Everyone said I was a cute baby. Too cute for a baby boy. As I grew into adulthood those cute attributes became amplified. My naturally full lips, turned up button nose, and a splash of freckles across my otherwise rosy cheeks gave me a pleasant appearance. Wide, child-bearing like hips, narrow waist, slender legs, and a pert round bottom make me a target for men who are into guys like me.
Depending on what I chose to wear on any particular day some people didn't know whether I was male or female. I enjoyed playing those games because, well, I can't really say for sure but I think it's because I was always treated mean.
Teased incessantly throughout high school and college, called homo, young lady, missy, and the ever-popular cock sucker, made me a bit resentful.
I admit that some of those names like young lady and missy weren't said to mock me. People just didn't know how to view me.
I found out early in my twenties that I was androgynous. With that knowledge I began to accept what I am although I was still remained undecided who I wanted to be. I made the decision to cast my fate to the wind and see what happened.
I wanted to get to know me.
There was an incident once when I came home from college on Spring break. I was in my senior year and was 22 years old. My father watched me skip up the walk to the front door and didn't seem too happy to see me.
Later that evening when father and mother thought I was sleeping I heard them talking about me. "I tell you honey; our son is a homo. If he hasn't yet, he'll be sucking some guy's cock very soon."
My mother, ever the understanding one surprised me. "You may be right, dear. He has developed a lot of feminine traits. Do you see the way he walks? That's not walking. That's mincing."
They shared a laugh together as long married couples do while I cried myself to sleep.
"You hate me," I told mother and father over coffee the next morning.
"We don't hate you, er, um son. We love you. We're just trying to wrap our heads around the fact that you might be gay."
"Father, I like girls," I stated firmly.
"Yes dear," mother said. "But do you have a girl friend?"
"No ma'am. Not yet. But why is that important?"
"It isn't important johnnie but do you have a boyfriend?"
"No way mother. I do have some guy friends that I hang with but they're not boyfriends at all."
Mother and father exchanged a knowing look.
I was in the laundry room washing my clothes and looked out the window and saw father talking to Larry, "Butch" Peterson our neighbor across the street. They were huddled together and Butch laughed at something father told him.
"Something gross," I thought to myself.
I showered and put on my favorite nylon, blue, men's bikini underpants, my white clam diggers, and V-neck T-shirt. I went out to see if any of the neighborhood guys with whom I grew up were still around. I wanted them to see me wearing men's clothes and stop their teasing.
No one was around. I was told that some had joined the service, others were away at college, and others had moved out and married young and had jobs.
I went to the local mall and hung out like the old days but soon became bored.
Walking back toward home I saw Butch working out in his garage. I watched as he curled 200 lbs. His arms were big and strong. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His large chest heaved every time he raised the barbell. His legs were sturdy in his workout shorts.
Mrs. Peterson came out and they spoke before she got into her car and drove off. I watched her tail lights disappear as she left in the fading daylight.
It was then that Butch saw me. "Hey kid, come here and spot me while I do bench presses."
I hesitated a second before entering his garage. "Good boy. Stand here," he said pointing to the end of the bench. "If it looks like I'm going to drop the barbell, you help me get them off. Got it?"
"Yes sir Mr. Peterson. I got it."
"Call me Butch johnnie."
"Yes sir, Butch."
I stood by the end as instructed and watched has Butch worked hard doing 50 presses before placing the barbell in the holder. Panting, he got up. "Your turn johnnie."
"Huh?"
"Lay down where I was and I'll spot you."
"But Mr. Peterson, Butch, I never did this before."
"No time like the present. Lay down there."
I can't explain the butterflies in my tummy as I lay back on the bench. Butch was removing some of the weights, thank God. Then he came and placed the bar back in the holder and stood by my head.
"Grab here like this," he said taking my hands and raising them to the bar. "Now lift and bring it down slowly. Then raise it back up and repeat."
