My sister wants me to tell a story...

I was going to title this story, My sister, evil incarnate, which would have been mean. I'm not saying that she's evil now, but years ago, I knew a sister that barely resembles the sister that I know now. That sister was one that could be very vicious when she wanted to, which was usually at unexpected times.

Let me back up. Mara wants me to tell the story of when I was made to dress up like a girl for her and her friend. I think I'd rather tell you a more painful story first. A story ripe with moments that'll make you squirm.

Because my sister grew up in the middle, she had boys coming at her from all sides. I blame my older brothers for her viciousness because they would hit her every now and then in the shoulder to show who's boss. She'd take it but would usually retaliate with some unorthodox techniques, namely scratching the living hell out of your arms with her fingers. I was a victim to this on more than one occassion.

There is one moment, however, that will forever live in my mind not only because it was unexpected, not only because it was vicious and not only because it caused me great pain, because I don't recall what I did to deserve it. It seemed to come out of left field.

One day when I was about 10-years-old, she kicked me in the nuts so hard that I immediately toppled to the ground and cried for 30 minutes. That's how hard she kicked me. She tried to comfort me probably out of fear of getting in trouble, but there was no consoling this pain. As they said in Weird Science, "That's the worst pain there is."

What was surprising at the time, but not surprising now was that one of my anatomy grew to twice the size of the other. I'm thinking it had something to do with the kick. I could literally squeeze it and fluid would flow out of it into my body somewhere. This lasted a while and understandably worried me so I showed my parents. I even showed them that I could squeeze it. Long story short, it eventually healed. I know. I know. It's pretty weird, but hey it's the truth!

I told you that story to set up for you the story of my forced dress up. Mainly, I don't really remember much about it. I think I was in the seventh grade at the time. Mara had a friend sleeping over one night when suddenly, she poked her head out of her room and called to me.

"Bob, could you come here for a minute?"

I should have known something was wrong, but it didn't occur to me that something embarrassing was going to happen to me. When you're gullible, you're bound to fall for anything.

So anyway, I come to the room and probably asked, "What?" when the door shut behind me and they both blocked the door.

I don't remember how they asked, but all I knew was that they were bound and determined to get me into some girls clothes. Being 3-years-older than me, she was about as strong as me, if not stronger. Plus, there were two of them so I was pretty intimidated. I believe I made several attempts at the door, but it was no use. I was stuck. Plus, no one on the other side was willing to give me some help. The others might have been downstairs watching TV and my sister's bedroom was upstairs, so you can see my dilemma. Try and fight and get the living hell scratched out of me or submit to their whim to dress up a boy and not get the living hell scratched out of me.

It seemed like a more appealing choice. You see, I have this phobia of getting the living hell scratched out of me by a girl so I was trapped.

They made me put on a bra and a dress. If that wasn't enough, they applied makeup to my face, styled my hair and painted my nails. To top it off, they made me strike girly poses while taking pictures!!

They finally let me go after parading me in front of my older brothers, who, of course, took great pleasure in making fun of me. It was just another in a long series of painful humiliations by my older siblings so it really didn't scar me like you'd think. No, I don't have a desire to dress up in women's clothing. I don't wear bras. I don't paint my nails. The closest I come to styling my hair is to get it wet, run gel through it and brush my curls down.

The only embarrassing thing about it was the fingernails. They painted them a pinkish color. I tried to get it all out, but I noticed the next day in class that I could still see some faint markings on the edges of my fingernails. I took great care to keep my hands in my lap or curled so as to not show the humiliating fingernails. Humiliation in front of your family is one thing. Humiliation in Junior High is another. That's not something you easily lived done.

Hell, there was a kid that had a rumor floating around about how he had sex with his cat! I'm sure it wasn't true, but even he never lived that one down!

Like I said, I didn't remember much about this event, although I specifically remember seizing the pictures when my family was done laughing at them and burning them before anyone could do anything about it. Unless we still have a negative floating around, the only way anyone will ever see those photos is if they photoshop it. Even then, it won't have the sexy pose right.