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"Don't you know that Kim is gay?"

My friend's words stunned me, because I didn't have a clue.

Kim and I were both athletes, and we had a lot in common. As we got to know each other, we became really close.

So when Kim told me one day, "I want to be more than friends," I naively thought she meant she just wanted us to be even tighter than we already were.

Then my friend dropped the bomb about Kim being gay.

I was confused. At first, I was upset that Kim liked me that way. But after I thought about it, I figured that nothing could be wrong between two people as long as they loved each other. And Kim and I certainly loved each other.

Once I realized that, I was freed from my inhibitions, and Kim and I began a sexual relationship. I was 15 and she was 17, and it was exciting to have someone care so deeply about me.

We'd see each other at school all day, then spend hours on the phone together at night. We always checked with each other before we made any plans with other friends.

When Kim graduated a few months later, she turned down several athletic scholarship offers from colleges, choosing to stay at home for college because we couldn't bear to be apart. We were totally consumed with each other.

I hadn't "planned" to become a lesbian. So how in the world did I end up this way?

When I was young, life taught me that being a girl was not a good thing.

My alcoholic father had a violent temper and would often hit my mother. Be cause my mom was a victim, I figured it wasn't safe to be female. I wanted no part of being a girl. So I looked up to my older brother and wanted to be just like him.

I preferred sports over playing with dolls. I grew up on the tennis court, playing in my first tournament when I was 6. I played Little League baseball when I was 10 and tackle football with the neighborhood boys.

I was seen as one of the guys because I was as strong and tough as they were. "Tomboy" didn't begin to describe me—I walked like a boy, dressed like a boy, talked like a boy, even spit like a boy. Most adults thought I was a boy and often called me "son" or "young man."

I even hated my name, Christine, because it was definitely a girl's name. I told people to call me "Chris" instead, since that could be either male or female.

My parents divorced when I was 12 and sent me away to live with relatives, where I was molested by an older cousin before moving back in with my mom. Like most children who have been sexually abused, somehow I thought I was to blame.

I thought, If only guys didn't find me attractive, things like this wouldn't happen to me. From then on I wanted to conceal whatever shred of femininity I had left, believing that all guys were sex-crazed monsters.

That's the mentality I had when I started high school. And I still was often mistaken for a guy because of my masculine appearance and mannerisms.

Early in my sophomore year I found a new best friend in Kim, a senior who was a masculine jock-type like me. Only she wanted more than just friendship.

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