Eve's curse

Sometimes I blame my parents for making me a girl instead of a boy. When I was growing up I loved playing with boys. I even fistfought with some of the shitheads whenever they told me I was a slow runner, or chanted "you are ugly" repeatedly. My mother was warned by one teacher about my behavior because she worried I was a tomboy. "She's too pretty to be a boy," this teacher commented.

Tomboy was regarded as lesbian in our society. Sure I was a tomboy. I ran with the boys, played ball, immitated their walk, kicked their asses, and once, even spat at an antagonizer. This empowerment over my gender and the other class lasted until I graduated from elementary school. My male comrades were both sad and happy to bid farewell as we went our separate ways into higher schools.

Then my body started to surprise me. Two lumps started appearing on my chest. I knew what they were but I didn't want them. I tried to hide (them); I couldn't, though. Day by day they grew. I was disgusted at the transformation, and cursed out loud everytime they get bumped on doors, walls, things that stood upright, including careless stupid people. I became aware, and then I realized that these booby traps were damn sensitive.

As puberty slapped my tomboyish persona, my mother decided to buy me a bra. The constriction this piece of garment cum armor made me gasp for air. I constantly tugged and itched. Although it protected the fragility of my growing hills, I was disappointed about how the 'constrictor' made them even more prominent, after all I thought the bra was to obscure the breasts.

Boys started growing, too. Along with the change in voice and appearance of hair on their face and body, their personality seemed to be converting. Some of them even paid me attention, and I could have sworn one of the bastards even touched my tits under pretense that it was an accidental bump.

Thirteen years after my parents introduced me to the world, I became a woman.

Forty years later, I am still the feisty tomboy who wouldn't let a boy overstep me. My temperament has caused me mistakes and failures, but at the same time gave me successes. Men came and went. We played, we fought, we confided, and we separated. Growing up a tomboy while emulating boys' actions has made me accessible as a peer to them. I could relate with men and understand their needs and desires of women, especially, but once I am the woman they want to divulge those wants and needs, I no longer could carry on the fellowship. My relationships with men beyond friendship seem to be a pattern of meltdowns.

Mimicking the childhood game of tag, I continue to run and avoid being tagged, only to be caught eventually and run some more. Only this time I chase to tag, corner him, and finally make him 'it'.