I complied. “Old war wound?” he asked, looking me in the eyes. “Football,” I replied, and told him the story. A smile spread across his face. ...��Drop your trousers,” he said, gleefully. “What?” I demanded. “You heard me!” he said, sharply, a laugh in his voice. “Drop ‘em!” I looked at him for a moment, then unbuckled my belt and dropped my pants. Arthur grinned, leaned forward, and grabbed my calves, squeezing lightly, then repeated with my thighs. “Arthur,” I said, “are you gay?” “No,” he. It was a long discussion. Mom was surprised when they said I was not mentally disturbed, but apparently suffered from a variation of a fairly uncommon, and untreatable, psychological condition called gender dysphoria. The rest of the discussion got fuzzy, and they had me leave and sit in the waiting area.When I returned, I was told by Mom that she and Dad had decided I was going to spend my junior year living as a girl, to see if it was what I really needed. I tried to talk her out of it, but. More

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