Last night I had a peculiar dream: I was sitting at a desk, a drawing of a pin-up model in front of me. The teacher leaned down before me and asked me how I knew I was a woman.
Of course, in the dream I started rambling about fertility and womb and not having a penis, but the question sort of stuck with me. Such an odd thing to ask. How do I know I’m a woman?
Or, more precisely, when did I know I was a woman?
I’ve always been quite oblivious of my own sex. I grew up with two younger brothers and throughout the early days of my childhood, I basked in the illusion that I was their equal, maybe even their superior. (I was the oldest, after all.)
Then I began school and older boys would stalk me, yell at me, touch me against my…
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