I Used to Dream about Him (Micro-nonfiction)

I used to dream about him. A tall, handsome stranger with strong arms to scoop me up into. He dressed smartly, smelled of cologne, wore a shiny watch and new shoes. He had a beard - always a beard. No matter how many times I imagined him over the years, in different outfits, with different body types. No matter how many times he changed - he always had a beard.

When I was young, I labelled this man my future husband. Clearly, I was having the fantasies everyone else was having. Clearly, the reason he made my heart race was because I fancied him. Clearly, I was thinking about him because I wanted to kiss him, yes, that was it...

I told a friend about him one day, as we were describing our perfect men and giggling together. Our break was almost over and it was time to go back to class when she passed a comment about how my man looked like a male version of me. That thought stuck to me, adhering to my skin tightly - I tried my best to scrape it off but it stuck tighter under my fingernails.

As I grew taller, my shape became more feminine. I looked in the mirror for hours on end (to the chagrin of my family) and frowned at my hips, my breasts and my face. Some days, I enjoyed these features. Other days, they were just unbearable! Still, the man patiently waited in my head.

I saw a picture of myself one day. Ironically, it was taken at a women's-only race which I participated in for charity. I loved that picture. My shirt was plain but the angle of my head cut under my chin, sharpening my jaw, making it square. My shoulder muscle bulges at the angle, showing a flat upper chest. A very unflattering picture for a girl. That's when I started to think a little more about this.

It took many years, but I found out that I was only romantically attracted to women. I was 17 and extremely scared at the revelation. I had used the man in my head to argue against my homosexuality for too many years. Repression, repression, repression.

Still, it couldn't go on forever, and I accepted that part of myself. The part that adores those feminine parts that I so hated to grow myself.

I was messing around with make-up one day, as I tend to do. I love make-up! It's a way to connect with and love my face. First, I brushed on my go-to look, soft eyebrows, a little contour and a red/pink lip. I was pleased with it and took some pictures to send to my friends for a little feedback. Once I had taken them, I looked at the woman in the picture. All of a sudden, I was that little girl frowning at the bathroom mirror again. The make-up was fine, in fact, it may have been the best I had ever done it - but the woman staring back at me was not me.

So I started messing around again, making the brows heavier, contouring straighter and wiping away the lip stain. I took another picture - yes, more me, but not there yet. I pulled up a video of some drag kings and began shading in a beard shape, with some darker hair lines. I also learned how to shade my chest to look less full, but didn't attempt it.

'One step at a time' I told myself.

Make up now sitting heavy on my face, I took the last picture.

There he was

The man in my head - smiling back at me!

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For more information on genderfluidity, please visit: https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/gender-fluidity-what-it-means-and-why-support-matters-2020120321544

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ThatWriterWoman (sometimes ThatWriterMan)