Whether Iplayed ball, ate a sandwich or rough housed with my friends it wasbecause I was Mark Edward James. Things were expected of me like beingtough... hence tough as nails or behaving like a boy. Even after mymother would apply mascara to my eyes, the expectation was toparticipate in male oriented activities. The mascara was nothing morethan some black smudges on my eyes, like grease under a mechanic'snails. It was what it was. Don't get me wrong; I love the person I'vebecome, a real honest to. Then I had theurge to crap and only just made it to the toilet. It gushed out ofme--she'd damaged me down there by the look of things. I might have towear a pad until it recovers--do they ever recover? Shit, I have no idea.I wiped myself and washed my hands. I went closer to the mirror. I waswearing false eyelashes and thick eyeliner and my lips were very red andlooked thicker than usual. What had she done to me?My gaze drifted south down to my nipples. These were standing proud ofmy swelling. More

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