Swimming means scanty clothing
…which spells out trouble when you’re uncomfortable with your body. And last week I went to swimming pools on two succesive days: first with my closest friends and then to a larger pool party. Everybody knew I was female, but that didn’t mean I was willing to don women’s swimwear.
Luckily, my body image isn’t too bad. My biggest peeve concerns my hips and rear end, but I’m ok as long as I don’t look at them in the mirror. And I love my hairy calves, so I enjoy wearing shorts as long as my family isn’t around: my lovely hirsute legs would disgust them. I rescued a pair of my dad’s old swimming trunks, so dressing from the waist down was easy. That leaves the issue of what to do with The Chest.
Looking back, the solution was easy: I only had to bring along an extra cotton bandage —which is what I bind with— so I could change into it afterwards. That way I could just jump into the pool wearing a big old shirt without my lumpy chest showing. That would have been simple and perfect, although I never exercise while binding: it’s unsafe and uncomfortable. Just chilling in the water would have been ok, probably.
I didn’t have enough time to buy a spare bandage, so I had to improvise. First came my friend’s pool. Since I only had the bandage I was binding with, I took it off so it would stay dry and jumped in. I was fine while in the water, although when I got out my shirt clung to my body (wet t-shirt party, anyone?)
The next day, at the pool party, I took my binder off again but I ended up staying in the shallow end, keeping my chest dry. Luckily, my shirt hid my breasts pretty well. I must have looked odd, though: my unsuspecting classmates kept offering me their extra bikini tops, which was kind but awkward. It’s funny how clueless they are. I thought my binded chest and proud superhairy legs shouted “MAN!” Maybe they just shout “liberated flat-chested woman.” Or “man who would wear a bikini.”