'ups (grown-ups). Cowboys and Indians (when I wanted to be the white girl captured and rescued), guns, sports, cars and more. I always wondered what was wrong with me.

The last scene at the dominitrix and the humiliation never happened. I thought I wanted it to, and it was very close. Once upon a time, I nearly sold myself into sex slavery, but I chickened out at the last moment and just went home.

But, yes, the pain is real, it was a real hurt. The humiliation I did go through in some cases. I had the best time of my life when I was in a skirt and blouse taking care of my daughter and the home while my wife worked. I was so happy, I even went out dressed in daylight. And I was seen and snide comments were made by the clerks in a store one time. I never did it again, just at night by myself in the dark where no one could see me.

It was shameful. I did try to talk to my mother again about the whole situation, being TV and wanting SRS, having a closet of clothes that fit me. And she looked me in the eye with tears in hers and said "I don't want another daughter."

It doesn't hurt as much now, but it was a very painful thing.

All that and more is what went into the story "One Sissy's Story". It is a case of art and reality laying very close together.

I'll try to write something happy next time. One of my fantasies.