021 – My boy dreams: first – the long children and youth stockings

Monday April 14, 2014

First – the long children’s and youth stockings

"Good morning, my dear son. Yesterday I bought a liter of skimmed milk for us, take it here, it is warm, and I have already turned on the stove, you got wood from the forest. Thank you, it’s nice that you can do everything. Even though you didn’t cause all this misery and have a lot to do with school yourself. ”

After all, I am in the Quarta class and am learning – trying to learn – English among other important things.

My mother and I are sitting alone in our kitchen on this cloudy November morning with rain gusts, because my father has not yet returned from the war, we do not even know where he is or whether he is still alive. No news, no mail. I write this down decades later, and some things may sound very strange.

Breakfast, bread with beet syrup or "Zap", as we called this sticky spread at the time. And an apple. At school I get an apple and a few leaves of Rapunzel salad from ours garden behind the house, in a sheltered place.

I’m going to go to class soon, and I’m a little afraid of the cold in my thin clothes. "Don’t you have a thick coat for me? I mean for winter, “I ask grumpily. But she shakes her head, smiling, yes she can still do that in this gloomy time after the great war and in all the hardships, and that makes my life a little easier – she smiles in my face.

"I just bought long trousers for you, patched them up, and now they’re usable. She is three houses down the street from the people, the son has grown out. What do you want for your birthday? There is hardly anything, you can see it, but maybe. "

"You know, actually I don’t like long pants. do you also have a belt for your pants? I don’t want braces, they cling to my shoulder. Besides, I don’t like to wear these puffy pants, they’re ugly. ”Oh, how I can think of something that is ugly in these short times.

"And what do I want? I have long thought that I would like to wear long stockings again, they are more comfortable than these long puff pants. It’s been three years since I had the last. But maybe that’s an impossible wish, where could you get it from? ”

"You are now 13, there are only a few boys left. "

"In our class, yes, two of my friends too."

"Wants to see if I can do something. Mine will be too big for you. "

And now is this birthday. I’m 13 years old. In the morning I stand in the bathtub where I took a cold shower. I love to be hardened, cold showers, cool skin, often thin clothes, yes, eat little, outdoor sports. With my skin still wet, I look at my body in the mirror that hangs opposite the tub. My body, "I am Stefan, this is my body". I like him, I love him, because he is beautiful – as someone said to me recently: "You are beautiful, don’t you know that?"

Sometimes you have to be told that so that you can make love, respect yourself. You need that especially as a child. Am I still a child? Now at 13?

"I am Stefan, this is my body, my beautiful body. “- I say that quietly to myself. Is that still a child’s body? Anyway, I can’t find any hair down there, nor do I long for them, what are they there for? It would make my body a little ugly, I think. I don’t like this growing up. I like myself the way I am. I am "a big child", as the others say, but I am one of the smaller ones in class. I want to stay a child, I have no desire to grow, but what can I do??

With one finger I draw on the body what the stockings will be like, the garters, the girdles to hold them – my mother actually put this on the early birthday table for me, she got what I want – I love her for that, and anyway – she’s a big woman!

"Oh, I understand what your wishes are, I also like these clothes," she says after the congratulatory kiss and my cry of joy. "How did you do it?" I ask. The two pairs of stockings are made of cotton, luckily not of wool, it scratches the skin so I wouldn’t have wanted them, and she knows that.

“My friend N. has two big children, son and daughter, and they had all of that from before. She gave it to me and I stuffed something on it. and now everything is fine, isn’t it? ”I fall around her neck and am touched so that a few tears come to me. – THAT are my dreams, for years it seems to me, always.

A brown pair, like earth, and a light, beige pair put them down for me, a candle, a few cookies, baked by myself. a photo book about the beauty of human bodies, taken by famous photographers, it is nothing new, but what is there at that time. How these stockings hang over the table for so long! Looks very special, just the sight makes me very warm. And a little ashamed, wrapped in white paper, the waist belt, a white garter belt, on which. oh there is nothing there! "How am I supposed to fasten the stockings, didn’t you get a halter at all? Don’t you have any yourself? "

"Wait. If you want to put them on to school today, you can’t tie them up, you have to roll them down a little, then hold them. ”I imagine how they are curled up over the knee and how the bare skin up to the short pants legs is. "And we’ll see later."

As a small child, like all children, I always wore long stockings, at least in the cold seasons. There were one or two on each stocking at the top white Buttons sewn on. And a perforated elastic band was tied to it, which hung on a camisole, so the stockings held and did not slide down. “Toddler stuff” I think today. But from ten there was no more for me until I had the wish the other day. Why? They were cozy, more comfortable than long pants.

But now these tapes were missing to hold! What now? So as advised, roll down. My knees are covered, and – I am amazed: they look so beautiful in the brown stockings, I love my knees. Now I know what I wanted long socks for, after all these years, to protect and decorate my precious knees.

But I always have to pull them up, they slide.

"I see you love your body," said my mom once, "and if I can, I want to support you there." Now I am wearing shorts made of red and white striped fabric – maybe it’s a little too wide – and above a gray, woolly sweater. And the brown stockings – again the tears come with emotion – but then I go out and meet a few other people in my class. Few wear long pants, most shorts or – the girls – dresses, and most warm coats over them. And almost all of them, of course, wear long stockings, in this cold wind today, it was like that in the icy winter of 1946/47.

Nobody notices my joy, I say it’s my birthday, I had invited a few children for this afternoon a few days earlier.

The sports lesson is about running and jumping, outside in the school yard, and I am very happy that I can roll my stockings down to my feet. The others do that too. We don’t have to sweat like the boys in long pants.

In the afternoon I put on the beige stockings, even without buttons! Now I have time to enjoy: I slowly pull the stocking over my leg and pull it as high as it is long, over my knee and on. The pleasure now comes: I rub my hands over my leg, over my stocking and – I don’t know how to say it: I feel my hands on my leg, I feel my leg with my hands, I feel the slight roughness of the stockings , slowly stroke up and down again, I am completely immersed in my living leg. entirely in the shape of the leg and hands. Again I feel: I am Stefan, here I am Stefan, just me. This is my leg, Stefan’s leg. It is beautiful and a special part of my body. AND the knees! Something so special!

I go back satisfied and show myself, "Now everything is perfect, complete," I say. In slippers. the light, beige stockings, coming out of the red checkered trousers at the top, above the gray sweater. THAT is the clothes I love about myself. I pull up a trouser leg and show how it is underneath. It’s fun and the others giggle – why don’t I know, maybe they have the fun as I do.

And rub your legs again, the feeling is even finer, my mom looks and is happy.

"In frosty weather, you will pull thick wool socks over it," she says. One of the boys brought me some, "my sister knitted for you." They are black with a few gray cross rings, stripes so to speak. I think that’s wonderful, but at some point I should tell my sister to knit red rings next time. I like vivid colors.

Anja asks me, "would you like to look like a girl?" I’m embarrassed and squirming, "yes, that too, because girls are beautiful and have beautiful things on. Yes, I also want to look like a girl, the beige stockings do something, right? ”

Then she asks, "Would you like to put on a dress, a skirt?" The other boys are even more embarrassed, they look very stiff, look somewhere else. As I nod quietly, Anja takes a light gray dress from a bag she had brought and hands it over to me. "Put it on, right here," she says carefully. I take off my sweater and the dress. "Now you have to take off your pants too, otherwise you won’t have the right feeling that we girls have," she says. Then she ties a colorful cloth around my neck. "Now you’re really chic. And stay a boy – I’ve never seen a boy in girl clothes! But it’s nice, really cute, I mean. You’re looking great. I like that. ”And my mom likes it too,“ you look cute, ”she says in her school English.

I am very embarrassed about the dress, but it is a good feeling. Now my legs are as light as I never have in boys’ clothes. It’s strange not to have anything between your legs, just air. I look at her gratefully, "But you have to tell me afterwards." Too bad, I think. but when else could I put the dress on. We have a vegetable garden behind the house, there is also a bench, and we go downstairs and the wind blows under my skirt – "Yes, that’s how you girls do it," I say, and I keep the dress skirt with me both hands firmly. Before we went downstairs, I put on sturdy shoes and I struggled so that nobody could look under my dress, so I’m ashamed. The other boys look as if casually and quickly away.

Because now I’m very shy that my garters could be seen, why is that? If I have this shame, why do I want to put on a dress? "Why do you girls want that?" One of the boys says, "I don’t understand all of this, I would never put on a dress – the high stockings are different, they are all on, but a dress?" Anja says, " we girls don’t know it any other way. But I too am shy and ashamed when the others can see the edge of the stockings and the halter. And the flashing wire loops. I also hold my dress when there is a storm. But that’s how it is if you’re a girl – or want to be one, ”she grins.

Back in the house, we all sit on the carpet and don’t play human-annoyed. I have a lot to do to ensure that my dress stays on properly, a dress is a different kind of clothing than pants, I think. I would never go out on the street like that, .

but . As it is dark in the evening, we go out into the street, and the dress blows around and sometimes flips up and I have trouble holding onto it – Anja too.

In those years I almost never wore long trousers but only shorts and my beloved stockings, some long enough to cover the hip joint.

I like to play with my clothes. For a few days I wore very short pants and very long socks, another time pants that reached almost down to my knees, and I just secured the socks with a wide elastic band that was wrapped around my thighs. "How people had it fifty years ago," said my mom.

Many years later I give this woman a transcript, "You are a sissy boy, sissy boy you call your peculiarity in America," "What is that peculiarity?" I ask. As always, I wear long stockings like a girl today, and thoughts about my golden youth in girlish clothes delight my soul. And today I dream that I would have worn skirts in my youth.

The woman says, “A sissy boy is a boy or a man who also wants to live the girl side in his nature, is open to it and longs for it, at least sometimes, and then he puts on girl’s clothes, sometimes," she looks at me, "or even always. "Oh, if only that woman had told me that on my 13th birthday. Then I would have understood something and would have lived my life easier, I would not have had a guilty conscience again and again that I was wrong – or something. I could have fully accepted and enjoyed it.

Then I found out that a lot of boys and men have something of the sissy about them, but they don’t like it. The woman and the girl are a way of being human, which seems to us more real, more honest, because of that .

And if something in life seems wrong and burdens us, especially in the past, in childhood and youth, then we experience it in a better way in our imagination, then we gold-plate the youth and replace this program with the old – maybe really experienced – programs. This is now a skillful way of the soul to heal itself again and again, these are the tasks of past fantasies, self-healing powers. And for me that is my strength.


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Christina Cherry
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