I was nearly 21 by the time I figured out that my parents had always known. They never talked about it, of course. The divorce was years ago and they could barely stand being in the same county, but I figured they'd always known. An article about gender-fluid children tipped me off. Parents, the article claimed, rarely know what to do when their son shows more interest in dresses than jeans nowadays, let alone in the mid-90's. Only then, when I read that article, did I piece together that my dad's sudden interest in "convincing" me to play hockey was more than just a born-again Rangers fandom. But whether it was psychological conditioning towards "normal" boyhood or a simple change of interest, it worked for a time.
In grade school, I made my first skirts. Late at night, when my brothers were sleeping, I'd slice open a pair of boxer shorts at the bottom and pretend they were tartan, just like the girls at school wore. I wasn't really sure why I did it, I just did. It felt good. Right. Of course, I wouldn't dare tell anyone.
After the divorce was finalized and we were all moving from mom's to dad's and back again, it was time to clean house. The skirts that I'd made vanished from the carefully constructed pile of debris in my closet and I never noticed, for I'd forgotten all about them. My mother was rarely home in those early days, and I'd begun, for the first time in years, to look for things to wear in her closet. We were about the same height by then, and her tennis skirts fit rather nicely, I thought. I only raided her room once in a blue moon, though and I discovered, rather accidentally, what I wanted most.
I'm not sure what made me want it, but I wanted a dress. Not just any dress, a DRESS. Floor length skirts and petticoats you could get lost in, a tight strapless bodice and long white gloves. I realized that I'd dreamed about it for years without realizing, first in childish fantasies of princessery and later once I realized that such things actually existed. I'm certain I knew how impossible it would be, but the fantasy dress folder on my shiny new computer was born nonetheless.
By the time high school came and went I'd gone ages without dressing, but still the folder grew. It had wedding dresses, prom gowns from sites selling them and from unwitting friends on facebook. Fantasy, steampunk, medieval, renaissance, slowly I was building a wish list, but at the same time a resentment for the world that wouldn't allow me just to try one on.
College came, along with a long-term girlfriend who would never quite get it. My feminine side wasn't buried or aching to be set free or anything, mind you. It simply sat in the corner, content to wait until it was dark and the roommate was gone before bringing out the panties, ordered by mail or pilfered from the dorm's laundry room in a moment of poor impulse-control. The girlfriend left for a number of reasons senior year and I began a thing with someone new, someone far more open-minded. She still doesn't know, but I have an odd feeling she won't care. Even if she does, life goes on.
And now here I sit, a "grown-up." Finally, fucking FINALLY, living on my own and finally just a bit happier. Not much money, but 12.50 at the Salvation Army store won't be missed. Here I sit, typing in long white gloves with my feet crossed under the chair, barely visible under the floor-length petticoats of a slightly used dress with a tight strapless bodice.
And you know what?
Feels good, man.
Feels real good.

(USER LISTENS TO JUSTIN BEIBER)