When I was 18, my family moved to Seattle. That was when I decided to become a boy. I had grown up and spent all my life in Ohio. I hadnt had many friends there, but in Seattle, I knew nobody. I was unknown, a blank slate. So, on the first day of my senior year of high school, I gave my first name as Andrew instead of Andrea.
It wasnt hard; I was tall and skinny and my breasts werent that big. I got a short haircut (that my mom hated), put on a tight sports bra, and wore a sweatshirt and loose-fitting jeans. When I checked myself out in the mirror that first morning, an attractive teenage boy stared back at out at me.
I dont think my mom suspected anything. Sometimes she would say she wished I would wear make-up or dresses once in a while, but I told her that just wasnt my style. And I guess she figured she was lucky: I didnt go out and party, I didnt date, and I always brought home good grades.
I was surprised at how easily I seemed to get away with being Andrew. I had al...
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