Fascinating/Identifying (II)
I don’t want to dwell in the past. But sometimes, it flashes across my mind. That of being decked up. That of my sister saying that I don't need to be stuffed with oranges, I have a plump chest anyway. Of staring at my mother getting ready. Her jewellery. Her cheap, sticky, cakey foundation which she sometimes applied on me. Touching her sarees and feeling beautiful just looking at them. Of observing how my mother and sister emerged from a bath with one towel wrapped around their heads and another pulled upto above their breasts. I imitated that, and no one really said anything. Today, when I put on my sister’s or my girlfriends’ dresses and look in the mirror, I go wow. Who is she? Where was she? When my chest fits into those padded bras, I can’t help feeling gorgeous. When these clothes fit me perfectly, I don’t want to take them off. I want to walk, eat and sleep in them. But when I do take them off and my eyes travel down to my penis, there is a certain awkwardness. Why is it