Cheerleader Outfit

1983
(Note that the year is a guess)

I'm the brunette, transgender wife.

Halloween was approaching. I had been racking my brain for a creative costume idea. I was supposed to go to a church youth group party, in a barn at the local farm of a church member. I have no idea where my mother came up with the idea, but I heard her say “Why not wear your cousin’s cheerleader outfit? You’re small enough, it ought to fit.”

Initially, I was shocked. Seriously? Have I mentioned that our church tradition was very, very conservative and that my mom had a history of expressing anti-gay comments, etc.? But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a really good idea. I have no idea why, to be honest, but it made sense.

A week or so later, I came home from school, and the cheerleader uniform was there, in a bag. She told me to try it on, but I had to give it back because my cousin needed it for an event. I took it into my room, and I was unsure. I stood there holding it and thought seriously about taking it back out to say it didn’t fit.

Suddenly, my brain said, “why not?”. So, I stripped and picked up the underpants. I believe they’re called bloomers, but I thought of them as panties. I pulled them up, and into place. I was totally shocked. They fit perfectly - like they had been made for me. I hadn’t expected that at all.

The top quickly slipped on. The skirt soon followed, and I was amazed. It actually fit! But I was in a hurry because my aunt and cousin were coming to pick up the uniform. So, I dressed in my clothing and took the uniform back out to the living room.

A week later, the uniform was back, and I was dressing for the party. I was soon back in the uniform, paired with my white canvas marching band tennis shoes. I hurried out into the car so we could get to the party on time.

On the way, I was nervous. The closer I got to the party, the more nervous I got. When we got there, I almost didn’t get out of the car. I was dressed like a girl! My mom said “come on”, and the next thing I knew, I was out of the car, and walking inside with my brother. I can’t recall what his costume was, but I keep thinking it was something army related.

Our youth leader said, “well, okay” upon seeing me. That made me more nervous. But then a few of the girls said hi, which caused me to relax a lot. The boys, of course, ignored me totally. I wolfed down a lot of snacks because I eat when I get nervous. We did all the typical Halloween party stuff of the time, including bobbing for apples in what I remember as being a galvanized tub. I had never before bobbed for apples, and I was completely awful at it. Worse than awful.

Throughout the party, I was conscious of the fact that I was increasingly comfortable. By that, I mean I felt good. I liked how I looked. I liked that some of the girls thought I looked good. I liked how the uniform felt, how my legs looked in the skirt.

Then it hit me. The moment I realized that I liked being in that cheerleader uniform, I was horrified. I wanted more than anything for the floor to open up and swallow me. I was appalled that I felt comfortable. What did that mean? What was wrong with me! One of the girls, I can’t recall her name, chose that moment, while I stood there with the color draining out of my face, to whisper into my ear that while I was bobbing for apples, she noticed that I looked cute in the panties. Now I wanted more than ever for the floor to swallow me.

I thought I was going to cry, to be honest. Right there in front of everybody. Why in the world couldn’t I be more of a man? What was wrong with me, that I had loved how I felt in that uniform? I went into the bathroom there in the barn and sat there alone for about 15 minutes. Thankfully, it was then time to go home.

When my mom asked how the party was, I gave the official teen-ager response of “fine”, and went into my room to get out of that cheerleader uniform, as fast as I could.

I think the biggest conflict, for me, was that I just couldn’t get out of my head how great I had felt, standing in that barn in that cheerleader outfit. 

Dancing, Yet Not Dancing

2002

I'm the brunette, transgender woman.

I worked at a local university, and one thing I had as a perk was free tuition and half tuition for family members. The university offered dance classes as physical education credits. Bachelor’s degrees required all sorts of electives, including the option for physical education credits. I was going for my Bachelor's degree and needed something to fill that credit requirement. It sounded fun, so my wife and I enrolled in a swing dance class. I believe it was 10 meetings, over ten weeks. Regardless, it was a fun way for my wife and me to spend time together.

Now, we had tried dancing before, and it always was very exciting to feel her move against me, but at the same time, I dreaded it, because I wasn’t remotely good at it. I don't mean I was a terrible dancer, but rather, I was awful at leading. Also, though her moving with me excited me,  the dancing frankly felt odd, and I felt out of place. So I was looking forward to these classes with an expectation of excitement, and yet, discomfort. But then, as now, I love to spend time with this woman. I can’t get enough of her.

So, there we were, in swing dance class. We learned several dances, with the basic steps of each practiced repeatedly. It was both fun and uncomfortable. The instructors were a husband and wife pair, significantly older. I was supposed to lead, of course, because I was the husband. But I would take my wife into my arms, and not even think about leading. I didn’t want to lead. I didn’t have any instinct to lead in dancing. I didn’t have any desire to lead. I just wanted to hold her and dance with her. Smell her scent. Marvel at her skin. Frankly, I was totally ineffective at leading on the dance floor.

The instructors split us up so he could demonstrate to me what leading looked like, by dancing with her. It was of course much more smooth. But I still didn’t understand leading. Watching someone else dance was useless because I couldn’t pick up the things he was doing, to lead her. "See how I tell her without speaking where I want her to go?" he'd say. No. I didn't.

So, his wife danced with me, to show me. That was also useless because she didn’t lead at all. She just assumed that I, being the guy, would lead. I was very uncomfortable. I wasn’t at all attracted to her and felt stilted and awkward and frankly wanted very badly to let go and step back. Which I did the moment I could reasonably do so.

I didn’t feel comfortable leading. My awesome wife didn’t feel comfortable leading. Overall, we did pretty well, and I enjoyed being with her and doing it together. But it was also an exercise in frustration, for me, because I felt I was failing, as a man. I was told, over and over, right there in front of dozens of other students that I was doing it wrong. That the man leads. I was supposed to lead. Do what men do. I was supposed to make my wife understand what I wanted her to do, dancing. I had no aptitude to do so, and thus, as the instructor told me, not holding up my end of the bargain.

Despite that, I would go dancing with my awesome wife again, because I love to hold her. What can I say? She is awesome.