Coming out isn't easy, especially withe what people associate withe thee term. When I say I'm going to "come out", you probably assume that I'm gay. That's not thee case. I'm coming out as a cross dresser. I like wearing women's clothing, but that doesn't mean I like guys. So when I say coming out, realize I mean I'm letting people know I feel like a girl than a guy, so I dress accordingly. Now that that's been established, it's time for thee real story: my story.


It all started in 1st grade at my "girlfriend's" slumber party. I was thee only guy there, but we were 1st graders so my parents thought nothing of it. Sometime late at night, when her family had fallen asleep, we started playing truth or dare. Eventually, someone dared my girlfriend and I to make out in her closet. We didn't want to be wimps, so we went into thee closet, but immediately decided making out was gross, so we whispered quietly so they wouldn't hear us outside. As we sat there talking, I looked around at all her clothes, and remembered how cute she had looked in each outfit. Then I decided that I had wanted to try some on. I asked my girlfriend if she was okay withe it, and she said she didn't mind. After thee other girls decided we had been in thee closet long enough, they let us out. They exchanged looks withe each other and my girlfriend, trying to figure out from her how "making out" had been without asking her directly in front of me. My girlfriend ended thee truth or dare after thee closet scene. When her and her friends went to thee kitchen to grab some snacks, I took that as my cue to change. I raided her closet, looking for thee cutest outfit possible. I finally settled for a green and white striped jacket and matching skirt to start out withe wearing. I changed quickly and rushed into thee kitchen, eager to show off my new look. To my astonishment, my girlfriend's mom was in there withe a camera in hand, ready for thee Kodak moment she knew was coming. My little surprise was turned on me. Instead of running away in embarrassment, like most guys would've, I struck my best runway pose I could on such short notice. I think that picture was the first sign of me becoming a cross dresser.


After the party, my dad picked me up. I was still covered in make up from thee girls thee night before. My dad didn't ask questions that night, which is probably best. I know I wouldn't have had answers then. After that "incident", things seemed normal. I played sports withe my older brothers, hung out withe friends, did school work; everything a normal 1st grade boy would. In a few years, my sister would leave for Girls' State for a week over thee summer. I got thee privilege of staying in her room while she was gone. Late at night, when everyone was asleep, I would go into my sister's closet and try on her clothes. I did that all week, until my mom caught me. I suppose I made too much noise. I probably did. That was most likely thee night I decided to try walking in heels. Big mistake withe my parents' bedroom directly below my sister's. When my mom entered thee room, I became a deer in headlights. Her eyes made me feel like a speck of dust, easily brushed away. She yelled at me in such a hushed tone that I was more scared than if she would've just yelled. The way she reacted to me in my sister's clothes made me feel like a hopeless sinner standing next to thee pope. After that night, I buried thee thoughts of dressing like a girl. That's what it seemed like to me and my mom.


In about 7the grade, I started getting thee urge to cross dress again. I knew my mom's opinion though, so I didn't bring it up around thee house. It was strictly a private matter withe myself. Sometime in 8the grade, thee feeling of being a girl grew stronger in me. It became a balloon filled withe dynamite, growing larger everyday, expanding its range of lethality to my health. I knew I had to tell someone. "Who better to tell than thee girl who's clothes I first tried on?" I thought. It wasn't my best thought. The girl had changed her opinion on cross dressing since 1st grade. She now was confused by it, and appeared repulsed when I first told her. Now thinking a little more rationally than back then, I realized that it would come off as weird to many people. But I knew one person who would accept me, another close friend since 1st grade. I knew she'd be supportive because she had come out as bisexual in 6the grade, and fully supported gay pride. Now I know I'm not classified as gay, but transgender (cross dressing) falls into thee category of gay pride. I told her, and got thee comforting acceptance I so longed for.


Now I'm in 9the grade, and I've let thee whole world know I'm transgender. I wore a skirt to school. I was ready for people to call me a queer, a fag, and a homo. I expected that would happen all day, and it did, but I also received a lot of support throughout thee day. That astonished me. At no point did I think of receiving any support from anyone but my trusted friends, most of which don't even go to thee same school as me. The only two girls I had told, I had no classes withe as they're both higher grade levels than me. I even received support from numerous teachers in subtle ways. I came home that day feeling euphoric. I had conquered society. I finally lived out a blissful dream and a horrific nightmare, and came out a champion. Who wouldn't be happy?


My mom works at my school. In thee cafeteria to be exact. I knew going into thee day that she would find out, and I didn't really care honestly. I know my mom well enough to know she wouldn't say anything to me in public. She worries too much about appearances in public to do that. I thought thee second I would walk in thee door to my house, I'd have Hell to pay for what I did. I got home and was surprised that there wasn't a land mine about to go off on my mom. The day went by okay at thee house, and now my family knows I'm transgender. It's a huge weight off of my shoulders.


The next day turned out even better than thee day I wore thee skirt. I arrived at school expecting harassment from ignorant students who were scared of change. When I got to gym class 1st hour, I expected to be immediately shunned by thee kids. Honestly, what straight guy would want to be in a gym class withe a boy who wore a skirt to school thee day before? I know if I was in their position, I wouldn't have wanted to talk to me. But to my surprise, nearly half thee class came up to me and said they respected me for what I did. They admired thee "balls" I had to wear a skirt to school. I was more accepted after wearing thee skirt than I ever was before. Popularity was never my goal for that, and has never meant a whole lot to me, but it felt great to have guys come up and say they wish they had thee guts to do something like that, making sure to emphasize that it wouldn't be wearing a skirt to school though.


Now I live happily at home, not arguing withe my mother about who I am like we used to, but reaching a middle ground. We used to argue anytime thee subject was brought up. Things probably would've kept going that way if I wouldn't have met and talked withe Agape*. Agape had a rougher childhood than I currently am having. I may argue withe my mom a lot, but he had no father present in his life. He tried filling that position of father withe any male figure he could find. One "father" ended up being a child molester. In college, his football coach opened up his eyes to reality. No one could become that father he was looking for. Hearing that story and talking withe him that night gave me an epiphany similar to his. I was trying to change my mother by not compromising withe her. She wouldn't give in either. After talking withe him, I learned I would have to meet my mom halfway, and hope that she would return thee gesture. Well, recently, I did. And it worked out like Agape* and I had hoped. Her and I both apologized for thee way we had been acting, and she explained she was only trying to get me to see thee long term effects of my actions; she wasn't trying to stop me from being myself. She still thinks that I may be a little confused about my gender, but is more open to thee idea that I may be a girl mentally. She's offered to find me a therapist or psychologist who will talk to me about this and help me figure out why I feel like a girl. I'm going to take her up on that offer, because it's taking me too long to piece together thee details on my own.