Self-discovery came upon me suddenly.
As late as 1982 I entertained the notion that I was brave and strong. In privacy, I often dressed in women's clothes for
fun, but I
thought this was just an innocent pastime.
year I was arrested and spent
three months in jail. The other inmates teased me mercilessly about the
that I had breasts like a movie actress and was as weak and timid as
a baby. They said that if even the tiniest inmate in the jail threatened
would defend myself by dropping to the floor and rolling up in a
self-image had been an utter illusion if what the other inmates were
true. I was a pantywaist, a momma and a fairy according to their
persistent and emphatic were
their derisions that as soon as I got out of jail I started wearing
clothes publicly. If my effeminacy was so obvious, there was no point in
to conceal it. I began to wear a bra and panties, and a leotard and
with stretch pants. I do have a slender waist and broad hips, in
addition to my busty look, so these clothes were not entirely
inappropriate. I let my hair grow long and colored it blonde. I also
lipstick and nail polish.
appearance had the unexpected
result that sometimes boys as young as ten years old would hit me or
threaten to beat me on the street, despite the fact that I was 12 to 18
taller than they and outweighed them by a ratio of two to one. Even more
annoying was the fact that when this happened, I panicked and would not
hesitate to run off. I had had no idea that I was such a complete and
sissy before this time.
amusing incident occurred while I
was seated in a lobby in a public building. A black youth tried to
snatch from my neck a beautiful scarf I had knitted myself. I clutched
scarf and the youth rolled me up, that is, he feinted as if he'd hit me,
reflexively rolled up in a ball. I had gotten the design for my scarf from The Dictionary of Needlework, by Sophia Caulfield and Blanche Saward, my favorite book, so it was important for me to preserve the scarf, even if I had to roll up in a ball to do so. I guess the other inmates understood me better than I understood myself. Nowadays I'd think nothing of rolling up in a ball, but at that time, I was scandalized to find myself resorting to this kind of self-defense.
this time, I also began to
play a soprano recorder--a kind of flute--in order to learn melodies of
songs, and I was
surprised to discover that I could sing in the same range. In fact, I
just barely get down to middle C and preferred to sing higher than G
middle C, that is, in the upper soprano range. I could reach high C, but
very sonorously. I could sing A or B just below high C with no
in 1985, I was sitting in a
park playing my recorder and singing in the soprano range. I had on
leotard and tights and blue stretch pants, with bra and panties inside.
My lips and
long nails were red, and I had a ribbon in my
Hispanic girl who was about 13
years old and whom I think of as Olivia came walking by with a friend of
She was tiny for her age, standing 4'-6" tall and weighing about 80
pounds. Olivia had a very nice figure, perhaps a little
breasts just beginning to bud. She was dressed very attractively, in
light blue slacks and a gray blouse that showed off her cute shape. She looked sleek, muscular and
her size. She looked as if she could do handstands, cartwheels, modified
push-ups from the knee and maybe even regulation push-ups from the toes.
probably could run and jump, and throw and catch decently. I wouldn't
surprised if I had learned she was on a junior high school team or
By contrast, I stood 5'-10" tall and weighed 150 pounds, so I was literally twice her size, and, past 40, I was over three times her age. I had just taken tests of physical strength that seemed to show that I was the equal of a five-year-old girl. But I had not gotten that score directly. I had had to make a number of calculations and corrections to arrive at it. So, I was not entirely convinced the score was accurate. It seemed utterly impossible that I was all that weak. I wondered whether I should just ignore it. Still, handstands, cartwheels and push-ups were quite beyond me. I ran and jumped so feebly and inanely that eventually I simply would not attempt these actions in public. I would also have been embarrassed if anyone had seen me trying to throw or catch a ball. I would not have qualified for a junior high school girls' team. But I did not yet appreciate these facts. TESTS
as Olivia passed before me,
she looked at me and exclaimed to her companion, "Oh my God!" I
interpreted this to mean, "Look at this outrageous
"Look at this outrageous
rose from where I was sitting
and playing, assuming that when she saw how large I was, she would be
intimidated and walk away immediately, leaving me in peace. But she was
intimidated at all. Quite the contrary, I could see from her demeanor
facial expression that she was insulted that I thought she should be
an outrageous sissy. She obviously thought that it should have been
self-evident that she could toss me on my buttocks and box my ears in
flat, and that I was being disrespectful in daring to confront her as if
could ever possibly pose a threat to her. She was totally
contemptuous. I recall that she looked like a Puerto Rican. Puerto Rican
are as vicious as wildcats when they fight. She may even have had
a knife in her bra.
I may well have gotten into a very dangerous predicament. I don't care if she was only 13 years old; I was scared.
Olivia saw my nervousness in my face and manner, she decided
to deal me a
blow to requite the insult she thought I had directed at her. She took
a step in my direction as if she would hit me. I panicked and took a step back, displaying my
took another step in my
direction, and my panic rose to something akin to hysteria. She kept
but I backed off even faster. When I saw that she was not
stop advancing in my direction, there was nothing for it but to run, and
what I did.
had told me beforehand that
one day I would run from a 13-year-old girl half my size, I would have
the comment with absolute scorn. But now I had done it and had to live
have forgotten this single
episode during the passage of the years, persuading myself that it had
merely a moment of confusion or misunderstanding. That rationalization
work, however, because in the next few years, there were several such
encounters. The confrontation with Olivia was just the most ironic and
dramatic. It was terrifying and
exciting, one of the most dangerous encounters that I have had. It was really thrilling to be one of the adversaries in a duel like that, to be the sissy in a play called The Sissy-Killer and the Sissy.
pondering this confrontation
for a long time, I accepted it with equanimity, concluding that there
reason for me not to be afraid of a little girl. Of course, the
wisdom would have it that under no circumstances whatsoever should I not
dared to stand up courageously to the little girl, but on the other hand
good whatsoever could have come of a fight. It would have been terribly
embarrassing to have her drub me in a public park, while spectators
around. It seemed unlikely that I would win such a fight, because I was
to death and because I don't know the first thing about self-defense.
supposing I should have started getting the better of her by some
miracle, who would
have honored me for valor and prowess?
I have a high
I.Q., over 135,
perhaps in the 150 to 170 range. I can read several languages and have
extensively. I'm proficient at mathematics and other subjects.
I've written novels, poetry and essays, which can be read on this
website. Olivia's I.Q. was probably not over
100, and though she spoke English and Spanish, she was undoubtedly ignorant on most subjects. After all, she was just a child. You'd think
that my intellectual superiority would
have some kind of defense. But no! If an aggressive 13-year-old girl of
modest intelligence and experience takes it into her head to give me a
drubbing, there is nothing I can do but run. The only problem is that
girl can outrun me too, so if she wants to press the
its logical conclusion, there is nothing at all that I can do. She can always catch me if she chooses. My
that when she sees me running off in a fright, she usually considers the
encounter a victory for herself and lets it go at that.
Who would have guessed that as the years went by, I'd come to look back on Olivia with admiration and envy? I think of her every day, and it's almost a cult that I have imagining myself like Olivia, fearless, formidable and fascinating, glamorous and glorious in a 13-year-old girl's inimitable way. What a wonderful thing it would be to be just like her!
Years earlier, in the eighth grade, I had been given a severe beating by a 13-year-old girl named Joanne. I had been taunting her like a little sissy smart-aleck. She tried to get me to stop, but I kept it up and kept it up. So finally she beat the living daylights out of me. JOANNE
I can hardly believe the amazing coincidence that I just experienced, this morning December 4, 2011. I took an online test that was supposed to find the name that suited me best. The test consisted of about 15 questions, all of which I answered as honestly as possible, except that I said that I was a woman. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read that the name that suited me best was Olivia! Is this magic? I'm on the point of considering my cult in honor of Olivia a religion. I'm immensely flattered that somehow the name Olivia was selected for me too
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