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.
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| 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.
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