As a young boy, in the 70's, I used to socialize with girls. I remember spending time at school (kindergarden) chatting with a girl named Cécile (a girl's name in France) while other boys were playing. She must have been the first one hearing me say I would have preferred being born a girl. We then moved, and I had another girl as closest friend. Her dad and mom became friends with mine. One day, being in holiday, our moms were varnishing their nails while chatting sitting on the grass enjoying the sun. My friend asked her mom to do her toenails, and I was so envious. So I asked my mom to have mine done, and of course she said no, saying I was a boy, and boys don't paint there toes...
I started too at that age to go to the conservatory to learn music and to play the flute. One day, leaving after my lesson, I was longing a building when I heard someone playing the piano and a woman's voice saying "and one and two and three and four" and I looked through a large bay window who was bringing light to a large ballroom built underground. I was then watching over almost twenties little girls dressed in tights and tutu dancing (or trying to) the ballet. I stayed there mesmerized by the prettiness of the costume, the grace in the moves, and immediately wanted so badly to be one of them... Until an old cleaning lady saw me and screamed rushing at me waving her broom to stop peeping at the girls.
At some point, gymnastic ribbons had become the rage with girls who were playing with them at the playground, and I was so envious I asked mom for one. Again, the answer was it was girls who where playing with it, but I insisted and she ended buying me one, saying she doesn't want to hear me complain if other kids were laughing at me (and none of them did, but it was another seeds planted making me feel ashamed for wanting to be a girl).
Of course, lot of daydreaming watching girls in classroom, studying and envying their clothes, shoes, jewels, hairs, make-up (later), even their moves (I have a vivid memory of a girl sitting next to me taking a pen in hand, and being fascinated by the way she did it, moving her hand and fingers so lightly and graciously).
Stéphanie, XX
