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First uploaded October 9, 2012

I was fourteen.  I was standing naked in front of a mirror.

I hated being in that body.  Just looking at it filled me with disgust.

It was a male body.  So I had been told.  So I tried to believe.  This naked body in the mirror that everyone thought was male was absolutely hideous.

Since I was so utterly repelled by my body, I concluded that I must not like men.  Since this naked body was, you know, supposed to be male.  If I liked men, I thought, I should like this body.  Seeing as how I could barely stand to look at it, the reasoning naturally followed that I must not like men.

I must not like men, despite the way I looked at other men.  I must not like men, despite what I did with other men, and what I wanted to do with other men.  All of those desires and experiences were mere aberrations of behavior, nothing but anomalies.

I certainly had quite a few aberrations.

My internalized queerphobia combined with my gender dysphoria (and my religious upbringing) to keep me in denial through most of my cock-sucking, ass-fingering, boy-humping teenage years.  I wonder sometimes how much sooner I might have come out as queer if I had been cis.