I mean if I asked the wrong guy I could get beat up or rapped, and then I added jokingly that I might enjoy that but only if the guy would take his time and hug me.He asked me what I was talking about and I told him that I had been thinking a lot about getting hugged. He told me that there was more to sex than just hugging. I told him that I knew that but I knew I wanted someone to hug me and Sondra wasn't making it for me. I told him that our problem was that we both wanted to be the girl. He mused that it sounded like I was indeed trans-gender. Then he asked about this hugging?I told him that I wanted someone to hug me and that I would lay in bed at night for hours sometimes thinking about being hugged. He kind of sneered at me and asked, "Hugged?" I told him, "yes, getting hugged." He just looked at me and then I stood up and told him to get up. He stood up and I told him to hug me. He just looked at me and I told him to go ahead and hug me. He put his arms around me and then when. After the flash backs on Poplar Ave, I started to gain perspective of my surroundings. It was a white, pop marked ceiling, with a Celtic fan. This is my room. I looked down to see that my deep blue sheets were laced around my body soaking up the cooled, damp sweet on my skin. I looked down at my arm, to check to see if there was a wound. I twisted my arm and nothing. Not even the scratch that I got from fencing Brad's brother, Bill, in gym class the other day. Weird, just weird. I got out of bed to felt a chill, it was coming from my open window and my screen gone. I closed it and went for my bathroom. On the way there, I picked up scattered articles of clothing off the floor for me to wear. As I set down my black, just kick-it, pearl shit and basketball shorts, I looked myself in the mirror. "What... The... Fuck?" This can't be. I searched my face and couldn't find one blemish on it. No pimples, no pop marks, no nothing. Even my little wart I had on my left cheek was gone..
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