I was crying when I was born because I knew right there and then that I was born with the wrong sexual organ.
I endured nine months of conception, and I was praying for a vagina all that time. So you would imagine my horror when I found out that somebody made a mistake and gave me a dick on my birthday. The doctor didn't have to slap my ass to make me cry. I looked down at my pea-sized penis, realized that THIS is final, and I cried. That hateful man in white robes then pronounced "It's a boy," and I cried even harder in protest. It was the greatest insult to injury. It was salt to my wounds. I cried like the girl I was supposed to be, but those three words pretty much settled things for me. So I bawled. I remember having no real words back then, but I was sure I was crying expletives in baby talk. Maybe even gay lingo in baby talk, but I was real pissed just the same
Maybe I was trying to delay my actual childbirth for another two months since I was hoping for an exciting change of plans. Tough luck. I was, I mean "am" born male, and I'm going to have to go through gayness in baby steps.
I remember this kid in kindergarten. You know how kids are, and how terribly inquisitive and excited they get when they're trying to register some new piece of information. Well, he wants to show us his dick. Maybe he found out there's something in between his legs and he's just so terribly happy about having something to masturbate. Yup, this little horndog's more than eager to flash his weenie to his classmates in kindergarten. And he did.
I remember actually asking him for an encore later that same day. Like that kid, I was terribly inquisitive and excited because I'm trying to register some new piece of information. But if anything, that served to validate the total gayness that is Momel. It is a validation since I knew I was gay way before that incident in kindergarten. I knew that even as a sperm cell, I was trying to catch the male egg cells.