by Warren, Mike
But when Sean Mathews came into my life, I knew God had answered my prayer.
I guess I should try to explain how I changed from being the little, skinny, curly-haired, country, naïve, light-skinned boy into this beautiful, sexy, exotic-looking female impersonator. Well, honies, don’t clutch the pearls too tight. Sit back and let me tell you my story.
Chapter 2
May 1997
Fifteen years ago
“Aw, Cameron, I’ma tell Mommy on you,” Keshia said.
“I don’t care. Go ahead and tell Mommy. You just jealous ’cause you can’t fit it.”
“Fine,” she said, stomping out of my room.
I don’t know why my mother had to have another child. I was the baby up until six years ago, which was when my baby sister Keshia was born. Before then, it was my mom, my older brother Ray, and me.
My mom never got married. I guess, looking back on how things turned out, that’s because she spent most of her time in a halfway house, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Now eleven years old, I knew I was different since the tender age of four. When I started Pre-K, I found myself playing mostly with the little girls in my class instead of with the boys. I had no interest in playing with trucks, toy guns, or blocks. I preferred playing with baby dolls, combing their hair and dressing them up in different outfits. I was a li’l drag queen in the making.
When I turned nine, I was called a sissy for the very first time. This stupid boy named Tyrone, who was in my class, got mad at me because our Math teacher, Mrs. Pender, asked him what the square root of 1,345 was and I raised my hand and got the answer right when he didn’t know it. He got mad and called me a sissy out loud, and the rest of the kids in my class starting laughing. So, Ms. Pender sent him to the principal’s office. I really didn’t know how to feel, since I didn’t know what the word sissy meant. Believe it or not, that was the first time I had ever heard the term.
When I got home, I asked my mother what it meant, and she informed me that that’s what people call other boys who act like girls. I was devastated. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to show my face in that school again.
*
The next day during lunchtime, Tyrone and his bullying ass came over to my table and asked me what time it was. At first, I didn’t want to tell him because I didn’t want him to see my new Mickey Mouse watch that Mother had just brought me for my birthday. As I tried to cover it with my hand, he suddenly grabbed my arm and snatched it off my wrist and walked away with it.
The other kids started to point and laugh at me. I was so hurt and embarrassed; I wanted to crawl into a hole.
For the rest of the day, I sat in class thinking, How am I gonna get my watch back? I couldn’t tell Mother I’d just lost it. She would’ve never believed it because she knew how much I loved that watch and that I wasn’t that irresponsible.
Honey, once that dreaded three o’clock school bell rang and kids began breaking their necks to get outside to go home, I thought that bully Tyrone would give it back. I walked up to him as he stood outside in the schoolyard with his friends.
“Can I have my watch back, please?” I asked in a squeaky tone, holding my trembling hand out.
“What? You want your watch back?” Tyrone questioned, while he and his friends laughed hysterically.
“Yeah,” I replied, softly and very pleadingly.
“Here. Here’s your watch.” And out of nowhere, Tyrone hauled off and punched me dead in my mouth. He hit me so hard, my little yella ass fell right on the ground. Then this muthafucka had the nerve to climb on top of me and began punching me like I stole something from him.
Chile, I started biting him everywhere I could. At one point, I think I bit him in the crotch, because he stopped punching me and bent over and grabbed himself. Honey, this was my chance to get the hell outta there.
I got my little yella ass up and started running as fast as I could. I looked behind me, and there was Tyrone and his friends not too far behind. Let me tell you, I was so scared and frightened, chile, I ran past my own house, twice. Darling, I know that shit might be funny now, but it wasn’t at the time, because I had to keep running just to tire them fools out. Thank God, Mother never asked me about my watch.
*
For the next couple of months, I used every excuse in the book not to go to school. I would play sick, or sometimes I would oversleep. My mom worked for the NTS (Nebraska Transit System) and she worked from three a.m. to twelve p.m. Monday through Saturday. As a single parent she volunteered for that schedule because of the night differential.
By the beginning of the third month, the school had sent a letter home via snail mail. My mother went off on me. “Cameron, bring your bony ass here!” she yelled.
“Okay, Mother,” I said, not knowing what I had done for her to sound so mad.
“Hurry up, boy!” she continued to yell.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied as I stood in front of her.
She shook what appeared to be a letter all in my face. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“I don’t know,” I replied timidly.
“This is a letter from your school letting me know that you’ve missed more than fifteen days this semester from school. Have your lost your everlasting mind?”
“No, ma’am,” I said softly. I lowered my head down and looked at the floor.
“Now, I have to lose time from work and take you up to the school in the morning because they wanna meet with me. Take your skinny, high-yella ass to your room. I’ll be there in a minute.
I began to cry as I ran to my room because when mother said, “Go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute,” that meant she was coming to beat that ass.
The worst part was the waiting. Sometimes she would make us wait for up to an hour or so. You see, I’m the type of person who wants to get it done and over with. I don’t like having time to think about what I did wrong and think how bad that ass-whipping is going to be. I’m a do-it-and-get-it-over-with kinda girl.
Anywho, she wore my ass out that day, and I never played hooky ever again.
*
When we were younger, my little sister and I used to play house. She was the daughter, and I was the mother. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment. My sister slept in Mother’s room, and my big brother Ray and I shared a room. But since he was always out, hanging with his friends, I pretty much had the room to myself. That’s why we would always play house in my room.
I didn’t like having a baby sister because she thought that just because she was the only girl and the baby, she ought to get her way.
Mother didn’t help the situation, because she always babied her. In essence, she was mommy’s little girl.
Humph, if anything I could be more of a girl than her. Besides, I was older and already had a teenage girl’s shape, even though I was only eleven.
*
“Cameron!” Mother yelled as she stood in my bedroom doorway, jolting me from my thoughts.
I was so embarrassed as I stood there with one of her dresses on looking and admiring myself in the floor-length mirror.
“What are you doing?” Mother asked, sounding angry.
My baby sister, smiling and extending her tongue out at me, stood behind Mother.
“Nothing,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.
“Why are you wearing my dress?” she asked in a disappointing tone.
I started to stutter, “I-I-I thought it was pretty. We were playing house, and Keshia got mad because she couldn’t fit your dress and I could. So that’s the only reason why she went and told you.” I started crying.
“Take my dress off and put it where you found it,” Mother said, shaking her head as she left my room.
From the look on Mother’s face, at that moment she knew I was gay. As I think back, I believe that’s when I honestly knew as well. Unfortunately, Mother did treat me different than my other two siblings. There were many times, suffering from the middle-chi
ld syndrome, I felt like Jan Brady.
Mother absolutely adored my older brother Ray, who was sixteen and the spitting image of his father. Ray could do no wrong. I also believed that Mother was still in love with Ray’s father, who was in the military and had left when Ray was born and never came back, or so the story goes.
We all had different fathers. I wasn’t sure who my father was, except I knew he was white. That’s why I was so light and had, as they say, “good hair.”
My baby sister’s father was a wannabe drug hustler and thug. He would come by and give my mother money to have sex with him. She didn’t think I knew, but I was up late one night and I heard them arguing. I heard him tell her that the only reason he gave her money was because she was a good fuck.
The only reason I enjoyed having a baby sister was because she had the toys I wanted to play with, such as dolls, tea cup settings, pink doll houses, and doll clothing. As a boy, Mother wouldn’t dare buy girly things like that for me, so I played with Keshia’s.
My sister and I always got into arguments because she never wanted me to play with her toys, but yet she always wanted to play house. What kinda shit was that? Like I said, I was older. She was six, and I was eleven. And, of course, when she didn’t get her way, she would run to Mother.
I finally stopped playing with her and started playing with my big brother. Hmmm! My brotha, Lawd Jesus.
*
I’d just turned twelve when I snuck into Mother’s bedroom and took one of her dresses and a pair of her high-heeled shoes and ran back to my room to try them on. Mother had taken Keshia out shopping, and Ray was out hanging with his boys or whatever. I took all my clothes off and stood in the full-length mirror and realized I had a really nice little body. I had a better shape than Mother, to be honest. I had begun puberty, so hair had begun to grow in my private area, and my butt was forming into a nice, smooth apple shape. I stood less than five feet tall and weighed less than eighty pounds.
I slowly put my mother’s dress over my head, and the feeling I felt as the dress fell down and hugged my naked body excited me. At the time, I didn’t know whether the dress was made of silk or rayon or what, but it felt good against my skin. I didn’t get aroused like most boys I had noticed in the shower whose little dicks would get hard. Instead, my excitement was a tingling sensation of a surge that went through my entire body.
I stepped into my mother’s high-heeled shoes, which fit perfectly, and nobody couldn’t tell me shit as I stood there admiring myself with my light, smooth skin, thick, pink lips, long eyelashes, and curly, black hair.
I was better looking than any girl I knew. Even my brother’s girlfriend, who he thought was all that. Humph, she didn’t have anything on me.
I turned on my brother’s stereo system and popped in Patti Labelle’s CD and lip-synched the words as I looked in the mirror and made up steps as though I was performing.
“Dayum, baby boy! Whatchoo doing?” Ray asked, catching me off guard.
Ray always called me “baby boy.” I don’t know why. I guess he started calling me that since I was born, and since I was the baby at the time, he just called me baby boy.
“Ah, nothing,” I replied, feeling embarrassed and ashamed.
“Does your mother know you going around here wearing her shit?” he asked, changing his clothes.
That’s another thing about Ray I didn’t understand. We had the same mother, but he always referred to her as “your mother,” as though she wasn’t his as well.
“Yeah,” I lied. I took off Mother’s dress as quickly as I could.
“Yeah, I bet.” Ray stared at me kinda funny, standing there in his boxers.
“She do. Honest,” I stated, trying to sound convincing as I stood there butt naked.
“Yo, baby boy. Wow! You shaped like a honey. Dayum!” he said, walking over to me and looking me up and down in my birthday suit, especially at my ass.
I knew my brother liked what he saw. Like I said, I had a really nice shape. However, I wasn’t sure how I really felt about that. After all, we were brothers. But what could I say? He was right.
What really caught me off guard was that he began feeling me on my ass and sliding his middle finger up and down the crack of my ass as he began pulling at himself. I mean, he didn’t even ask. No one had ever done that to me, but for some reason, it felt good, really good, even to the point where my knees began to shake.
Suddenly, we heard our mother and Keshia come through the door. Ray stopped and started putting on the rest of his clothes, and I did the same.
For the rest of that evening, we acted as though nothing ever happened. Ray did help me get my mother’s dress and shoes back into her closet without her noticing, and then he went out.
I lay in the bed tossing and turning, waiting for him to come home, to see if things would pick up where we left off.
I didn’t know what time it was, but Ray finally made it home and had awakened me from my sleep. “Yo, baby boy, wake up,” he said, lying on the bunk beneath me.
The room Ray and I shared together was too small for two separate beds, so my mom had bought us bunk beds. I slept on top, and Ray slept on the bottom bunk.
“Yo, baby boy,” he whispered again.
“Yeah,” I replied, wiping the sleep out of my eyes.
“You awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Come down here. I wanna talk to you.”
I climbed down from my top bunk and sat alongside his bunk as he slid over, making room on his bed for me.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
“I just wanted you to know that I know you’re gay. You know I know that, right?” He began to take his wifebeater and boxers off while under the covers.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling somewhat ashamed.
“Well, look here, baby boy. Don’t be ashamed of what you are. But do me one favor. Would you do that for me?” Ray looked like he was high on something, because his eyes were rolling around in his head. And he looked as though he was playing with himself under the covers.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t want any of my friends, or anybody for that matter, coming up to me, telling me they done fucked my little brother in da ass, a’ight? I don’t think I could handle that, a’ight? Promise me.” He grabbed on to my arm tightly.
I squealed as I began to feel the pain in my arm. “Okay, I promise.”
“A’ight, cool. And I want you to make me another promise.”
“Okay,” was all I could say.
“If you ever feel the need to want some dick, you come to me. You understand? I’d rather you get it from me than one of my home boys and they throw that shit up in my face. You hear me, baby boy?” he asked, tightening his grip on my arm.
“Yeah, Ray, I hear you,” I stated nervously.
“A’ight, cool.” Then he asked, “Have you ever seen a naked dude before?”
“I’ve seen the other boys in my class while taking gym, but that’s about it.”
“Well, I think you’re old enough to see what a man looks like.” Ray threw the covers off himself.
Now, I’d never seen my brother totally naked before, but wow, he had a big dick. Or at least a bigger dick than any I’d ever seen. All I could do was stare at it, my mouth hung open. My brother knew he had it going on, and he knew I liked what he was showing me.
“Go ahead, baby boy. Touch it; it won’t bite,” he whispered, all the while licking his lips and stroking himself.
I knew there was something wrong with this picture, but truth is, I wanted to touch it. I’d never touched a hard dick before, and there was something fascinating about it as Ray continued to stroke himself. Nervously, I reached out and held his hard dick in the palm of my hand. The sensation that traveled through my hand, up my arm, and down my body put a smile on my face that I still carry with me today. And if I didn’t know I was gay before then, chile, I knew now.
My brother placed his hand over top of mine and guided
my strokes, educating me as to how he liked to be masturbated. Once I caught on to his rhythm, he let go and laid back and began to enjoy the thrill of his little brother bringing him to ecstasy. His moans and groans excited me as I listened and watched his naked masculine body squirm under my control. I’d never seen anybody come before, so when my brother began jerking his body and taking short breaths, and this milky substance shot out from the head of his penis, I thought I had done something wrong and somehow broke his dick. I later found out that a man would do almost anything you want him to do to have that milky substance escape from his manhood. I was glad I had found that out at an early age, and to think that I have my brother to thank for that.
Chapter 3
Since that night with Ray, he had been treating me a lot better. It’s not like he treated me badly before or anything, it’s just that he had been spending more time with me and talking with me, you know.
My little sister, however, was getting on my last nerve. Like I said, every time she didn’t get her way, she went running to Mother.
“Cameron, why do you keep messing with her?” Mother yelled.
“Mother, I’m not messing with her,” I lied. Truth is, I was teasing her by constantly pinching her on the arm as we sat and tried to watch The Cosby Show.
“Go to your room,” Mother demanded. “And stay in there before I knock the ‘cowboy shit’ outta you. You’re punished until I tell you you can come out.”
“Bitch,” I whispered under my breath as I stomped to my room.
I closed my door, lay across my bed, and bawled my eyes out. I know it was my fault, that I should have just left Keshia alone, but like I said, she just got on my nerves to the point where I really wanted to hurt her. Not to the point of causing her to go to the hospital or anything, but just enough to make her cry. I think deep down I was jealous because I used to be the baby of the family and used to get all the love she was now getting.
After I cried all the tears I could, I turned on Ray’s stereo and played my Patti Labelle CD. I don’t know why, but every time I felt down, I would play Patti and I would feel so much better, standing in front of the mirror and making up dances as I lip-synched the words of the song. Of course my mother had to bang on the wall to tell me to turn the music down, but I didn’t care, because chile, I was on stage singing to a standing room-only crowd.