THE BOY WITH HIPS
One of the worst things to own as a man is a rather prominent posterior (Ass)
It is a magnet for ridicule. Makes you a marked man in the society, with many insults flowing your way. With a large posterior comes a rather ‘feminine’ waistline, compounding your troubles four-fold.
I have never understood why men find it hard to accept life as a Spectrum. That you must live withing a narrow frame of expectations, outside of which you are openly and covertly viewed in disdain.
High school is the Pinnacle of such torture. Boys judge you based in how tall you are, how broad your shoulders are set, the hairs on your chin, cheeks, chest or groin, the prominence of your Adams’s apple and Bass. It’s one madhouse in there! Males trying to find their place amongst themselves, a hierarchy of sorts.
Turning up for Firm one registration at 4'5" was not exactly fun. I was short, unable to fit in most trousers my waist size. I had to get custom made ones from the closest major town, Thika. This was but the beginning of a series of embarrassments. I’d have boys peeping at me while I changed, whistling as I walked past a class of senior students, or whenever I was in games attire.
In my naivety and desire to prove myself, I joined the Drama Club and was assigned a leading role in the then play, overshadowing many who’s turned up for the auditions. This would lead to what I consider as the height of my harassment and objectification. I was assigned a female character, to play the wife of the lead Actor. All went in fine until after our measurements were taken and costumes delivered.
Having a waistline size of 31", my hips were 34. This played out in the open as I was straddled in a flowing dress, fitting in all aspects of it. The amount of excitement it elicited in the school was more like a uproar at every turn. Boys sneaking out of class in the guise of relieving themselves just to find their way to the Rehearsal hall and stare at us through the missing window panes.
To have to stage the play in front of the whole school was a nightmare! All way flowing well until the moment I stepped into the stage. Boys cheered, they called, they shouted, they whistled. My name was called out from the furthest corners. I nearly pissed myself. The play had to pause for five minutes before the teachers git the students to calm down. We ran the whole show in Grace, receiving a standing ovation at the end.
Immediately after, mobs of boys made for the stage, asking for the school photographer (I don’t know why he had to be present that day) to have me at the center of each snap he captured. I was asked questions, spanked by passing boys who’d then make away quickly. What saved me was the Deputy School Perfect making for my station and pulling me away towards the other actors, who then had me safe behind them until all the rest we’re safely back to their duties.
College was no better, custom men’s trousers hardly fit. I resorted to unisex clothing and a little of ladies’ wear. My waist was now 32–33, hips at 35, thighs larger than I was used to, having gained over a foot in height since Form 1. I was sneered at by those “macho” men in our college, whistled at by those rowdy UoN goons. It was a chapter of my life filled with fear and shame.
I would sneak into the showers earlier than most or late at night. I would get stares from some guys, some actually blocking my way, asking me questions like a lost child in a police station. Tired of hiding my body in suits and official wear, I started doing fitting clothes! Oh! The looks I got! Some ladies and gents in our school called me aside to tell me that I was sending the wrong message to our comrades. I was sidelined and discussed by some, spat on by some guy in the stairs as I made my way up to the Labs in a fitting short on a Friday afternoon.
Would this end? No! It is the same story for a few people I’ve met. Walking into a clothes shop and all trousers and shorts your waist size cannot comfortably contain your thighs and hind. Having to stuck to elastic wear or oversize ones, if not, squeeze yourself into some tight, straight set pair of trousers, with the fear that they’ll burst at the seams, zip will be undone and walk carefully lest you hear a tear or watch the front button ricochet on the pavement.
You are made to feel like an object, a deficient one. To say that my masculinity has been questioned would be akin to proving my existence or schooling years. Jokes from males and females alike! And don’t get me started about men who are obsessed with the junks of fellow men, insisting that they see your bulge as proof of your sex or to disprove their “hypotheses” about men with feminine highlights carry lesser ‘guns’. One actually asked me in college if I’d ever experienced menses. The smug look on his face was revolting.
We’re men, just like the rest of you. Our waists may be rounded, our nipples prominent, chins sharp with less beards, hips bigger than your girlfriend’s and thighs that have you questioning your sexuality but we remain MEN. And the next time a man asks me if I squat when going for a short call, he’ll swallow his teeth in seconds.
