I entered this world in June of 1953 as a male child in Spokane Washington. In three days I will celebrate my 69th birthday and I now self-identify as a sissy. To be truer to the purpose of this blog, I am proud to share that I am a sissy fucktoy for black men and big black cock. At age five my life took an unusual turn and it shaped my childhood and my marriage and my adult life in ways that I feel are still unfolding.
My parents wanted me to be a girl. I came to know this at a very early age, like when I was three. Mostly it was my Dad who wanted me to be a girl. I am fairly certain my Mom only wanted me to be a girl because it was so important to Dad. Why was it important? He had been an only child and my grandmother had raised her almost entirely on her own during the Great Depression and the Second World War. She had also wanted me to be a girl, a granddaughter she could pamper. It would not surprise me if Dad wanted me to be a girl because his mother wanted a granddaughter.
Being so young, I knew nothing about the real difference between boys and girls. To my young mind, dresses, dolls and hair length was the sum total of these differences. I found myself wondering why my parents had wanted me to be a girl. And maybe more importantly, why I was a boy if they had wanted a girl. I felt responsible, as if it was in some way my fault. So I let it be known that if my parents wanted me to be a girl, I would be a girl for them. Problem solved. But of course it wasn’t.
But I was persistent and determined and somewhat single-minded. I felt sure I could fix the problem if not now when I was three, later when I was older. One day my Grandmother grew tired of nagging and decided to teach me a lesson. She dressed my up as a girl and sent me outside to play with my friends. But I loved it. I had learned the wrong lesson. My parents and I were living with my Grandmother at the time. My day attended classes at an nearby college and my Mom worked. So myself and my two brothers — one four years older, the other one year younger — often found ourselves under Grandma’s care. She began dressing me up as a girl on a regular basis and she would often take her two grandsons and her granddaughter out shopping or to lunch.
In the summer of 1958, my dad completed his teaching certification and obtained a position at a small high school south of Spokane. It was a big move for this young couple who know had four children. My sister had been born that April. They would need help from my grandmother financially. My grandmother agreed to extend this assistance on one condition. Raising three children in their new home would be easier in so many ways on them than raising four children. So she asked them — rather told them — that they needed to make her my legal guardian. The arrangement was to be for only one year. I would move to Rosalia to and start the first grade there. It would last for seven years. During these seven years, I was my grandmother’s granddaughter Veronica.
My life as a five year girl was not all that much different than it would have been as a five year old boy. The same could be said about my life at age six and age seven and even a bit about age eight. However there were differences and by age nine one could say I had become a bit boy crazy. My Grandmother is most to blame for this — if one were to assign blame at all. More on that later. After two years of being a bit of a flirt with boys, maybe even a tease, at the age of eleven, I sucked my first cock. Over my sixth grade school year, I probably gave as many as twenty four different boys blowjobs. Mostly junior high boys. Some boys more than once. The population of Spokane at this time is 85 percent white and less than three percent black. Sixty years ago I think this would have bee closer to 94 percent white and less than one percent black. However one of the young boys I treated to a blowjob was black. And he easily had the biggest cock. At the time, it did not occur to me that his was bigger because he was black. At that age some of the boys were smaller and some were bigger. To me size was not the issue. I just wanted to suck cock. It would be ten years before I began to hear stories about black men and their cocks. And these stories reminded me of the one black boy I had sucked.
In 1965, when I turned twelve, it was my choice to return to the life of the boy. While it was a practical choice for several reasons, for me it was an choice of desperation. Too many boys wanted more than a blowjob and I did not have a pussy for them to fuck. I did not know how to be a girl anymore because not only did some of these boys want to fuck me, I wanted to be fucked. I will leave this overview of my life at this time and speak for a moment about my grandmother.
My grandmother had raised my Dad on her own because my grandfather was an alcoholic. He was AWOL from their lives for months at a time. But my grandmother was a strong woman and during WWII, while millions of men were off fighting a war, she climbed the corporate ladder of a major retailer in Spokane and became their personnel manager. It could be said she became a role model for women and what they could accomplish. She became my role model.
My grandmother felt it was important for me to be comfortable around women and girls — regardless of how they were dressed or what they were doing. So she would have me sit on her bed as she dressed for work every morning. When she came home at night and changed out of her work clothes, she would leave her door open as she did so. Unashamed to be seen by her granddaughter partially dressed or fully naked. In fact she rarely shut her bedroom door. One night, I decided to investigate all too familiar sounds I heard from her bedroom. With her bedroom door open, I hid under the dining room table in the adjoining room and watched Grandma being fucked. Okay at age five, I did not know she was being fucked. But I could tell she was not alone and that whatever she was doing, she wanted more of it. She had divorced Granddad years before and had been living on her own until our family moved in when I was three. But once my parents were out of the house, it was not uncommon for Grandma to have men over two or three times a month. For all I knew maybe even more often. Some of these men were black men.
From as early as age four or so, I had wondered — Why did Mommy and Daddy want me to be a girl? Was it better to be a girl? Watching my grandmother from under the dining room table, something I did dozens of times over seven years, I became convinced that sex was the reason it was better to be a girl. When I began sucking cock, this belief was confirmed. The main reason I decided to return to the life of the boy is because I knew I could never be fucked — and I wanted to be fucked so badly.
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