Some events in life really suck. While they are happening and when you look back on them, the only thing you can think about is the pain, anger, humiliation. It is a terrible thing, but it also allows you to be more grateful for the other times. To take more notice of a beautiful day, an unexpected smile, a kiss from someone you love, a cuddle. When you have experienced the bad, the good just feels more good somehow. I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, that after something bad, something good will come out of it and whatever it is, it is in my, and the universe's, best interest. So, although I didn't ask for it, I am going to embrace what has happened and make the best of it. No one would ask for what happened to me. I think I was happy as a boy with the thought of becoming a man. I never felt myself to be transgendered. Others, of course, had different opinions.
Certain things run in my family, so when I was old enough to understand my father explained it all to me. It was likely that I would have a late puberty. I would stay small and delicate until about 16, then it would all catch up. It was possible that I would have a bit of breast growth but it would all sort itself out in the wash. He showed me his abnormally large nipples, on a pretty flat chest and talked about his childhood. He told me about his father being the same and we worked out what we could do to mitigate some of the issues that this might cause. I had to keep my hair in a short army type haircut. That and a hook nose helped to keep my face from looking too feminine. I studied Aikido martial arts quite fanatically, knowing my life might depend on my ability, not that that helped too much in the end, although I can't imagine what my life would be like if I couldn't defend myself.
When I reached 13 and my growth charts showed that I was underdeveloped for my age, the doctors tested myself and my father. This is how it was explained to me. All women produce some male hormones and all men produce some female hormones. Our family, for genetic reasons, produce a much higher level of female hormones. This means the women develop early and the men late. In fact, until my male hormones were sufficiently high to overpower the female ones, my body would look slightly more female than male. This meant fat distribution and muscle mass was not in my favour. Having been told in advance and with such a good role model in my father, I accepted it all and didn't let it worry me. Sure, as I got older, I got a lot of verbal abuse, but I knew the truth and that is all that mattered to me. It also meant less guys were willing to be my friend. Knowing a bit about my father's childhood helped me there. He ended up with mainly girlfriends and reckons it made him a better person, a better husband and father. He understood more, perhaps having more female hormones helped him keep in touch with his feminine side. He was a wonderful man. I was devastated when he was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 14. I didn't even know men could get breast cancer. He fought with everything he had, but each round of chemo seemed to make him worse and worse. 4 months was all he lasted. I guess I will always be devastated. I try to be spiritual about it and believe that he is always around me when I need him. His biggest gift to me is that I know, deep down in the core of me, that he always did and always will, love me, no matter what.
I really struggle with my feelings for my mother. She is a career woman and has never really spent a lot of time with me. On holidays she would hire a nanny or au-pair and often leave early. Not that I minded that, it meant I could spend quality time with my Dad. She didn't cope very well when he got sick. She hired a nurse and carried on working. 3 months after he passed she was engaged to her boss and I was in an all male boarding school. I gained a really cool step-sister who was studying in Oxford, though, so it wasn't all bad.
The event occurred when I was almost 16. Puberty still hadn't kicked in yet, but I knew it was about to, according to our family history. I was barely 5feet tall and very slim, with no obvious muscles. I was still doing Aikido, but mainly teaching it in a brand new club that I had started at school, so I was stronger than I looked. Still, I have to admit that if you ignored my hook nose, short hair cut and groin, my shape was female. I had the expected gynaecomastia, only an A cup, but quite enlarged pink nipples that seemed to stick out at all the wrong times. Couple that with relatively narrow shoulders, slim waist and slightly wider hips. I looked more like a boyish girl than a girlish boy.
My Dad and I had made plans, with my doctor's letter, to try and keep all this from anyone else. My sport requirement was covered by my martial arts and I wore compression vests, and baggy tops and trousers to hide my body shape. All our plans were undone by my mother. Going to an all male boarding school, meant I had to wear a new school uniform that she bought to my exact size, not the larger sizes that I requested. Compression vests were not part of the laundry list. I'm sure they could have accommodated me, but it would require parental input. Either my mother did not care enough or thought I should cope without any special treatment. I was also required to participate in all school sports. The sports themselves I didn't mind, in fact, I made a pretty good scrum half, and really enjoyed it too. It was getting changed in front of everyone and the communal showers after.
The first few months were hard. Nicknames in boarding school are common and my name went from Laurence to Florence to Flower. Pretty much everyone started calling me that, even those who were not trying to be nasty. I had to defend myself physically at least once per week. My reputation of aggressiveness seemed bizarre to me, all I ever did was defend myself. It helped a bit when I started up the Aikido club and arranged to get a 3rd Dan Black belt to teach once per month and the other weeks, I taught. The physical assaults from my year stopped after that. I had no friends though.
The confrontation started after a Rugby Union game. My size and agility make for a great scrum half. Basically you take the ball and pass it before anyone clobbers you. Believe me, that is a great incentive to be quick. It is somewhat dangerous as if you do get tackled, the chances are, the person who tackled you is twice your size and it is going to hurt. This is unfortunately what happened to the 1st XV scrum half and his replacement. So I ended up playing. I thought the whole thing somewhat comical, I'm sure it looked like a child playing with adults. I was almost 16, but I could have passed for 12 and everyone around me was 17 or 18 and only the biggest of their year.
I tried my best, I really did, but I am just not big enough to really compete at that level. I tackled one guy who carried on running carrying me with him to everyone's laughter. We lost, badly, and apparently, I was to blame. The verbal abuse didn't bother me, it wasn't like I hadn't heard it before. I waited as long as I could, hoping to get the shower after everyone else had finished. I got into the shower and was facing towards the wall letting the hot water ease my knotted muscles.
I heard others coming in, but didn't think anything of it, until I was shoved hard into the wall in front of me. The pain was intense, I think my nose broke. What happened next is still unclear to me. I don't know if it was because I was half concussed or the psychological trauma was too much. Some flashes of it are quite clear. I didn't really know the guys as they were 2 years ahead of me. 2 guys were forcing me onto my knees and a 3rd guy, Nathan, had his cock out and was trying to force my head onto it. I don't know if it was panic or anger that was running through me, probably both. I couldn't breathe through my nose so shoving a penis down my throat turned out to be a really bad idea. I bit as hard as I could and tried to swallow. I would suggest against experimentation, but I can tell you from my experience that trying to bite off a penis is really hard. I damaged it, I know that, but it did not detach. He sure as hell removed it from my mouth though. They threw me back, my head hit the hard tile and that was the last thing I remember before waking up in hospital.
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