Trapped in a Girl's Body
You would never know it by looking at me, perhaps, but I was a boy born and trapped in a girl's body. I knew from a fairly early age that boys got to do fun stuff, and girls didn't. I wanted to be a boy.
Now you might think I could have simply been a tomboy, as I grew up at a time and in a place where little girls and little boys often dressed alike. That was true, except my family belonged to a church where girls always wore dresses or skirts (and slips and petticoats underneath), so I rarely had even the faintest opportunity of dressing like a boy.
When I started school, we had a very strict dress code. It was a church-run school, of course. Girls had to wear dresses that ended no less than one nor more than three inches below the knees. There was, in fact, a school uniform that we had to wear Monday through Wednesday. On Thursday, we got to wear clothes of our parents' choosing, and my mother always had me in a jeans skirt. It was really the closest I ever got to wearing pants. It had a fly in front. On Friday, we had P.E., so we had to wear a special version of our school uniform that would let us do exercises without showing our underwear. Of course, the girls' P.E. teachers had to be careful about what they had us do, and they had to dress as we did.
I had a couple of older brothers, and sometimes when they were away doing whatever boys did (and how I wanted to find out!) I would sneak into their bedroom and try on their underwear. Once I even got away with wearing my youngest brother's shorts to school under my dress! It was a good thing it wasn't a P.E. day, or I think they would have fallen off. He may have been a bit small for his age, but he was still a size or two larger than me.
After fifth grade, we had P.E. two or three times a week (on Fridays the girls alternated with the boys, who also had P.E. on Mondays and Wednesdays while we had P.E. on Tuesdays and Thursday). We had P.E. uniforms, which were skirts but with shorts attached. I thought the uniforms were silly because the boys got to wear plain old shorts, which looked a lot more fun and comfortable. At least we didn't have to wear our slips to P.E., even if we had to wear them the rest of the day. On days we didn't have P.E., we had to wear full slips, but they let us wear half slips on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Fridays when we did have P.E. so that we could change out of them easier.
I started growing noticeable breasts by the time I was in seventh grade and had to wear a "training bra" for a while. It was a real pain wearing a bra along with a full slip, since I had to sets of straps that I had to keep hidden from the boys. Our uniform blouses were pretty thin, though we did wear jumper dresses over them during the cooler months. However, with the spring, we were supposed to wear only blouses and skirts, and I asked if we could just not wear slips, since they would be too hot. The school board told us we could wear half slips if we didn't want to wear full ones, but they had to end between one and two inches above the hemline of our skirts. Once in a while one of the female administrators would check us out. I once got swatted on the rear for wearing a slip that was an inch too short. How I wished I were a boy who wouldn't have to mess with all of this junk!
As I said at the start, you would never know by looking at me that I wasn't really (in my mind, anyway) a girl. People told me I was very pretty. I didn't want to be pretty. I wanted to be myself. But I was stuck in this stupid girl's body, forced to wear these stupid girlie clothes. I hated it.
By high school, we had two days a week in which we were free to dress as we liked. By my junior year, we didn't have P.E. anymore, and our free days were Tuesday and Friday. I don't why or how that combination of days got picked, but it did. I made sure I never wore a slip on either of those days, but it meant I had to wear long skirts so nobody would peak around too much when they didn't see the necessary middle layer of underwear. I found that long skirts gave me another kind of freedom: nobody would notice if I wasn't wearing the proper girlie shoes that I was supposed to wear, so I started wearing my brothers' (both of them) old shoes. As I realized that I could get away with wearing their old shoes, I tried wearing boys' socks. My brothers couldn't keep track of theirs very well (name a boy who can--seriously), so I started wearing their socks whenever I got the chance. If it rained, I could wear boots to school, and I always wore boys' socks with them. On the other days of the week, of course, I had to wear girls' shoes and nylons (knee-highs, though; we weren't allowed to wear pantyhose)--and a slip.
At long last, I graduated from high school. This, of course, meant that I would soon have to get married, or get out on my own. Several guys wanted to marry me, so I chose the one whose clothes fit me best. He doesn't know it yet, but when he's gone out of the house, I'm more likely than not to be wearing his clothes. So don't tell him!
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