The name calling, the thumps and blows. I endured a few years of that, simply not understanding why it was happening. Despite this, I went on playing...with the girls. Hopskotch, wall flowers (a singing game with very girly dance movements). But the bullying increased in intensity and I saw the only way out as trying to conform to male gender conditioning. At grammar school, with no girls to play with, I decided to butch up. The bullying stopped. I played rugby and hated it but saw it as a way. His name was Rick, and he’d been a good conversationalist so why not enjoy a dance? Tim doesn’t dance so I said okay.“One drink too many, John. That was the problem. It was a slow dance. Rick is a tall man, taller than Tim, athletic build, handsome in his tux, and he had the softest way of holding me. I melted into his arms. I felt warm, comfortable, and protected. By the end of the dance, I was snuggled into Rick’s body as if we were lovers. When the dance ended, I was mortified at what I’d. “I would like to sign up for a class or two and possibly a trainer, but I’ll check back on that in a few days. Let’s first of all see if I have what it take to stick this out for even one day." I laughed as the young clerk stared at me."Sure, I can take care of that,” she said seriously, handing me forms to complete. "Are you interested in a full membership?" Yes, I think so… if I want to look like you.” I smiled at her. ”I have a few extra pounds to work off and a butt that needs firming up.". My hard nipple was playing my palm like a drumstick beating on the stetched skin of a drum. I tip-toed to the living room door and peered through the crack. Pia was lying comatose on the setee, her head to the side, eyes closed and gently snoring, in a femine way, and I say comatose, because our daddy had parted her long slender limbs and was sticking his tongue into her soft flesh, licking and drinking her estrogen laden juices, only stopping to push a couple of fingers into her swollen cunt.
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