”What? I’m not a girl – am I?”
So many things that I didn’t know. I mean about girls and all the soft, pretty things girls do and wear. So much to learn. And something told me it was what I really wanted. But I was a normal boy, wasn’t I?
An AP-500 story to borrow and grow.
I wasn’t a very good boy. I just didn’t know how.
Then I had no idea that I was so inadequate as a male. I thought I was pretty average. I had a penis, and late-onset-puberty; I was still waiting for some hairs to arrive – and for my balls to drop.
I knew how boys behaved – sort of. What to wear, what to talk about – but too often it felt wrong or seemed off-key. As puberty began, I heard their pride in the first pubic hair, their balls, the first stiffy. I heard ALL about it – and it wasn’t happening to me.
When I watched girls what I saw was definitely not what the other boys saw. I didn’t talk about tits, bums, legs-up-to-the-armpit or ‘getting to first base’. I noticed what the girls wore, the way their hair flowed, the shine of their legs. I knew NOTHING but I knew I was interested.
But as the days passed and I began to feel more and more separate from the others. I began to wonder if there was a group that I could or should belong to. And there were words that seemed to fit on some days, other days otherwise. I was bored. Unenthusiastic. Dull.
I wasn’t gay – I knew that that meant I should be interested in boys. Nope. So what was I? I started reading and new words came into view. Asexual – not interested; Questioning – unsure about maleness-femaleness; GenderQueer, Bigender and Non-Binary – a bit-of-this-a-bit-of-that.
Facebook now had over 71 different descriptions for those who weren’t clearly male or female and heterosexual or homosexual. Wow. I read more. Was I intersexed? Was I …….. I had kept away from transgender for some reason – but some of the examples seemed to fit me. Almost too well.
Maybe that’s me?!
So, time to learn about the female world of shoes, socks, pants, shorts, shirts, coats, accessories, hair, skin, walking, talking, behaving, interacting …. perhaps a million things I didn’t know about.
Then a million more – all the things that girls know but which are a world separate from boys. Bras, underwear, colours, combinations, cooperation instead of competition.
How many colours would a man call ‘blue’ - eventually I listed light-blue, dark-blue, sky-blue, Oxford-Blue & Cambridge and Air-Force. Girls had sapphire, cerulean, azure, aqua, cyan, indigo, navy, cobalt, saxe, Oxford & Cambridge, Berlin-blue, electric-blue, midnight, lapis-lazuli, turquoise, teal, cornflower, hyacinth, periwinkle and I knew there were others. I thought about doing pink but got diverted by a pop-up advert for dresses.
Wow – variations for style, silhouette, sleeve-shape, sleeve-length, shoulder-style, neckline, collars, cuffs, waistline, length, material, lining, and so much more.
I was about to start making more lists when I decided to treat this as a Project on ‘Girl’. Rather than flipping from one aspect of this unexpected but really concentrated interest in femininity, I should be thorough. I was buzzing with excitement.
Suddenly, I had found something to be enthusiastic about. And I wanted more. Who to ask for help?
Another AP-500 story - and feedback is good but borrowing (& acknowledging) is better. Thanks AP
It’s not what I expected. Kinda nice though!
Being helpful can have consequences. Being pretty has consequences too.
An AP-500 story
I felt really stupid. ‘Helping my Mum’ by wearing a dress. Okay, I did understand, there was a wedding coming up and she wanted to make sure the bridesmaid’s dresses looked good. She’d bought three of these dresses on-line; confident that she could fettle them up.
The wedding was for mum’s younger sister. My two sisters and my cousin were the bridesmaids. BUT. They were away on a school trip. And that left me as the most available target for checking the fit.
Me – John Roberts – having to wear a dress. There’s things I could have guessed I MIGHT do in my life. But wearing a dress was not included.
Mum was focussed on making the dress fit. Pinning here and there. Adjusting, measuring. And she kept on saying not ‘how pretty the dress is’ but ‘how pretty you look’.
It’s difficult to hear a phrase like that some twenty, thirty, fifty times over a weekend without beginning to wonder. Do I look pretty in this dress?
So I looked in the mirror – and I couldn’t see any evidence that I was a boy. Mum had fiddled with my hair, which was as long as my sister Susie’s. I looked pretty much like any of the other girls at school dressed all fancy for their end-of-term party. I fluffed my hair – just once – but mum noticed. I saw her smile.
I didn’t notice then but for the next few fittings, mum made sure that the dresses had smooth linings, sleek and sheer and wonderful. On the other hand, she also made sure that I was putting on the harshest, scratchiest of my wardrobe - home-made jerseys and heavy denim jeans, for instance.
And it did make a difference. Was I silly to say so. Did it give Mum the opportunity to press me, as much as mothers ever do (ha), into just that little step further?
Almost without realizing it, while mum made more alterations, she had me wearing a housecoat. Now I know it’s an old-fashioned description of a dress with pockets! But it did feel nicer than those jeans and jerseys.
‘Accidentally’ she had me sitting by her vanity-table while she fixed something. Seeing all those pots and potions – what does an inquisitive boy do. I inquisited. Mum offered to show me what some of the things could do. And, are you amazed, I looked even more girly. And I liked it.
“What do you think of that, then?
It feels weird – do you put this stuff on your face every day?”
“Not every day, no. But often. It makes me feel extra pretty. Look what a different lipstick does for me.” And she showed me. Then she put lipstick on me!
“What do you think of that.”
I licked my lips. The slippery slidy feeling was …… I don’t have the words. I smiled.
Another 500-word story that people can amend, adapt, expand provided they attribute properly.