I began cross-dressing in my early 20’s. It was always in secret, and always followed by shame. When I was done, I would throw the clothes away and vow to never do it again; a vow that would last only weeks or months, before I gave in and bought another skirt or dress. I did this for two decades, as I continued to fight with myself over my true identity.

When I moved to Edmonton in 2013, I went to a safe consignment store I knew about from when I had lived in the city years earlier. I bought a cute leather skirt and a black, sleeveless knit top with a zipper in the front. All I needed was black stockings and some lacy black panties to have a complete outfit. See, I don’t have a fetish for lingerie, but it never felt right dressing with my stupid boy underwear on.  

I drove to a lingerie and toy store nearby, in a strip mall in the West End. By the time I got there that Saturday evening, the parking lot was almost empty. I wasn’t sure how I would be received in the store, and I was really nervous, so I parked as far away as I could. This made no sense: I would probably look more suspicious parking that far in an empty parking lot. And besides, I couldn’t see if any other customers were in the store from that distance. Instead, I walked over to the Arby’s next door, got some food, and sat by the window so I could watch the lingerie store. After watching for 45 minutes with no one going in or out, I figured it was a pretty safe bet that the store was empty. I had also finished my food by then, and didn’t want to look any more suspicious than a middle-aged man staring at a lingerie store for almost an hour would look. 

I gathered my courage and went in, quickly heading to the far corner where no one could see me. So much for courage.
I started looking at the display racks, too afraid to even touch anything. I guess I was hoping to find that magical rack that had just what I wanted, in my size, right in front where I didn’t have to look for it. Needless to say, this didn’t happen.  On my second pass through the racks, a clerk came over. She was short, very muscular, covered in tattoos, with bright red hair. She looked tough and mean, and intimidated me right away. She was between me and the front door so I couldn’t run for it… and I was kind of frozen in place, anyway. 
When she asked if she could help me find something, I said I was looking for a present — for my girlfriend. There, that takes care of that… I bet she gets this all the time.  “Ok, what size is she?,” she said. Damn, she flanked me.  What could I say?: “She is about the same size as me.” Ha, I certainly am a quick thinker!  She looked at me and said, “it’s for you, isn’t it?”  That’s the one thing I hadn’t planned for. I had no answer. Who is the quick thinker now? In defeat, I looked down and said: “yes.” 
I braced myself; will she punch me? Will she laugh and call over the other clerk? Maybe she’ll release the CCTV recording to the news. I won’t be able to show my face anywhere in Edmonton anymore. Oh no, I hope CBC doesn’t pick up the story, I might have to move out of Canada! How could I have let this happen? I’ve ruined the rest of my life for a pair of panties. Maybe I can get plastic surgery — yeah that’s it, no one will recognize me then. Hopefully they won’t fingerprint me. 
It’s amazing how much can go through your mind in a few seconds.

The one thing I didn’t count on happened, though: another customer walked into the store. Great, now there is a live witness to my humiliation. But to my surprise, this angel of a biker bitch redhead took my hand and led me to a dressing room to hide.  She told me she would bring me some things to try on.  I ended up staying in the store for hours, having a great time. When I left, she gave me her number.  She said if anyone laughed at me to call her.  She and her friends would take care of anybody. I believed her, too.
Her name was Ali and it didn’t take long for us to become friends.  She said she liked how brave I was for walking into the store.  I thought, “yeah brave, that’s it.”
Ali and her girlfriends immediately welcomed me into their group. They would go dress-shopping every Sunday, usually to a cool pinup shop on Whyte Ave. Afterwards they’d go to lunch. I would try on dresses with them, giving and getting fashion advice.  They were all tough-ass biker bitches so no one messed with us.  It must have been quite the sight for the other customers. 
My favourite dress was a sparkly silver, form-fitting dress.  I spent time in the back of the lingerie store, learning to walk in Pleasers.  I got a pair of black Mary Jane Pleasers that looked great with the dress.  The only place I wore this outfit was at home, but I loved it.  

And when it was time for the Pride Parade in Edmonton, Ali asked me if we were going.  Ok, that wasn’t really her style; she asked what I was going to wear when we went.  I didn’t know, I had never been to any Pride Parade, so she told me I would wear my silver dress and Mary Janes.  I was so nervous, I had never worn a dress in public. 
Ali’s fiancé said he would wear a dress in solidarity (and he did!)  That felt safe.  I would have this tough biker, Ali, with me, and a dress-wearing welder who was 6’3” and had arms as big as my thigh! 

The day came, and we hopped in Ali’s SUV.  Ok, she hopped in, and I awkwardly crawled in with Pleasers and a dress, managing to flash everyone as I did. 
On the way, Ali stopped at the coffee shop where her son worked.  I said “just bring my coffee out to me,” and she said “absolutely not. We are going there so he can see you in your dress.”  A small coffee shop in an Alberta suburb was the first place I ever went in public in a dress.  Suddenly, my nerves going into that lingerie shop for the first time seemed like nothing.  They almost had to hold me up to get me into the coffee shop.  I blamed it on the heels.  Once inside, her son laughed, but in a good way, and the other baristas gave us compliments.  It actually felt pretty good and boosted my confidence.

When we got to Edmonton and the parade, it was so crowded. I didn’t feel like I stood out anymore.  How could I stand out among the drag queens, people wearing next to nothing, and all the colours?!  We pushed right up to the front of the crowd so I could enjoy my first pride parade.  Ali’s fiancé and I had our picture taken with a drag queen.  The only downside of the whole day was learning that pleasers really aren’t meant to be worn for walking and standing all day.  I ended up walking barefoot on the hot pavement, it hurt less than the heels. 
But still, I basked in that feeling for weeks. For the first time ever, I felt no shame for being who I was. I realized I am not alone, and that the entire world is not against me.
I never threw my clothes out again.  My clothes, and especially my shoes, have become more comfortable since then, but that Pride Parade was the start of my acceptance of my true self.

Shortly after that Pride, I got a tattoo of a female eye, looking out of my heart. Just a peek out, but for me, an acknowledgement that she was in there all along, and the process of letting her out had finally begun. She had always been watching, waiting for the day I would let her be seen.