My Life Pt. 01

Ava Addams

The following is a more or less true account of my first sexual experiences. There are a couple of vignettes from my early childhood up front for background so you can better understand where I am coming from and how it all played out. This is based on my life, so I will do my best to present it from memory without too much embellishment. I kept a diary through this time so I have a pretty good idea of how things happened. The sex parts were probably a lot more awkward than how I remember them, but our minds tend to romanticize things over the years. The first couple of chapters are just background. They do involve some Transphobic / Homophobic violence so if you are sensitive to that kind of thing you may not want to read this story. The violent parts have been downplayed for publication. One of the many reasons I want to write is that I want to call attention to anti trans violence. This is a therapeutic exercise for me so I hope you enjoy reading it. Although based on actual events, this is a work of fiction, all characters engaging in sex acts are over the age of 18.


I apologize up front for the violent parts. It has to be told for the whole thing to make sense.

August, 2003


“Yes sweetie?”

“That’s it?”

“Well no I guess not baby, did you have any specific questions?”

“Ummm, how do people like me do it?”

My Mom and I were lying on our living room floor looking at the last page of “Where did I come from?” a book about the birds and bees. I’d been aware of this mysterious sex thing and had been looking forward to the “Talk” for a while now. It was my firm belief at that age that the talk would finally reveal the secret I longed beyond anything to know the answer to.

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“Like umm… when do I get to decide?”

“Decide?” she responded with a quizzical look.

“Yeah, you know.” I said getting frustrated.

“I’m sorry baby I don’t.”

“When do I get to decide to be a boy or a girl?”

“Oh sweetheart.” She said with motherly concern as she took me in for a hug.

Her response told me everything I needed to know. It wasn’t going to happen, I was stuck this way. I sobbed into her shoulder. She held me for a long, long time. She should have seen this coming. I was as gender nonconforming as people get. I was small for my age, though getting taller. I had effeminate mannerisms, loved to look at boys and wore girls’ clothes whenever I got a chance.

My Mom indulged this side of me behind my father’s back. During the summer, on Wednesdays when my father was at work, she’d help me dress up in girls clothes and we’d go for ice cream at this elegant little boutique ice cream parlor downtown. These were the best days of my life to that point. I had several outfits and even had some dolls hidden in my toy box. These were the times I felt most natural, most like who I should be.

We’d been doing this for years. At first it was just something silly to indulge a child who would get angry and sullen if forced to be too boyish. Later it became our special time together and I think we both looked forward to those days when I could dress and feel like me. I even had a name for myself. Tammy. It was the name my parents would have chosen if I had been born biologically female. I won’t share my boy name. It never hung right on me to begin with.

“You’re serious about this?”

“Yes!” I said drying my tears and giving her the most serious look I could.

“OK Baby,” she said with a sad smile “we’ll find a way.”

The source of that sad smile became apparent shortly after. She was essentially acknowledging a choice, a choice to protect and nurture her child no matter what the cost. My Mom is the bravest most beautiful woman I have ever met; even to this day (I’m 23 now). She had made a decision that would ultimately end her marriage and put us on an entirely different life path.

I won’t belabor what happened next. Suffice to say after several discussions my Mom came to the realization that I was without a doubt gender dysphoric and in all likelihood Trans.

My father, predictably, didn’t take it well.

My relationship with my father was always strained. I wasn’t a macho boy who liked sports and other guy things. He never hid his disappointment in me and he was very distant.

One day after nearly a week of solid fighting over me, my Grandmother (father’s mother) showed up at our house during the day.

As luck would have it, she came on a Wednesday, dress up day. My Mom made me hide while she spoke to her because I was wearing a dress. The conversation was very serious and I didn’t catch it all, but it was basically an offer of money for my Mother to take me and get out of my Father’s life. She would get half the house money when it sold, a large lump sum of money, and a trust fund for me would be set up for the rest.

My Mother reluctantly agreed. It wouldn’t make us rich, but we wouldn’t starve. It was a start. My Mom packed us Kartal Fetiş Escort up that day, not taking much other than some personal stuff. We got in the car and drove off as we were.

We ended up living in Ohio, not far outside of Cleveland where my Mom grew up. We bought a small house in the country and settled in to our new life. The thing is I didn’t transition to living as a girl full time. My Mom said I was still too young to make a permanent decision like that. She registered me for school under my boy name. I did spend all of my time at home as Tammy though.

I did OK in this new place for a year or so. I didn’t get on too bad at school at first. 6th grade is kind of a transitional stage and so there isn’t a ton of difference between kids. 7th Grade was a different matter altogether.

Seventh Grade

After living as a girl full time for the summer, going back to my boy disguise was nearly impossible once school started. Mom insisted though, and so I bowed to her better judgement at first. The first problem was that several boys came back after the summer more like young men. I was still very small but I did get taller. I was nearly 5’7″ and weighed maybe 110 lbs. Lanky and skinny as a boy.

I was bullied by three guys in particular right from the start, Junior Caseman and his two lackeys Greg and Jason. They were sports jocks and really just all around bullies. It didn’t take them long to pick up on my effeminate mannerisms and start referring to me as “faggot” and “queer” and every other derogatory name for gay they could think of. The first day they forced me into the girls bathroom, which to be honest is where I think I should be, but being forced in boys clothes was embarrassing as hell.

Even the teachers seemed mean. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Moran was the worst. He seemed like such an angry person in general. He was big, over six feet tall and probably 250 lbs. but he also had softness to him. I thought to myself that he must have been picked on in school and was now passing it along.

He wasn’t even really a teacher. He was like a glorified hall monitor as he was still taking night classes for his teaching certification. He was allowed to watch home room, detention and in general be a nuisance. He was forever hounding me about getting to class on time even though he knew I was being picked on and couldn’t help it.

My Mom met him at a parent, teacher night and she said for me to be extra nice to him.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he is a sad, sad person” she replied, “He’s gay and hasn’t admitted it to himself yet”


“Yes sweetie, and living that way is hard.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Denying who you are is really difficult for anybody,”

“I know!” I responded angrily and stomped off.

“Oh honey!” she cried, realizing what she had just said.

She stood outside my door trying to rationalize that it would be too dangerous and we couldn’t afford to switch schools this year with a new identity. She tried bringing up the statistics on anti-trans violence that 72% of hate violence fatalities were against trans women like me. A hard truth to hear but we’d discussed it lots of times. I didn’t want to hear it. I just turned up my music until she went away.

Then next day I put a dress and makeup in my backpack. I got dressed at school and came out like nothing in the world was different. I figured I was getting my ass kicked daily anyway; I might as well be myself. For about three glorious minutes no one even noticed the new girl. Then Junior took a second look.

“Look at the faggot decided to dress like a sissy girl!” Junior yelled before all three of them were on me.

I didn’t even make it to my first class. They beat me up pretty badly.

The Mr. Moran was there. He broke them up and picked me up.

“It’s gonna be OK.” He said, I could detect a hitch in his voice as he tried to sooth me.

Wow I thought to myself, it must really be bad.

It was.

I don’t remember the ambulance ride much and I don’t remember going into the hospital at all. I do remember waking up to the sound of my Mom crying and not being able to turn my head to see her. I felt shame burn through me on top of the pain. My Mom had been right all along.

Sometime later the doctor spoke to me about my injuries. I had several broken bones and would require a lot of recovery.

I also met with a Psychiatrist to address the potential PTSD and why I was wearing a dress when it happened. To make a long story short, transitioning became part of my recovery.

One day Mr. Moran even visited me in the hospital and brought me flowers. He still seemed angry but was also very awkward and it just seemed to me that he was super sweet despite his issues.

After that I was home schooled. My Mom was finishing her Psychology degree and working as a massage therapist to support us. We spent a lot of time studying together. I formally changed my name to Tamarah Cosmano, Kartal Gecelik Escort my Mom and I burned all of my boy clothes in the back yard. That part of life was behind me.


Now let’s move on to the good part of the story. I know a lot of these kinds of stories focus on transition, but I don’t really want this to be about that. I am going to give a quick description, just for background.

We started going once a month up to a clinic in Canada that had a program for kids with gender dysphoria. It was really the best care I could have asked for. I started on progesterone, which halted puberty for a couple of years and then when I was fifteen I started taking a variety of hormones that would give me more feminine traits.

Mom also made me take self-defense classes. I didn’t want to. I hate violence, but the instructors were really nice and this helped me to have good muscle tone and graceful movements.

I did well in my academic studies and tested near the top of the state on standardized tests. Things were going really well for me and I was developing confidence. I had the life I wanted. I didn’t have a social life beyond my Mom and a few friends online, but that was OK. Occasionally my Mom would drop me off at the mall for an evening so I could try to meet kids my own age.

There was a boy who seemed really interested, but after some kissing and letting him feel me up on top, I wouldn’t let him in my pants for obvious reasons. He didn’t want to see me anymore after that. I didn’t have the courage to tell him I was Trans.


OK so here you are thinking I must be some sort of hideous monster after that beating. I was, for a while. One of the kids who did it happened to be from a pretty wealthy family though and so I got the best care I could because of their horror at what their son had done. We didn’t even sue anyone over it, though two of those boys went to jail.

So what did I look like at 18 years of age and going into my senior year of high school? I’ll try to be as objective as I can.

I am 5’7″ tall with dark eyes and naturally thick wavy, bordering on curly, hair which is naturally a chestnut brown in color. It was about shoulder length at the time and pretty wild no matter how much I combed it or how much product I applied.

My skin is a light olive tone most of the time but I get really dark if I lay out in the sun. I owe this to my Mom’s side, which is Italian. My father’s side was German and Norwegian I am told. Let me see, my face was very pretty and feminine thanks to the doctors. I didn’t have any terrible scars from the incident; just a couple under my jaw and above my hairline for the reconstructive surgery and those are barely noticeable.

I also have really great lips, very full. I always had them and the hormones just enhanced them more. I have a roman nose like my maternal grandmother, which my mom envies. Hers is small and upturned, which she hates. I have nice round eyes and long lashes that really turn out great with a little mascara.

Since they had to reconstruct my jaw and cheekbones (zygomatic arch) the doctors feminized my facial features, shaving down my jawline and doing something with my cheekbones. One side is supported by a metal lattice of some sort. The end product was a very pretty face despite all the screws and metal.

My body style is very thin. I was a very wimpy boy. As a girl my limbs are long and toned. I have legs forever, which does make me a bit awkward in high heels. Speaking of high heels, my ass looks incredible when I wear them. All of the Jujitsu I was doing kept me in good shape.

I am also very small chested, but not quite flat. Looking at myself naked I think my best feature is my nipples, which are a lovely cone shape and turn into hard little erasers at the slightest provocation. I love my boobs like a lot. Plus they are “natural” in that I haven’t had surgery; my body developed them with the help of hormones. If I am honest I do wish they were bigger, but I still like them.

My Mom says small boobs are a blessing. Hers are huge and they give her back problems. Seriously, it’s true! I also shouldn’t have to worry too much about sagging as I get older. Yay!

I also had OK hips and ass. I think I am too skinny, but I get that some people really like that. The truth is my ideal womanly body was always based on my Mom. She’s gorgeous and has these voluptuous curves that just scream to the world that she is a woman. I know I’ll never have that, so I work with what I have and my Mom taught me how to make the best of it.

I know you are all wondering, because it’s a thing with girls like me. I transitioned; did I still have a penis and does it still work? The answer is yes to both and I love it.

I know some girls like me feel a strong need to get rid of it. Bottom surgery as it is called is a risky and expensive operation, so I feel lucky that I never felt that need. For me being feminine was more about the social role Kartal Genç Escort than anything else. I am one of those people who defy the gender binary completely. For me being a “girl” is really just the closest alignment, if I think about it deeply I really consider myself something different entirely.

So that is me in my senior year. All in all I would say I was a pretty if average looking girl and I was really happy with that. The thing about looking average as a girl is that you can kind of disappear pretty easily, but with a little effort you can go from average to HAWT. The other thing I had, thanks to my Mom, was a good self-image and self-esteem. That is the most valuable gift anyone ever gave me. Not many Trans kids get that lucky.


Given that this is ultimately a story about sex, you probably want to know what my sex life was like at that point. First off, for an eighteen year old I am a highly sexual person.

When I started high school I was still a virgin in that I hadn’t had sex with anyone, but that doesn’t mean my life was devoid of sex altogether. I thought about it all the time and wondered what it would be like when I actually could be with someone.

I talked to my Mom about it a lot. I was really fortunate in that my Mom was really open to answering all my questions about sex. She told me about all of the things I needed to know to enjoy it and stay safe. Most of all she told me to be patient and wait for the right situation.

She was also open with me about her sex life, including the fact that through some of our tough years she became a sex worker / escort and despite nearly finishing her doctorate in Psychology, still saw a few clients for thrills and extra spending money. I was absolutely fascinated by this. My Mom is just hands down the sexiest person on earth. I’ll write another story at some point highlighting our relationship.

High School

So the memories of the incident still haunted me, but more than anything I wanted a social life… friends.


“Yes sweat pea?” She always tried to use a different pet name for me every time. Just a silly thing she did and I liked it. It made me feel special.

“I want to go back to school.”

“Oh…” a worried pause in her response “do you think that is a good idea?”

“I think I am ready.” I responded.

“That worries me baby,” she replied “can’t you wait until college where people are more civilized?”

“Mom,” I retorted “I pass in public all the time now and I really just want to meet some new people”

Passing was a big deal to my Mom who gave me as much instruction in femininity as she could. To me it was a non-issue. I was out as Trans and didn’t care who knew. My Mom on the other hand feared for my safety.

“I don’t know…”

“Plus I am like a third degree black belt now; I can take care of myself.”

“Yes,” she conceded, “I suppose you can.”

We had several more discussions, but in the end I registered and would finish my senior year in public school. The truth is I didn’t really need to go to school at all. I was one test away from a diploma in the home schooling system I had been following. I just wanted to go to have the experience.

I was older than some kids in high school; my recovery took a lot of time so I was 18 going into my senior year of high school. My Mom expressly did not want me to come out until college. My Mom is great, but a little over protective. We picked a different school district and got Doctor’s notes to excuse me from gym class. It was all set.

First Day and New Friends

God it took forever to get ready my first day. Lucky I had my own car or I would have been late. I guess I can be excused for being a little nervous given my history. I went through like five outfits before finally settling on a cute solid black cotton skirt, white leggings and an off shoulder sweatshirt over a cami. The outfit was super cute and still just within dress code. I added some high heeled Mary Jane’s and my messenger bag. OK, outfit squared away.

Makeup and hair was another story. I did my eyes in pink blending up to a white with eye liner and did a glossy pink on my lips. I was really feeling good. My hair I just went with a simple banana clip as I was running out of time. I was off to school. My Mom kissed me goodbye with a worried look but even so told me how beautiful I was.

The first day of school was very confusing. First off, I wasn’t really used to being around so many people. I must have looked like a tourist in New York wandering around looking for my class and my locker. Unusual for a senior to be so lost.

There were several groups of girls that seemed really interesting. One group of very attractive girls I approached to ask directions.

They pretty much just snubbed me all together. Very “Mean Girls” like. I finally found my home room and went in timidly.

I was sitting in homeroom and I must have looked really upset.

“Hey there.” said a soft voice. I looked up into the startling blue eyes of a really cute chubby girl.

“Hey.” I responded, smiling.

“Do you need some help?” She asked.

“Oh wow, yes please!” I replied relieved, “I am so lost.”

“I’m Theresa.” she said as she looked over my schedule.

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