I began to colour my fingernails, which my Mom would always wash off before I went to school. I had different ideas of what clothes to buy and wear. And my blonde hair was something which I wanted to grow long, not get a haircut like most boys do when their hair gets long. My Mom knew something was up with me, and I knew it as well. We went to the doctors a lot but my Mom and the Doctors always talked privately without me. When I hit my teenage years, I went to the doctors my myself. I mean, I knew there was something wrong with me but I didnt know what. I told the doctors everything which occurred in my life. Eventually I was told that I had a rare psychological gender disorder called Transsexualism. I had to undergo treatment, medications and surgery to have my gender change if I wished to do so. I said yes. Eventually, I saw the changes coming towards me. I was not a male anymore, but a female. The hairs on my body, my voice, and my body figure was changing so I could become a. I went from a short, gangly dork to a tall, even ganglier dork withrunaway acne and a scalp which could have applied for membership inOPEC.Cindy, however, got it better. Or worse, if you asked her.She, too, gained inches. Not so much in height, but across the chest andhips. Her formerly stringy head of dirty blonde hair turned into wavesof silky gold from the increased hormones. Her complex, already decent,became pristine.It was like the tale of the Ugly Duckling. Though I'd never consideredCindy ugly in the first place.By the time we started our Freshman year, she was being drafted into allthe popular cliques. Almost against her will.The cheerleaders wanted her out helping them raise school spirit. Thedrama club wanted her to audition for every performance they wereproducing. And her own parents, mainly her father, pushed her to takeballet classes so she would have even more stuff to put on her collegeapplication.Our time together dwindled to the occasional weekend movie.
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