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. It flew down and then dripped onto her breasts, around her nipples, onto her belly. My pearly translucent fluid formed pools on her body and traced rivulets as it dripped down her milky flesh. I got down from above them and began to dress. In between briefs and shirts and pants and belts and shoes, I would come over and kiss her, and once or twice I would reach down and touch his now flaccid cock. I dressed and said my goodbyes. They would remain behind, just the two of them, perhaps for more. More

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