Lady

Behold, a Lady. She's dressed up today; she squeezed herself into a dress a little too small in an attempt to accentuate her budding breasts. Her hair hangs down, and smells of leave-in conditioner. Vanilla scented. Her make-up is heavy, her liberal application attempting to make up for her lack of technique. She hadn't had the opportunities to learn that other girls had. Her youth had been spent building up other skills. Skills she wished she could forget. She wore heels in attempt to make her feet look smaller. Her toenails shone brightly, the result of a recent mani-pedi. A good friend had gone with her. She hadn't been confident enough to go alone. She was freshly shaven, and she would enjoy this one evening of smooth skin before she had to deal with the ingrown hairs and razor burn. Tonight, at least, she felt beautiful.

Behold, a Lady. She wanted to feel pretty, and had dressed accordingly. She wore a plated skirt and a button up top, trying to amalgamate all of the schoolgirl fantasies she had heard her friends joking about years ago into an outfit. Those friends didn't like her anymore. Not now that she had changed her name. The skirt was a little too short, and that was thrilling. She knew it was wrong of her, but she wanted the people around her to notice her bare legs and the shape of her ass. She wanted people to look at her, because she finally felt like she could look back at them without her eyes apologizing. She had gone with more natural make-up, it's goal only to cover the imperfections of her face. Pink lipstick, concealer, brown eyeliner, more concealer, bronzer, and yet more concealer. She needed to get out of the sun, or else her make-up would start running. And then people could see what she really was. What she was underneath the hope and the coy flirtations.

Behold, a Lady. She'd woken up late, and had to choose between her morning routine and making it to class on time. She had chosen making it to class on time. She hadn't gotten to shave, and bristly hairs clung to her chin. She hated it. She hated the feeling of them, and she avoided touching her face so she didn't have to feel them. Without make-up, she couldn't disguise her heavier brow, her larger nose, or her blocky chin. She couldn't hide the Adam's apple bulging in her throat. It killed her to swallow. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a sweater. It was androgynous enough for her, although it did very little to banish the specter of masculinity that clung to her. She spent all of her class wishing it would end so she could return to her room. So that people didn't have to look at her. So that they wouldn't know how wrong she felt.

Behold, a Lady.