Sam:
I went to sleep thinking about the question of whether or not to stay male. The absence of the fear I had felt just about my whole life was nice. Was it worth being male just to be free of the fear though?
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Sam:
I was back in the house my parents and I had lived in. I hadn't been back here since my father committed suicide shortly before I graduated from high school. What was strange was I was an eight year old boy.
Suddenly I saw myself as I had been at eight. I had almost forgotten how cute I was. The dress I was wearing was one I only wore a few times. I had a feeling that this is when I found out that my father had wanted a boy, so I decided to follow myself.
Soon we came to the den and I could hear my father asking himself "Why does Sam have to wear dresses? Sam is suppose to be a boy. They promised me that Sam would be a boy. If Sam would only stop wearing those damn dresses I would have the son I should have had. They promised me that I would have a son to carry on my family name. I need to talk to them again. Maybe they have another way to fix Sam."
Suddenly the scene shifted and I found myself in my old room. It was night and from some of the pictures and awards on the walls this was the night my father started cutting my crotch. I saw myself roll over in my sleep and bring into view my brand new stuffed doll.
My door slowly opened and my father quietly tiptoed to my bed. He pulled the comforter and sheets off of me. He then took my arms and legs and tie me to my bed, careful not to wake me up. He lifted up my nightgown and cut off my panties. At this time I woke up and asked in a sleepy voice "Daddy?"
"It's ok Sam" my father said. "I'm going to fix you."
"Fix me?" I asked.
"Yes" my father said. "You'll be a boy soon."
"But I don't want to be a boy" I said.
"You were meant to be a boy" my father said. "If your mother didn't dress you up in dresses you would realize this. Now hush while I work."
My father took out a strange looking knife and proceeded to cut my crotch. After he was done I said "I'm telling Mommy."
"Tell her about this and I will kill her" my father said. "It's her fault that you're not a boy. I should kill her anyway."
"No please Daddy, I want Mommy to live" I begged.
"Then don't say a word of this to anyone" my father said. "Now I'll untie you and you can go back to sleep."
I saw that I had tears streaming down my face from both the pain from my father cutting my crotch and my fear that he would kill my mom. I could remember the fear well.
The scene shifted again. I was still in my old room but I was sitting at my desk working on my homework. I knew that I was thirteen and my father would be coming in any time now. Sure enough my door opened and my father came in. I looked up as he said "I need to do some more cutting. Take off your clothes."
I just nodded and stripped, exposing myself to my father. As I watched I noticed the scars on my crotch. As soon as I was naked I went and laid down on my bed. My father took out his odd knife and proceeded to cut my crotch again. Though he didn't stop after he finished. Instead he moved on to cutting my breasts. I remember the pain as he had cut my sensitive breasts.
After he was done he said "You'll be a boy soon. Now put on your clothes. Remember that I'll kill your mother if you tell anyone about this." With that reminder he left.
The scene shifted again and I was in the girls locker room at my old high school. I was getting undressed to take a shower. It was the first time I had to take a shower at school.
My best friend Alice had the locker right next to mine and she suddenly stopped getting undressed. I knew why she did. She had seen my scarred breasts out of the corner of her eye. "What happened to your breasts?" she asked.
I had wanted to say that my father had been cutting my breasts for the last two years but I was too scared to. I was afraid that he would kill my mom if I told anyone. I had to think fast. "Oh I just cut myself" I lied.
"Why?" Alice asked.
"Why do people get tattoos?" I countered.
"Well because they like them" Alice said.
"Well I like these designs" I said.
"But cutting yourself is weird" Alice said. "You need to get some help."
"Should people who get tattoos get help" I asked.
"No, but this is different" Alice said.
"The only difference is that I'm doing this myself" I said. "Also people give themselves tattoos and yet that's still accepted."
"Well I suppose..." Alice said trailing off.
"Don't worry" I said. "I don't do it that often and I make sure to sterilize the knife before I cut."
"Well if you don't cut yourself often then I guess you're ok" Alice said.
The scene shifted again and I was in the living room of my parent's house. I was sitting on the couch and my father was pacing back and forth. I remember this clearly as it was just two days before my father took his own life.
"I don't understand" my father said more to himself than to me. "You should be a boy by now. I've done everything that they've told me. I made sure to dip the knife tip in my own semen before I cut you. I've drawn the mystic symbols as they had told me. I've whispered the words of power while cutting you. What's gone wrong?"
My father faded from view and I turned to myself and said "He really believed that we should have been a boy. Now we've given him that. Do we want to be a boy though?"
My eight year old self walked into the room and said "Boys don't get to wear pretty dresses."
"That's right" my nine year old self said walking into the room also.
"Of course there are some benefits to being a boy" my thirteen year old self said from behind me. "They don't suffer from PMS every month. They don't have periods."
"Though they can't create and carry a life" my fifteen year old self said.
Suddenly Miss Ketcher came into the room and said "They have good points Sam."
"Why are you all here?" I asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" my eighteen year old self asked. "We're wondering if being male is worth it. Each of us here are from a period in our life that helped shape us."
"I'm from when we found out Daddy wanted a boy instead of a girl" my eight year old self said.
"I'm from when our fear of males was planted" my nine year old self said.
"I'm from when we became submissive because of our fear" my thirteen year old self said.
"I'm from when we lied to our best friend because of our fear" my fifteen year old self said.
"And I'm from when we decided to go into the military to try and become more masculine for our father" my eighteen year old self said.
"What is Miss Ketcher doing here then?" I asked.
"I'm the one that transformed you into a boy" Miss Ketcher said. "Also I'm here to remind you that you never really dealt with your fear. Even now you're afraid."
"The fear is gone" I said.
"Is it now?" Miss Kether asked.
"Yes it is" I said. "I'm no longer afraid to be around men."
"You're still afraid" Miss Ketcher said. "You're afraid of being afraid of men. That's why you became a boy. You're running from your fear instead of dealing with it. This is your chance to deal with it. You've seen where your fear came from. Now deal with it."
I had to think about that. Seeing myself as a girl again brought back the old feelings of wearing pretty dresses. As I grew older I stopped wearing dresses and skirts for my father. He was so certain that I would become a boy. Well I did. Now as I looked at my various selves I wondered if this was right.
Before I could work through it everything started to fade.
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Sam:
I slowly woke up to the sound of birds chirping. It was morning and I had a decision to make. Tomorrow was my birthday and I would like to celebrate it as the gender I'll be for the rest of my life. Should I be female or male?