Socks

It's been a while since I've felt like I have time to write. Or even collect my thoughts for that matter. "For that matter" eh ...WTF?.. Sometimes I feel like my writing slips into 1960ish Enid Blyton prim and proper sentences. They're in my bones, those books, I soaked in them, read them over and over, (that's past tense 'read' -it's strange the way they're written the same. I haven't been near one in years- although, I wouldn't mind). I remember what happened in them clearer than I remember my childhood. They were my childhood. Then the libraries banned them. Enid Blyton was labelled sexist, racist, maybe even homophobic. She was the reason the world sucked. I guess my young impressionable mind was warped by her, but honestly, I never noticed the sentences that caused so much scandal. Sure the boys did everything fun, and the girls stayed home, unless you were a tomboy, then you could tag along. I didn't question that logic, I didn't know any boys, as friends, except for one that was so shy he never spoke, and when he came to play he'd bring his older sister who he'd "talk through" like a personal translator. But we got along fine.

Around 7 when I wasn't trying to wear all my skirts at once and play Heidi, I'd try to dress like a boy, hair tucked in cap, shorts, knee socks. I was like some weird 70s throw back. I'd also drag a stuffed toy dog on a leash, convinced I could fool the neighbours into believing I had a pet. Again, 'normal' (American TV) families always had a pet dog. It was so goddam wholesome- and jeez (my swear word at the time) did I wanna be wholesome.

The main reason I wanted to be a boy wasn't due to Enid Blyton. Ahem. I'd discovered that putting rolled up socks in my panties felt really good. Yes, I felt a bit perverted, I just tried not to think about it. I've always been good at strategically not thinking. After the panty revelation, the "I'll be the boy" games became more frequent. It was the perfect excuse for stuffing my panties and sitting in this awkward position with 'the lump' shoved to the crotch of my panties, underneath, instead of the front. When I wriggled and rocked with the right size and shape bulge, I'd get a dizzy, flying feeling, with my heart in my throat. I remember trying to look this perversion up, in books, but I could never find anything that answered my questions. I decided I was just strange and that was that.

I used to think I was so abnormal for many reasons which now, I laugh at. I wasn't devil spawn for making-out with girls when I was 12 or fantasizing about my friends' fathers. I realize that now. I didn't understand all at once, just slowly, experience taught me. I feel the same way now, as when I was that young teen, afraid of myself and weird. Knowing that if anyone found out, they'd be disgusted. But now I know those first feelings were wrong. I was just a kid, everything I was thinking and feeling was normal. THEN. I want to discover I'm not a weirdo again, I'm just innocent, naive. I don't want to belong to a bedraggled group of people who steal and whore and lie and have become animals for a drug, labelled junky. That isn't me. I want to find out that secretly, behind closed doors, whispered softly, everyone is obsessed with filling their veins with sunshine. I want everyone to be falling, faster and faster, without anything to grab onto. If everyone was using, it'd be just lah de dah. There's safety in numbers. I don't want to admit it, but it's true. This time, I think I'm all alone.