If I Were A Boy

If I were a boy I’d always be tired. All the running about, play wrestling, skateboarding, ball kicking and throwing stuff looks extremely exhausting. But I’d do it anyway because I wouldn’t be able to sit still with all my puppydog energy. And besides, I’d instinctively know how much girls dig boys on skateboards.

If I were a boy I would wear the same thing every day and still somehow manage to look smoking hot. I’d wear one pair of jeans consistently until they got holes in the butt, and then I’d keep wearing them some more. I’d rotate between 3 t-shirts, a plaid shirt and a hoodie, depending on what smelled the least bad in the morning. I would never do washing and either douse myself in deodorant or throw my clothes over a chair to ‘air them out’. I’d sleep in the same sheets for months without changing them, and I’d ignore the collection of soiled socks building up by my bedside table.

If I were a boy I’d pee standing up.

If I were a boy I’d fuck a lot. I mean, as a girl I’m pretty horny all the time, even without all that testosterone. I imagine I’d just want to explode with man hormones flowing through my veins. I’d alternate between fucking and wanking, but I’d try to fuck more than I wank (and end up secretly wanking more; much, much more). I’d always use protection because even though I loved fucking, I’d know all about the repercussions that come with it and respect that I could be transmitting diseases that could be harmful to my partner. This would obviously be expensive with all the fucking, but well worth it, because I’d love fucking.

If I were a boy, I’d fuck a lot. Wait, did I already say that? I’d have a constant boner and go to bars to pick up pretty women. Some of them I’d never call again, and some would never call me again. I’d fuck and I’d fuck and I’d fuck until finally I’d fall in love. And when I’d fall in love, I’d fuck some more, but only with my beautiful woman. I’d think she was the most beautiful girl in the world, and even though I’d sometimes think about fucking other girls, I’d always conclude that my girlfriend’s fuck was the best.

If I were a boy, my girlfriend would drive me insane. No matter how committed, generous, kind and loyal I was towards her, she would just assume that I was untrustworthy because I used to fuck a lot. I would try to explain to her that that was then and this is now, and that love is different and that I only want to protect her, never to hurt her—but she wouldn’t listen. She would look at my text messages while I was in the shower and scream at me when there were messages from girls, even if they were just innocent texts from friends or co-workers. I would try to console her but it would be no use—if I were a boy, I would drive my girlfriend away without even trying.

If I were a boy I’d be one of the lads. We’d tousle each other and drink too much and leer at women in bars. We’d say things like “bros before hoes,” and mean it. If one of my mates stole a girl from me, we’d both say “to hell with her,” and continue in our mateship because girls are crazy ass bitches anyway. We’d go fishing and camping on boys weekends, and the women in our lives would worry about what we were doing when really we were just building fort villages in the wild or lighting our farts on fire or talking about tits.

If I were a boy I’d make mistakes I didn’t mean. I’d forget to text her. I’d turn up to family dinner late. I’d misplace my keys. Everyone would think it was because I was stupid or mean and they’d take it personally, but it wouldn’t be. I’d be genuinely sorry but I’d keep making the same thoughtless mistakes and no one would be convinced that I didn’t mean them. Sometimes I would make mistakes that I did mean, that really were horrible things to do, like cheating or lying, but it wouldn’t matter because no one would be able to differentiate, and they’d think I was a jerk either way.

If I were a boy I’d have trouble dealing with my emotions. Not because I didn’t have them, but because they felt awkward to me. Because people will have always told me to ‘be a man.’ I’d get confused when I wanted to cry and maybe I’d punch the wall instead. Sometimes I would cry, but never in front of the lads. If my girlfriend were still around, I’d cry in front of her. I would hope that it would make her understand me, but I’d still be a little bit embarrassed.

If I were a boy I’d be misunderstood. I would shoulder the burden of the mistakes of the men before me, and persist in my relationships even though everyone expected me to hurt them. I’d be tarred with the same dirty brush of those that came before me even though I wouldn’t deserve to be. I’d hope that if one day I had a son, he’d be a better man than me.