Hi. My name's Alyssa Vance. You can call me Lyssa.
I'm 14 years old, and I've made about an A- average as I get ready for high school. I enjoy running, and I've recently gotten into tennis.
What makes me a "problem child"? Call it an accident of birth. I was born in the body of a boy.
I was seven when my older sister, Bethany, caught me in her room, wearing one of her dresses. "Greg? What the heck?"
Have you ever tried to explain something that even you don't fully understand? That's how I felt, explaining to Beth why I was wearing her clothes. By the time I finished, I was crying.
Beth surprised me with her reaction. While she was plenty mad when she first caught me, she calmed down as I spoke. When I started crying, she hugged me until the tears stopped. Then she had me wash my face, so my eyes wouldn't be puffy. Then the two of us went downstairs, to explain all this to Mom and Dad.
I had no idea how they'd take it. Dad always loved taking me out to the backyard to play catch, and Mom had just recently recovered from the car accident that left her in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
As it turned out, they reacted a lot like Beth. They told me they loved me, and they wanted me to be happy. "If that means you want to wear dresses," Dad said, "then I guess you'll need to do that."
A few weeks later, on my eighth birthday, came the next step. It was after my birthday party, and all my friends had gone home. I went up to my room to watch TV. Before long, though, Beth knocked on my door and said, "Come on downstairs. Your birthday isn't over yet." I followed her, puzzled at what her words meant.
Once I was in the family room, I saw more presents waiting for me. Only, these were wrapped in pink.
As I unwrapped them, I found dresses, skirts, and blouses. All girl's clothes, even panties and girl's shoes. In one box was a wig.
"Your own clothes," Mom said. "You don't need to borrow Beth's, anymore. Why don't you try something on?"
I picked out some clothes and brought them upstairs. Back in my room, I took off all the clothes I'd been wearing, then tried out the panties. I didn't like the bulge in the front, and figured out I should tuck my stuff between my legs. Once I was fully dressed, I went back downstairs.
"Very nice, Greg," Mom said.
"That's not much of a Greg," Dad said. "I think somebody's going to need a new name, to go with the new wardrobe."
And so I began my double life. During the day, I was Greg. However, I was usually Alyssa by dinnertime.
After a few years of that, however, I got tired of it. So, one day, sometime after Mom had announced she was pregnant again, I made the announcement that I wanted to be Alyssa full-time.
"I had a hunch this was coming," Dad said. "For your last birthday and Christmas lists, most of the things you really wanted were for Alyssa." So, as of my twelfth birthday, I was no longer Greg.
Since Dad was an attorney, there was very little trouble getting me into junior high as Alyssa. The first jock who broke my nose got suspended, and the second was expelled. I've gotten philosophical about it; it's just one more thing to take care of, when the time comes for the full enchilada.
We got me on hormone therapy, so some of my features have slowly feminized, I'm not growing facial hair or thick body hair, and my breasts are slowly taking shape. Mom says they'll be fine, but I keep thinking I'll need to add implants to the full enchilada.
I've got a bit of a crush on one boy, Garth Jones, but I don't know if he shares my feelings. I haven't pressed him. We were friends back when I was living as a boy, so it might be strange for him. In any case, I'm still biologically male, so dating could get awkward for both of us.
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