I don’t know what is wrong with this body of mine. I am way too skinny, and I cry about it oftentimes when I look at myself in the mirror. My boyfriend tells me he likes my body the way it is, but that doesn’t comfort me. It is as though I am untouched by puberty. I look at the pictures I took way back in secondary school and I see me still looking like that now that I’m 23. No beards. No broad chest. No deep voice. No form of masculinity.
I don’t know what is wrong with this body of mine that feels like it is not my own. I feel a twist of pain when I think about the flat board of my chest, and I think about how I would love to be a woman, with the curves and blooming body. To be able to get pregnant for the man who would be the love of my life, have his babies and make a family with him. I look at women who walk into rooms and command male attention by the sheer force of their sensuality, and I envy them. And I want to do that, to be able to use what I have to demand the attention of what I want.
I feel like a woman within me, on the inside, But on the outside, nothing is happening. I am still the plain, skinny boy I was born as. I touch my pecs and I feel as though one is growing bigger than the other. Mother says it’s fine, that it is a sign that I am going to be fat. Except I don’t want it to be a sign of a fuller male body. I want it to be the sign of a blossoming female body.
Men keep coming, and around them, I feel like a woman. They tell me things, things they will love to do to my body, and I feel like a woman. I get myself dresses and camisoles and lady’s underwear, and I hide them in my wardrobe, I wear them in front of mirrors when I’m alone. And I feel like a woman. Never happier than when I’m able to feel like a woman.
I used to keep my distance from men for a while. Because the closer I got to them, I don’t know how I do it, but we always end up doing things that have us being up to no good. They keep coming. We keep doing things. I would date this guy, then fuck that guy, then do that other guy. I became a bad bitch, something I did not want for myself. Until I met the love of my life.
But the question is: who am I really? A transwoman? An effeminate man with a love for feminine things? A nonbinary person? I don’t even know anymore.
I just know that when I wear the dresses and camisoles and lady’s underwear in front of mirrors, I feel like a woman. Never happier than when I’m able to feel like a woman.
Written by Fahd