Seth When Asher Prince asked me to be his girlfriend back in high school, I thought it would finally end these fucked up feelings inside of me. I was head cheerleader, smart, up for an Ivy League school and guys saw me as their wet dream personified. Blonde, perky, nice ass and the perfect sized rack. People wanted me, and they wanted to be me; I had it made, boy. Little did they know that I didn’t want any of it, but I was good at faking. I needed to keep up appearances; no one could find out how much I hated myself. I hated my body, I hated my breasts, the curve of my hips, the softness of my voice. I was attracted to men, but I didn’t feel like a woman. I know they say God doesn’t make mistakes, but I do feel like a little error went into making me. I don’t feel like a woman. I don’t feel girly. I hate the skirts, I hate the dresses, the make up and lace panties. The only time I feel like myself is when I strap up my breast