My University Challenge - Going To Live With Three Girls As A Closeted Trans Girl

This story is true and it's the first time I've ever told it to anyone.  Aside from the names that I’ve changed in the interest of confidentiality, this is a genuine autobiographical story.  

Like my other blog entries, I’d like it to be thought of as a ‘tissue of truth’ - some details have faded from my memory but a great deal is still vivid; and I’ve been as truthful as I can in telling it to you here.  

I’d be especially interested in hearing from you with your thoughts about what happened to me in this story.

Student girls celebrating - whilst wearing tights of course.

Introduction

Could I go away to university and live with three girls without giving my obsession away?  I’m fairly sure I might have failed with this one, meaning that there are probably some women out there in the world who believe that I am, or at least was a cross-dresser, or even a closeted trans girl.  I’m not really worried if they do, but it’s strange to think that my whole relationship with tights and women’s clothes might have taken a very different direction if I’d only been more confident and honest during my university days following this particular incident.

To get to the main point of the story, in my second year of college one of my female housemates accused me of:

(i) being jealous of her,

(ii) being jealous because she knew I secretly wanted to be a girl, and 

(iii) of being jealous because she knew I secretly wanted to dress up as a girl

How on earth did this this happen, and how did I react? 

I think I’d better get back to telling you the whole story, right from the beginning:

****

I went away to study at university when I was eighteen and moved into a shared student house straight away, missing out the usual dorms or official accommodation.  This had its advantages as I had to do a lot of growing up very quickly - and it was especially nice to be offered a place in a domestic house along with three girls.

We were all very innocent and fresh-faced, 18 or 19 years old and a long way from home for the first time. Looking back it was a really wonderful experience where we learned how to be independent adults together.

It was purely by chance that I ended up living alongside girls - I was placed in the house by my college’s accommodation office when I phoned up for help.  I went down to look at the house in September before moving in properly at the start of the Autumn Term.  I only knew about the female residents once I’d pitched up on the front door on the weekend before starting term.  It was a wonderful and unexpected surprise that would change my life.

I wonder if the same thing would happen today or if it would be compulsory to have single-sex arrangements for new students.  As it happened, the practicalities of sharing the house as boys and girls were fine - we all had our own private rooms and the house’s living room and kitchen were the only communal areas.  There was even a smaller, separate shower room upstairs on the upper floor that became ‘mine’ whilst the girls used the larger bathroom themselves.

My new housemates were called Martha, Alice and Jane; and we lived together for nearly three years.  They were from similar backgrounds to myself, from different parts of the UK and I quickly came to like them all very much.  I loved Martha like I might do a sister of a similar age.  I was a little less taken with Alice as we were quite different personalities but I had a real soft spot for Jane.  She became my first female friend and I wrongly thought my feelings for her at the time were a bit of a crush.  They weren’t, I just felt very loyal and protective towards her; and the rapport between us was built on a platonic, mutual like and respect. I’d never had this with a girl before, and we quickly became close friends.  We went to the park, to the shops and to the pub together and it never felt odd or forced - we just liked each other a lot.

Of my three female housemates, it goes without saying that Jane was the feistiest, most passionate, the most misunderstood by my other friends and the most beautiful of the three girls I lived with. Jane would also be the girl who’d say those extraordinary words to me to in our second year at college, and in the later part of this entry I’ll describe how that moment came about. 

*****

I didn’t think I’d ever lose touch with the girls after we’d played such a big part in each other’s lives, but of course, I have; and it’s been too long now to suggest meeting them again. I’ve found two of them on Facebook and know we’d get on if we were to meet up and socialise again; but sometimes the past just has to stay another country. 

You see too often the rather sad sight of middle-aged college friends falling in love with the people they used to be, rather than embracing the here and now. My time with Martha, Alice and Jane is best left as a memory, although one I’m happy to let the light in on.

I loved living with the girls - which 18 year boy who’d never had a sister or a girlfriend wouldn’t?

I’d idolised females through my adolescence in the way that boys who’re too awkward and shy to go out with girls for real often do. Women get put on a pedestal and labeled as perfect because nothing has ever intruded into the reality - they’re still just beautiful fantasy figures and not real people. That’s how it was for me at that age as I’d been through the rites of High School without anything more than a kiss and a fumble in a classroom cupboard.

The idea then, of going to live alongside three girls seemed like heaven, and the reality turned out to be pretty close and not just because of my love of all things feminine.

*****

Looking back, living with three girls was really great.  I shared their ups and downs, their occasional boyfriend troubles, their chats where they planned very sensibly for their futures that were not dependant on their husbands, their bad-hair days and their PMT. It was a wonderful life-lesson for a young man on how the fairer sex think; and whilst I don’t kid myself that it made me more feminine or intuitive of female needs, I learned that girls weren’t just female boys.

My impression after a year or so was that women were even more beautiful, sensitive and attractive by their very nature than I’d even dared to think. If possible, they rose even higher in my esteem.

Despite the warnings of some male friends and relations that living with girls would drive me mad, I know it did the opposite. Three years alongside young women made me saner, more balanced, more open, more empathetic and kinder. And boy, did I have fun being close to the contents of three 18 year old girls’ wardrobes!

*****

Did I love seeing them each day? Of course. Did they wear tights a lot? Yes they did, especially the compulsory student uniform of thick wooly ribbed, or black opaque or Alice in Wonderland style stripey ones. They were girls after all, and so of course they were always in skirts, dresses and leggings and all in front of me every day. Wonderful!

I saw the reality again that tights weren’t anything special to a girl - no more than socks were to me. I found myself confronted with piles of washed knickers, vests and tights in the kitchen or having to pass dry pairs of tights or a bra from radiators on the landing to female hands popping out from behind closed bedroom doors. “Thanks sweetie!”

I wasn’t in any way an honorary girl or overly effeminate with them and I didn’t camp myself up at all. I just seemed to fit in alongside them and the girls seemed to trust me. We all became friends and the first year flew by happily. 

After a few months of living together, Jane was sufficiently trusting to sit with me on the sofa dressed in just some black opaque tights and a long t-shirt.  I didn’t see her knickers but I remember spending all evening looking at her tights instead of the TV.  On one occasion she even caught me gawping at her smooth black thighs. I though I’d be in big trouble, but she simply turned back to the TV as before. It clearly wasn’t an problem for her - perhaps she was flattered or amused by my metaphorical tongue hanging out.

*****

I’m proud to say that I never took advantage of the girls’ trust, and there were more than few occasions when I could.  I conspicuously turned my head away once when Alice decided to suddenly lift her dress up in the kitchen one time.  She was using the hem to clean something in her hands and it revealed her legs right up to her knickers. I was embarrassed that she’d been so unguarded in front of me and I forced my head to the side to make it clear I wasn’t ogling her.

Similarly, Jane once plonked herself on a kitchen chair one afternoon with her legs astride the centre. She was flashing everything, wearing her short black ethnic skirt and green and black stripy tights at the time!  Again, I turned my head away before leaving the room. Jane must have known that I'd be able to see up her skirt.  Had she thought it was ok because of her colourful tights - they were stopping me seeing anything more than green and black stripes, but I'd still seen the top of her tights. Wasn't that intimate enough?

God, it was so confusing. I went away from those events wondering if girls routinely let their guard down when there were no boys about. Did they relax in their skirts and allow their knees to separate, knowing that a girl sitting opposite wouldn't want to fix her eyes on her knickers? My wife has subsequently told me that this is not the case and women do no such thing.  But she has told me of moods when she hasn't cared less if anyone has glimpsed up her skirt - it's just too bad of they have.  Perhaps the girls did this too - just let things slide on these odd occasions.  They may even have found it funny.  I'll never know the reason why, but I found it oddly unsexy at the time, like I imagine a brother would feel about catching a glimpse of his half-dressed sister.

*****

The big thing happened in our second year together.  All four of us were on our way home from a trip to the supermarket one cold, wet evening.  Luckily, Alice had a car, (quite a rarity for students in the UK as ownership and insurance is very expensive for younger drivers).  This made our student life together all the more exciting and exotic.  We would sometimes go out on day trips together as a little ‘family’, (shopping malls, cinemas and theme parks) and we’d usually go to the supermarket together every week.  Young people playing at grown-ups.

We were on our way home that particular night when the mood in the car turned sour.  It was over an argument about the shared housework rota.  The debate about kitchen-cleaning schedules, vacuuming and wiping round the bath turned from a heated debate into a proper, more unpleasant row with raised voices.

I must admit I was one of the reasons why it became such a heated discussion, as I had tried to make a rather lame point about boys spending less time in the bathroom and thus needing to do less cleaning there.  This was a bad move, and Jane, ever the most passionate personality decided to fight back her cause with both barrels.

After a minute or so of the exchange, she silened the car.  Not with any bad language, but with the outburst. Here’s a paraphrase of what was said on the backseat of that old VW Polo:

Me - “No Jane you’ve got me all wrong. I’m not putting you down at all, this was just about the cleaning and...”

Jane - “You always reckon you’re so cool with us, and that you’re on our side and everything but you’re not at all. You don’t see us as equals at all”

Me -“That’s unfair - really unfair!  You know I really respect you all, you know I do!”

Jane - “No way, you don’t respect us! I know you want something else. I know that you’re jealous of us, and you’ve just proved it!”

Me -“What do you mean?”

Jane - “I think you’re jealous of us because you’re not a girl.  That’s why you’re being argumentative and fighting against us so much here!  I think you secretly want to be a girl - you want to be in our bathroom and dress like us -  that’s what this is really all about.”

****

I was so shocked I literally couldn't speak.  There was a nervous giggle from Alice and Martha in the front seat but then there was silence all the way home.

And the next day.

And even the next. 

****

Talk about a (very awkward) elephant in the room.  I couldn't bring myself to look at Jane or say another word to any of the girls after that.  I felt awful - really shaken up, and part of me felt as though I was about to be placed in a really uncomfortable and embarrassing position.

If I had pursued the conversation, Jane could have said something that  directly accused me or proved that I was a transvestite.  I have no idea how she’d leapt to that conclusion, but she’d certainly hit a raw nerve.

Despite all my secret cravings to do with cross-dressing, when the possibility of it being openly discussed by someone else started to approach, I felt ashamed and terrified that anyone might know the truth, even these three lovely girls whom I really cared a great deal about.

Yet, a bigger part of me longed to come out, to finally, there and then, tell the story of how I’ve wanted to wear tights since I was five.  How I’d cried sometimes with longing, after seeing all three of the girls go out to college or out for the evening beautifully dressed and made-up and known that I had to follow after them in my dowdy jeans.

If I told them the truth would it be all over the campus tomorrow?  Would being honest ruin our relationships with each other in the house?  Would they think I’m a pervert and believe that I’ve had myself housed with them to leer at them and snatch their underwear?

Or would they take me home, feel sorry for me and invite me to wear anything I like?  My mind conjured intoxicating fantasies of my housemates sympathising with me so much so that they one ton a mission to dress me up, allowing me to wear anything they like so long as I keep in the house and share the secret with them.

I really didn't know what was going to happen next, but I spent the following days in worried, shadowy silence - endlessly going through these alternative responses in my head, wondering if I was about to be humiliated or given the keys to a kingdom that I’d fantasised over for so, so long.

*****

I wish I could write the end of this story and resolve it, but of course, there is no resolution.

I never mentioned it again, neither did Jane or the other girls, and after a week or so, life went on. 

*****

I've never found out what prompted Jane to accuse me, but I have a few hunches:

Perhaps I'd gawped at her legs once too often and she'd just made a wild guess.

This is very unlikely, and it's a big jump for a girl to think a guy's a cross-dresser from out of the blue. There must have been something else to prompt her.

Had something in my body language or my attitude suggested that I was a trans? 

If so, what on earth was it, because I couldn't risk others seeing it.  I was always very careful not to give too much away, or so I thought.  It was impossible to believe that I’d said something ‘incriminating’.

Perhaps Jane had spotted some tights in my room, as I did have some pairs  but kept them hidden in a locked case.

They only came out after dark with the door shut, but it was remotely possible, I considered.

Had Jane, or one of the other girls somehow managed to spot a worn pair under my bed, or glimpsed me through a gap in the curtains dressed up one night?

I hadn't dressed in tights that often in the house. When I did, it was in one of my own pairs, and always in secret in my locked room.  But, once or twice I had picked up a pair of one of the girls' particularly interesting tights (red and black stripes!) from a washing basket or clothes pile, simply to stretch them over my hand and give them a closer look with my 'expert' eye.  This was always when they were out though and I tried not to leave any trace.  Also, I didn’t ever take any of their clothes into my room.

I still don't know, and probably never will find out the full story behind my near miss. This was one of the few that I've had and it was definitely the strangest and most surprising.

*****

Eventually, a year or so later I moved out and into a house with some of my male mates. It was fun sharing with boys too and we did argue less, but it wasn’t as special as the first house had been.

By the time I left, Alice had decided to leave as well and Martha had virtually moved in with her boyfriend.  Most upsetting was the fact that Jane and I never recaptured the trust and care that had shaped our first years of friendship.  Jane is still one of the best friends I’ve ever had in terms if close comradeship and emotional shorthand with someone, and I do miss her and think about her fairly regularly all these years later.

She was also my first female friend, and the first friend I made as an adult on my own terms, without the external pressures of home, parents or peer groups.

We were friends because we liked each other, not because we had to be. 

I do wish we could have stayed close for longer because I was genuinely very fond of her, and I would have loved her to be one of my children’s Godmothers.  She'd have been great.

I last saw her in 1994.  I found out from Facebook that she’s had quite a difficult time and I have the occasional day when I resolve to get in touch, but I always think twice later.  Surely she’d have contacted me if she’s in that much need of a chat? As a married man with two children I have to be careful how it looks, too.  My wife wouldn't mind and I know that she trusts me, but I do think there's something unsettling in going back through the wardrobe and into the Narnian world of university when you're twenty five years older.

I Want To Wear Tights In The School Play Too!

Part Two: A Boy Gets The Chance That I Never Had - To Wear Tights In School

About ten years ago I was at a dinner party with some friends.  One of the guests was a woman I hadn’t met before - a friend of a friend who was in her late twenties and training to be a primary school teacher.  She was talking about some of the amusing things that had happened to her so far.  There were the usual embarrassing episodes involving small children, but her last story stopped me in my tracks: 

A few weeks before she had invited her class of seven year olds to come in fancy dress for a special Costume Day at the end of term.  The theme was Favourite Book Characters. 

The day had been a great success apparently, until she realised that one of the boys was missing halfway through the morning.  After a quick search of the usual places, she came across him in the cloakroom area by the classrooms in a terrible state, apparently crying big, nearly-hysterical sobs.  He was normally well behaved and well-balanced and so his behaviour was mystifying.  The teacher was terrified that he’d been beaten or bullied by one of the other children. 

It took her ages to calm him down and she was still really worried, but he wouldn’t say a word about what had happened.  He went back into class but she’d found him crying again a few minutes later.

As you can appreciate, this wasn’t a very funny anecdote and the table had fallen quiet as the lady told her story.  She carried on, and I wondered how the story was going to end up - I assumed that there would be a light-hearted pay off to make this a suitable story for a dinner party.  There was no immininant relief though as the young woman continued to tell us of the schoolboy’s distress, undeterred by the sudden hush of her fellow guests.

She explained that she was about to ring home as she was so worried about this little boy.  In one last attempt to try and calm him down, she told him he’d be sent home early if he couldn’t tell her what was wrong.  This made him worse - he said he didn’t want to go home and didn’t want today’s special day to end.

Why then was he so upset? As his teacher she needed to know, it was very important for her to make things better.

She could see that something had really got to this boy, and, eventually he asked if he could tell her a secret.  She was worried that he’d done something awful, but, after about much coaxing he admitted he was upset because of James.

James was another boy in the class.  What had he done?  Had James hurt him or said something horrible?  This didn’t make sense as James was another quiet boy.  What had he done to have upset the other boy so much?

Again, after much coaxing, in more floods of tears, the boy admitted it was James‘ pirate costume that had upset him so much, because James was wearing red and white stripy tights under his long shorts.  James was dressed as a sort of Disneyesque, Jim Hawkins pirate, apparently.

It tuned out the traumatised boy was upset because he wanted to wear tights as well. 

He was too scared to ask, but too upset to let the day pass by without getting the chance to wear them too.  Not seeing a way out of his dilemma he had collapsed in tears in the cloakroom.

It was interesting to note the fellow dinner guests’ reactions - they were equally divided.  Some (mostly the women) making an “Awwww” (a reaction to a cute puppy), whilst others (mostly male, but some women as well) went “Eugghhh” (a reaction to something nauseous).  My wife asked the woman to say what the boy’s parents thought.  The teacher’s response moved me incredibly and seemed to entertain most of the guests too. She finished the story:

“I didn’t tell his parents, I didn’t need to. I left it to him and he wore tights for the rest of the day before taking them off before he went home. I’ve never seen a kid so happy!”

There was more reaction among the dinner guests:

Had she given him a pair of girls tights?

She couldn’t do that to a boy!  What would his parents and friends say? 

Aww, what a kind idea!

She went on:

“Because he was so upset I went and found some spare tights from the Uniform Cupboard - we keep stuff like school sweatshirts, shorts, socks, tights  and hairbands in the school office to sell to parents or use in emergencies.  I got them out and put them on the middle of the benches in the cloakroom, looking really obvious so no one could miss them, thinking as well that I would put them away later if he decided not to touch them.”

“I didn’t want to force him and I couldn’t give them to him, or I’d have been accused of being weird.  So, I just left the tights lying there by his side where he could ‘find’ them if he wanted to.  He was still crying and so I told him to get himself together in his own time.  I dropped him a hint but I didn’t think he’d take the bait.   I told him that there were always things being left behind there during school, but they didn’t need to be put back in the lost property box until just before the end of the day.  If he wanted to go back to the cloakroom and pop into the toilet just before then end of school I’d let him go all by himself, he just need to ask me later.”

“I thought he’d leave them and carry on crying, but, no!  Lo and behold, the kid gets the hint and comes back five minutes later wearing the red school tights under his shorts!  Jumped at the chance and smiled all day long, and none of the other kids said anything.  He took them off and put them back just like I said before going home.  I haven’t heard a thing from anyone, except the boy himself who had written ‘Thank You Merry Christmas’ nine times in his card to me!”.  More laughs.

Secretly, I wanted to thank her for being so perceptive and for giving that boy the chance I never got: To wear tights in a safe acceptable way without him having to worry about anyone’s reactions.

Instead, I kept silent and tried to avoid eye-contact with my wife who had nudged me as soon as tights had been mentioned earlier.  She had loved the story and told me later that she thought that poor boy sounded like me.  If she only knew the half of it!

*****

It’s certainly very unlikely, but I must say it!

If you’re a young man of about 20 who once borrowed some tights to wear for a school costume day - I am happy and more than a little jealous on your behalf!

I hope that you’ve had even better experiences since and thank you for reading the blog.

I Want To Wear Tights In The School Play!

A Boyhood Memory of Tights - The Awakening

I went to a small village primary school in England and had a very contented early childhood alongside both of my parents.  It was just me and them, with no siblings to disturb the domestic bliss of those carefree days.  I had grown up and gone off to school without any doubts or worries.  But, by the time I was five years old and in my first year at school I had developed a strong urge and a secret longing to wear some tights - although not to dress as a girl.

Five seems a very young age to have such strong and clear thoughts and feelings, never mind to start wanting to cross-dress, but I can genuinely remember how and when these cravings started to form.

Like in thousands of schools across the UK in the 1970s and 80s, all of the girls at mine had to wear thick cotton tights as part of their school uniform.  Today, girls usually have a choice in most schools and can wear trousers if they want, but back then in the 1970s each girl would arrive dressed in dark green from head to toe - jumper, skirt and tights in the winter or green gingham dress and white socks in the summer - without fail.  Trousers were not allowed.

They would sit next to me all day long with their coloured legs beside me, and this began to my pique my interest.  I can remember my curiosity growing about why they had green legs emerging from under their skirts.  They weren’t wearing socks and their legs looked nothing like my grey trousers.  The girls at school were wearing something new.

Outside playing in the schoolyard, I got even more inquisitive when watching the girls jumping over a skipping rope or hanging from the monkey bars.  In their carefree moments playing like this, I’d get a sudden glimpse and see their tights stretching up to their waists and I understood for the first time what tights were, and why girls wore them: To cover their legs, keep them warm and look very pretty.  At five years old I reached a very definitive conclusion:  I liked tights very much, especially how they looked.

*****

This revelation might make even more sense if I reveal a a little more background information about myself to add some context.  I didn’t have a sister and I’d had no close contact with female friends my own age.  I was a little boy seeing and discovering what tights were for the first time.  I realised straight away that they were only for girls as none of the boys at school ever wore them, and I’d never been given them to wear myself; and so how you would put them on and wear them was still a wonderful mystery.

I had seen my mother and other women wearing tights before, and I had heard the word, but as these women were grown-up, their tights were proper nylons - pantyhose, and I hadn’t connected these sheer, light brown things that my mother pinned on the washing line and wore with her daytime dresses with what the girls in my little school wore everyday.

My fascination with the school tights grew but I don’t remember feeling conflicted or upset about them only being for girls.  I just seemed to accept that they weren’t a part of my life as I was a boy, and that was that.  I was quite happy to just to glimpse the girls in their dark green tights every day, as they looked really nice.  I never wanted to wear them, undoubtedly because I didn’t know that I could.  That was about to change.

*****

Within a few months of starting school a little Christmas play turned my young life upside down.  On the day of the play’s dress rehearsal we were told by our teacher to line up and collect our costumes.  I was playing a toy footballer, and had been quite happy with the part that I’d got - most of the boys in the class were identically cast - essentially as characters in the background.  I joined the line of my classmates and was the first boy to collect his outfit - a football  or soccer shirt and shorts.  This seemed fine, the right costume for my part in the play.

I remember that I’d got the particular part because of where I used to sit in the classroom.  The teacher had simply gone around the room with her finger pointing at us one by one - reading out the male roles in the play from her list and matching them to the boys in the room as she went round from left to right.  The boy next to me was cast as a Toy Soldier, the other boy on my table, Robert, was an to be one of the Ice-Elves.

It’s amazing that I can remember all of this so clearly, but this moment in primary school is incredibly vivid in my memory, even after so many years. 

With my costume on the table in front of me, I waited for my friends to come back with theirs.  I can’t describe my shock when the boy next to me, Oliver, went up to the teacher and returned to his place.  He was holding a long red tunic with gold buttons, a tall black hat and a dangling pair of white tights.

Why is Oliver carrying a pair of white tights?  That’s not right - he’s not a girl.

I waited for the teacher to call him back to correct her mistake, but she didn’t. Oliver sat down and waited for the other costumes to be given out, and he seemed oblivious to what he’d just been handed by our teacher.  I was starting to get confused.  Then, Robert, the other boy on my table came back with a blue and white outfit, with, of course, some dark blue tights.  I can remember that his tights were brand new and still in their packaging, unlike the white ones Oliver had carried awkwardly back to his seat.

My eyes fixed on the packet that was now just a metre away from me on our rectangular table.  This was the first time that I’d ever seen tights as they could be found in the shops.  The packet was like a little plastic bag, but it was transparent so you could see the new, folded blue tights inside. Brilliantly, Robert picked the packet up and put it down by his other side, meaning they were now really close to me.

This time the packet was the other way up and there was a coloured piece of cardboard on the front.  As well as some text, there was a photo of a girl on the cover, wearing the blue tights and a vest, standing smiling at the camera.  I noticed straight away how nice and cosy her tights looked without a dress or a skirt.  This was the first time I’d seen tights worn this way, as a girl would normally wear them whilst dressing in the morning.  I felt a pre-pubescent rush of excitement (yes, really, at age five!) and couldn’t take my eyes from the packet in front of me.

After all of the class had been given their costumes for the play, we were were asked to put them on and get dressed for the rehearsal.  I did, but I was transfixed and confused by what the boys on my table had been asked to wear.  I expected the teacher or a parent to come in and stop them - they were doing something they shouldn’t and surely this would be seen as sissy, like a boy wearing a dress?  We’d all laughed at playground jokes about that.

But, instead of being asked to stop, Oliver, on my right, simply got dressed and pulled the tights on. I recall that he did it expertly, and I imagine that he had a sister who he was copying.  Robert though, was stuck.  He had put on the elf’s tunic which functioned like a short dress, but seemed unsure about the packet that he had in his hand.  He, like me had probably never seen a sister wearing tights before, or perhaps he didn’t know whether to open up the new packet without the teacher’s permission.  Fortunately, a minute or two later our teacher came over and helped Robert out.  She opened the tights, pulled and smoothed out the legs and helped him pull them up. I was absolutely amazed by this, and must have stared at him for the next two minutes. 

I seemed to be the only one in shock. The other boys and girls in the class carried on getting ready and no one mentioned anything about the fact that there were boys wearing tights.  

I quickly grasped what had just happened, that it was ok for them to wear them today because it was just for the play.  We were pretending, and so the normal rules about clothes had been forgotten. I went home that night with one thought in my mind - would I be chosen to wear them next?  I prayed that I would, so that I would get to wear some tights myself.

*****

That day in 1976 was a turning point as I realised for the first time that I could wear tights.  It was possible and I didn’t have to be a girl to wear them - boys were allowed to wear them too - but only in a play.  If a new school play came along I would be allowed to wear tights in front of everyone and nobody would care.  I just needed to be picked out by my teacher.  But, I would have to wait for the chance to come along, as instinctively I knew not to ask my teacher or my mother if I could wear tights in a play myself.  I felt a fear of the consequences then, as now.

*****

I’ve often wondered what would have happened if I’d found either the courage or been naive enough to ask to wear a pair of tights myself, back then at five years old.  If I’d made my way to my kind teacher’s desk, and asked politely if I could simply have a costume with tights too because I felt upset and left out.

Would she have sent me home in disgrace and had a very worried conversation with my parents whilst I waited nervously outside the classroom, dreading the humiliation and the scolding on the journey home? Or would she simply have said yes, thought it was cute and brought some tights out of her costume box for me to put on straight away?  Just how fast would my heart have beaten had she looked at me and said:

Oh, bless! Of course you can wear some if you really want to. I’ve got another Snow-Elf costume here that Lisa was going to wear, but she’s poorly and can’t some into school this week. You can be an Elf instead.  There’s some new tights here that I bought for her, just let me find them in my bag. Ah, here we are, you need the blue ones.  Let me just open the packet...here we go.  Now, let’s just pull the legs out for you. Do you want me to help you put them on?

Perhaps she might just have said that, and made the next 30 years of my life very different.  I’ve often wondered if this early moment of fulfilment would have cured me of the obsession there and then, had it actually happened. 

Probably not, but it would have been the best Christmas present of my life!