SOMETIMES…in the fleeting moments of total randomness & obscurity & fantasy of thought with no restrictions or boundaries, in a total state of uncensored subconscious purging, when I let my mind truly off its leash…I speculate if I’m really a girlfag. Yeah, I know, yawn, roll eyes, every motherfucker trying to steal a moment in the spotlight says these things off the cuff ALL THE TIME, especially in Hollyweird where ANY publicity is good publicity. I mean, who doesn’t think they’re a gay man trapped inside a woman’s body?
At first blush, it seems reasonable enough.
Then logical thought smashes a right hook through this thin veneer of fantasy. OUFF! Quite the colossally outlandish concept to fathom, let alone even entertain. I mean, logically….AS IF. It can’t be so, really. I mean, I relate to my feminine side very comfortably indeed, and revel in its associated power, mystique and grandeur. I find kinship in the sisterhood and adore pretty much all aspects of being a female. The rituals, the transformations from blah! to beautiful and glamorous, the ability to have an unspoken, clandestine power over men with just a perfect knowing glance. The intuition and emotional depth that is part and parcel of being a woman. It’s all there. Undisputed…..logically.
However, back in the yellow corner are the long, deep-seated ‘issues’ about coming across as boyish in my adolescence when I was struggling to fit into my changing feminine form, whilst adhering to my mother’s enforcement of me having boy-short hair. Not the greatest situation when you’re not a classically pretty / beautiful looking teenager anyway…..I was your run of the mill, nerdy, plain looking wallflower-slash-nerd, still struggling to grow into my self and to have some kind of discernible self-confidence. The short back and sides hair styles that I had to sport against my will did nothing to reinforce any kind of feminine vigor. Sure, I felt girlish, but I looked plain and tomboyish. If I wasn’t actually mistaken as a boy on occasion I wouldn’t have taken issue. The fact remains, for many of my formative years, I felt boyish…….ugly…. invisible.
I eventually grew out of that when my hair was allowed to also grow and I began entering the realm of parties and acting up and flirting and making out and getting attention from boys where there had been none before. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m not, and have never been, your average girl. I pretty much usually prefer the company of men; most of my closest friends are male; and it is rare for me to find many females that I can instantly form some kind of bond with. Sure, this preference in forming friendships does not naturally predispose me to being genetically male in a woman’s body. I’m purely speculating the fantasy element…
I find it easier to relate to men, on the whole. A lot of females totally shit me senseless. As already stated I do enjoy the certain rituals that come with being a female, but I have never been your normal girly girl who is dictated by what her girlfriends are doing and spending her days calculating the best way to keep up with the flock. Shopping, solariums, fake nails, fake tits, gossiping, bitching, handbag worship…these sorts of things really don’t appeal AT ALL. I would much rather spend time talking cars or playing poker or playing bass guitar or rolling down a sand dune…..not that I’m typically tomboy either, however…..I hate football, loathe meatheads, dislike beer and burping and meat and machismo, and everything that smacks of run-of-the-mill bland as fuck alpha male masculine mediocrity. So what the fuck????
What I DO know is…I adore androgynous men, effeminate boys and those with a penchant for cross dressing/ wearing high heels/ makeup/ fishnets or all of the above. So does this apprecation make me a gay man in a chick’s body???
Or just someone with a way-too-vivid imagination that likes to run wild?
Let’s re-cap: A skewed perception of my own identity whilst in my formative pubescent years…….combined with my total fucking kookiness for gay relations……my ability to look somewhat ‘handsome’ at times, as opposed to pretty……my preference for hanging with the boys rather than talk shallow shite with the regular fake-tanned-to-oblivion vultures out there….
In my defense, I adore being a woman, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I guess at the end of the day, maybe I’m not so mixed up after all. Being a boy in a woman’s body is certainly an entertaining concept for my macabre and warped and vivid mind to divulge in for a short while anyhow….until next weekend when I convince myself that I’m really an alien life form sent back in time as frozen powdered amoeba.
Can’t wait for that introspection.