Date: Tue, 2 Nov 1999 17:01:37 -0800
From: Joe
Subject: The Kind of Boy

This is my first attempt at writing fiction, and I hope you like it.

		   THE KIND OF BOY I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR

Chapter I

     The date was April 10th, 1985, and I was 11 1/2 years old, and in the
sixth grade.  Mom and I were spending spring break week at Gramma and
Grandpa's farm about 60 miles north of where we lived.  Mom and dad had
gotten divorced when I was very young, and he's not around anymore.  I
barely remembered him!

     I was a pretty scrawny kid.  Eleven and a half is pretty young to
determine this sort of things, but I wasn't very athletic or even very
masculine.  I remember overhearing Grandpa say that I needed more male
influence in my life, and I think he must have figured that that was going
to be his job.  He had just about every minute of our stay booked for he
and I to do something together.  One day we went fishing all day, and the
next we went into town to the hardware store, and to get a haircut.  We had
lunch together, and then we went to see a Clint Eastwood movie.  He told me
you always have to have a plan on how to stay away from the women folk.

     Gramma and Grandpa were retired from actually running the farm.  Most
of the acreage had been parceled off for development, although Grandpa
still had the barn, about 10 acres, and his old farmall tractor.  The 3rd
day I was there, Grandpa figured we'd till an area for Grammas garden and
get it ready for spring planting.  He was going to teach me how to drive
the tractor, and maybe even let me drive it myself.  We got up about
5:30am(Grandpa always got up real early), and we were out in the barn by 6.
Grandpa had to struggle to get the tiller hooked up to the tractor, then he
got himself up into the open-air seat, and pulled me up to sit on the
fender next to him.

     We pulled out of the driveway and on to the county road.  We had to go
about a hundred yards to the fencerow, where a dirt path would take us to
the back of his property.  It was cold, and Grandpa was breathing kind of
heavy from all the work he had done getting ready.  We where no sooner out
on the road, when Grandpa slumped over the steering wheel.  We where going
at a pretty good speed, and I didn't know how to stop.  Within seconds, the
tractor veered toward the drainage culvert along the road and tipped over,
catapulting me into the air, and up and over a snow fence stake.  Over the
next week, I was told many times how lucky I was.  I could have been
impaled in the heart or stomach, or I could have hit it with my face and I
could have lost an eye.  Instead I just snagged it, right in the crotch.

     The stake caught me in such a way that it ripped my penis downward.
It cut through my scrotum, destroying one testicle and badly bruising the
other.  All of the inner working of my penis were detached and the blood
supply severed.  Luckily we were still on the road and someone saw us.
They called an ambulance which arrived a short time later.  I remember
after the accident trying to move, but every part of me hurt from the
impact.  I remember a feeling like a blowtorch in my groin, and I remember
people telling me not to move.

     I was also told that they couldn't figure out how I survived with so
much blood loss.  One person said that my blue jeans got pulled so tight
that they acted like a tourniquet in the area.  Gramma said that Grandpa
had already gotten his wings, and he was looking out for me.  I think
Gramma's right!

     I was rushed into surgery where a urologist was waiting.  In the
course an hour, a plastic surgeon and a psychologist were also called in
for consultation.  My mother waited very impatiently.  Finally they called
her into the conference room to let her know what was happening.

     The urologist started.  "Mrs. Rhane, there has been extensive damage
to the area of your sons genitals.  We have stopped the bleeding and
debrided the area.  The problem is that there is much tissue loss.  We have
two of options on how to proceed with reconstruction which we need to
discuss with you".  "Your son is doing fine, and he is in a holding area
and is still under anesthesia.  We must make a commitment toward one of
these options and then proceed with your son's surgery.  I must tell you,
however, that once we move forward on what ever is decided now, we will be
committed to that outcome.  You will not be able to change your mind,
because alterations and changes will be permanently done."

     My mother asked them what the options were.  At this point the plastic
surgeon spoke.  "Mrs. Rhane, there is much tissue loss in your sons genital
area.  His penis was torn downward in such a way that only a flap of penile
skin from the top of the penis remains.  The hydraulics and inner working
of the penis are completely gone, and the remaining urethra is very short.
He has one badly bruised testicle, and bearly enough scrotal tissue to
cover it.  There are surgeries which he can receive when he is fully-grown,
where his own harvested skin can be shaped to create a penis, and will
cover a penile implant.  He will, however, always urinate from an area
between his scrotum and rectum.  There is just too little of the urethra
remaining!"

     The urologist spoke again.  "If we choose this option, we can
administer pain relief over the next several weeks for his bruised
testicle.  One testicle will eventually provide more than enough
testosterone to effect puberty, and your son will develop quite normally
into manhood.

     At this point the psychologist burst in.  "Please Mrs. Rhane, there is
a down side of this option.  Your son is a pre-pubescent 11-year-old boy.
In a very short time he will reach puberty where his body will be overrun
with male hormones.  This is a confusing enough time in a boy's life.  The
idea that your son will go through puberty without intact male genitals
makes me wonder what psychological damage will be done.  He will not be
able to interact with the other boys in gym class or sports.  He may
develop irreversible inferiorities with both his male and female peers.
The penis reconstruction we have spoken of is cosmetic at best.  He will
have no sensation from it, and your son will have to look forward to
several surgeries when he is fully-grown.  Lastly, if you have any concept
of the nature of the male sex drive, please try to imagine your son going
through life not being able to ever satisfy this drive.  It would be almost
cruel to put him through that."

     My mother was confused.  What was the other option?

     The psychologist continued.  "Mrs. Rhane.  If this had to happen, I
wish your son had been younger.  However, the option I would suggest is
gender reassignment.  His genitals are gone!  One way or the other, your
son will have to except this fact.  What gender reassignment will do is
allow him to move toward a more socially normal life in the fastest amount
of time.  I can sight for you several cases where, under similar
circumstances, this option has worked quite successfully".

     The plastic surgeon pulled out a diagram.  "I would propose bifolding
the remaining scrotal tissue to look like the outer female genitals.  The
remaining flap of penile skin would be fashioned into what will look like
the clitoral hood.  This remaining skin may be enough to provide sexual
stimulation someday.  This procedure will only be cosmetic for now, but
when she is grown, she may elect to have additional surgeries to create a
more functional vagina.  After the surgery, your daughter would be put on
very mild estrogen.  This will allow slight feminization like that of a
per-pubescent girl.  In about a year a stronger estrogen will be used to
start female puberty.

     My mother was now totally confused.  She looked at all three men and
asked, "Is this the option you would choose?"

     They all nodded yes.


     When my mother told me this story many years later she was very
worried that I would tell her she had made the wrong choice.  When I told
her I thought she made the right choice she smiled and confessed, "you
know, I always wanted a daughter".



Chapter II

     The next morning the nurse pulled open the curtains to let more light
into the room.  Mom was sitting there when my eyes opened, and came right
over to me to reassure me and let me know where I was.  "You were in an
accident, but you're alright.  Don't try to move."  Her voice was soft and
caring, and as my mind began to focus more, I realized where I was, and
what had happened.  Mom again told me that I had been hurt, but that I
would be all right.  She told me that I had some tubes connected to me, and
that I had to stay still.  As the morning went by, my mind cleared.  I had
trouble remembering the accident, but she reminded me about the tractor
tipping over, and how I landed on a stake sticking out of the grown.  Then
she told me Grandpa had had a heart attack and was dead.  That was very sad
for me, and I didn't ask any more questions about myself.  What I knew was
that I was bandaged up in my groin as tight as could be.  I had a catheter
to pee with.  I would be healed soon, and everything would be all right,
and for now, that's all I needed to know.  I also knew I was hungry, and
they brought me lunch!

     I stayed in the hospital for 2 days.  After I proved to them that I
could take nourishment, go to the bathroom, and walk, I was allowed to go
home to heal and recuperate.  The morning before we left the hospital, the
urologist and plastic surgeon both stopped to check on my progress, and to
change the bandages.  A cloth was pulled up from my waist as I laid back on
an exam table, so I couldn't see what they were doing or what I looked like
down there.  The bandages they removed looked clean, so a drainage tube
that had be put in during the surgery was simply pulled out, and the tiny
whole was taped shut.  I was then rebandaged and told I could go home.

     I was wheeled down to the hospital front door, and was picked up by a
large, black limousine.  We had one stop to make on the way home, and it
was timed perfectly.  Grandpa's funeral was that afternoon, and the
limousine was able to pull right up to the grave sight so I could hear and
see from the car.  Then we went home.

     Over the next two weeks, I mostly laid around and watched TV, played
cards with Mom and Gramma, and later on, they made me help around the
house.  I had to go into the hospital after a week for one more check up
and bandage change.  It was the same procedure as before, and I wasn't able
to see anything.  One day during the second week, mom left me home with
gramma for the day.  I found out years later that she had an appointment
with the psychologist to discuss my future.  That afternoon she had an
appointment at the courthouse to legally change my name from Joseph to
Joanne.  Then on the way home she stopped at K Mart to pick up one thing
that she and the psychologist thought I should be introduced to right away.
After the second week, I went to the hospital for the last time to have the
stitches and catheter removed.

      The night before we went, we were all watching television.  There was
an old western on, and I remember there was a scene where a women was
delivering a baby.  All you could see in the shot was the doctor holding up
this newborn, and you heard a spanking sound, and then a baby's cry.  Then
the doctor announced "It's a Boy" to it's proud father.  That night mom
came into my room to talk.  I could tell this would be a different kind of
talk, like the one we had when mom and dad got divorced.  I was very young
then but I remember the tone and the seriousness.

     She asked me if I remembered the scene on TV where the baby was born.
I said "Yes".  She then asked me, "how did that doctor know that it was a
boy baby".  I kind of felt like I might be getting a "birds and bees talk",
but I went along because this seemed very important to mom.  "Because it
had boy parts"

     Mom then told me something, which would become one of the most
important things in my life for quite a while.  She started by telling me
that "when it's inside it's mother, and very tiny, all baby's start out as
girls.  At some point after it starts to grow, some of these baby's
continue to become girls, and some of these baby's get boy parts, and grow
up to be boys."  She said, "the problem is that sometimes boy baby's are
born, and then have an accident or something, and lose their boy parts.  At
that point they're not really boys anymore.  Then she finally told me.
"That's what happen to you in your accident".

     I was overwhelmed!  I knew there was something that was being kept
from me.  I had a million questions, but she continued.  That doesn't mean
anything's going to change for you.  You can keep all your clothes, keep
your hair short, and we'll treat you exactly the same.  I just wanted to
tell you before tomorrow!".  It's funny how I responded considering.  I
said, "Grandpa would be disappointed".  Mom grabbed me and hugged me and
said "don't you believe it, he'd love you even more".

     The next day I had the stitches removed.  It was embarrassing enough
to have every one looking and touching me naked, but I remember the most
humiliation I ever experienced was when they pulled the catheter.  The
nurse handed my mom 2 packs of depends and said I might be incontinent for
a while, and I should wear diapers until I was sure I had control.  I was
11 « years old, and my mother was putting a diaper on me in the doctor's
office.  I pulled my pants up over this bulky mass, and could hear the
plastic crinkle as I walked.  The nurse was right though.  It took me about
2 weeks before I had total control.

     As we were driving home, mom told me that she and gramma had decided
that we should come to live with her permanently.  Gramma had this big
house and was all alone now, and we could help her keep it up.  Personally
I thought it was a good idea.  I had friends back home who I know all my
life, and I never wanted them to find out what happened to me.  Besides,
mom said "it will be like starting a whole new life".

     That night I had a chance to take a bath for the first time since the
accident.  I sat down to pee before getting into the tub.  I didn't have to
aim or touch a thing.  I just let it go, and it went down into the bowl.  I
stood up in front of the mirror and looked at myself.  I guess you'd say
that I looked like an anatomically correct Betsy Wetsy Doll.  I took my
bath trying not to think about what had happened to me.  When I was done, I
dried off, put on one of the diapers, and then my pajamas.  I was ready to
jump into bed when mom yelled out, "don't forget your vitamin".  I had new
vitamin pills I had to take every day, and mom would never let me
forget. The next day I looked in my dresser to get some socks and found all
of my boy underwear gone, and 3 packs of white cotton girls briefs.  I
confronted mom saying "you said I could wear my old clothes".  She said
that the boys underwear would "only be a reminder and no one would see
them".  This is what she and the psychologist had decided.  It was the
beginning!

     Mom's vitamin pills slowly started to effect my looks.  I finished the
6th grade at home, and it was decided that I would home school at least
through the 7th grade.  By that September my body was already much softer
with a thicker layer of fat just under the skin.  My arms and legs looked
thinner, and any muscle I had in my chest and shoulders was quickly lost.
A women came to our house several times after the accident to cut my hair,
but every time she came it ended up a little longer than the time before.

     During this time I also had several appointments with the psychologist
who would simply ask how I was, and see if I wanted to talk about anything.
It was with his help, or should I say insistence that I started to except
being call Joanne, or Jo for short.  By this time it actually became a
necessity when most people started to refer to me as "she" and see me as
female.

    Even though I was home schooling during the seventh grade, I still took
computer classes and clarinet lessons at the Jr. High.  Most of the kids
either thought I was weird or ignored me.  I was the gangly girl who always
wore bib overalls and flannel shirts and home schooled.  We didn't make a
big deal out of it when April 10th rolled around that next year.  I was
surviving with my limited contact with the other kids, and I had pretty
well excepted my new anatomy.  That night mom told me that she had picked
up some new vitamins for me.  They were bigger and a brownish red color.
Things were never the same after that.

     Within a week my tiny nipples felt almost enflamed and were a red
color.  Though small they stood erect and rubbed against my shirt.  After a
month my nipples quadrupled in size and the breast bud behind the nipple
had grown in size so as to push out my shirt.  I started to walk hunched
over so that no one would see.  After 2 months my jeans, which had been
baggy a couple months before were know tight in the butt, and mom had to
get me new ones.  When she was shopping she got me something else.  This
time when I looked in my dresser I found 3 new girls brassieres, and this
time I freaked and screamed at my mom.  "You don't expect me to wear this,
do you?"  Mom must have practiced what she would say when I found them,
because she couldn't have thought of a better thing to say.  "I noticed
that you were starting to develop breasts and I thought a bra would help
hold you in so no one else would notice.  The fact is that I had noticed.
Every time I bent over, or when I rolled over in bed, or when I simply
walked, my breasts moved and bounced.  One thing about breast- they're
always there!

     The next morning I took one out of the package and looked it over.
Mom came by the door and, without looking in, asked if she could help.  At
first I said no, but then I said yes.  Mom came in and told me to put my
arms through the straps.  Then she told me to pull the cups down over my
breasts, and then she told me to grab the ends of the straps and reach
behind me and snap them.  She said I might need to get used to reaching
that far behind my back, but I'd get used to it.  Mom then came over to me
to adjust the shoulder straps.  I put a heavy sweatshirt on to hide what I
had underneath even though it was July.  By the time I was 14, I was
wearing 34B bras.

     I once asked a doctor if it was normal how fast I developed.  He told
me that a genetic female has a lot of other things going on at this time
which I didn't.  The biggest example is that a 14-year old girls body would
be menstruating, taking up a lot of her energies.  This was not the case
with me.

     My years from 8th grade until I graduated were really pretty
uneventful.  I tended to my classes and got good grades.  I was in the
band, and got to know a lot of the "band kids".  Sometimes we'd go out
after playing at the football games and get hamburgers or just hang around
together.  You could say I was just one of the guys since I never once wore
a dress or any make-up in high school.  I found that mixed groups were
safer and more comfortable for me.  When I was just with girls, all they
wanted to talk about was boys, fashion, or their period.  Boys scared me
because it always seemed like they were looking at my chest, and they'd
laugh stupidly when I walked by.

     A couple months before graduation, mom asked me if I had given any
thought to what I was going to wear for graduation.  I tried to blow her
off the subject, because I really didn't want to think about it, but Mom
moved up close to me, put her arm around me, and moved in like she was
going to tell me a secret.  "You know, it would really make your
grandmother happy if you'd wear a dress".  I was about to say no-way, when
she continued, "you know she's getting older and she won't be around
forever".  I couldn't believe it, mom was using the "grammas getting older
guilt wrench" and I was falling for it.  Then she said, "lets just go look,
and see if we can find something you'll like.  It'll be fun!"

     That next weekend we went into town to look for a dress.  Gramma and
mom seemed to be having the best time, and had to handle every dress on the
rack.  I looked casually, but I was feeling more and more like I didn't
really want to be there.  I think mom saw my distress and said "try on one
dress, and then if you want to leave, we'll go right home."  Fine I said,
and she handed me something black.

     I went into the dressing room by myself and took off my jeans and
shirt.  I then pulled the dress mom picked over my head and over my body,
never even looking into the mirror until I got back out into the showroom.
Mom and gramma looked at each other and both said "wow" simultaneously.  I
looked in the 3- way mirror and couldn't believe what I saw.

     I was 5ft.  9 inches, taller than most of the other girls.  My hair
was straight and shoulder length.  The dress was black with spaghetti
straps that laid over my shoulders.  The material was cut low, exposing
what I thought was way too much of my 34C breasts.  It clung tightly across
my abdomen and the front of my legs, and flared gently at my hips and
contoured around my backside.  It was the first time I had ever really
looked at myself like this.  I'm embarrassed to say it, but for that moment
I thought one thing, I was drop dead gorgeous.  I had my hair done and a
light makeover the day of graduation.  Not many people got to see the
dress.  I had it covered by the graduation rob, but I felt good about
myself, and kind of sexy.  It was a fun day!


Chapter III


     I had been excepted to a Med. Tech. Program at our local community
college.  It was a 4 year degree program affiliated with the hospital I had
seen too many times when I was younger.  That was all behind me know, and I
was at a point in my life where I was planning for the future.  I was also
at a point where I realized that I was lonely.

     The program was set up so that we attended classes 3 days during the
week, and then worked at the hospital the other days and every other
weekend.  The pay was at minimum wage, but it paid our tuition and gave us
hands on experience.  I got to know many of the other people in my class as
well as other employees at the hospital.  Sometimes we'd get together after
work and stop for a drink, or go for breakfast when we had worked the
graveyard shift.  They were mostly other nurses and aids, but there were
also orderlies and one male nurse, Roger.

     Roger was about 5 years older than me, and had served 3 years in the
Navy.  He was smart and funny, tall and solidly built, and he made me
wonder!  He'd go out with us after work sometimes, and it was always more
fun and interesting when he was along.  I'm sure that many of the other
girls had their eye on him because you could tell they acted differently
when he was around, trying to get his attention.  The thing was that I was
just as bad.  For the first time in my life I wore some light make-up,
worried about what my hair looked like, and even wore a dress when I knew
he'd be around.  I knew he had taken some of the other girls out, but I
didn't think there was anything serious with them.

     One morning at breakfast, we sat at totally opposite ends of the
table, and I didn't even figure he knew I was there.  Out in the parking
lot, I was heading for my car when he caught up to me and called my name.
"Ah, Joanne, I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me this Saturday,
maybe a movie and something to eat".  Not exactly poetry, but it was the
most exciting thing I'd ever heard.  It thrilled me and terrified me to
death.

     When Saturday came he picked me up and we went to a very nice, not too
fancy, steak house.  He told me all about being in the navy, and the places
he had been.  He told me about his schooling and career plans.  He did most
of the talking and I listened, because someone told me that that's what I
was supposed to do.  We went to the movie, and then he took me home.  He
was a perfect gentleman!  When we got to my house, he got out of the car
and came around to open my door.  He walked me to the house and told me he
had a good time, and could we do it again.  Then he leaned in and kissed
me.

     When I went into the house mom came into the kitchen.  She swore she
wasn't waiting up and just happened to be awake.  Then she asked how my
date was!  I was vague, and toyed with her a little.  Then I blurted out,
"he kissed me" "he wants to go out again".  We sat and talked for what
seemed like hours, then we went to bed.  He called the next day and we
talked a little.  He wanted to know if I had plans for Wednesday because he
could get tickets for a Styx concert in the city.  It was kind of hard
working together after that.  We'd give each other looks as we passed, and
try to have lunch together.

     We got something to eat on the way, and then went on to the concert,
which was great!  The problem was one or both of us always had to be to
work so early that we really couldn't stay out that late.  He pulled in
front of my house and leaned over to kiss me.  I instinctively put my hand
behind his head and pulled myself toward him, and we kissed for what seemed
like hours and seconds both at the same time. As my hands caressed his face
and stroked the back of his head, his hands held my shoulders and then
dropped down to my breasts.  The only sounds were our heavy breathing as he
put his hand behind me, under my shirt and fumbled to unsnap my bra.  As he
slid his hand across my breast, my nipple lodged between his fingers, and
he gave a slight squeeze as he pulled his hand away.

     Then, in what I must say was a very smooth move on his part, he
brushed his fingers down over my jeans, between my legs.  It was the kind
of move which he could deny if not responded to in the manner in which he
hoped.  My response was "it's late, I have to work early tomorrow".  He
really didn't question me, but simply walked me to the door where he gave
me another good night kiss.

     The next Saturday was his birthday, and we where going to go to a
dance club and the edge of town.  A bunch of people from work, and some of
his buddies were going to be there.  I wanted to buy him a present, but had
no idea what to get.  Was this serious?  Was this long term?  I bought him
a sweater!

     The club was very dark with strobes and different color spotlights
swirling around.  There was a disk jockey, and the volume was incredible.
We stayed several hours, mostly talking with friends, drinking, and just
being there.  I told Roger I had a present for him out in the car.  We had
both had a few drinks, not that we were drunk or anything, but we were
having a good time.

     Roger grabbed my hand in the dark and pulled me over to him.  He
whispered that he was ready for my present, and kept my hand as he headed
to the door.  The car was back in the corner of the parking lot, not real
well lit, and not real safe, but I figured I was with friends.

     When we got to the car I pulled out the box with his present.  Roger
looked kind of surprised.  He took the box and opened it, took a quick
look, and told me I didn't have to do that.  Then he pulled me toward him
and kissed me, and then pulled back and looked directly into my eyes "I was
kind of hoping you and I might go somewhere tonight".

      I wasn't really sure what he meant so I asked "like where"?

     He smiled "Like a motel, me and you, together".  I was ready and I
wanted to do this.  I was also prepared and rehearsed in what I had to say
next.

     I got very serious.  "Roger, I have to tell you something first!  When
I was born I was missing a few parts which normal females have".  Not
Really a Lie!  "I have no reproductive system, and a fused vagina!"  What
happened next in my imagination was that he grabbed me up and kissed me and
told me it didn't matter.  In my imagination he told me he loved me and
wanted me forever.  What really happened was that he started to laugh!  He
thought I was kidding, and it was a practical joke.  He realized I wasn't
kidding when my voice started to tremble and my eyes swelled up in tears.

     I'm ashamed to say I started to babble.  "Roger I love you" "I want
this very much" "there are so many things I can do" "there are so many
things I want to do" "I know I can make you happy".

     He simply looked at me, smiled and said "Show me what you'd like to
do".

     Right there in the dark parking lot I dropped to my knees.  He
unbuckled his belt as I pulled down his zipper, and his pants fell to his
knees.  I pulled down is underwear, and there it was, very large and very
erect.  I touched it very gently with both hands and pulled it lightly
toward my mouth.  I licked the tip and swirled my tongue around the head.
My mind started swimming with overload and my thoughts swelled with
conflict.  One side of my brain was both submitting and worshipping this
manly organ, while the other side reclaimed it as mine, and the deeper I
thrust it into my throat the more likely I might keep it.  I felt every
heart beat through its veins and I felt the shaft gorge as it made ready to
unload.  I sucked every drop of potion out of it as if this was the magic
that would make me either a total man or a total woman.  Every minute of
pleasure I could give this penis would be my pleasure.

     Roger groaned and stopped breathing for a moment, then he put his
hands on my head and pushed me away.  I looked up at him expecting some
kind of reward.  I expected him to pull me up and hold me, to tell me he
loved me, to kiss me.  Instead he pulled up his pants and said "it's late,
I've got to get to work early".  I've since realized that boys don't like
to kiss girls who just had his penis in their mouth.  He told me he'd call
the next day.  He never did!

     I dreaded seeing Roger at work on Monday.  I knew something hadn't
gone right that last Saturday, and I hoped it was all a misunderstanding or
something we could work out.  When I saw him I spoke first, and I sounded
so naggy that I wished immediately I could have taken it back.  "I thought
you were going to call me".

     He cringed a little and then took my arm and led me to a quiet corner
saying, "we need to talk".  "You're a very nice girl" "I've been doing a
lot of thinking" "Don't think it's going to work out", yada yada.  I didn't
hear him anymore.

     My stomach felt like I'd been socked in the gut, my throat burned, and
my eyes were welling up.  I knew that if I was going to keep any fragment
of what was left of my dignity I couldn't make a scene, and I was damn well
not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this hurt!  I
said, "fine, I agree".  He walked off in one direction, and I made a turn
into the opposite, heading for the employees lounge ladies room.  Inside I
walked to the back wall by the sinks and slid down to my knees absolutely
broken..

     Within seconds the door opened and one of the nurses walked in.
Sharon was a few years older than I was.  She was slightly taller and very
slim in a physically fit sort of way.  She said, " saw you and Roger
talking.  I couldn't hear, but I could tell what was going on.  I just
wanted to make sure you were alright".  She walked over to me, and as she
extended her hand to me to raise me back up to my feet she said, "you know
all men are shits.  He's done this to other girls.  Roger's probably the
biggest shit of them all!"

     As I stood in front of her she put her arm around me, and then she
grabbed some tissue to wipe my eyes.  I choked a little and said "it was
his birthday, I wanted to do something for him, I wanted it to be special.

     She looked at me like a big sister.  "You had sex with him, didn't
you?"

     I was so embarrassed.  "Sort of."

     She looked at me and laughed.  "Ah, sort of sex.  Hope you didn't
scuff up your knees cause that's all he wanted, one more notch on his belt.
I thought you knew about him.  He's done it before!"  Rogers an immature
little boy, and little boys are all assholes.

     As she finished wiping my face she looked deeply at me and moved her
head slightly towards me.  I don't know why, but I responded by moving
slightly towards her so that our lips just brushed.  She pulled back
without ever losing contact with my eyes and broke onto a light laugh,
whispering "you're blushing".  Then without giving me a second to even
think she leaned in and we kissed again.  I pulled away and smiled, "I used
to be a little boy".

     She looked at me as if I made no sense.  "What?"

     "You said all little boys are assholes and I used to be a little boy."

     It was my deepest, darkest secret for 10 years.  I hadn't told a soul,
and I needed someone to share it with, to confide in, to trust.  At that
moment I was sure that Sharon was the one, that she wouldn't betray me, and
I babbled like a schoolgirl.  When I was eleven, the accident, the
operations, and my first dress.  It all spilled out!

     Sharon looked at me again like she was looking at me for the first
time. After a moment to absorb what I'd told her she said "Oh my God, it's
true, you poor thing", and she put her arms around me again like she was
trying to comfort a hurt 11 year old child.  We lightly kissed, and she
said "we'd better get back to work, or they'll think we walked off the job.
Maybe we could get together tonight and talk".  I nodded and said that I'd
like that.

     As we walked out the door she smiled and looked at me and said, "you
know, you might just be the kind of boy I've been looking for".  I wasn't
exactly sure what she meant by that, but maybe.