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I posted this as an article to an area that I’ve since found out is no longer maintained, so perhaps this forum is more appropriate.
Many crossdressers seem to start in their teens. I can honestly say the thought never occurred to me, but that’s when I started regardless. In my early teens I was a bully magnet. Quiet, studious, excused gym on medical grounds…and a bit overweight. On that last note, bullies would often taunt me about needing a girdle. This was the late seventies, when “real” girdles were still commonly advertised. At the start of the new school year I was on my way to school in my new uniform when I was attacked. I was told my uniform was missing something, and was handed a box. It was a brand new girdle. I tried to get away but a struggle ensued. I was scared of damaging my new uniform, so I told them to stop. And as they laughed and taunted me, I struggled into my new girdle, bawling my eyes out as I did so. Photos were taken. I felt literally sick as I was told the price of their silence – the girdle was to be a permanent addition to my uniform. If I got caught once at school without my girdle on, the photos would go public.
The girdle was a firm control, long leg panty with a relatively high waist. I guess they chose it to maximise my discomfort. I think the older sister of the ringleader had sized me up for it as it was a good tight fit. (My stiff-legged walk as we headed to school saw me christened “Frankenstein”, later shortened to Frank, a name that stuck with me throughout school.) The next few hours were agony. At the end of the day I hurried home and rushed up to my room to take it off. I was almost crying in frustration in my rush to get my uniform off and, once I had taken my girdle off, I threw it across the room.
The enormity of the situation hit me the next morning. I thought about the humiliation that would come my way if I was exposed as a crossdresser. How would I be able to face my classmates? How would I be able to face my parents! But if that was not an option, there was only one alternative. I put on my normal underwear and then, with my lip quivering, I stepped into my panty girdle and tugged it on before putting on my uniform and heading downstairs for breakfast. I was just 14 when I had to accept this fate. Not only was I accepting having to wear women’s underwear, it was a girdle. A girdle! Words can’t really convey the horror I felt at the prospect. It was holding in my saggy belly, firmly squeezing my backside, the legs were gripping my thighs – it was a girdle! I was really wearing a panty girdle! And this was going to be the new normal until they decided to let me stop, whenever that might be. Weeks? Months? Years?
It turned out to be until I left school. Four long years. I could go on – about how I hoped my mother didn’t know but suspected she did – how could she not notice her son’s flatter belly or “mono-buttock” whenever he had his uniform on? About the lengths to which I went to hide it and to launder it. About how my younger sister found out, loved my predicament, and taunted me with slogans from TV ads – “Is you girdle killing you?”, “Can you believe it’s a girdle?” and so on. And the best/worst day nearly three years after I’d started, when I was in such a hurry to change after school to go out with my friends that I neglected to take it off and didn’t even realise until I was undressing for bed. I say “best”, as I finally realised I’d got used to wearing a girdle and it was no big deal anymore, and I also say “worst” due to the intense shame I felt over the fact that I, a 17 year old young man…had got used to wearing a girdle and it was no big deal anymore.
I stopped cross-dressing when I left school and went to University. But I started having panic attacks when I was out and about, which I eventually ascribed to the fear of being checked on to see if I had my girdle on. It was ludicrous – the bullies were hundreds of miles away – but the attacks continued. I underwent the humiliation of buying myself a new girdle – the same brand as I’d always had. The firmness was hard to adjust to – my old girdle had lost its “zing” over four years of regular wear. But the panic attacks stopped. In an outburst of self-loathing, I got myself more corsetry – a firm, high waist open girdle, a couple of longline bras, panties, stockings, tight (pantyhose) – determined to punish myself for what I saw as weakness. I looked with a mixture of disgust and disbelief at the sight of myself in the mirror in my open girdle, bra and stockings, then fell on the bed and cried my eyes out. But from that day on I wore a girdle and bra from first thing in the morning to last thing at night, seven days a week.
Now, many years later, I’ve stopped beating myself up about it. I’ve long since stopped getting hung up on what is and isn’t women’s underwear. This is just how I roll, and I don’t feel right without my corsetry on. I’ve experimented with full cross-dressing, but it did nothing for me, so I stopped. So I guess there needs to be a new adjective created for me as “transvestite” and “crossdresser” seem to me to be overkill! I guess it’s also a matter of debate as to whether or not this counts as a happy ending, but this is where I am in my life and I’m now comfortable in my own skin.
Hi Davena, Jane from Hobart Tasmznia. A more courageous story would be hard to find. I was moved by your terrible experience. You are a person of note. Well done, and I am sure your future feelings and emotions were formed during this terrible time.
I admire your courage and determination not to be over run by these mongrels.Best wishes
Jane.
EThanks, Jane. I was a bit wary of posting this here, as my story starts off on a real downer and this is an upbeat kind of a place.
It took me a long, long time to get used to my new life. And once I’d started, I felt I’d missed my chance to report it to a teacher. If it would have been humiliating having it all come out when it happened, how much more humiliating would it be if I’d been doing it for ages before reporting it?
So that was the terrible bit – when every so often the horror of the situation hit me, on the days where it just felt so restrictive I just wanted to tear it off, or the days where I’d see a TV ad or a shop display for women’s underwear and a humiliated voice in my head screamed “you’re wearing a bloody girdle!”, the sickening realisation would sink in that I was out of choices. I had to put that damn girdle on every school morning, and I had to wear it come hell or high water. Eight to ten hours a day (depending on what was happening after school), five days a week, all through term time – I was girdled and I was completely screwed. And by God did my little sister love to rub it in when she found out.
When I had been wearing it for three years and finally reached the stage of being able to accept it and finally even put it completely out of my mind that I was wearing it, it felt like a victory over the bullies. They’d still check on me, but so what? I could handle it and I wasn’t suffering anymore.
Hi Davina! Thank you so much for sharing that moving story. That was a very difficult introduction to womens undergarments, but I applaud you for getting through the pain of it all. Good for you!! I must have been hard enough to deal with the bullies, but coming home to your younger sisters taunts must have been just as bad. No rest or respite from it at all. I was so happy to read you are now comfortable in your own skin!
Do not feel left out. There are many who just underdress, due to circumstances or desire – not all crossdressers are out there in full femme.
I think there was a happy ending there hon, you survived it, and are stronger for it, tho like many of us, you do carry the scars from it. But…. that’s in the past. Now you are here among friends. No bullies, just many nods of understanding and support.
Again, I want to thank you for sharing! It’s always better to share our grief, and we do gain strength thru that sharing. And I think you’ve gained a lot of strength since then Davina! You certainly deserve a pat on the back!! 🙂
Stevie
My sister really was a little bitch about it. I didn’t have to do much persuading to get her to keep quiet – she quickly understood that telling anyone would be an end to it, while keeping quiet would mean my torment would go on, and on, and on. She would even insist on sometimes coming into my room after I’d put my normal underwear on, just to see me pull on my girdle and then my uniform over it – her eyes would positively glitter with delight. And every time we ran into each other when I had my uniform on, she’d go out of her way to make eye contact, then look down at my waist, then back up into my eyes and smirk. If no one was within earshot, I’d get a verbal taunt from the tv ads as well. Her favourite was a Playtex one in the UK – “Your girdle! You’ve forgotten your 18-hour girdle!” Then, with a rub of her hands over my hips – “Oh! You’ve got it on!”
These days she treats it all as it it was just a big joke – youthful hi-jinks – and thinks I made too much of it. She doesn’t have, and never did have, the slightest idea of what it was like. We have very little to do with each other now as a direct result of this.
Davina,
Good for you, realizing that there’s nothing wrong with wearing feminine undergarments. If only you could have been given the choice. But in the end, you win. “F” those bullies.
Thanks. Even now I still debate with myself as to whether it was a victory or a defeat that I went from hating wearing foundation garments to being ok with them to finally being unable to do without them.
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Hello Davina.
Thanks for sharing your story. It was very moving and I can relate to being bullied at school too but not to the extent that you were. Four years of constant fear of bullies or being discovered I’m sure was hell. So very sorry for you. Your sister was very mean and look what it got her, an estranged brother for the rest of her life. A bully is the worst kind of person.
I remember girls wearing those girdles from my school days and always wanted one.
Hi Michelle,
The worst thing about wearing a girdle was, once I’d started, I could never stop. I had to wear it every school day without exception. But I made sure I never let the bullies see my tears, and I never gave them the pleasure of seeing me beg for it to stop (though deep down that’s often what I wanted to do, especially in the early days).
Hi Davina
Oh honey that is very traumatic story, but also a very courageous one. I wish i could just hug you right now.
All the girls here, are here for various reasons, some public, some private. The main thing is that we all here for each other to give support and love to whoever needs it.
Love
MichelleThanks – it’s great to get a lot of this off my chest. It’s a really odd thing I find with an internet forum – I find myself able to talk about the most personal and traumatic things, but if all the responders to this post and I were sitting together in person, I’d have the greatest difficulty telling you any of this stuff.
Anyway, I hope that in the future I’ll be able to be as helpful to others as you all have been to me today.
Hi Davena, as recently as April 2021,I told my wife about my dressing. She was taken aback, but also seemed aware of it anyhow.
After this I sent a message to a sister, but forgot that our family are connected via a computer service. Spilled my guts as it were. Suddenly all my family knew.
Some phone calls anout what I Had said, why tell us now etc.
But the cat is out of the bag.So Davena we need courage. We both have it.
Best wishes
JanePostscript.
In the original post, I mentioned that I only wrote this forum contribution as I thought I’d messed up submitting an article. But it turns out I didn’t, so this story will soon reappear in the Articles section. Apologies in advance for what is in essence a double post. I’ve only been here 5 minutes and already I’m an inadvertent spammer!
Honestly, some people, you just can’t take ’em anywhere… 🙂
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