A Different Form of Beauty
folder
Original - Misc › Non-Fiction/True Stories/Autobiographical
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
945
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › Non-Fiction/True Stories/Autobiographical
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
945
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of non fiction. Where possible - and where appropriate - permission has been granted from any people or their descendants to be included in this story. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
A Different Form of Beauty
No disclaimer, because this stpry belongs entire;y to me and Chi No Hana.
I explain the rating by the fact that some poeple might not stomach what will be written here. Please do not be upset or offended, we mean no harm, we just want to try something out.
Oki doki? Well, enjoy the read, please comment on style and whatnot if the subject is too... not nice.
**********************************************
A different form of beauty
**********************************************
I have never understood the rules of Beauty.
I was told I was ‘beautiful’, or more of handsome. Tall, high cheek bones, slim, muscled, exotic, and I always wondered why. Whenever I sat next to J, we were always compared. Once more, I was ‘handsome’, ‘alluring’, and J was nothing if not ‘ugly’. One thing I didn’t understand. Admittedly, she wasn’t fitting into the norm of most girls, but I found her pretty. She had lovely eyes, expressive eyes, a sweet smile that made my knees buckle, a twisted yet admirable sense of humour, and a fine choice of good literature. Her persona let all the others fade away around her; she had qualities that few of the Other possessed, and for reasons that seemed to be so obviously compensating.
One of my first real doubts on physical attraction appeared when I was turning eight. I had already since a few months begun to realize the differences between boys and girls. My parents always told me that I was too mature for my age. I accompanied my mother in one of her shopping sessions; it was L’s birthday soon, and we were to by her a dress. To of my cousins came along; M and F were high school-ers or something, and were clothes fanatics, something I became to fear in the near future; I just had no idea how near.
But that’s beside the point; trying my best to ignore all the loud and incessant noise one has the habit to find in a mall, I found my self all the more frightened by their clothes, their choice of clothes, and how they chose to look. Not the colours, not the types, not the lack of length they gave to their prime choice of garments scared me, but the sheer size of them, and how they seem to have conditioned their own bodies for them…
And as unbelievable and hard to imagine as it seems, that was a traumatic event; I had just discovered the obvious differences between male and female, and felt a sense of childish pride in the fact that I was mature for my age, advanced, I felt like my vision of the world had changed, and that very vision had crumbled down into the very pieces I had built up all by myself. I had discovered the differences between Mama and Papa, and could faintly understand the differences between me and the girls in class, and… I lost all of my orientation. I had none for the next few years. I had thought that one of the visible differences between Mama and Papa was that She had bumps on her chest. M didn’t have any; neither did L. Mama looked away embarrassed and pointed at other atrocities when I pointed out why my ‘Cousins’ had man-boobs. She also said I shouldn’t be means to my ‘Cousines’. She spoke to in German as to not offend my American relatives.
To be honest, I don’t know all of these details; they were retold to me by Mama as we had another bout of ‘embarrassing moments’, a ‘tradition; in our family from my great-grandfather. Papa told me he used to do that because he firmly believed in strong family ties, he believe that bringing up close memories kept the bonds stronger; I guess he didn’t realize that most of our family’s close memories were an encyclopedia of embarrassing moments. I don’t think they realized that most of these ‘embarrassing moments’ weren’t mine to be embarrassed about. I do believe that t is among these embarrassing moments that I may find my most traumatic moments, but their beliefs may be justified with the occasional or repetitive presence of a girl or woman, and they were often in the uncomfortable state of undress. And I do not shame to admit that those very situations had me dig farther into my question of Beauty.
***************************************
If a review is too much to ask, then juat rant and critic. You may also directly contact Chi No Hana on her account if you wish.
We hope we haven't scared you off. :D
I explain the rating by the fact that some poeple might not stomach what will be written here. Please do not be upset or offended, we mean no harm, we just want to try something out.
Oki doki? Well, enjoy the read, please comment on style and whatnot if the subject is too... not nice.
**********************************************
A different form of beauty
**********************************************
I have never understood the rules of Beauty.
I was told I was ‘beautiful’, or more of handsome. Tall, high cheek bones, slim, muscled, exotic, and I always wondered why. Whenever I sat next to J, we were always compared. Once more, I was ‘handsome’, ‘alluring’, and J was nothing if not ‘ugly’. One thing I didn’t understand. Admittedly, she wasn’t fitting into the norm of most girls, but I found her pretty. She had lovely eyes, expressive eyes, a sweet smile that made my knees buckle, a twisted yet admirable sense of humour, and a fine choice of good literature. Her persona let all the others fade away around her; she had qualities that few of the Other possessed, and for reasons that seemed to be so obviously compensating.
One of my first real doubts on physical attraction appeared when I was turning eight. I had already since a few months begun to realize the differences between boys and girls. My parents always told me that I was too mature for my age. I accompanied my mother in one of her shopping sessions; it was L’s birthday soon, and we were to by her a dress. To of my cousins came along; M and F were high school-ers or something, and were clothes fanatics, something I became to fear in the near future; I just had no idea how near.
But that’s beside the point; trying my best to ignore all the loud and incessant noise one has the habit to find in a mall, I found my self all the more frightened by their clothes, their choice of clothes, and how they chose to look. Not the colours, not the types, not the lack of length they gave to their prime choice of garments scared me, but the sheer size of them, and how they seem to have conditioned their own bodies for them…
And as unbelievable and hard to imagine as it seems, that was a traumatic event; I had just discovered the obvious differences between male and female, and felt a sense of childish pride in the fact that I was mature for my age, advanced, I felt like my vision of the world had changed, and that very vision had crumbled down into the very pieces I had built up all by myself. I had discovered the differences between Mama and Papa, and could faintly understand the differences between me and the girls in class, and… I lost all of my orientation. I had none for the next few years. I had thought that one of the visible differences between Mama and Papa was that She had bumps on her chest. M didn’t have any; neither did L. Mama looked away embarrassed and pointed at other atrocities when I pointed out why my ‘Cousins’ had man-boobs. She also said I shouldn’t be means to my ‘Cousines’. She spoke to in German as to not offend my American relatives.
To be honest, I don’t know all of these details; they were retold to me by Mama as we had another bout of ‘embarrassing moments’, a ‘tradition; in our family from my great-grandfather. Papa told me he used to do that because he firmly believed in strong family ties, he believe that bringing up close memories kept the bonds stronger; I guess he didn’t realize that most of our family’s close memories were an encyclopedia of embarrassing moments. I don’t think they realized that most of these ‘embarrassing moments’ weren’t mine to be embarrassed about. I do believe that t is among these embarrassing moments that I may find my most traumatic moments, but their beliefs may be justified with the occasional or repetitive presence of a girl or woman, and they were often in the uncomfortable state of undress. And I do not shame to admit that those very situations had me dig farther into my question of Beauty.
***************************************
If a review is too much to ask, then juat rant and critic. You may also directly contact Chi No Hana on her account if you wish.
We hope we haven't scared you off. :D