I like her hair

I like her hair. It’s a nice style, no doubt.

I like her eyes, the way they flicker and sway so easily from side to side. Her curves, reams of mountainous land I want to venture upon. Her breasts, comforting and sultry, pillows of femininity for me to rest upon.

 

I like her voice. High pitched when she’s excited, and lower when she’s mocking me. The way she fiddles with her fingers and picks at them when no body’s watching.

 

If I were a boy, I would court her no doubt. I would stride up to her, I would look her in the eyes…

 I would treat her right.

 

A pathetic thought, I know.

 

I look at my hand and follow the body attached to the fingers that clasp mine.

A boy.

 

His hair is shiny, yet dry from lack of attention. His smile is lopsided and cocky. His abdomen toned and muscular, with olive skin glinting and glowing.

 

He is beautiful. A masculine glow, an aura surrounding him.

 

Say, I’d be considered crazy for not wanting to ravish him. He’s beautiful…right?

 

He’s right for me. The perfect fit. I am my mother’s daughter and my duty, this is it.

 

I’ll let him court me instead, I shall hook my arm into his.

 

I’ll play the part, the wife they need me to be.

 

I’ll carry his child, I’ll take his name…

 

…as if he hasn’t erased enough of me.

 

I hate him.

 

No, that’s not quite fair. I don’t hate him. I envy him. I envy his carefree smile, the testosterone he radiates.

 

I envy the way he can openly express his love for a woman and not be deemed a monster.

 

I am attracted to him, I think.

 

I enjoy his presence. He makes me smile. He is kind. He is not a monster. I have the privilege of making him happy.

 

Yet my heart doesn’t race at the thought of his lips upon mine. The choreography of our tongues is irregular, they are dancing with two left feet. His fingers trail on my body like snails, leaving a residue of shame.

 

His mouth is near me. His stubble shadows his dry lips, pink and grey. My heart is static.

 

I am not disgusted. I am numb, his presence an anaesthetic to my being.

 

I catch a glimpse of her, though only for a fleeting moment.

 

Her eyes, passionate, phosphorescing at me in the golden sunlight.

 

Her locks styled in their unique way, she smirks as she brandishes her mane.

 

Her body. Her shape. I don’t even find myself needing to assimilate her undulations.

 

Her skin, the embodiment of perfection. Her tones, swirling around to greet and compliment each other.

 

Her lips. The barriers of her frame part in confusion as she spies me gawking.

 

She looks nice, don’t you think?

 

Perhaps in another life, we stand a few inches closer to each other. Perhaps she gets embarrassed by my presence.

 

I stare from afar, and then I stare into his eyes.

 

“I do,” I say.

 

I lean in to kiss him, but instead I force myself to believe it is not his lips that dance with mine.

 

She smiles, and she claps.

 

He holds me and laughs.

 

My parents, so proud of their little girl.


And me.


I feign a smile. He is beautiful…


Right?