My name is Erica Lakehurst. This is my story. I doubt anyone will believe it, but I need to tell someone. Here is as good a place as any to start. It is a difficult story to tell and even harder to accept, but I hope it will strike a note with at least a few readers.

I was born with a condition called pseudo-hermaphrodism. It is comparatively rare in Western society, supposedly caused by mutation of the 5-alpha reductase gene. Basically, I'm biologically male, but have appeared female since birth.

I was raised as a girl for six years before my condition was diagnosed. Our family physician noticed something anomalous about my genitalia and referred my parents to a specialist. After they ran some tests, they confirmed that I was genetically male.

This was difficult for both my parents to accept, especially my father. I recall him asking my mother if there were any other freaks in her family. Over the next few years he became increasingly remote, barely acknowledging my existence at all.

My mother did her best to deal with the situation, although she wasn't sure whether to treat me as a boy or a girl. Our doctor explained to her that I would develop male sexual characteristics during puberty, but until that time, they should continue raising me as a female.

Mom asked him if the psychological adjustment would be difficult for me. He said replied that puberty was problematic for any child, but I'd make a successful transition once my testosterone levels began to increase.

During all of these consultations, no one ever asked me whether I wanted to be male or female. I suspect my feelings were considered irrelevant. The endocrinologists regarded me as an interesting case study, usually discussing me in the third person. My Mom treated me very well, but she was under tremendous stress from my father. He'd begun drinking heavily and often denied I was his child, accusing Mom of having extramarital affairs.

Word eventually got round my school that I was "different." Almost overnight, I was targeted by schoolyard bullies while my teachers turned a blind eye. Various parental groups demanded I be removed from the school, believing I was somehow a threat to the other children. I was denied access to both male and female bathrooms. Instead, I was instructed to use an adult disabled toilet down the hall from the staff room.

I remained friends with several of my female classmates, but as time went by, I became increasingly isolated. The bullying and name-calling gradually gave way to more vicious forms of harassment. I was afraid to get on the school bus in the mornings, as there were a number of boys who sexually assaulted me on a regular basis.

Two of them would hold me down on the seat, while the other three raised my skirt, pulled off my panties and spread my legs to expose me to the other children. This went on for several months until a new bus driver took over our route. She intervened on her first day, threw the boys off the bus and reported them to the Principal. It was perhaps the first time I'd experienced the kindness of a stranger, and it left a lasting impression.

By the time I was nine, my mother was addicted to tranquilizers and my father was a full-blown alcoholic. A drink-driving accident left him crippled on the left side of his body and requiring constant supervision. A former serviceman, he was placed in a repatriation hospital, where he went into rapid decline. My mother suffered a severe nervous breakdown shortly after and released me to child services while she underwent treatment. I never saw either of them again, though I believe my mother is still alive.

I was placed in a foster home for 16 months. It was run by two of the most sadistic individuals I've ever encountered. While they abused every child in their care, I was singled out for special attention due to my "abnormal physiology." I won't discuss what they did to me here, as the memories are too disturbing.

Shortly after my tenth birthday, child services located a female relative who was willing to take me on. She was introduced as my Aunt Julie, although she was only distantly related to my mother through marriage. As she was a total stranger, I felt some trepidation at the prospect of living with her, but reasoned that it would have to be better than the foster home.

At this point, my life became even more bizarre than ever. Aunt Julie was a successful but highly eccentric clothing designer. Her business catered to high profile clientele, many of whom were attracted as much to her unconventional life-style as to her private labels. She invested a great deal of time and energy into various unusual projects. It turned out that I was one of them.

As she later admitted, she only adopted me because of my medical condition. She was utterly fascinated by the concept of a male born with female attributes, and wanted to witness my anatomical transformation first hand. She also had the idea of marketing an "intersexual" clothing line, based on my cross-gendered appearance. It was during this period that I discovered she was more or less stark raving mad.

Despite this observation, I noticed she had her lucid moments, and we got on very well from the start. She was the only person who ever asked me if I'd rather be a boy or a girl. When I inquired whether I could still dress as au femme after I turned male, she simply replied "You can dress any way you want."

I entered puberty the following year, and began developing secondary male characteristics. Aunt Julie was quite intrigued by the process, and often had me strip completely naked so she could examine my hybrid genitalia at close range. I had no real objection to this, as she had been using my body as a dress-maker's mannequin for over a year by that point. She had also introduced me to a variety of games involving nudity and sexual humiliation, the kind which only a truly disturbed mind could conceive.

You might be wondering why I'm so flippant about this. The answer is simple. After the traumas of my early childhood – especially my time in state care – I had built up an immunity to physical and emotional abuse. Aunt Julie was certainly crazy, but compared to my foster parents, she was never cruel or vicious. In addition, like most children my age, I was sexually precocious, and my Aunt allowed me to satisfy my curiosity in a safe and non-threatening manner.

My transition from female to male occurred in fits and starts. As mentioned above, most pseudo-hermaphrodites turn male during puberty, but I was an unusual case. Due to my malfunctioning 5AR gene, my system never produced enough testosterone to complete the transformation. By the age of twelve, I was stuck in a kind of twilight zone between genders. I had a slender figure and nascent breast, but I also had an enlarged clitoris protruding from my labia. It was only visible when I was aroused; at all other times, it receded back into my body.

My specialist recommended hormone treatment, as he believed I should at least resemble a biological male, even if I'd never be able to function as one. For my part, I was extremely reluctant to undergo endocrinal therapy by this stage. It wasn't simply that I'd grown up as a girl and was completely socialized to the role. More importantly, Aunt Julie had introduced me to the joys of femininity – make up, lipstick, high heels, lingerie; all the things that make a girl's life worth living.

Fortunately, my Aunt had no desire to give up her living sex doll either, so she simply took me to another specialist – one who was more sympathetic to my situation (it is amazing how much sympathy can be bought with just a few thousand dollars). In the end, I underwent extensive hormone therapy – only with estrogen rather than testosterone. Over the next four years, I blossomed in a lush, ripe intersexual, though very few people even suspected I wasn't exactly female.

After I graduated high school, I went on to study art – inspired to some degree by Julia's example – while by night I began patronizing various fetish clubs and nightspots, seeking to widen my sexual horizons.

What does the future hold? Who can say? If experience had taught me only one thing so
far, it's that literally nothing is ever set in stone…