Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Gee…Maybe I shouldn't do this any more. It's getting awfully boring. Maybe I'll just do this for the last time…Hmmm…I'll think about it.

Author's Note: Sorry for not being able to update earlier. I really wished I could but I didn't even finished plotting this chapter yet. There's also a guilty feeling of not updating my other fanfics…Please, dear god, don't kill me!

Thank you for reviewing. The ones who I can't reply to, well, know that I do read your reviews and that I greatly appreciate them.

Note: Yes, to those who are still a bit blur about Naruto she is not a kunoichi. I'm wondering if I should let her train later…But I don't know whether to pull it off or not. What do you all think? Maybe you should take a vote.

I don't know why mother dresses me as a boy. Why she bothers to pretend that she has a son instead of a daughter is beyond me. Sometimes, I wished I could understand her, maybe even find out what's going on inside her head. There are people out there, I suppose, who would start yelling and screaming if their parents suddenly decided to treat you as the opposite sex of what you are. Unfortunately, I am not one of them. I guess, despite my boasting and bragging about being sixteen and no longer am a baby is just a stupid defense mechanism I put up so that no one knows that I do not have a back bone. It is the god awful truth. I can lie to other people but I refuse to lie to myself. I've been lying to myself for quite enough, I think. I find lying to myself is just so belittling.

When it comes to mother, I tend to shrink. I dare not ask her why she thinks I'm a boy, I dare not ask her to get me a pair of the pretty jeans I saw at the mall, I dare not ask her if I could paint my nails…In fact, I dare not ask her anything when it involves my true gender. She won't let me have my way anyway. I know her. Mother would probably launch into her usual speech of "Why can't you just trust my judgment, listen to me and keep quiet because mother knows best and so on and so forth…" And then I am left with this very deep feeling of guilt. When this happens I will be asking myself "Why couldn't I just shut my big stupid mouth in the first place?". What mother says is law and I have become her obedient and loyal son. I think I might, that is if I wasn't careful enough, jump down from a building if she told me to.

Whatever she asks of me, be that it may cause me unease, I will do it with my arms wide open. Stupid girls who have to pretend that they are boys it would seem have a very big weakness for their mothers…at least I do. I don't know if there are other people out there who are like me; if they have to pretend to be something that they're not. I barely know anyone besides mother, Mr.Yamamoto and the Ichiraku stall owner (whose name is really Kenji-san). Amazing isn't it; a sixteen year old girl-boy who barely knows anyone besides three people?

I don't think people who are my age spend their times alone. Going out with mother, I've been able to see what other kids my age will do. They would usually travel in packs, like in groups of three or four sometimes even more. I would eagerly watch these groups as they storm past me and mother, yelling and screeching at the tops of their lungs, oblivious to the people surrounding them. They looked so…free.

I was mostly interested in the girls though. Not sexually of course. I just sort of got transfixed on teenage girls. My eyes would take in everything; their hair, their make-up, the way they walked, the places they shopped at and anything else they did. I wanted to know what it would be like if I were a normal sixteen year old. Imagine going out with all my girl friends and getting my nails done and whatever else it was that these girls did. My heart longed to be as free as they were; to act and dress like them and do things with them. But every time I look into mother's hopeful eyes I get crushed and disheartened. I can literally feel my heart plummeting to the floor and I think to myself that it must be what a child must do for their parents.

Despite what she has done to me I still love her. I really do. Even if she makes me unhappy I will sacrifice for her.

Have looked in the dictionary to find out the meaning of love. 'Love n 1 the feeling which animates a person who is genuinely fond of someone or something.' It can also be defined as attachment, fondness, devotion, affection. I feel like mother is more important than me. That is why I always put her first above everything else. I am more than willing to sacrifice my own happiness just to fulfill mother's wishes. As unhappy as I get when I watch other kids being their own true selves, I feel it is worth it whenever I get mother to smile at me. Deep down inside I believe that I should ensure mother's happiness, no matter what gender I am.

There will always be a part of me though, that will not sit in contentment at the sight of mother's smile. This part of me is always telling me that I should just forget about mother's happiness and do what I want to do. It is also the small part of me that reminds me mother has not always treated me so kindly. It is true…mother wasn't so nice to me when I was smaller. The memories I have of those times I've tried my hardest not to remember them but I cannot forget…

There are bits of pieces that I still remember specifically though the rest of them have been forgotten. I was very young when it all happened.

One thing I do remember clearly though was mother's bad habit of drinking. Mother was always seen clutching a half empty bottle of sake or any other alcoholic drink. She didn't care if it was sake, beer, gin and tonics, or vodka just so long as it contained alcohol. Too young as I was then, I did not know why some adults would turn to drink so frequently. Looking back now, I guess she had been really upset…That's what most alcoholics and drug addicts are always in a state of.

Mother use to never smile. She used to never laugh. All she ever did was drink, sleep and cry. She was always crying. I would stand outside her door and hear her weep silently inside. Maybe she was weeping for father…The one who I have never met.

Mother would beat me when she heard me knocking on her door. She'd come at me with her fists flying at me, making contact with my body. She'd beat me so badly sometimes I fainted. The beatings she gave me could last for hours and she would only stop when she passed out or she grew tired. I cannot lie and say she did not hurt me when she hit me. I was physically hurt but I suffered severe mental damage as well. The things she'd say to me when she hit me were so horrible…I wished I'd forget them entirely.

'You killed him, you little bitch!' she'd scream as she struck me again and again. Her other hand would make its way to my hair grasping me firmly so I would not be able to run away.

'You killed him, your own father!'

She would use her legs to kick me but that depended on her mood. She would knee me in the ribs if ever she did decided to use them and I would be sprawled on the floor in pain.

'You're nothing but a slut! You'll grow up and steal other women's men just like you stole mine!'

I don't remember pleading for her to stop. Maybe I did but she had not listened.

'Let me smell your fingers! You've been playing with yourself, haven't you?'

Those were perhaps the most hateful words she had ever thrown at me. She used to do it all the time too. She'd grab my hand and sniff it as if expecting some sort of disgusting aroma…

That was back then in the days when we didn't even live in this house. Our house right now is really big with big windows in almost every room. The walls are solid and quite thick; painted white. The whole design looks like a cross between traditional houses and the western ones. It has a dark red roof which I think looks great with the whiteness of our walls.

The place we lived in before was nothing compared to this. We used to just rent a room. It had been a dark and dingy place and it smelt of cigarette smoke and stale beer. The walls were so old that it had appeared to be covered in filth and grime instead of paint. Things like garbage, clothes, books, and dishes were scattered all over the place. No one bothered to clean it up and try to make the place look better. Mother was a completely different person then and I didn't think, at that time, she wanted to go on living at all. She had been so depressed. When she wasn't in her aggressive mood she'd sometimes stare at me lifelessly. Her dead cold eyes would look directly through me; I could have sworn she didn't even know I was there. It was like I didn't even exist. Like I was just a ghost. I felt like a ghost too whenever she did that.

Mother's abusive words and actions led me to believe that everything she said were true. I was only six then but I really did think I was a cheap woman as she had so often called me. I believed that I was a slut even though I was too young to even know the meaning of the word. Now I know better and I am clear that I am no such thing.

Even in my childhood I wasn't allowed to mix around with the other kids. Mother kept me away for a reason that I do not know and I expect I never will. I don't think mother is going to start explaining to me why she did the things she did in the near future.

There had been a young girl once who came up to me and started chatting when I was allowed outside. I think, in my naivety, that I came home and told mother all about our meeting. Mother prevented me from ever talking to her again. I'm sure that was the last time I saw her.

Desperately, I used to pray and beg Konoha's ancestors that I would find some friends. I also prayed for mother to get better… And perhaps my first prayer was left ignored but my second one was definitely answered.

It is all faded and jaded and honestly, I don't remember how mother stopped being such an angry and dejected person. Slowly, she morphed into this wonderful angelic being that took care of me and treated me with love and affection. She looked clean and dressed neatly. She smiled more often. I didn't think I could have been more grateful. The only thing I did remember was that she kept referring me as her son.

She called me "my boy", "My handsome son", "my wonderful boy" and other names of the like. Afraid she might go back to being the horrible hurtful person she had been, I silently went along with it.

I had been six then…I was foolish…

The clothes she bought for me were all meant for boys. All I ever got to wear was jeans, slacks and khaki. But that was alright with me. I could live like that just as long as I had my kind and wonderful mother.

I was too young and innocent to have realized the damage my actions might have brought on. I did not mind being dressed up as a boy as I was generally a rough sort of girl. Being a boy was not difficult for me, for the first few years living with my life as a boy, I was not affected. My life was simple. Perhaps it was because I had no urges of wanting to brush my hair or go out with my girl friends or looking pretty and what not.

My life only started spiraling downwards when my chest started to develop.

There were pains and aches all time. My breasts were constantly in pain and I didn't know what was going on. How does a young girl of twelve who has been raised as a boy understand that all females will grow breasts? I've seen them but I don't know anything a bout them. I don't know what it's for and what it does…When you are still a child you tend to get so wrapped up around the problems your currently facing then bother yourself about the unknown. Children don't wonder about breasts or where do babies come from or that bills have to be paid; better yet they don't even know if there are such things as bills!

I would grope at the bed sheets and curl myself into a sweating shivering ball as I wondered if I was cursed with some horrible disease of some sort. My thoughts went to everything I believed possible. Drenched in my own sweat I'd be awake half the night wondering if I would suddenly start to sprout wings, grow massive claws and sharp tusks. I would become a terrifying monster that could only live by eating human flesh. It became worse when I started to think that the first person I would feast on would be mother. One night, when I couldn't stand the physical pain I remember crying myself to sleep.

I don't know if mother noticed. If she did she pretended not to. Every single aspect about my being a girl is pushed aside. It's not just mother who pushes it away but I do too. I can't help not to. She has instilled in me that I am a boy and I must remain as one as long as she says so…

Only when she caught me staring at myself in the mirror she made it a point to take action in her hands.

It was somewhere in the afternoon, after my studies had been completed and after the pain had subsided somewhat, I was seized with an overwhelming curiosity to look at my body. Ever since the pains started I had an absolute fear of even looking at that area that was the cause of it.

I don't remember taking off my clothes; if I did it slowly consumed with fear or if I did it quick and fast. I prefer to think it was the first. Things concerning my chest were usually always associated with feelings of fear, worry and anxiety.

I do remember though, that I had gazed at my budding chest in awe. The sight of these very small, fragile, bumps of flesh could only envelop me with nothing but a sense of awe and fear. They had been very small, at that time.

I took in the sight of it all. I saw the darkening nipple that was the peaks of the small rounded flesh that was my breast. Clearly, I was fascinated. In that fascination I was also gnawed with fear.

It might have been hours but I think it was only a few minutes, but mother caught me looking at myself in the mirror.

She looked like a wraith. Her face was so pale, her lips looked like she had kissed an ice berg; they were blue! She was standing at my door with a look of absolute fear and rage.

Before I had a chance to do anything at all; before I could grab some of my clothes and cover myself, she stormed at me, grasped my chin with one hand and delivered a sharp slap so powerful I stumbled backwards; my nose bleeding heavily and eyes unfocused.

Without a word she left me just as suddenly as she had come.

I was beyond surprised. I was gob smacked. I didn't know what had happened. I was too shocked by mother suddenly slapping me that I couldn't even feel the pain on my cheek.

A few seconds later, I heard her footsteps traveling across the hall and later it was on the stairs. Beginning to panic, I rushed to put my clothes on. Where was she going? Was she just going to leave me and never come back? Sweat was pouring out of my forehead like a fountain and my breathing came in rasps. My heart was pounding so hard in my rib cage I thought it was going to burst through my chest.

I stampeded to the stairs. Mother's hair was being blown by the wind as she stepped through the door and she slammed it shut in my face as soon as she was out. I was convinced she had left me and I just burst out in tears. I didn't even have the strength to run after her. The thought never even came to me. I was so consumed with my feelings I could not bring myself to think sensibly. But how do you think sensibly when you are living with mother? She used to beat me like shit and now suddenly I'm a boy? How do you live like that?

I crawled myself to my room, my eyes blurred with tears. Slumping on the bed I just kept on tearing up over mother's behavior. Hours of crying myself horse, I was left with a running nose and a head ache. I fell asleep later when I just couldn't bear to think of mother. Maybe, I thought, that it was all just a dream and that when I woke up later she'd come back.

She did comeback. Mother woke me up by standing at my door, panting slightly. I couldn't see her face as all I could make out was the shape of her body silhouetted by the blinding light from outside of my room.

"Mother…?" I croaked out.

She kept quiet. Then she flung this piece of cloth at me.

"Put it on!" she cried.

My hands reached out, trembling anxiously as I took the piece of cloth into my hands. I stared at the thing curiously and then cast a glance at mother. She watched me steadily.

"Wh-What is it?" I asked her timidly. I was so afraid she'd run away and leave me again.

"It's a corset. Put it around your torso and pull at the strings tightly. It will stop the growth," she said calmly. She'd stopped panting and now she sounded so cool and calm.

My brows furrowed as I didn't understand what she was talking about. My eyes went to the corset in my hands again. It was made of some soft sort of material; probably satin. It wasn't lacy but it did have a lot of strings traveling up the sides and the front.

I didn't know what a corset was for, I didn't know what mother was saying earlier and I was starting to feel scared. What was this thing for anyway?

Mother had walked slowly at me and took the thing from my hands.

"Take off your clothes and we'll put it on!" she glared at me. I still didn't know what was going on but I obeyed her. I took off my clothes within a second and flung them to the floor. She looked down at me, at my breasts and she had the most repulsed look on her face. I brought up my arms to cover them up but she stopped me.

Grasping both my arms she looked at me straight in the eye.

"We have to put this on so they won't grow any more, okay?"

I nodded and I felt the tears brimming.

She opened the corset and began to put it around my body. She placed it gently over my skin and wrapped me carefully in it.

I wasn't prepared for the aching pain that consumed when she pulled at the strings. She tugged at them viciously, not sparing me any mercy. It was like she was trying to get rid of her earlier display of repulsion. She pulled and pulled until I gasped as it was getting difficult to breathe. I gripped at the sheets and blankets on my bed; all the while gasping and crying at the pain I felt.

Tighter and tighter; the strings were pulled. Then mother stopped pulling and she quickly tied the string into neat little bows.

"There! Tie it as tight as that everyday, alright?" she said triumphantly as she stared at the bows. She tapped my cheek gently then wiped away my tears.

"There, there, my boy…" she said in a sweet voice as she held me in her arms.

"I know it hurts but I've heard that some boys do grow these things…You have nothing to worry about. It is nothing to be ashamed of. It is just a condition but never doubt that you are really a boy."

Her words echoed in my head. I was so heart broken when I heard her say those words but instead of saying anything at her, I fell asleep in her arms. That was one of my other big mistakes…I should not have ever listened to her so much. But in spite of myself I trusted her deeply…

The next morning everything returned to normal. Mother acted like yesterdays events never even occurred. When she acted like that I immediately acted like that as well. What mother says is law. And I obey it without question.

She smiled at me and talked to me as if nothing really had happened. And the issue was laid forgotten. Every time I was with her I forgot about being a girl and having breasts. I only remembered when I was changing and I that I did with top speed. We don't like to be reminded that I am a girl. The thought frightens both of us.

My breasts being confined in the corset would sting a bit but the pain would come and go. I usually just bear with it when it gets too painful. Anything for mother…

So, for a time, my being a girl was forgotten and we moved on with our lives normally. A short time was granted until I started to get clouded over another big fear. This time it wasn't my breast, it was something worse. I was experiencing my first cycle of menses and I was again thrown in a situation where I was completely clueless.

The stomach cramps came first. I was always clutching on my stomach and moaning about how painful it was. Mother's eyes had widened when I said this to her and I think she knew what was coming. When my pajamas were drenched in blood that night I woke up screaming in cold sweat. Again, I could not understand the changes my body was going through. The sight of all the blood made me think I was dying or something.

Mother ran into the room with a bunch of white cloths in her hands. She threw them at me.

"Put them on your underwear!" she cried in alarm.

I nodded, not bothering to ask her any questions. I just did what she told me to do. After putting on the white strips of cloth and a new pair of underwear I set about to clean up the blood stains on the sheets.

Scrubbing off all the red dried blood on the sheets, I went on washing them until all traces of blood were gone.

The next morning mother and I pretended nothing happened the night before, just like we had done the last time. I completely made like it never happened and so did she. This was our life and we pushed aside the fact that I am a girl into the far corners of the earth. It was fact none of us ever mentioned and we strived not to. Mother really didn't want to be reminded that she had a daughter instead of a son. She preferred a son, I guess, than a lousy cheap daughter.

My real gender is just something I am literally afraid of. I am afraid it might change mother into the horrible abusive self she was back then when I was just a child. That is the biggest fear for me. I think, mother is afraid of the same thing too. She doesn't want to be like the person she was before either.

When I start to think of how mother must have suffered before she made me her "son" I feel bad and I want to do anything in my power so she can remain the wonderful and selfless mother she is to me. Everyone needs love and I know I do. I would die if mother would just suddenly go back to being the person she had been! I really would just die! I cannot bear the thought of mother beating me and kneeing me in the ribs! It is just too emotionally painful to think about…

Pain is something that everyone will experience though. That was what mother had told me once. Everyone might feel it but I believe there are different degrees of pain and I think the worst is the ones that make you emotionally unstable. Mother made me emotionally unstable when she hurt me with her spiteful words…The words she said were far more hurtful than the beatings I endured.

Sometimes, when I don't have anything to do or anything to think of my mind unwillingly travels back to the moments when mother brought back the corset and giving me the cloths to cover up my period blood…Does she realize when she's tightening the corset strings that I am a girl instead of a boy? Does she realize that I am her daughter and not her son when she threw the white cloths at me? Maybe she does; somewhere in her heart she knows I'm actually a female with an XX chromosome and everything.

The thing I really hate about being a boy is that whenever we go out she does this jutsu on me. This hateful jutsu that makes me look even more like a boy. My height will increase by about six inches more and I'll even grow more muscular though not to a point where I am bulging out great fat lumps of flesh out of my sleeves and pants. My shoulders tend to broaden as well and I am left with a look of a young, tall, cute kind of boy. I don't thing I'm cute but apparently my last trip to the bookstore, The Red Kanji has made me think that perhaps girls find me attractive.

I'm a girl myself but I've never yet felt anything towards the opposite sex. I am not sure if I like boys yet. I feel like a boy myself but I wonder for how long I will feel that way. My body has been experiencing a lot of changes for the past few years and I expect it will keep on changing.

My readings have led me to believe that some people are able to have different sexual interests. Their sexuality differs with genders and stuff. Some men are actually attracted to other men instead of going for women and there are women who prefer to be with other women in a sexual relationship. There is a term for these people and it is known as homosexuality.

Personally, I don't think I like girls sexually…I have never stared at their bodies in a lustful manner, just mostly in a curious one. But I've never felt like staring at males either. Males, of all ages, are pushed aside when I watch people. I am just not interested in them.

There has been an incident once when I bumped into this boy while going out grocery shopping with mother. He did look very handsome; he had such lovely eyes. Yes, perhaps that sounds corny but he really did!

He had dark brown hair which he kept long and tied at the end. He had such magnetic eyes…They looked like clear smooth pearls. And they didn't have any irises! Just plain smooth white silver…

He hadn't smiled at me. He stared at me coldly like as if I was nothing but the dirt under his shoes. I apologized politely but he just turned away rudely and walked away. I have never met a man who was so arrogant and stuck up like that one. He looked to be a couple of years older than I was.

I was glad he walked away. In fact, I would've been glad if he got hit by a huge oversized cart of pumpkins! Then, the snobbish asshole would meet a very fitting end indeed.

I did not like how he acted but when I looked up at him, into those eyes of his, I felt a tremor in the pit of my stomach. The feeling freaked me out so much! Was that how it felt like to like a boy? Well, if I think about it, past all the freakiness I felt, the feeling was actually quite…nice…

Maybe, I'm not a lesbian. I like men...Maybe I'm gay for liking guys when I'm supposed to be a guy myself! Arghh! It's so brain-straining when I have to think about all this sexual frustration! How am I supposed to think as both genders at the same time? How does anyone know how to cope with being two people at the same time?

What am I? Which am I? Male or female? Boy or girl?

The only answer to that is mother. I cannot decide for myself. It all depends on how mother feels like. If she still says I am a boy then so be it. I'll stay a boy until she says otherwise. As I said earlier, mother's word is law.

Currently, I am in my room. I cannot bring myself to sleep so I stay up and think about all I've been through instead. It is strange to realize that I am not happy even when mother is. But that is my sacrifice as I am her child. Being her child I will try to repay her kindness and love; the nine months she carried me in her womb…That is my purpose in life as her daughter.

The sky is dark outside but it is scattered with a cluster of stars. The moon is no where in sight though. Maybe the moon is hiding behind clouds, pretending to be the sun instead. Just like me; pretending to be a boy instead of a girl.

I shudder as the cold air blow through my window. Hastily, I got up to close it. It is already midnight right now. I wish I had the guts to run away at night. It might be the best thing or the worst for me to do.

A life without mother would be the end of my life as I know it. She may be mad or crazy or disturbed or whatever but she is still my mother! Is it so wrong for me to love her?

Every time I think about it, I really do believe what I am doing is the right thing.

Mother may be mad and mentally ill but she loves me. No matter what will happen she will always be my mother and there is nothing on earth that can deny that. She is my mother! She is the woman who conceived me and carried me for nine months in her womb, the woman who gave birth to me through hours of pain. She is my mother and I am her child. I don't care about what sex I am and anything else anyone might say. I love her. Real love is better than no love at all…And what I feel for mother is real.

She is everything to me.

Everything…

A/N: Hello, people…Sorry for not updating sooner but a few things came up and it had to wait! This time I wasn't being lazy! (Itachi: Wow…Shocker that one. Me: Fuck off, you sexy emo you!! Itachi: Is it possible to insult and praise me at the same time?) I hope most of you are enlightened now about what Naruto is in this fic…Ho ho…

I'm kinda wondering what would her female name be. Whadya think it should be? I've read some fics that call her Naru, Naruko, Narumi, etc, etc…I'm mostly in for Naru or Naruko (coz' they sound more like Naruto… he he.) But maybe she should still be Naruto...I dunno. Take a vote if you have some opinions.