Thrill or Danger?

I was facialbook chatting with someone the other day. They asked me some respectful questions, eventually getting to “Is it all worth it?” Still respectful, but it’s here that I pick up the story.

I answered “the jury is still out.” A couple of exchanges after, this person wrote “I dress up, not much more.” I replied “you’re lucky.”

I thought about that conversation today — mulling over it in my head. (And in this way columns are born!) I decided to let my few readers in on that process. You lucky people!

Why, dear reader, do I think someone who “dresses occasionally” is lucky? Am I not luckier, in that I can wear a skirt whenever I please, I have large natural breasts, and am looked upon by many as being a woman?

Nope.

I guess it comes down to “Thrill” vs. “Danger” really.

Right: “Thrill.” When I was crossdressing, both in my early teens and 2008-13, there was an edge of “the forbidden” that made doing it more thrilling. The knowledge that, if I were caught, there would be very nasty consequences (after I told my Wife about me in early May 2012, the consequences were reduced considerably.)

In my early teens, at first I usually dressed in a third floor “store room” separated from the room my brother and I shared by an old sheet nailed over the doorway. (Eventually this became my bedroom.) 99% of the time, I’d only dress if no one was in the house, and were going to be gone for a while. This room had a window facing the small driveway, so I could see if my parents were coming home. Of course, that meant a mad scramble to shed my feminine clothing, hide it, and start doing something else to allay suspicions.

Since when I “came out” to my parents in December 2013, they had NO idea of my activities, I was successful.

That said, my brother caught me twice — both times when experimenting with makeup. I managed to hide the clothes, but couldn’t wash my face in time. My brother would come into the house, charge up the stairs and look for me for whatever reason (usually to torture me.) Both times, I was in the only bathroom, and he burst through the door (the lock was flimsy.) Both times I had to pay dearly for his silence. Again, as my parents suspected nothing, he must’ve kept quiet. That said, after each time he caught me, I didn’t dress for at LEAST a month. I was so paranoid.

Between 2008 and 2011, I kept my slowly increasing women’s clothing collection in a box. As Wife and I moved from a two bedroom house to two rooms in my mother in law’s (MIL) house in 2003, we had a LOT of things that we never unpacked. These were kept in in MIL’s basement. All the boxes had labels. It was a simple matter to empty one box, redistribute the items into other boxes, and put my female stuff in there. The box was a decent size, and labeled “Games (long box.)” On top of that, I put another box that actually had the labeled contents within. They were never found while in the basement, but I held my breath every time MIL went down there.

Still, the “thrill” from 2008-11 was that I may be recognized while out in the world dressed as a woman. For a long time, the monthly TG dance party, Angela’s Laptop Lounge, was held at a restaurant called Shangrila. This was literally next door to the bookstore where I worked. At any time, an employee driving by could’ve spotted me. That danger added just that extra edge.

In March 2014, I started living my Truth full time. While my closest local friends had been informed either in person or by video, most people learned about me by my post on my “guy” facialbook on March 24, 2012, and changing said profile to Sophie. That day, I put myself in “harm’s way.”

“Danger.” I’m sure the readers of this forum know about the violence that faces transgender women. They know about the violence, the hatred, and worse that transgender women face every day.

Every day, I’m afraid to walk out my front door. But I do. Every day I wonder if some Fox News fueled bigot will see me as a threat and shoot me. When I go to the mall, will a bunch of teenage jerks decide that “beating up the tranny” is just the way to prove their manhood and kill some time?

How long before Pence orders people like me into “re-education centers?”

And I can no longer hide my femininity in mislabeled boxes. I was mislabeled for 47 years. There is no going back. No net. I can’t retreat into a safer, male guise. I don’t have one anymore.

“Thrill” implies fun. “Danger” means Fear. That’s the difference.

Be well.

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Tags: crossdressing, featured, Identity, Transgender

Category: Transgender Body & Soul