I had a relatively normal childhood, but I also knew something was off about me. I knew that I didn't want to be a boy, but a girl, and preferred the company of the girls I went to school with over the boys and their silliness. I preferred playing dolls with my sister over playing with the cap guns I got for Christmas, or playing ball when my uncle came for a visit. I was worthless at sports, and nobody knew that better than my uncle, who tried playing catch with me with footballs then baseballs. Then he realized I wasn't a catcher, but maybe a hitter and brought a bat. Still, I was useless. He eventually gave up.
As puberty set in, my opinion of my body grew even less favorable. Depression set in and I started wearing nothing but black and grays. In an attempt to hide my body, I wore my shirts one size larger, often in layers. My favorite shirts hung low, covering the bulge in my pants. Still, I knew what I had downstairs and began avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. The boy's locker room was a nightmare, even worse when showering became mandatory. When I ventured into the showers, I caught more than a few glances at my cock, making me even more self-conscious.
I let my fingernails and hair grow out, protesting vehemently when my mother insisted I get a haircut, despite many boys in my school sporting long hair. I also started spending most of my time in my room, becoming increasingly shy around others, including my extended family. My grades started slipping as my depression became nearly debilitating. I dropped out of school, ran through several jobs at fast food restaurants. I was lonely, feeling isolated among the heterosexuals I daily came in contact with and had a hard time working with my coworkers.
Unable to find another job I was qualified to do that would give me my independence, my mother landed me a position as salesclerk with the chain of local liquor stores she worked at as a manager. Her boss was nice to me and sent me to work at one of his newer locations, out from under the thumb and watchful eye of my mother. I took to the job and the store's colorful characters quickly, memorizing what the regulars always bought so it was waiting for them when they entered. In six months, I was promoted to manager and given my own store, a little hole in the wall place with a regular clientele.
I found some rooms being rented in the rear of a house in a nice neighborhood, close to my work, and at a low price, all bills paid. My stepfather presented me with a mini fridge and a hot plate to use since there was no real kitchen, and I had to wash the dishes in the bathroom sink, but I was on my own, living by my own rules.
I went to work every morning, had some social interaction with my regular customers, and went home to masturbate to gay and straight porn. I liked the gay porn because the guys were hotter, but watched the straight porn to fantasize that I was being fucked by the straight guys.
One night, I went to a different adult bookstore to get my porn. The place was empty except for the clerk and a guy he was chatting with at the counter. They were both young and handsome, and I guessed they were probably college students at the nearby college. The clerk was a brunette with dark eyes, maybe of Italian descent, and his friend was a blue eyed blonde.
I wandered the shelves and collected a couple of videos and two big value packs of Playgirl that the store was trying to clear out. Nervously, I approached the counter to present my purchases. The guy at the store I usually went to never even seemed to notice what I purchased, obviously bored with his job and his life. But I didn't know how the new clerk would respond to my buying choices.
"That's a lot of porn," he remarked, sorting through it, "And it's all guys." He looked up at his blonde friend who started looking me over, his eyes sliding up and down my small frame. I started feeling a tremor run through me, uncertain if this was going to get ugly. I had not been fag bashed before, only teases and exaggerated flirts from guys in school, but I knew it happened, and I was terrified of it happening to me.
I looked around, to act as if it was no big deal while the clerk started ringing up my purchases. I noticed a display of large dildos behind the counter, purporting to be life-like replicas of porn star cocks. The clerk noticed my line of sight.
"Interested in one?" he asked with a smile.
