1 Introduction

Shit, I have plenty of new buttons on my face. If I borrow my sister's face powder

to hide them, everyone will think that I'm gay but if I stay like that, my friends who organized this meeting tomorrow with these chick who come from I do not know where, they will treat me bastard. Maybe if I explode them, they will not be visible anymore.

I pinch one of these purulent button between two nails and first finding, it hurts. When the button gives way, an explosion of stinks comes to repaint the mirror of the bathroom in green. Second observation, it bleeds and in principle I will have to clean this mirror but it's too dirty then the old women will do it. Solution found. The old women must know her. Since she has menopause, she also has new buttons like a teenager but she is far from young. I'm going to scream through the house so she can hear me.

"Old woman, I have a lot of button disgusting and tomorrow I have a very important appointment planned. He, you would not have a solution?"

"Before having a relationship with a girl, start by no longer staining your uderpants."

"I have a delicate transit."

"My hand is delicate too but if you want her on your face, keep shouting like that and you'll feel it."

Let's forget this solution which from the beginning was doomed to failure. The old women in the eyes of others is considered a kind and understanding woman but it is not. This old woman is a cowhide whose only pleasure is to humiliate me. Furthermore she can not bear being contradicted. I do not say that because she does not want to help me but it's the truth. Even my father crushes like a virgin when she gets angry after him. In this family, women are scary and it took a lot of effort to make peace with the so-called weak sex. Until last year, when a girl started talking to me, I found myself frozen and saw my mother's ugly face instead of her face. I think I was traumatized. What boy in the midst of a sexual revolution would have his mother come to high school and enter his class to yell about porn magazines she found under her mattress? What sane teenager would not go crazy if his mother, in a family reunion told that her son was masturbating more than three times a day while looking at mail order catalogs?

But she did not wait until I was a teenager to make my life hell. As a child, I remember she had say other mothers, how worried she was about her son's tiny penis and wondering if one day his little male girl would finally grow up. Six years ago my uncle had offered me a console but my mother considered that the games provided with were too violent. So she confiscated them and bought instead ( Barbie Princess Diamond and her friends.) It would not be so bad if she had not invited my classmates for a snack and had boasted with them how much his son loved the Barbie game. After that day, everyone called me Julia. My name being Jules, they did not break too much ass to find me a pseudonym that they think was better and I could not really blame them knowing that I happened to come in skirt at school.

If my mother is a cowhide, my sister who is two years older than me is a sadist. When I went to school in the morning, sometimes passing an alley, one hand pulled me violently, another suddenly covered my mouth and a voice murmured in my ear saying "If you do not do what I tell you or repeat, I'll kill you when you sleep." Then my jeans and my T-shirt disappeared and when I went out of this alley, I wore a little skirt and a short T-shirt with the inscription (love) or (girl power ). My sister had just hit. Of course my mother was summoned but that only was reinforced her in what she said she already knew. His son was different.