My Life: An Introduction

I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not wear dresses.
I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not enjoy wearing dresses.
I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not prefer wearing dresses to wearing boy clothes.
I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not connect wearing a dress with being a girl.
I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not take pleasure in being a girl when I wore a dress.
I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not want to be pretty as a girl.
I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not take joy in being a girl around boys.
I cannot recall a time in my life when I did not 'know' that to truly be a girl I would have to be a girl for boys.

At different times in this accounting of my life, mu path to becoming a whore, I will offer up speculation as to why I am who I am.  While the question of 'Why?' always has value, it is also true that life is what it is.  And as my list at the top of this page suggest, any question regarding the origins of my feelings and desires have to address one fundamental premise -- I am a girl.

In my most distant and foggiest memories, those memories are memories of me as a girl. It is only when I am older that I between to recollections of a life where I was boy one day and girl the next.  It is only when I am older that I begin to learn that boys and girls are different and that I was born a boy -- and can never truly be a girl.  It is only when I am older (and yet not yet in grade school) that I feel like I must be who I am not to make my Dad happy and who I am to make my Mom happy.

Whenever I talk about my childhood  talk about these years when my gender was the source of tension between my Mom and Dad, I feel compelled to offer up the background story.  I am going to resist that urge at this time and simply say I am a girl.  My name is Yvonne Ann Martin.

I see my life as Yvonne as being a series of turning points that sent my life into a new direction.  These turning points in my life came at age eight, age ten, age twelve, age fourteen and age sixteen.  Until the age of eight, being Yvonne was largely about being Mommy's little girl.  There was no identity for Yvonne that was separate from that of being the daughter of Nancy Martin.  I was eight years old when Dad decided to lay his foot down.  I heard him suggest to my Mom that I was a sissy.  I decided that if being a girl and wearing dresses made me a sissy, then I would be a sissy.  Mom's efforts to placate my Dad strengthen my resolve.  Dad had kept me from being a girl for years and I was not about ready to let Mom's efforts to please Dad define me.  I began to take on an identity that was more about being Yvonne and less about being Mommy's Little Girl.

Two years later I experience the second major turning point in my life.  Paul, my oldest brother, who was four years older than me fucked me.  Until that night my relationship with boys had been one of smiles and hugs and kisses.  After that night I knew that there was so much more to being a girl and it was not beyond my grasp.  While that night did not have dramatic impact of the events of my life over the next two years, it did awaken me to a more adult understanding of the world,  I could not forget what happened  that night and from that point on so much more about who I am made sense.

I was just a few weeks shy of my twelve birthday when Jon, a boy I had been 'dating,' took me into the wooded area of a local park and had me suck his cock.  I am not certain which had  more impact on my life.  Was it sucking cock for  the first time?  Or was it being called a slut and dumped the next day?  By email!
Which ever may be the case, it was a turning point and over the next two years of my life there was possibly no better label for me than that of 'cocksucker.'  If there were it would be neither 'cum swallower'  or 'cumwhore.'  During these two years of my life, my life was all about sucking dick.

And then at fourteen, I got laid for the second time.  As with the first time, I got fucked by my brother.  Or I should say by one of my brothers.  It was not Paul.  It was Joey, my younger brother.  For the next two months, it would only be Joey.  And then it was over between us.  He had always been very curious after we had fucked about how it felt being a girl for him.  Then one day I came home and found him dressed up in some of my clothes.  He told me he did not want to be a boy anymore.  He wanted to be a girl like me.  (More on that later.)  I had to find myself new cock.

For the next two years of my life, one could call me a slut and I would not be able to defend myself against the slur, if it is indeed a slur.  However, one night as I was getting ready to go out at the age of sixteen, I began to reflect upon what I knew about boys and more importantly men.    I had been planning on going out and hanging loose at the mall until I meet a boy.  But what if?  It was the first time I ever dressed up to whore.  It was the first time I found myself at the mall flirting with older men.  It was  the first time I took an older man to the family room and collected $100 for a blowjob  -- as a plan.  While it would be almost three years before I would make the decision to whore as a living, from that night forward it was less about being a slut and more about being a whore.