Ruban Nine
.001 -Late That Night
Nine. Cloud nine. That’s where I was, flying high above the clouds, I was anywhere but here; in my dank basement bedroom, looking at my naked form in the full-length mirror. My cold hands ran across my pale creamy stomach. It hadn’t been shown any sun in over three years, resulting in the pale yellow hue, a shade above my natural skin tone. It wasn’t flat, but it wasn’t fat, in the privacy of my mind I knew that I strived for the protruding bones of an anorexic. For flat meant fewer curves. I turned slightly and cringed at my bottom. It stuck out. It wasn’t flat and non-existent like a normal boy’s it was far too feminine. But that was the entity of the problem; on the whole I was far too feminine. Naturally, considering the fact I was born a girl.
Except this was the part where it got complicated. I was a girl, which was pretty apparent by the curves, the breasts and the lacking of a certain organ in the genital area. However, inside I felt like I was born to be a boy. Not in a trans-gendered way, far from it. I was a girl who longed to be in a boy’s body. I loved the way pants clung loosely on the small hips and tiny ass. The way shirts would always look remarkable on them. Nothing looked remarkable on my body, far from it. My body was plagued by the marks of being a woman. Stretch marks on the hips and breasts, a tiny waist preventing shirts from hugging nicely. To many I had the ‘perfect figure’. To myself, I was on the other end of the spectrum.
"Mommy why are you crying? Please Mommy you’re scaring me." I was 11, watching my Mother cry for no apparent reason. She had reached out and held my cheeks. Looking at me through bloodshot eyes.
"Because sweetheart, you are the most beautiful girl I know and it makes me sad to see you so blind to the fact."
"But Mommy, I don’t like it. I’m not beautiful. I never will be." I had said tearfully.
"Why can’t you see what a beautiful girl you are?" Mommy had cried.
"Because all the curves Mommy. What’s happening? My tummy is going in at the side and my chest is swollen? Why would anyone love you when you look like a lumpy boy?"
"But you aren’t a boy Lily." Mother had said.
"But I am, I’m a boy and my name is Ruban."
Hourglass. That was the fashionista’s name for my figure. Meaning large chest, tiny waist, big hips. Girls I knew always reminded me how envious they were of my figure. The figure I despised. Men gawped at me. Boys drooled. Girls were jealous. All three emotions I loathed. Why couldn’t I blend into the background like any other boy? I looked around my room, before stalking across to the cupboard, pulling out a pair of long pajamas and sliding into them.
"Night, Mom!" I screamed up at the quiet house, before lighting a candle on my bedside table and switching off the lamp.
Except this was the part where it got complicated. I was a girl, which was pretty apparent by the curves, the breasts and the lacking of a certain organ in the genital area. However, inside I felt like I was born to be a boy. Not in a trans-gendered way, far from it. I was a girl who longed to be in a boy’s body. I loved the way pants clung loosely on the small hips and tiny ass. The way shirts would always look remarkable on them. Nothing looked remarkable on my body, far from it. My body was plagued by the marks of being a woman. Stretch marks on the hips and breasts, a tiny waist preventing shirts from hugging nicely. To many I had the ‘perfect figure’. To myself, I was on the other end of the spectrum.
"Mommy why are you crying? Please Mommy you’re scaring me." I was 11, watching my Mother cry for no apparent reason. She had reached out and held my cheeks. Looking at me through bloodshot eyes.
"Because sweetheart, you are the most beautiful girl I know and it makes me sad to see you so blind to the fact."
"But Mommy, I don’t like it. I’m not beautiful. I never will be." I had said tearfully.
"Why can’t you see what a beautiful girl you are?" Mommy had cried.
"Because all the curves Mommy. What’s happening? My tummy is going in at the side and my chest is swollen? Why would anyone love you when you look like a lumpy boy?"
"But you aren’t a boy Lily." Mother had said.
"But I am, I’m a boy and my name is Ruban."
Hourglass. That was the fashionista’s name for my figure. Meaning large chest, tiny waist, big hips. Girls I knew always reminded me how envious they were of my figure. The figure I despised. Men gawped at me. Boys drooled. Girls were jealous. All three emotions I loathed. Why couldn’t I blend into the background like any other boy? I looked around my room, before stalking across to the cupboard, pulling out a pair of long pajamas and sliding into them.
"Night, Mom!" I screamed up at the quiet house, before lighting a candle on my bedside table and switching off the lamp.