The Four of a Kind Saga

My name is Erica Richards, and I’m not your average girl. Technically speaking, I’m not even a girl at all; I’m a hermaphrodite. I always identified as female though, because if you saw me walking down the street, that’s what you’d assume I was. Obviously I found out that I was different early on, but my family was never prudish and always supported me, so I grew up self-assured and confident. My doctor would publish case studies on me, because apparently there had never been another documented hermaphrodite. Intersex people are more common than you might think, but two fully-functional and fertile sets of gonads is a situation that isn’t supposed to be possible. Luckily for me, the impossible has a way of showing up in my life.

My parents raised me from the get-go with the knowledge that other girls and boys didn’t look like me, so I wasn’t surprised in elementary school when I first saw other kids at the pool, or changing clothes. I remember playing “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” games with the boys in grade-school, and being proud that mine was the biggest, even back then. I didn’t keep it a secret—I owned it. And the truth is, people accepted it pretty well. I got teased, sure, but every kid gets teased about whatever makes them different. Overall, the fact that I had plenty of self-esteem meant that I was popular and well-liked, which goes a long way to being treated like everyone else. Never the whole way, though.

Of course, things started to change in middle school thanks to puberty. I had always had a feminine face up to that point, but really no one in my family or even my doctor knew exactly what would happen once I started to mature. Being an early bloomer, however, we didn’t have to wait long. I was in sixth grade when I started growing breasts, hips, and an ass, so I started to dress in a more traditionally female fashion, wearing makeup and growing out my hair. Skirts were something I had always liked, but I developed a new appreciation for them during puberty, as they could hide my package in public, unlike tight-fitting women’s jeans and pants. They also provided quick and easy access to my cock in case I wanted to put it to use, either with myself or someone else.

And it didn’t take me long until I did just that. It seemed that my two sets of equipment both contributed their own full weight to my libido, making me by far the most sex-obsessed adolescent I knew. This is when I really began to appreciate my feminine body, because I soon found out that men were much easier sexual prey than women. By the time Christmas came around in that first year of junior high, I was already standing 5’5” with ample C-cups and an hourglass shape—not your average twelve-year-old. More shocking was the fact that I was also sporting a seven-and-a-half inch dick. I still recall proudly the fact that I was a seventh-grade girl with a bigger cock than most grown men.

I lost my virginity just after that winter holiday break, pouncing on one of my classmate’s older brothers. He was a junior in high school, and most of the girls in my grade knew him and had a crush on him. I also knew from his sister that he’d had sex before, and so knew at least a little about how things were supposed to work.

Unlike most girls, I had a fantastic first time—no doubt due in part to the fact that I have the good fortune of having a clitoris, G-spo

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