Christopher To Christina: An Answered Prayer

6. Physical Maturity

Those formative years of my newfound girlhood were years of happiness and contentment. But when I reached about twelve and a half, a new threat loomed on the horizon.

Puberty.

Mother explained to me about the differences between boys and girls and this caused me some worry and concern. I knew boys and girls were different, but now, for the first time I truly understood the detailed differences between boys and girls and I began to fear the future, knowing my body was about to began turning me into a man.

She also explained why those differences existed. With her usual thoroughness she had gotten books from the library for me to read, but most of the information came from her. I found out about babies; where they came from, and about what men did to help create them.

My first thought was how much I would like to be a mother. Mommy didn't laugh when I told her this, bless her. But she did explain that it was impossible, and she took me back to the books and the anatomical drawings to show me why that was.

I wasn't satisfied.

I might never be able to be a mother, but I had absolutely no interest whatever in being a father. By this time I was feeling so completely at ease as a girl (a rather pretty girl, I might add) that I had come to unconsciously assume that I was going to be, no question about it, a girl for the rest of my life.

The thought that I would grow a beard, become more muscular, and that my penis would start to get bigger filled me with dismay. I didn't want a bigger penis, I wanted a smaller one, or better yet, I didn't want my penis at all now. The thought of having a visible lump between my legs filled me with dispair. I wanted breasts and what girls had down there and didn't want anything girls didn't have.

The more I thought about this, the more upsetting it was, and I started to become depressed over it. Everytime I took a bath, changed panties, or used the bathroom, I was reminded I was, biologically, a boy.

Those reminders, I should say, began to grow more than irksome.  My little penis and balls reminded me of the rough cotton underwear and rough boy clothes I used to have to wear and the pain and misery I had endured at the hands and through the words of the bullies at school.

These external appendages were the only things holding me back, keeping me from being able to completely leave behind the terrible life I had led as a boy. 

I began to think of them as "the growth", a birth defect preventing me from achieving what I really wanted in life, complete girlhood. I wanted them gone. I didn't know how or even if that were possible, so every night, between prayers they would just atrophy, shrivel up and fall off, and falling asleep, I would twist my penis over and over, hoping it would eventually snap off.

Life before those years was so sunny and happy that I used to go about the house singing quietly as I did my studying and my housework. But now, under this new desire, I was more subdued, and quilkly becoming majorly distressed over it.

Sometimes at night I would cry into my pillow over the idea that my life as a girl would one day come to an end. I wanted to grow up to be adult woman and give birth so I could be a mommy one day, but I knew that wasn't a possibility for me. I had the equipment that gave me the ability to impregnate a girl and become a daddy, but not be impregnated by a boy so i could give birth and become a mommy.

One evening after dinner, Mommy found me silently weeping over my math workbook, tears wetting the page and turning the equations into an unreadable mess.

She placed a hand on my back and leanedin close. "What's the matter, sweetie?" she asked softly. Seeming almost as distressed as I was.

Having to say it out loud was too much, and I began to bawl loudly.

Mom didn't say anything else, just let me cry, while holding me in a comforting embrace. Finally, I got it out.

"Momma, I don't want to ever have to stop being a girl. I definitely don't want to be a father. I don't want to be anybody's husband. I don't want to grow into a man and i definitelydon'twanttoever impregnatea girl. Even if I can't give birth, I still want to live my life as a woman."

"But, sweetheart, you were only going live as a girl temporarily, so you wouldn't have to deal with other boys. We both knew it would come to an end sooner or later. Are you saying you don't want it to? What are you going to do in high school?"

"I don't want to go to high school," I said, sniffling. "Not if I have to be a boy. I've decided I hate the very thought of having to ever live as a boy, ever again. I don't want to be Christopher, I want to be Christine, forever. Christopher's dead."

I started to cry uncontrollably again. "Four . . .years of happiness," I wept, "Four years of being your little girl . . . and now . . . THIS!"

I pointed between my legs.

"I keep getting boners. I don't want boners. I wish I could had been born without this thing ever having been there. I wish it would just . . . shrink and drop off, and leave me in peace. Can't we cut it off?"

By this time Mommy was crying, too. But she calmed down before I did, and she said, "Christine, sweetheart, it's not going to go away, that's not what happens. And no, we can't just cut it off. It doesn't work like that. However, there just might be something we can do. I don't want to hold out any promises, but . . . well, let me make some phone calls and we'll see."

I didn't know what she meant, but Mommy was the one sure thing in my life, the one person who could heal all my wounds and solve all my problems.

She would think of something.

She always did.