500 – 1500 words

Feeling — and desiring — like a woman

I never questioned being a girl. I did not like what other thought came with being one:
getting treated as an object, and being told over and over again that my destiny was one and it
involved a husband and children. But I enjoyed feeling like a girl, or at least what I understood
by that word back then. I used to undress before taking a shower and look at my collarbone,
my long hair, my lips… I would touch my vulva very lightly and smile, because I believed it was
beautiful.

Then, puberty came. It was a shock for my family and my teachers at school. I was 9 years old.
Daily, I felt my breasts swelling, my hips getting rounder, my ass seeming tenderer. I was
delighted; I truly believed this would make me closer to become an adult. And it did, but in a
perverse manner. It did not take much time to realize how mean men acted towards me. My
previous invisibility to adult machos had been traded for overt abuse. Despite them, my face
still beamed while grasping my womanhood. Now I could stroke my whole body and find
myself attractive and full of life. My body was expanding and changing, and my energy level hit
a high I never felt before. I was convinced I could do it all.

Maybe not, though. My mother was ashamed of me being so “desirable”. Other female
schoolgirls would tell me I was ugly – of course, then an older male student would always pop
up and ask me out. A teacher I once respected suggested I did not look very elegant, meaning
vulgar, because of my big tits and the way I swung my hips. The guy that during those times
would buy me cheap jewellery in exchange for kisses said, oh she must be very jealous. I
laughed at her every class afterwards.

Very early on, I started experimenting with men. After the first years of the arrival of
my menstruation, I began to pick up smells more than I used to. It was as if my hormones had
adjusted my nose. This lead to me feeling very sick around certain foods and perfumes, and to
start enjoying the smell of men. Not everyone. Just some men. A thick odour very similar to
vanilla extract emanated from their necks. A couple of them, when they lifted their arms, had a
deep scent of mahogany. One smelled like those plastic films used to cover books. It was all
fascinating to me. I wanted to know more. I wanted to taste them.

Because of the catcalling and sexual harassment the adults in my life called “jokes”; I became
very shy during my teen years. Shy and eager to meet one of those men that smelled so good.
And then, one came to me. And another one. And another one. I couldn’t stop touching them,
rubbing their skin against mine. I felt so alive, caressing them and sensing their fingers running
over my skin. Afraid of being punished at home, I developed a double life. My awakening had
to be a secret. A “respectable woman” did not open her bodily holes to complete strangers.

I left home as soon as I could and as far as possible. Living by myself, I thought I was free to do
what I wanted. So I kept exploring. I slept with someone in a tent, which kept moving and
moving following our rhythm. I went to a stranger’s house and we almost awoke his mom. One
man showed me my body could stretch much more than I believed. I had fun. I believed this is
what being a woman is about, enjoying my body. Eventually, I met a wonderful man that
taught me about making love. I fell head over heels for him. But something was missing.

Some years ago, a recurring fantasy came back with vehemence. It was a mix of all
those missed opportunities, all the times I pretended to not understand when a female was
approaching me. A fragment of that night when my friend showed me her bedroom. I’m not
quite sure why I did not act on those offerings before. But now I really, really wanted to do it.
After thinking about it for months, I decided to just go for it. We met at her friend’s home. She
tried to kiss me, and then we argued because she told her friend we were a couple. We got
over it after making out in the sofa, and drinking wine. After spending hours by her side,
laughing, licking, sweating, I went home. We lost touch, but I am thankful for that night. It
helped me accept that I am a woman that loves women.

During my upbringing, the idea of a woman desiring another woman was frowned upon. I was
taught that someone like that was called a lesbian. My teachers told us lesbians wanted to be
men, and it was not ok to be close to them. True womanhood expressed itself through craving
biological men. Then why, I asked myself, I wanted so much to caress a girl. Eventually, I met a
woman who became a romantic partner. With her, my barriers came down. The fulfilment I
experience when she is by my side is incomparable.

Throughout my life, sex became a very important side of my identity. Developing into a woman
involved inhabiting that carnal side which was disapproved around me. It implied recognizing
my sexual orientation and being aware of my own eroticism. My reflection still smiles at me,
and my body shivers with joy when I fondle it. I’ve never felt more like a woman.