It all started when I was little, about five years old. My parents would take me and my sisters to the beach in the summer. I would wonder why I was dressed differently than my sisters, why I had to go bare-chested and they didn't. Why I had to wear trunks and they didn't. Beach days were always so confusing for me because of that. Even when I got a little older I'd get the urge to keep my chest covered when I was around my sisters. I often reached for my shirt to put on when I got too uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed by my body, I just felt like I should be like my sisters. They never got to go around with a bare chest. Sure I always had my share of fun on beach days, but I was always wondering where my cute little swim outfit was. I never said a word of it though.
Another part about growing up with all sisters that made me realize something was different about me was being around relatives. My sisters were always told what "pretty little girls" they were. I was always called a "handsome young man." I was always disappointed when I heard that because I wanted to be called pretty too. I didn't understand why a boy couldn't be called pretty. I know I shouldn't have gotten so troubled by a word, but I wanted so much just one time, have someone call me pretty. But nobody ever did. Handsome. Always handsome.
Mum would always take me and my sisters shopping for clothes and shoes. We would go to the girls clothes first for my sisters and I'd watch my sisters pick out dresses and outfits for themselves. My eyes were always so drawn to the clothes they'd pick out. They all looked so pretty. I remember one time in particular when I was so interested in this skirt my mum found for my sister. She held it up to my sister's waist to check the size against her and I was staring at the skirt. I remember wishing mum would hold it against me that way. I wanted so bad to try it on. I was jealous seeing my sister so happy that she was getting that skirt. It should have been my skirt.
We were whisked away and into the boy clothes. They were all the same boring shirts and trousers. I wanted to cry because I didn't see any skirts to try on in this section. I wanted to cry even more when mum held a stupid button down shirt up to me. I hated that shirt and those stupid trousers. I hated all those clothes mum picked out for me. They were all so boring. Not a single pretty garment in the bunch. When we got home I sat on my bed with my new stupid boy clothes and I started to cry. Tried my best to hide those tears when mum walked into my room. I smiled at her a big bright smile and thanked her for my new clothes. It hurt to do so. I still wanted my skirt, but I kept it all inside.
Coming of age into puberty was a bloody nightmare for me. It was when I really realized I was different and when I realized I didn't want to be different. I hated feeling the way I felt about myself. I hated knowing that I wasn't comfortable in my own skin. I wasn't right. I wasn't the way that I should be. But I couldn't say anything about it. It had to stay hidden. I couldn't be free.
I remember when my mum would talk to my sisters about how their bodies were changing. They were becoming women. I wasn't. According to the world around me, I wasn't becoming a woman. I felt so left out from those talks with mum and my sisters. I never was able to express how much it hurt to not be part of those talks. Instead I had to have talks from my dad. One day he told me something that still haunts me to this day. It crushed my entire soul. We were in the bathroom and he was talking to me about shaving and girls. I was barely paying attention to him. I was just fumbling around with the razor he gave to me and dreading everything that I happened to catch him say. Then he said it. He called me son. That always bothered me, but this time it sounded so much worse because of what followed it. He told me "you're becoming a man now."
The whole world stopped. I didn't hear or see anything around me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't function at all. It seemed impossible to accept those words. I wasn't becoming a man. I hated the very thought of it. It wasn't real. It wasn't really happening to me. I wasn't becoming a man. I refused. I wanted to be free.
When I was alone, I stayed in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I repeated what my dad told me. I was going to try to make peace with it. That was so hard to do. I repeated it again, but I did it in a way that mocked my dad.
"Son you're becoming a man now."
Those words were so difficult to get out, even in mockery. It was physically difficult to speak them. They got stuck in my throat and it was almost painful as they made their way out of my mouth. I tried saying those dreadful words again. It felt even worse. I was shaking. My eyes were filling with tears. I held my head in my hands as I fought my tears. I was in so much pain from those words. Unable to bear it any more, I ran into my bedroom and hid. I hid from the whole world and let the tears pour out of me. There was no way I was going to let myself become a man. But there was no way to physically stop it. That day when my dad said those words to me was one of the worst days of my entire life. I never got over it.
When it came time for dating I knew I would have decisions to make. I knew I was attracted to guys though I didn't feel like I was gay. I felt compelled to date girls only to be close to them. That was the only reason why I chose to date girls; to be close to them. I wanted to study them and learn everything I could learn about them. They were very intriguing to me. I wanted to be just like them. So because of all that, I started dating as many girls as I could. All while checking out the guys in secret.
It was also at that time when I started going strictly by Davy. Dome reason I thought it sounded better than David. To me, it sounded more feminine. I felt like my name needed to be more feminine in order for me to feel that way about myself. It helped me feel better. I felt horrible whenever someone called me David instead of Davy.
I used to go on shopping trips by myself and go into the women's clothes or the makeup and pretend like I was buying something for my "girlfriend." There never was a girlfriend, except whenever someone working in the store would ask if there was something I needed help with. One day I saw the most gorgeous pair of high heel shoes I've ever seen. I nearly gasped when I saw them. When I took them off the shelf, I just held them and ran my fingers all over them, just taking in their beauty. I had to try them on but I had to wait until I knew for sure nobody would see me do it. A worker came up to me when I was admiring them and asked if I needed help with anything. I about panicked at first and quietly told her "no" and that I was shopping for a gift for my girlfriend. The worker walked away after saying that if I needed help to let her know.
As soon as I knew I was alone, I tried those shoes on. My insides exploded with delight when I realized that they fit. They fit perfectly! I was dying from how much in love I was with these shoes. I took a few steps in them and it felt so amazing that I was completely over the moon. I quickly kicked them off before anyone saw me wearing them and put on my own shoes again. My heart was racing as I brought the shoes up to the cashier. Once again, I lied about them being a gift for my "girlfriend". I don't think anyone caught on.
By the time I got home with the shoes, an incredible amount of reality hit me. I didn't want to face it as I entered the house so I did my best to hide it. But there was no use; I had to hide. Rushing past everybody else, I hurried up to my bedroom. With my door locked, I pulled the shoes out of the box and just stared at them. I could not believe I had them. Panic began to rush in as the realization hit me again. As much as I loved these shoes, I knew I wouldn't ever get the chance to wear them in front of anybody. I began to shake as tears started breaking to the surface of my eyes. I could not face this painful reality. It was too hard. I really wanted to wear these shoes but I knew I had to find a place to hide my brand new love. My beautiful new high heel shoes had to be shoved way back, hidden away in my closet. I was devastated. Again, I wanted to be free.
That wasn't the end of it though. It was only the beginning. I shopped for my "girlfriend" all the time. I bought makeup and jewelry, all kinds of pretty clothes and accessories. I even bought bras and pretty knickers. That was my favorite thing to wear when I was alone in my bedroom. As soon as the door locked, the underwear would go on. I even figured out the best way to stuff the bras so it looked as real as possible.
There were times where I practiced putting on makeup too. I looked at pictures of fashion models in magazines for makeup guides, and practiced late at night to do my makeup just like those models. I like to think I got pretty good at it. I always felt so pretty wearing that makeup. I felt like a girl. I felt right.
When I met the fellas, I was in such a good place in my life. I had myself figured out completely by then. I was a girl and that made me happy to know. Though I kept the girl side to myself, I still felt accepted. They truly cared for me and loved for me to be myself. Even though I felt really good about this, and knew I was safe to be myself when the four of us started living together, I still wasn't comfortable about coming out with my secret. Somehow I knew that they would still accept me for who I am once I did come out, but I felt something like this needed time. It had to be done properly. I would know when I was ready and when the timing was right. Somehow, when I first met them, I knew I wanted them to be the first ones I'd tell about this. I knew right away they could be trusted with something this big.
There was one time that was extremely awkward for me. We were trying to enter a contest for mixed gender groups and decided that one of us would have to dress in drag and pretend to be a girl. (I already felt like we were a mixed gender group before this contest came along but I couldn't tell them this at the time.) I was more or less made to "volunteer" for the part. One part of me was excited because I'd get to express who I really am for once. Another part of me struggled with this concept. It was such a fraud for me to dress in what they considered to be "drag" and "pretend to be a girl". Because for me, it wasn't pretend. I may have been born male on the outside, but inside I am female.
Everything about this contest made me so uncomfortable. I wanted so much to break out my secret clothes and fix myself up so pretty like I was used to doing in private. Instead, I went along with the ugly dress and crappy wig the fellas threw on me. It had been years since I felt this way, but wearing that ugly getup made me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. They wanted me to pretend to be a girl and I was screaming on the inside that it wasn't pretend. I am a girl. I felt so terrible having to be made up as such an ugly girl too. I could have fixed myself up so much nicer that what they did. I would have. But I couldn't because I didn't want them to ask questions that I wasn't ready to answer.
One day I was so excited because I was going to have the house to myself. I had a chance to fix myself up real nice like I used to do late at night at my parents' house. The moment the fellas left, I hurried to my special hiding spot in my closet and pulled out everything. The first thing out was my gorgeous high heel shoes. I admired those shoes just like I had in the store. They still looked brand new since I only ever wore them in my bedroom, walking around on carpet. I laughed as I put them on because they felt like magic. Those shoes had the magic to bring out the girl into the light. Though I was a bit wobbly in them at first, walking in them felt like a dream.
Right away I dumped a bunch of clothes onto my bed. I began going through my clothes and put together an outfit that I knew would make me feel beautiful. Put on a pair of sexy lace knickers and the matching bra. That felt just as nice as putting on the shoes. I stuffed the bra and made sure everything looked just right. Everything fell into place like I had just done this the day before rather than a few years. I gathered up some makeup, jewelry and things I needed for my hair and headed into the bathroom.
I spent practically a good hour at least in the bathroom fixing myself up. Time slipped away from me. I completely forgot when the fellas said they'd be home, but I didn't care because I was happy. I had my makeup perfect and my jewelry on. All I had to do was fix my hair. I put in some mousse and grabbed my curling iron then went to work. Getting lost in curling my hair, I made sure every piece was perfect. I knew I'd have to undo it all before the fellas got home but I didn't care. I just wanted a few minutes to admire how beautiful I looked.
A small piece of my hair was still wrapped around the curling iron when I heard the front door open. Panic immediately began to set in. I grabbed my watch and my eyes about popped out of their sockets when I saw what time it was. My heart pounded and I raced to lock the bathroom door. I rushed to gather all my stuff but I quickly realized there was no use in trying to hide anything. All the rest of my clothes were still on my bed and there was no way I could wash all the makeup off or fix my hair before the fellas would notice anything was amiss.
In my panic, tears began to fall. I shut down in front of the sink and gave up trying to hide anything. There was no point. I was seconds away from being out whether I was ready or not. I heard the fellas talking, wondering about what I could be doing. They were talking about me. They were finding traces around the house of what I was doing. At first they thought out loud that I had a girl with me but they soon realized I was alone. I heard them talking and wondering about me. They called out for me and I started to cry some more. This wasn't how coming out was supposed to go. I just had to have fun and play dress up while I was alone. I could have stopped at the shoes or even the outfit but I just had to go all the way and fix my makeup and hair too. I felt so foolish. I was kicking myself so hard.
With my panic came haunting questions in my mind. What were they going to do once they saw me? Would they freak out? Would they be disgusted with me? Would they laugh at me? Call me names? Put me down? Think I was crazy? Would they even want anything to do with me anymore? The more I thought about this, the worse I felt. I was sick to my stomach. I could not stop crying. There was no way I was going to leave that bathroom.
They came to the bathroom door and knocked. My panic worsened. They started begging me to leave the bathroom. They wanted to talk to me. There was so much concern and fear in their voices. I tried to cover my ears and block it out but I knew I couldn't. They had me cornered. They weren't going to go away or stop trying to talk to me until I left the bathroom. Peter quieted them down and began speaking to me through the door. He was trying to calm me down and he asked me to unlock the door. After a few moments of nothing but crying, I decided to give in.
"Please…" I sobbed. "Please… don't laugh or anything." I kept crying as I spoke.
"Davy we're your friends." Peter spoke with such a gentle tone. He truly was caring for me. He was sincere. "Please, babe. Open the door. We just want you to be okay."
I hesitated but I unlocked the door. I stepped aside, keeping my head down as Peter opened the door. For a second he just looked at me. Neither of us said a word. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Still he just looked at me and let me keep crying for a moment. Then he did something that surprised me. He grabbed some toilet paper and wet it in the sink. Then with one hand, he tilted my chin up so he could get a good look at my face. It was a terrible mess of running makeup and tears. Peter used the toilet paper to gently clean my face of the mess. He was so gentle. I looked at his face as he was cleaning mine. There was no trace of any hatred or disgust or any bit of negative feeling on him at all. Just sincerity. Calmness. He was caring and loving. Seeing this and allowing him to continue cleaning my face, really helped me calm down. When he was finished, he threw the toilet paper away and gave me a hug.
"Don't be upset, Davy." He whispered "We're your friends and we're not going to judge you."
I had no idea what to say so I just hugged him. I held onto him for a few moments, feeling completely calm and secure. Peter's words were honest. I trusted him. After a couple minutes, he pulled away and coaxed me out of the bathroom. Even though I felt better, I still kept my head down so I wouldn't have to look at them. I still felt ashamed of myself for how I acted. I was still a little scared of their reactions.
After a little coaxing, I started talking to them. I came clean and completely in the open. Things got real emotional as I bared my entire soul to them. They just… listened. They were accepting and nobody judged me like Peter said. I felt so grateful that coming out to my friends went as well as it did. I felt so relieved. I knew then that my friends really did love me and wanted me to be happy. With them around, and accepting me for who I am, I know I'll be okay. They might not completely understand this, but they know it makes me happy. They know that it's who I am. After coming out to my friends I felt so much better about myself. I finally felt free.