“Faggot!” bellows the mighty bully at small dear ole me. I gave him no reaction for I knew that he thrived on attention. Instead, I slip deeper into my mask to hide what I was feeling on the inside.

“Why hello Gage. Nice to see you.” I say in a neutral tone. I keep my ground. Showing any emotion to the bully will only make things worse.

“Why do you play with girls all the time? Are you one of those tranny freaks?” Gage spits. How in the world did he learn that word? Most kids shouldn’t even understand that word. I guess that makes two of us

The Loft

Sometime around platform number three I stopped to rest, because everyone else had stopped to rest. I sat, legs splayed in front of me; arms, like a tripod, behind me. Autumn and Sarah were discussing the play we were doing, as if they had both read it. Because they had both read it. The discussion centered around the set design, and had nothing whatever to do with the rest of the play.

As a result of dressing as a girl for my French class project, I was spending more and more time as a girl. While Sandy had been enthusiastic about my cross-dressing at the start, she seemed less and less in favor of it as time progressed and I spent more time en femme. She wanted a boyfriend.

My Father just didn’t like it. He was reluctant to discuss my cross-dressing; he left it to my Mother to tell me of his concerns. “Your Father had hoped that your cross-dressing was a phase and that you would grow out of it.” she said, “Now he thinks that you might be turning into a girl. He thinks that you are more girl than boy, and he wants you to go to counseling.”

Sandy shared my Dad’s concerns. Therefore, I agreed to go to counseling.