A horrible stereotype

By horrible I mean that I did the overly stereotypical things for a gender confused boy. This fast forwards a bit.. closer to puberty... but not quite. Dangerously close to when I finally came out. I started to become more and more aware of what was in store for me and girls. Of course that meant being a girl became more important to me. I was nearing what felt like a point of no return.

I didn't do anything spectacularly different from the norm. Like any other boy in my position, I did the one thing I could think of to help ease my desire to be a girl. I snitched my mom's things from time to time and dressed up.

For the longest time I had one of her sports bras. I used that because it fit more easily than anything else(it stretched!). A sports bra was also easier to pad to my desire than a typical bra. My mother is quite.. endowed. Filling up normal cups would have looked ridiculous. Alright, more ridiculous than a little boy wearing a stuffed sports bra. I'd fill it up a bit and posed in front of a mirror. I'd do this a lot. Whenever I was left alone? I'd take it out of where I hid it and put it on. Late at night when I was the only one awake? I'd take the chance that I wouldn't be disturbed. Being at separate ends of the house helped this(it was a big house.. one floor but lots of space). It was fun, I admit. I wanted to grow my own pair one day. A few times I even wore it.. the whole day. I'd wear a nice loose shirt over it. One that had a tight collar too. It was.. thrilling. I was so happy. Doing it felt natural.. like I should have been doing it. At the time I wished I had the nerve to do it all the time.. maybe even wear it to school(though I never did). I never got caught. My mother still doesn't know I ever did that.

While I was posing in front of the mirror, I participated in another overly stereotypical activity. This one started further away from puberty, but I still didn't start it till I was closing in. I'd take a towel and put it over my head as if it were long hair. It was shamefully silly, but I couldn't resist.

So picture it. A prepubescent boy standing in the bathroom in a padded sports bra wearing a towel on his head. It actually makes me laugh thinking back. It was.. just.. absurd. A few times I even took the chance to add mascara and lipstick. She knew about that simply from how her makeup was moved, but I think she chalked it up to normal curiosity over mother's girly stuff.

There was once, and only once, that I got brave enough to take an entire dress. I put it on and stuffed up the bosom. Hold your breath because you might not believe what I did next. I walked around the entire house. OUTSIDE. It was the dead of night so no one saw me, but I nearly died from the anxiety. I was trying to prove something to myself that night. I could do it. I could be a girl if I tried. It was a test of sorts. If I couldn't muster up the strength to walk outside with that on and risk being caught, I'd never be a girl.

But I did, and look at where I am now.

Thus we leave my early childhood behind. All that could be said has been. It was an uneventful time.. at least concerning my identity as a girl. I could relate stories of how I was picked on all day because other kids could sense I wasn't normal, but that is unnecessary. I was only young enough to understand I wanted to be a girl. I didn't know how to go about it. I didn't know what, exactly, was wrong with me. I couldn't do anything but dream the sweet dreams.