I Become Veronica

Within a few months of our move to Spokane, Washington, I had become totally and completely Veronica. I am not speaking here of how I saw myself and how I saw the world, I am speaking of how the world saw me.

While Mom and I have been enjoying Veronica Time for quite sometime while living in Rosalia, in Rosalia I still lived in two worlds.  On school days I would have to dress as a boy.  When Daddy was home I had to dress as a boy.  When friends were coming over to visit I had to often go to my room and change, which was often the case when Mom had to run to the store.  When one considers all of the time I could not be Veronica, it is almost surprising that I was able to spend any time at all as Veronica.

Once we were in Spokane, everything changed.  The decision had been made that Mom would home school me so I never had to dress for school as a boy.  While I had loved my father and I missed him dearly, he totally disapproved of Mom dressing me as a girl and as such he totally disapproved of Veronica, which to my mind meant he disapproved of me.  One day I was talking to Mom about Dad and how much I missed him.  She replied, "Well everything happens for a reason."  And then changing the subject she said, "Now step back I want to see how pretty you look in your new purple dress."

While Mom still had some friends from Rosalia, they mostly spoke on the phone.  Her closest friends, the one who came to Spokane to visit and who welcomed us in their homes when we visited Rosalia, came to know Veronica.  Not uncommonly Mom would come to understand that one of her old friends disapproved of our choices and their friendship would become a thing of the past.  Mom and I made new friends and the new friends knew nothing of Glen.

Whenever we went out shopping or to our favorite restaurants, I was Veronica to those who recognize us.  As I have mentioned elsewhere, as a result of the death of both Grandpapa and Dad, Mom no longer had to count her pennies.  When we went out to the best clothing stores in Spokane to buy clothes for neither herself or me, the best salespeople made a point of being just ass happy to see Veronica as they were to seee Mom.

This was possibly most relevant to this blog when it comes to boys.  Aaron was the son of one of Mom's new friends and for our first Halloween in Spokane I dressed up as a princess and he dressed up as a fireman.  We posed together before a party Mom's friend was hosting.  He did not make fun of me for dressing up as a girl for Halloween.  To him I was a girl dressed as a princess.  And at the party later that is how I was seen by all the other children andtheir parents.

Were there ever adults who saw too much boy in my Mom's litte girl?  If so, it was not something that they shared with Mom.  What friend or even most casual acquaintance would ever suggest to a Mom that her little girl looks a lot like a boy in a dress.  That would have been rude.  In Rosalia, most of the  townspeople would have been shocked to see Mom walking out on a walk with a little girl.  The same came to be true of Spokane, simply in reverse.  In time, those who came to know Mom and I  would all know us as mother and daughter.

Now I am not saying that Mom and I did not have to  make adjustments as I grew older.  For instance many parents felt that Mom allowed me to wear too much makeup for my age.  But it would become increasingly difficult as months and years of knowing Veronica to even suspect that she might actually be a boy.

After all could a boy truly be this pretty?  And could a boy come home from pageant after pageant with sashes and crowns?  Would a boy have photo albums filled with pictures of himself in gowns and dresses and swimsuits modeling for judges.

With out questin I had become Veronica.

Age Six -- Am I A Boy or A Girl?

When Mom and I made the decision that I could live my life as Veronica, did we do so because I knew myself to be a girl?  At the age of six, was I a boy or a girl?

Let's skip ahead about ten years when I would be sixteen.  By this time in my lifem whether or not I am a boy or a girl is less about the clothes I wear and more about social relationships.  Now to a great extent when I say 'social' I  am of course talking about sex.  By this age, I have known for quite some time that if I am to be a boy, I will fuck girls.  If I am to be a girl, I will be fucked by boys.  However, I may yet be of the age where this directly impacts my life.  In other words, while I know as a girl I will someday be fucked, getting fucked is not yet a defining choice I make.

So to be consistent let's skip ahead another ten years.  Am I a man or am I a woman?  While it is overly simplistic and definitely politically incorrect, if I am a woman, I am getting fucked by men.  If I am a man, I am fucking women.

What does any of this have to do with the original questions posed by the six-year-old Glen or the six-year-old Veronica?  At the age of six, whether or not  I was a boy or a girl was largely a question of whether or not I could wear dresses or not.

Of course, being a girl was not simply about the dresses for me.  It was about the name Veronica.  It was about the way I liked boys.  It was about being a daughter instead of being a son.  It was about being 'pretty' and not 'handsome.'  It was about my preference for dolls over Tonka trucks.  However every child, myself included, learns through a socialization process.  We learn to conform to the expectations of others.

Once I began seeing myself as a girl, I began to fulfill the expectations of others by being more 'girl.'  Was this a conscious choice?  A deliberate decision?  Not at all.  I was too young to truly make a decision this momentous. I cannot recall a time in my childhood when I did not know more happiness as a girl than as a boy.

If  there was any decision made by me as I grew older, it was the decision to continue life as a girl and not become a boy.  This is an important distinction because as I grew older I will come to learn that there was much more to being a girl  than dolls and dresses, makeup and cute boys.

Imagine if you will the first time I learned that as a girl, one without the pussy that most girls had, boys who fucked me would be fucking my up the ass.  To say the least this was not the 'glamour' of being a girl.  Now while it was scary.  It was also exciting.  At the time I learned of anal sex, I already knew something about sex and knew that the way a boy and a girl had sex was not an option for me.

So while it was a bit scary and I may have even had considered it gross and disgusting, I suspect my feelings were not substantial different from a girl learning for the first time boys will want to put their dicks up their pussy.

The first time I heard the term 'cocksucker' it was slung as an insult -- not at me that time.  For quite some time I saw the label 'cocksucker' as derogatory.  Why would anyone -- boy or girl -- suck a man's cock.  Not only did I cum to love sucking dick, love being called a 'cocksucker,' I was happiest when sucking cock also meant swallowing his load.

So to return to the question -- Age six, am I a boy or a girl?, allow me  to suggest that it is a moot question.  At the age of six I was still a child.  All I really wanted out of life was to have my way and at the time 'having it my way' meant being a girl, being able to wear dresses.  As I grew older, as I learned more about what it truly meant to be a girl, what it would truly mean to be a woman, I did not disavow my 'girlness.'  I did not decide to become a boy again.  I was content as a girl and I came to appreciate that being a girl is much more than simply wearing a dress.  In fact,  that is not even the best part about being a girl.