I'm using a non de plume to lodge this submission, if only to see how easy it is or isn't to do a story with photos/ I also don't want it in with "my stories" under my other BCTS name. Please note that all of the photos (except two from Word clip art) were copied from PinterestUK.com. You may or may not see a few watermarks on some of them. The story's meant as a trial and for a few giggles as I think a lot of readers might see themselves (or wish they did or could) in some of the photos.

Mom had given dad four sons since they got married and dearly wanted a daughter she could raise. Regrettably my birth didn't go well and apart from giving birth to the world's ugliest baby (I've been told that so many times by relatives over the years, it preys on my mind even today) mom was told medically I'd be the last child she'd ever give birth to. As the following photos will prove, mom never forgave me for not allowing her to have a daughter! Still I'll try to explain it all to you as simply as I can, so the photos won't give you the wrong impression about me.

Now this is most probably the reason why I have such an unusual first memory as a child. Mom reckons she took ages to put on the makeup to make me look this sweet.

Very early on and I'm still not that sure how or why, I always wanted to try to and perform ballet.

Still unlike every other boy in the street (and the entire area) I found I had a hidden talent for ballet, which mom always encouraged. Because the ballet classes I used to attend only taught girls until mom threatened to sue the school for discrimination, mom told me I had to wear the same outfits too or else I'd look silly(?) as the only boy in a show.

That was kind of embarrassing during staged performances because all the other parents used to turn up to watch their daughters. Still I didn't let something as silly as wearing a girls ballet outfit stop me.

Actually I really did have good pointe technique and I'd practice for hours to get it right.

Unfortunately for me when I was about 8 y.o, while watching an older age group of girls practicing the splits, I tried to do it as well.
To do the splits correctly, you have to be well stretched and loose beforehand, so although I ended up doing it I did so at the cost of my crotch being torn beyond surgical repair. But the good side of the story is that now a few years on I can easily perform the splits, but now with out any difficulties in doing so (like as a pair of nuts and a cock getting in the road)

Pretty neat wouldn't you say. One thing was for sure, no other boy in my school could do this, not even any of the wrestling team.

As I grew into my very early teens, ballet and I were inseparable. Always wanting to be more supple in my stance and pirouettes I spent hours on the bars stretching.

I was actually quite chuffed that almost none of the girls my age could be as well balanced as I am or hold this posture position for as long as I can.

OK, so I don't have many masculine friends nowadays Yes, I do have a few "less" masculine friends as well as a number of female groupies I know quite well. And any boy I went to school with shouts out I'm a bloody faggot poof if they see me walking down the street.

Still the jokes on them. Thanks to mom I'm the lead male dance artiste for the Royal Ballet Company

If BCTS members like this silly waffle, I have a ton of harmless photos all ex PinterestUK that could make for a number of interesting (read silly) short stories. I still couldn't work out how to place the words beside each photo (instead of under or above them) so I could use some advice through "my messages" explaining "simply" how to do this.

Also, I regularly look at older stories for ideas as well as check up on my own and I'm amazed to find that readers don't put kudos on stories written some time back. I'm not asking for kudos either. But how can some of my chapters have almost double the kudos others have or that some of my old stories no longer receive kudos.

Mom Wanted A Daughter (but got me) – School Uniforms?

You already know (if you’ve read my previous tripe errrr story) that my mom’s a widower and filthy rich courtesy of dad’s life insurance payout. So that should suspend reality enough for everyone.

So I ask BCTS readers, “why is it that boy's school uniforms are never as interesting as girl’s ones are?”

But mom thought I should wear the girl’s school uniform instead, which I feel isn’t that wrong to do. (Oh those estrogen candies mom keeps making me chew like……err I guess candy).

Still you’d have to admit (if you’re honest) that it’s certainly easier to adjust err yourself down there in a dress/skirt uniform than it is wearing trousers. Trousers can be very tight and uncomfortable if you’re sitting down in them for lengthy periods of time, especially if it’s a double Maths class. Now this boy’s got the right idea, although not attempting to look even slightly feminine by deliberately crossing his arms. I wonder if he’d pose like that if he had breasts?

I truly believe that if everyone had to wear the same type of uniform to school, and you implemented the rule in kindergarten (to stop the teasing early), then boys would be happy to wear a girl’s uniform like this boy is. True he’s still having trouble with a gaping skirt judging by the positioning of his knees, but at least he isn’t snarling at anyone (or flashing his undies).

Even if you went to a more upper class (private) school where the uniforms are often more conservative like this boy’s school, it’s easy to see how confident you can become wearing a skirt instead of trousers. Once you get a small boy used to wearing tights or pantyhose under his skirt, you’ll find how easily they take to wearing the shoes and see how easily he knows what to do with his hands now?

You’ll also see how more socially compatible boys and girls can be wearing skirts together. Especially once young boys start to realize that they can’t catch girl’s cooties just by wearing girl’s clothes.

In fact wearing a girl’s uniform skirt can have plenty of advantages as this cute boy demonstrates. You can sit on stairs quite easily without needing to tuck your skirt in beneath you, provided it’s long and loose enough to do so. Also see how much nicer he looks with his hair in a low ponytail and away from his face.

So come on, let’s get serious about equality out there and allow boys to wear skirts as their uniform, or if it’s a catholic school, let them wear short dresses and to hell with they’re flashing their knickers on the downward swing or in a strong wind.

****I just hope the photos download this time****

I really do love my mom. It wasn’t my fault that the lucky (or in my case unlucky) egg turned out to be XY and not XX. Nor could I be blamed for the birth complications that caused mom to need a hysterectomy soon after either. Stating that, my life although strange and somewhat “different” to most children until I was in my teens and finally old enough and smart enough to know what had happened (but completely powerless to stop it) was much better than most. My dad had died in an auto crash shortly after I was born with a US$40 million life policy. This allowed mom to do whatever pleased her.

From very early in my life I was only ever allowed to experience or know a feminine environment with other people.

My first vivid memory which was captured for all to see through family album circulations among relatives was mom dressing me up as Snow White for my first birthday where all the other children came dressed up as their favorite character

My early and favourite memories of Halloween are being escorted in a group of mothers with daughters and knocking on doors and screaming out “trick or treat”, then when it was 4 0’clock and been driven home by mom, spending a frantic hour or so attempting to eat more candy than my digestive system could ever possibly handle and paying for it with countless nappy changes for the foster mother mom had already hired.

Since I was only ever called Jean as my birth certificate had been changed from Gene David Hampton (M) to Jean Dale Hampton (F) and was home schooled by female tutors, I was only ever allowed to wear girl’s underwear under my dresses or skirts and slept in nighties every night The thought I wasn’t a girl never entered my mind.

From the commencement of toilet training, I had to sit to wee before then wiping. I always took bubble baths that required my hair be covered unless it was being washed. My mom never allowed my foster mother to ever trim my hair.

I was forever being reminded about feminine deportment such as how to dress properly, how to sit, how to speak, how to girlie sulk, how to eat properly (mouse bites), how to god only knows what else, there were so many rules to follow. And every Halloween mom would go shopping for the “perfect” costume for me to wear so as to outshine her friend’s daughter’s costumes……….

One year I wore a snow princess outfit

Then there was the Belly Dancer outfit I enjoyed wearing although that year mom didn’t try to wear a matching costume (which she usually did as did her friends looking like their own daughters except as adults).

How seriously mom seemed to take Halloween dressing up was the year we did Snow White when I was a lot older than on my first birthday. Mom of course wore a matching outfit and even arranged for a photo to be taken with a women dressed as the wicked queen.

Another year saw me as Mary Poppins. Mom even had a portrait done of me at a merry go round (after we’d both gone to OUR beautician and had my hair dyed darker)

By the time I was 8, my well cared for facial skin along with my incredibly long hair (fed by a ton of oestrogen tablets) revealed a pretty girl to anyone. The problem was though that my body was changing much sooner than perhaps mom had planned for as my chest was actually budding. By the time I’d turned “9” I was the proud owner of a pair of small B cup bosom’s that were both my mom’s and my pride and joy. I did Snow White again but this time proudly showing a bust and eating an apple (sexily for the camera honey)

By the time I was 12 it was as a Swiss maid that I touted for candy

I hated the year a Manga character was mom’s idea because she had no idea what Manga actually was. I was simply handed “that” costume to wear along with a cheap yellow long haired wig while my own mane had to be heavily tucked under it out of sight.

Doing Halloween strolls got a bit lame by the time I was 14. By then my body was completely flooded in oestrogen, my male genitals had shrunken to inconceivably nothing and I now looked at boys as something my body needed to physically have.

My Uncle Barry who used to secretly slide his finger on the back of my panties near my bum when I was a lot younger, was barred by mom after she saw me grind my pelvis down into his lap during a happy snap photo on my 16th birthday.

I’m grown up now and don’t do Halloween. Tonight I’ll do my husband!