Lucy Grey: Gendernaut

So the parental units came up this past weekend, basically unannounced. 

…which was inconvenient. I had plans, and their presence threatened to topple the block tower of activities I’d erected for the weekend. I suspect my parents’ impromptu trip was prompted by my letters home. The irony: I was planning to discuss these letters at TriEss during our group meeting this weekend. I’d hoped the ladies would have some good advice for my sort of stalled coming out to the ‘rents. My parents’ sudden appearance, however, mandated I spend my time with them like a good son would, rather than out and en femme with the ladies of TriEss. I dreaded the inconvenient, awkward, serious questions that may well arise; didn’t want to face such a conversation without first getting some feedback and advice from the ladies at TriEss.

I seriously considered skipping the TriEss meeting—a sudden, mysterious ‘meeting with friends’ would surely invite more parental questions that I was ill prepared to answer. At the same time, though, I needed to go to TriEss and figure things out. And I wanted to dress and see my friends there. I’ve found that since my genderqueer epiphany, having a community of peers, has become increasingly important to me. The ladies of TriEss fill a mentor role that I never knew I craved. For as short a time as I’ve known them, I’m amazed at how quickly I’ve been assimilated into TriEss, and how easily I view them as an extended family. (This is not intended to belittle my relationship with my non-dressing friends, the people who knew me first as Greg, and then as either Grey or Greg. Their friendship and support is extremely important, too; it’s just that I see these friends much more frequently than I see my friends at TriEss.)

I decided, in the end, to dress and go to the morning segment of the TriEss meeting. Then, rush home to change and shower and meet up with the parents and siblings. I wore a new dress—an olive green dress-shirt style dress, my cute-butt jeans, and my brown cloche. The hotel where we have our TriEss meetings was overrun by highschool marching band kids. On the one hand, being a band nerd myself, I was curious about whatever attraction brought the band here. On the other hand, however, this bustling, crowded hotel marked a stark difference from last month’s experience, when the hallways seemed deserted and safe for hassle free walking. This time, I’d have to walk a gauntlet through a bunch of rowdy, uniformed high schoolers to get to the TriEss meeting room. After an electric flash of panic, I squared my shoulders, straightened my dress, and strode inside, holding my head up and smiling. A few odd looks and sniggers latter, I was safe in our conference room, among friends applying nails and chatting about dress colors.

I was pleasantly surprised to see more people in attendance  than last time, and happily spent the first half hour acquainting myself with the new faces. Some were members who simply hadn’t attended last meeting; others were newcomers, and you could see some of the nervousness on their faces. I wondered if that’s the way I looked my first meeting, last month. 

Eventually, after everybody had arrived, we convened a group meeting. There were enough of us to warrant some people sitting on the floor, and skooching close to each other. We went around our cozy circle, introducing ourselves, and telling our stories. As I sat and listened, I marveled at the place I found myself. I was struck by how real all of these people were. It was perhaps a little ironic, considering we were all crossdressers, but the expressions, the stories, the emotions—they’re real. So incredibly real, and such a contrast with seemingly every other mere acquaintance.

I was, by far, the youngest person in the group, and I think I got a lot of attention because of that. When my turn to talk came up in the circle, I introduced myself and gave a brief recounting of how I found myself in such fascinating company.  I mentioned that my parents had come into town, out of the blue, and my concerns that it had something to do with the letters I’d sent home. I didn’t go into much detail about the letters, just saying that I’d alluded to some recent changes in my life and the parents were likely a little worried about me. Some of the others asked what I’d say if they started asking awkward questions. I confessed that I was on the fence. Part of me wants desperately to be done with this secret, but part of me, regardless of whatever reassurances my parents have made, is too scared to reveal Grey. They gave me a lot of advice regarding coming out to loved ones. Parents and family, in this case, are different than significant others. According to the other members, family don’t automatically have a need to know like your spouse usually does. Many of the members encouraged me to keep all of this a secret, but all of them respected my right to make my own decisions. We talked about the dangers of coming out to parents, specifically, and how I thought I might handle the situation. In a lot of respects, there are only two ways to come out. The first is the direct approach: just come out and tell them point blank. The other method is what’s known as damage control. Both methods have their pros and cons, and both can go very poorly if you’re not prepared. Or unlucky. 

The meeting wound to a close as we finished going round the circle. We were all getting hungry. I needed to head home and meet up with the family. The president stopped me as I was gathering my purse and keys. She asked what I planned to do this afternoon, regarding the family and coming out. I told her I didn’t know. I was planning on changing and meeting up with them in guy mode. I wouldn’t bring up anything myself, but if they brought up my letters in conversation, and asked to know more…I wanted to be mentally prepared to let my secret out. She wished me luck, and I promised that I’d let her know how the weekend went, regardless of its outcome.

Once again, I rushed home from the TriEss meeting. At the gate to my apartment, I realized I’d left the gate beeper rfid card in my wallet, which was not in my purse or car. I had to park by the leasing office and walk up. I was actually a little nervous as I made my way to my apartment. It was the longest time I’d spent immediately outside my apartment en femme. And, though I don’t really have an amiable relationship with my neighbors, I still didn’t want them recognizing me wearing a dress.  The walk was made longer by my wedges, which had begun to rub, blistering my heels. Still, I managed to get inside without anyone being the wiser.

I rushed to shower, remove makeup, and change into something a bit more acceptable to my family. Briefly, before even stepping into the shower, I toyed with the idea of just going like I was already dressed, and throwing everything else into the wind—but I wasn’t meeting my parents alone; my siblings would be there, and I wasn’t prepared to let them in on my secret. I picked out a pair of jeans, a threadless t-shirt, and my purple/green/pink plaid blouse as an unbuttoned overshirt. I figured the outfit was sufficiently masculine, even with the femininely-cut blouse, and headed out.

I met up with the family at a local pizza restaurant, and they, as usual, gave me trouble. Just in general, about everything. The comments about my hair and jewelry hit a little harder then they intended, I think, but besides that, nothing really came up. No awkward questions, no lingering looks. We just spent some quality time together, hanging out, ribbing each other. Nothing ever came up the entire weekend with the family. They didn’t even ask where I was Saturday morning. It was actually a really pleasant time. I was afraid I’d be stressed about the entire weekend, in light of how I handled my last trip home, but the stress never materialized. I think maybe it was my attitude about it all.

My parents left Sunday afternoon. I had a lot of fun, and was sorry to see them leave. But I also felt a little cheated. This weekend was supposed to be spent en femme with TriEss. It was still early, and Dulcinea and I were planning to head out…so…I dressed up again. Irony must have been watching my weekend. As easy as I got off with the family, everything came crashing down when they left. I was sitting at my computer, dressed, made up, ready to head out, and just waiting for Dulcinea to finish up when Sarek came in. My computer’s in the common room. He couldn’t miss me sitting there. And he didn’t; he just stood and stared at me. I ignored him; staring is rude. If Sarek wanted to know more, he’d ask. Dulcinea finished up and joined me at my computer. Bud has also come out to the common room. We were just about to leave when Sarek stopped me and asked, “So, Greg…are you no longer the one wearing the pants in your relationship?”

1. Sexist. “Wearing the pants’ reinforces chauvinistic, narrow minded gender roles. My standing with Dulcinea is one of equal footing. Neither of us ‘wears the pants’ in our relationship.

2. Rude. Not that I should expect anything different, considering his reaction on Halloween, but I’d still appreciate some tact.

3. If you’re going to ask about it, I’d prefer you be direct than try to use euphemisms. “Greg, why are you wearing a dress?” or “Greg, are those boobs?” would have been infinitely better than what Sarek said. 

It kind of set me off. I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t appreciate his joke. And then I told him point blank that I was a crossdresser. Dulcinea took my hand and led me out the door—we had to meet up with some friends at Walmart before finally meeting at the evening’s gathering place. I was all too happy to leave.

Dulcinea and I talked about Sarek’s reaction all the way to Walmart. It bothered both of us, but neither of us could really figure out a better way to have handled his reaction. It wasn’t unexpected; we should have been prepared for it, but how do you respond to that sort of thing? Our conversation distracted me from noticing which Walmart we were going to. I realized it as soon as we drove into the parking lot. It was the one down the street from my college. The one I’d graduated from not one semester before. And it was a Sunday night. And I was en femme.

Shit. This night keeps getting better. I stayed close to Dulcinea, hoping to meet our friends soon. The sooner we were out of the store, the better. Already, I saw students with my school’s colors wandering the halls. It was only a matter of time before one of them recognized either of us. I kept my head down, and tried to be as nondescript, uninteresting, unremarkable as possible. It worked, I guess—we had no encounters with anybody I knew. We met up with our friends, bought a handful of groceries for the get-together, and headed off for the gathering place.The rest of the night went pretty well.

Until we got home, that is. Sarek’s girlfriend Amanda was there, and he’d obviously told her about me. Dulcinea and I passed her on our way to our room, and all Amanda did was stare at my boobs and look sick. This was at least more amusing than Sarek’s initial reaction, but it still bothered me. Why can’t people simply accept that we’re all a little different? If not acceptance, how about a little respect? Or even indifference? Even after undressing and talking about the evening with Dulcinea, I felt indignant about my roommates’ reactions. So, instead of getting into my usual guy-mode sleep wear, I kept my fake boobs on, changed into one of Dulcinea’s tank tops and pink pajama pants, and sat at my desk in the common area. 

Sarek and Amanda didn’t venture back out of their room that evening, but Bud and his boyfriend Shyguy did. Shyguy did a double take as he passed me. I could feel his stare as he sat next to Bud on the couch. Apparently, he hadn’t known about me, either—I heard both of them whispering, specifically the words “Greg,” “boobs,” and “crossdresser.” Sigh. I thought Bud had already told Shyguy about me. I’d even walked right past him on previous en femme outings. But then again, Shyguy can be pretty single minded some times, oblivious of everything else around him. They didn’t say anything to me that evening, and eventually returned to their bedroom.
Now, everybody in my apartment knows about me. I feel like it all happened in one big shotgun blast of coming out. Well, not really coming out—more like being out and letting them all see me in one night. On the one hand, it’s great—I don’t have to hide in my own home anymore. On the other hand, well, I’m still trying to figure out whether there is an other hand. The other night after work, I dressed in a simple girly top and feminine jeans, and just hung out in our common room, watching The Empire Strikes Back. I got a few odd, lingering looks from Bud and Shyguy, who joined me half way through, but nobody confronted me. We all just enjoyed watching the movie together. I still haven’t encountered Sarek since that Sunday evening, and I’m kind of glad—Sarek’s joke and the way I explained myself still bothers me. I know I should have shown more tolerance for his reaction, but I felt some serious disrespect from him—like he disapproved of what I was doing, and was trying to pressure me to stop—and I react pretty negatively to that kind of thing. It’s one thing when fielding questions from strangers, it’s quite different when I’m trying to explain myself to a close-minded roommate. Why should I have to defend myself in my own home? Sigh. Dulcinea and I really need to find our own place.