I was never like the human girls. Never like the ones I see, parading around on the dance floor in their skimpiest attire; showing off their larger breasts, longer legs, rounder hips. Sometimes when I see their bodies and think of my own it makes me feel like a child by comparison. Ten times their age and feeling like a child!
And it’s never as though I wanted my own body to change to match theirs. Oh, sure, a little less in the ear department perhaps; but now that I’m in my three-teens I feel like I’ve really grown into myself. It’s not that my body has changed, it’s that I have changed. I like being a pale wispy slight of a thing. I like my small breasts and hips, my little backside, my slim arms and legs. Deep down the envy was not of the body itself; it was the attention the body received.
Human girls have men on a string. Plural. They wear a strap and a cupcake wrapper and move on the dance floor and know they can have any man in the room do whatever she asks him to. I guess, deep down, I always hoped some man would look at my body in that way; the way it is, the way it has been for a century. To just want me for what I am, what I look like.
It felt really really good to hear that from someone I never expected would say it.
More years does not make one more secure, that much I know. I’m no less in need of an ego boost than anyone else on this big blue-and-green rock. That it was unexpected made it that much sweeter.