February 2007

By now, I was becoming very frightened. I had always wondered about myself; some thirty years earlier, I had sat alone in my room, crying, asking myself "Am I like Christine Jorgenson, and what the hell do I do if I am?" I was a bit more open about what I fervently hoped was my crossdressing, I was thinking back upon that tearful day, and I was beginning to suspect that I knew the answer to my question.

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