When Venus Was A Young Boy (Ongoing)

22 | at war for shaming shapes

22 | at war for shaming shapes

I didn’t know what was going on between us: Rudy and I. But somehow, I was enjoying his company and all the nice treatment he would do to me whenever we had time to hang out. Encrusted by his lean yet gaunt arms, I would feel safe whenever he would trail tiny blips of kisses on my neck or wherever he felt like doing so. I knew it was too fast and my feelings were in a spiraling shadow of confusion and fear to what would happen to us in the future. Yet every time he would whisper stories to me about his childhood and all the interesting pieces of events that happened in his everyday life, I couldn’t help myself but to put all my worries away in a blissful abyss of darkness.

Rudy was sipping his cup of coffee as I arrived in the coffee shop we agreed to meet for our daily scenarios of hang outs and whirlwind meetings. He was dressed in a stunning zebra print oversized polo and it was tucked inside his white trouser pants. The two buttons on his polo shirt was undone to show three different pieces of exquisite jewelry. One was a simple pendant with a customized times new roman font of his name. The other two pieces were chunky in a way that displayed their boldness of pastel chains and different miniature metal figures of books, converse shoes, cigarettes, and a moon with a small star inside its crescent mouth. I powered my way towards him as I fumbled with my nails to channel my anxiety through it.

I focused on his smiling face. I could say that he put an effort to look extra good today. Not that he was ugly or anything, but he would always be in a bare face superficiality whenever we would decide to meet for a cuddly session or something. The freckles dotting his face like a shambled stars in a blanket of skin were gone and a foundation matching his skin tone was smeared impeccably. My makeup lessons caught him up too fast that he was already trying to do it by himself. And that was really a quick knowledge-absorber quality of him considering that we were still two days to whatever was happening between us.

My glitter thigh-high boots with its platform heels kissed the ground with so much power that it dulled the thoughts raging inside my head. The pleated pink skirt I was wearing treaded my legs with every sway of my hips as I walked the ground like a runway model. I decided to wear a skirt today for non-existential reasons or philosophical ideologies. I wore a skirt today because I wanted to feel good and fabulous for myself. Maybe, I was trying to showcase my legs to the guy I like, but 98% of my decision rooted to only one reasoning: I wanted to because I was trying to shift my denim pieces style and crop top aesthetic.

Kidding. I just wanted to be daring, to be free, to smash any narrow-mindedness idea that men should only wear manly clothes that society’s standards consider as normal. I wanted to imply the message boldly that clothes aren’t inherently a basis of your gender identity. Clothes are there so that you have something to wear, to make a message, to feel sexy, to feel beautiful, and to make your inner self tumble out with much glamour or comfiness.

To say the least, I could use this skirt later for another convenient purpose. The oversized black hoodie jacket I was wearing loosely complemented my outfit and I sat across from Stieg as I crossed my legs.

“You look enchanting today.” My confident smirk was glued on my lips. The fox-lift makeup I carefully and artistically painted on my face did the best job at catching Rudy off-guard to what he would have responded from my comment. He was intensely looking at me that I had to raise my eyebrow. “What? Bewitched by my beauty?” I cackled, imitating Marilyn Monroe’s iconic giggles for emphasis of dramatization. “Honey, I am not a picture so devour me with your eyes as long as you can.”

Rudy bashfully bowed his head to hide the blush (I was sure of it) that creeped on his face. He shrugged his shoulders as he placed his elbow on the tabletop. “You look fabulous as usual.” That damn cute smile was still on his lips as he said the FACT. Yes, fact. I am fabulous. How could even a person manage to speak a sentence while smiling? That’s a facial multitasking. I applaud the skill considering that I couldn’t even contort my facial expression sometimes to go along with the intention of my message. Kidding, but also not a joke.