Rebel Rebel

Gosh, I love that song. My name is Johnny. I'm 22 and I've been a crossdresser since I was 15. The gist of it is: It was hard yesterday, its amusing today and I can't tell you about tomorrow because I'm a crossdresser, not a fortune teller. This is supposed to be "My story" but I thought I'd give the option of a short and sweet or a "My god, does he ever shut up?" version. Especially since I'm known to ramble... Like so. For those who enjoy a long read(Long, not good because I'm a crossdresser, not a novelist) feel free to take the liberty of putting on your pajamas now. Yes, it will take that long.

So, where to start this...? The beginning might be nice. I was a happy bright child. Typical boy: mud, play fights and the rest. Except I also had a knack for getting into mothers things and helping myself to her blouses, lip stick, jewelry and heels.(No, I don't know how I paraded about in them without killing myself either.) My parents and family thought it was adorable and would in no way ever possibly follow me into further years... and it didn't... (Nor would I ever suspect why I'd ever find this bit important enough to mention in this tale until much later)

It just took a very long nap and then woke and caught up when I was a young, impressionable sophomore in high school. I took to many things big and happening at that age: Rock music, girls, not doing homework and challenging social norms. However, while the rest of my classmates were scrambling to figure out who they were, I already had my answer. I'd dare say it was as simple as waking up one morning and realizing "My dream is to be fabulous!". Only problem was justifying it to, well, everyone. I was very much inspired by the gothic fashions though I did without the stereotypical dreary attitude associated with it. I decided for my first test run to take the cheap way: I purchased a feminine trench coat with a strap positioned just so in the abdominal section that tightening it enough poofed out the bottom in a dress-like fashion. I also bought what would be the first of MANY platform boots and took to styling my hair in a way I affectionately dubbed "bon-bons". I was ready, I was fabulous, I was... turning away from the quad and running to the nearest boys room asking myself what the **** I was thinking doing this. As fate would have it, (Also a "First of MANY" instances) another male came strolling into the restroom, saw me, did a double take, went to check the door to see he had indeed entered the proper gender assigned restroom and came in with an expression that could only be described as the epitome of stupified. Not realizing at the time that this would be a hilarious increasingly common occurance in later years, I cried.

I lost many acquaintances, gained much mockery but the friends I was left with became family, which was good considering the storm on the horizon. Teenage angsty best friends were one audience, my parents were another. Mother had once told me as a child and I never forgot: "It's okay to express your feelings as long as it doesnt hurt anyone else or yourself and I'll always love you. No matter what" and dad had always adored me. I was his pride and joy. What could go wrong? So, I told them... and everyone else, at a family gathering. Yeah. Fabulous test flight two: officially downed. Bad news: My family now consisted of only a couple of educated and open minded aunts and uncles and the more liberal of my cousins. Good news: Mom and dad were still right behind me. At a time when my generation was finally starting to come out,(take that as you will) and several friends were being systematically disowned or tormented by others in their lives or worse still, by themselves, I knew having mom and dads support would mean the world and it did. Being as accepting as he is, dad is still old fashioned so I did have to explain my preference(Which had come under scrutinizing questioning) was still exclusively for girls. Which brought up a whole other problem to light: Who would date this?

I lost my then girlfriend almost immediately as her abuse and her family's constant questioning of my sexuality became unbearable. I was never great at flirting and this got me stares and laughs faster than any cheesy pick up line ever could. I said screw it for a while and just went out with friends. Those who would be seen with me anyway. I remember one night in particular that would eventually inspire my "Golden rules". It was a hard lesson but I learned damn well from it. I was still a novice Femboy and thus was not accustomed to many of what I now consider absolutely crucial rituals. Such as the shaving of facial hair. Yeah. So, best friends and I go out, I'm sporting the aforementioned trench coat dress, adorable short boots with buckles, my hair, noticably longer after letting it grow out, lipstick(for the first time! Yay!)... and a goatee.(Not yay.) We dont even make it across the damned street after the corner of my block when a car that had been stopped at the sign for a minute or two(Totally not suspicious, right? In my defense, my bigot sense hadnt developed yet and thus, there was no tingle to warn me.) decides to cut across our path as we crossed and as it does, a rear seat passenger, in a blinding moment, sticks her head out the window only to shout "What are you!?". Won't someone, anyone, please drive by recklessly and NOT miss this time? Please? My friend consoles me as I sob and we carry on our now significantly less merry way. What did we learn? Facial hair = Bad.
* Side note: in between these obnoxiously drawn out paragraphs, dad bought me my first skirt!
Oh, but new high schools are even worse, Im afraid. Well, maybe not in this case. While I won't waste time elaborating on all the details of why I was sent there and all the more fake than acrylic nails people I called friends while there, the place I found myself at the gates at was instrumental in teaching me not my place in the world but how to fight for and keep it. I was shipped to a delinquent high school. The baddest of the bad, the worst of the worst, so forth. I'm talking a place that had a reputation that intimidated even teachers at my original school. One even advised me to radically alter my appearance or risk persuasion to do so of the particularly rough physical type. (Getting my petite five ft. five size 3 *** handed to me.) I choose to disregard his ominous warning and show up the first day in complete crossdress. Yeah. Remember that scene from that film where the idiot protagonist goes to the place, clearly in over his head and even the birds in the trees stop to look at him and he makes that "Oh, **** me." expression? That was me. Now, for those not local to the Los Angeles, California area, let me explain something tragic but often true: A good deal of these types of places are filled with very gang inspired youth. Of course, there were a few other types; a couple of ravers, some metal heads, a little clique of skaters and some artsy types. Regardless of the hardships that befell me, I kept my head up, didn't take **** from any of them,(because I'm a crossdresser, not a pansy) eventually became a little of everyones friend and even put a couple of those thugs into their places, especially the ones who wolf whistled!(and yet it was STILL my orientation in question, okay?) During my time here I shed the majority of the purely gothic look, although I kept the black in most of my outfits and became more flamboyant and color friendly. While I sadly did not win for prom queen, I did leave the place with an awesome nickname, courtesy of the little Amsterdam clique who had a tradition of bestowing everyone with a name of their creation: the PriNcessofDarXness.

High school went and college came and I got the pleasure of experiencing a girlfriend who swapped articles of clothing with me regularly. I even got a chance to shine when a cousin introduced me to a budding designer who was looking to use crossdressers and drag queens as models for her collection.(So, I guess it didn't matter this time that I'm a crossdresser, not a model?) While the show was one of the best times of my life, I found something more important for that girliness in me(Which by then I had dubbed Jackie): A mentor.

No one ever taught me how to apply make up, how to properly handle a razor without giving myself a lovely collection of knicks and no one had taught me how to carry myself with pride. A fellow model from the show, a dragqueen named Stella Actite, changed that. She filled a role and place in my heart I had never even realized was empty.(because I'm a crossdresser, not a psychiatrist.) Now, being a Queen, she had a drastically different take on things. Most noticable were; She was attracted to men. I was not. She lived by the glamorous lifestyle of the queens which included being a female impersonator. That is, actively trying to pass as a woman. By this time I'd grown accustomed to the occasional mix up and had learned to just snicker at it but by no means was I ever trying to be thought of as a girl. Finally, this was all the most graceful, inspiring, gorgeous and lovable display of smoke and mirrors ever. Being a Queen was like being a super hero there was a time and place for the mask and cape and that was the stage... and the nights out on the town too. I had never even stopped to think if my appearance had ever caused offense or inconvenience to anyone or anything. A time and place? Wasn't it just clothes? Hell, I'd get dolled up even just to go to the super market! For ****'s sake, how much of an *** had I made myself appear as? With her guidance, I learned to paint(Apply a dragqueen level of make up), dress to impress, walk, talk, even how to cast my gaze and accompanied her a couple of times in drag. It... didn't stick. So, I wasn't Queen material, but she saw qualities of it in me yet I was more liberated than most crossdressers she'd heard of. She told me(and I am not arguing the accuracy of these opinions, merely reciting them as thwy were to me) that Crossdressers are usually straight men who do so away from view. A taboo behind closed doors and the answer to why an unsuspecting wives garments go missing. Dragqueens, on the other hand, were primarily gay men who attempted to pass as women and performed on stage but usually dressed up only for said stage and it seemed either one was as likely to wear female undergarments and lingerie as the other.. Well... I was straight, I got dolled up anytime I felt like it, I was always open about it to every partner I had ever had, I didn't wear ladies under garments or lingerie and I couldn't sing or dance for **** so I didn't quite fall into either camp.(There goes my excuse for not doing other things well. Damn.) I even had my own little set of "Golden rules" I held myself to and I guess now is as good a time as any to explain them since I had envoked them for a couple of years already by this point.

Rule 1: Dress up on the day of shaving and consecutively do so until stubble becomes to uncomfortable to wear form fitting attire, wear male clothing for a day or two to allow slight hair regrowth(This served a dual purpose since if I shaved too often I'd get razor burn and irritation and it also gave both halves of me more or less equal face time), rinse and repeat. Rule 2:(Only because of my own insecurity) Dress in form fitting attire but never in revealing pieces. Rule 3: Never wear anything that accentuates specifically female anatomy, such as a top that seriously requires boobs. (I've known other guys to pull it off but it just looks silly on me.) Rule 4: Do NOT forget the eye liner! (Do NOT forget the eye liner!) Rule 5: Make sure all major components of the outfit and its accompanying accessories match and compliment each other. Harmony is key to everything. and last, but my heart knows, not least: Remember everything Stella taught you. So, I might not have found a label but being the PriNcessofDarXness suited me just fine. Just ask all the perverts who honk, whistle and occasionaly slap my ***.(Don't worry, those get 6 inch platforms to the face.)

I guess this brings me to the now. I've had to pause and decide on what I'd really like to wrap this up with. I've still got my family(both chosen and blood who eventually came around.) I still get dolled up and rock it really well.(Absolutely dreading that age when I no longer pull it off and cause grown men to question which restroom they entered? You betcha.) I'm thinking about becoming a high school teacher... There's this particular school I know of that's ideal. Mother is now the one with deep hidden doubts about my preference and dad is the one reassuring now. Sadly, Stella left during a time when I wasn't quite on solid ground myself and I haven't been in touch with her for a few years now but I'll always respect her, I'll always lover her and I'll always keep the sequin and rhinestone adorned torch she passed to me burning.

I don't know about you but seeing as how I just spent hours typing this out on a touch screen phone, my thumbs are falling off and I'm seriously ******* tired. Perfect time to get dolled up and go out. This is The PriNcessofDarXness (No longer a crossdresser, now a... Um... PriNcessofDarXness?) saying See you and stay fabulous. XOXO P.S. The reason why toddler me giving my mother hell was worth mentioning is because many years after the fact but a few years prior to now, I did some internet research on crossdressing and Wikipedia claims it begins in childhood. Go figure.
deleted deleted
26-30
2 Responses May 14, 2012

there are plenty of us out there - i used to feel alone sometimes and silently scream my pain of not bieing accepted by people for what i am - so i hid it very very well for years until one event happened and i decided to "" make the fact a fact "" - and tell my friends - and after waiting for a massive fallout cloud from everyone and dreadding the end result - which was ----- absolutely ---- nothing !!!! - stunned by my own stupidity in wasting all that time - i now get offers from girls who want to give me high heels - now everyone knows !!! and no one cares - they just accpt me - moral of the tale - i was scared of MY SELF for years !! - ps sorry i ranted on then !!! be who you want to be lifes too short !!!

Now that's what I call in intro to a persons cross-dressing life!<br />
My boss will be so thrilled to know I spent the greater part of an hour reading this instead of doing his stupid report!<br />
<br />
I very much admire your blunt openness to how you simply are yourself and how you put it across. I'm sure there's many out there (myself included) who wished we had simply made that first step into the public in our youth so we are free to live as we want today. As it stands, I'm still in the 'first steps', but give it time!<br />
<br />
Keep doing what your doing and rock this world! :)<br />
<br />
Chris