Seong Park - A Futa Girl's Story

I was twelve the first time I really thought about sex. My penis had so far proven to be a minor annoyance but nothing life changing or scarring.

I only really thought about sex because my mothers sat me down on the couch.

"You're changing into a young woman, Seong," Said Mama. Mama was Korean, like me, with long dark hair and delicate features. She had a cute little nose, plump pink lips, and eyelashes that were full and dark. There were freckles across the bridge of her nose. I looked mostly like her, but with straight, thick eyebrows, not the curved ones she had, and my jawline was slightly different - sharper. Remnants of my sperm donor.

Mom was one of those European mongrels the Midwest seemed so fond of spitting out. She was American pretty with rounded, blue-green eyes, auburn hair, and sharp cheekbones. She had a very wholesome look to her, like she should have been baking apple pies, not a mathematician. She was also deaf/mute and produced a PowerPoint presentation on our TV, connected to her laptop, signing out, "We wanted to make sure we told you about this early enough to be of use. You're not like other girls, darling."

I crossed my arms, looking away, then signed and said, "I know."

My physical difference had kept me away from overnight camps, sleepovers, even pool parties and I'd always been somewhat resentful of it.

Mom had always had a better connection to me than Mama, for some reason, and she signed, "We don't want you to be hurt, baby. You know that."

I nodded, and the presentation started. My genetalia vs other girls genetalia vs boys genetalia. There was talk of STDS and AIDS/HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases, some of teenage pregnancy, but the general rule of thumb was that boys were scum.

Both of my mothers were mild misandrists at the best of times and I'm sure the reveal of my penis would have hurt them permanently if the doctor hadn't said 'ambiguous genetalia' instead.

It wasn't that I didn't have any male figures in my life. It was that I had no positive ones. My biological father was a dead-beat who left my mother when she was pregnant with me and had broken most of his promises to see me continuously. My grandfathers on both sides were homophobic and didn't want to talk to me. My uncle on Mom's side would drop in, beg for money, and then leave to do whatever he wanted to. Teachers weren't a big help, either, especially when the other kids would tease me. We lived in a college town and most of the townies were White.

Boys, in particular, could be cruel.

People always talk about the visciousness of a teenage girl, which is true, but boys could be worse. Hell was a teenage girl but boys were like gremlins. Girls iced you out, made you feel like less than nothing, and no one could get used to that. Boys, though, were different when it came to anything abnormal. They were like sharks scenting blood, circling the weakest and prodding until you snapped and used that to fake injury and bite back.

I was at least assured that most of their hatred was from my race, not in particular for my mothers.

So, I had no friends, just my mothers, and they were the ones to tell me about masturbation and safe sex practices. I was given condoms - female and male varieties - and then shooed to my room. I went to my room, threw them into a drawer of my nightstand, and then laid on my bed, wearing all of my clothes. I was suddenly aware of how small my bed seemed and how my clothes fit and how blood pulsed through my body continuously. I could feel my pulse in my throat.

After a little while, I turned on my desktop and played some music, so my room did not feel so large or my body so odd. I took my shirt off and stood in front of my mirror. I was bony, my nipples dark brown and puffy, the only spots of color on my skin, except for a pink scratch near the hole of my navel. There was a little padding under my nipples and belly and I touched them, rubbing them between my index and thumbs, before drifting down to stroke my stomach, and back up. There was sensation, but not exactly arousing. It was the shiver feeling of a feathery ghost across the back. More the impression of pleasure than anything resembling it. I put on a tank top instead, to lounge around the house, and took off my jeans to reveal that I was wearing gym shorts under them. I preferred gym shorts to underwear, mostly because panties felt weird and boxers were always an odd fit. My hips weren't quite there yet, but I was still wider there than boys and they tended to cling.

I laid in bed for a little while, my eyes almost closed, as Grizzly Bear played through the speakers, then moved sluggishly to finish up my homework. But as

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