AN- So another story, and yes I know... I suck. I don't care though. I'm finishing up another story and I was feeling... empty. So I whipped this out which has been bugging me forever. I don't own milk duds and this story is my own. This one part is a little short but it is just a Prologue. Other chapters will be much longer.

Warning- this story has cross-dressing and gender confusion. I suggest if you don't like that or it makes you uncomfortable then don't read. I won't hold it against you. I will however, if you completely ignore this and write me some nasty note. Then I will wait patiently for Karma to cosmically bite you in the ass.

Prelude to Erin

The only thing I have ever wanted was…

There has never been anything in this world I have ever wanted. Seriously, I am the most content non-depraved child on the face of the earth. I have two parents, an older brother, and a dog with a perfect house. I was never without food or clothes. As far as lives go, I’m at the top of the list. My life could only get better if I was born the freakin Queen of England.

So why the hell am I the most screwed up person on the face of the planet?

“Erin!” My mom calls for me from down stairs. I sigh and look up from the book I’m reading. The door to my room is open, the shadow of it looming close to the foot of my bed. Its almost ominous, ‘almost’ because I already know whats going to happen. And I’m not looking forward to it.

Slowly, I get up from my bed, letting my book fall to the floor. I leave my room and go downstairs, seeing my mother in the living room. She has bags, big pink and blue bags. I’m a little surprised that there are blue bags; blue is a color of masculinity. I’m not aloud to be around anything remotely masculine unless its an actual male.

My mother looks at me and smiles. She has black hair just a little past her shoulders and dark blue eyes. I have those eyes. Just another thing I don’t want.

“Hey sweetie,” She says and grins at me. I fight back a wince as I see her hands dive for the bags. I don’t hold back though when she pulls out a big pink frou-frou… ok maybe I do hold back. I didn’t throw up. “What do you think of this?”

The dress my mother is holding has ruffles. Its strapless with padding in the breastage area, probably to enhance my non-existent features. I shudder as I view the hemline which is ruffled and lined with pink satin. I usually hate dresses but this one I could hate with a passion.

“Its… pink,” I finally answer. I let it be known that I don’t like it through my face. I can see my mother’s disappointment but she instantly recovers to pull out another dress. This one is a girly blue, almost swan-lake blue with a dark blue color hemming it. There are thin spaghetti dark blue straps to hold the dress up, because unlike the last one, this one can’t be held up by false cleavage.

“Which do you prefer?” My mother asks me. I have to wear one of the dresses. I don’t have a choice. I never have a choice. I can either be a very girly girl or I can be a girl in a blue dress. This is my choice…

And the only thing I want in the world is to have a third option.

“The blue one,” I say. Mom smiles at me again and throws me the garment. I want to know where she’s expecting me to wear this so I stand in the living room just a bit longer.

“Your friend, Nalani is having a party,” Mother informs me. I heard about that. I hate parties. It’s a fantastic way for people to get drunk and mutter their darkest secrets or have sex. Those are two things I have no intention of ever doing. “I think it would be nice if you socialized a bit more. You just sit up in that room all the time and stare at blank walls.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. There’s no use telling my mother that they drink at these parties. She already knows. She doesn’t care.

I leave the living room, and go back to my room. I pass a mirror on my way and out of the corner of my eye I can see my reflection. I want to ignore it but I can’t. According to the world I’m pretty. According to my mom I’m gorgeous. I was forced by my mother to have an angel haircut which wasn’t really a haircut. My hair is still long, flowing down my back. My ears are pierced and I’m required to wear studs at all times by my mother. I also have on make-up but just the bare minimum so my mother stays off my back.

I don’t have mirrors in my room. I don’t have anything in my room except books. My girly clothes, makeup, and jewelry is hidden in either my closet or my dresser. This is the one place where I have a bit of normalcy. I bet that to other people, my room looks boring. I have no decorations, my walls are white and my bed is beige. But there is no pink, no dollies or ponies, nothing frilly or happy. Nothing to make me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin and be someone, anyone else. My mother wasn’t happy with how I was born so I’m what she wants. I’m a girl who wears dresses, has a supermodel haircut, and is wearing pink sugar lip gloss.

Think I’m being overdramatic? Fuck you. I shouldn’t have to go through this. I shouldn’t have to hate my own skin or wear clothes that were never designed for my body. I shouldn’t hate me… and neither should my mother.

Because I only ever wanted to be who I was in this world. That is the only thing I have ever wanted. It’s the only thing I can’t have…

Because I am…

… unquestionably…

… with out a doubt…

… no room for error…

… not a girl. Not biologically and I’m thinking not mentally either.

So who am I? Who the fuck knows… not me that’s for sure.

Aww life, so depressing… I want some milk duds…

Lets start from there… Hi, my name is Erin and I want…

…some milk duds.