I lay naked in the July sun, the weathered picnic table rough against my skin. I knew that I’d sunburn quickly, but I also knew I’d be dressed soon. I’d been here before several times this summer, each time ending the same. I’d leave feeling guilty but excited, remorseful but satiated, and with another feeling that was harder to pin down.

Today was different, though, because suddenly I realized the nature of the feeling I’d been unable to define. It had been most apparent afterwards, but present during. And now, suddenly in the midst of the action, beneath the scorching sun, I understood the feeling. Femininity.

A lanky male teen shouldn’t ever feel feminine, I told myself. Yet, I’d felt fleeting instances before, such as seeing my tanned arm in a car mirror and thinking how the fine sun bleached hairs against my skin could be those of my female cousin. I’d felt it in shower, caressing my soapy buttocks. But today, it was something else that made me feel feminine, and it wasn’t a new physical sensation, for everything I was doing now I’d done all summer. Instead, it was a realization.

My butt hung just over the end of the old picnic table at the empty campsite. Near the far end of the park, there was guaranteed privacy on this weekday. My legs were drawn, and my ankles rested on my cousin’s shoulders. Not hers, his.

My other cousin’s skinny penis was sliding in and out me as he’d done many times, and I could tell by his quickening pace that he was about to climax. Looking forward to feeling the twitching that would signal the release of his semen inside me, for the first time it was apparent to me that his body thought I was female. His brain was telling him he was coupled to a gangly sweaty boy, but his primal core was convinced it was attached to a real female, and was preparing to try to impregnate her.

As he pushed as deep as possible and paused, I felt his penis pulse rhythmically, as if growing and shrinking cyclically. I never felt the ejaculate until he’d withdraw, but I knew it was being deposited. I knew the sperm would start wriggling in search of the egg they’d never find. I knew I’d feel warm and squishy after I’d put my shorts back on. I knew that hours from now the thought that his sperm were still inside me would make me horny again and that I'd need to masturbate. I knew I’d have to wash my own semen-stained underware to keep my mom from asking questions.

And I knew I’d always be “the girl” when we had sex.