HIGH SCHOOL SWIM CLASS REMEMBERED

Remember? It’s impossible to forget! It was 1985, and we had PE every day. We only had to take it Freshman and Sophomore year. As I’ve said, I went to an all-boys prep school.

On the first day of Freshman year, we were given our PE kit: a pair of maroon shorts that were way too short. Made of stiff cotton, or something. A reversible shirt. One side maroon, one side gold. Our school colors, naturally.

Then, we were asked our waist size. At the time (sigh) I said “32.” The upper-class man looked through a box and pulled out a swimsuit. Since our school had an Olympic size pool, swimming would be part of our PE.

I had never seen the school’s swim suit. It was maroon, of course, and while not exactly a Speedo-like cut, it was pretty small. I think they called it a tank suit. It was 100% nylon. It had a liner, which was basically the same cut as the suit, but a little higher cut, and then the ‘shell’ or outer layer. It amounted to today what they might call a ‘square cut.’ (The picture above is exactly what we wore, except in black.)

If you’re not familiar with what a ‘drag suit’ looks like, just google it. As I said, it’s only a bit more generous than a Speedo, but not by much. And since it was made of all nylon, it was very clingy to boys’…parts.

I was instantly afraid of wearing that suit. In public. Of course, I loved the way it felt, being made of nylon. (Have I ever mentioned how much I like nylon?).  But outside of wearing panties secretly, I’d never worn anything like a tight swimsuit in front of other people, let alone a group of about 50 boys my age. (I never wore just panties in front of others, either.)

But I calmed myself by remembering that each part of gym class was four weeks, and heck; swimming class may not be coming up for a long time.

I was sort of correct, in that the part of PE where we were in the pool didn’t happe until about the third lesson of class.

Now, I tried the suit on as soon as I got home the day it was handed out. In my room, I got completely undressed and pulled the suit up. I tied the drawstring and tucked it in. It was tough concentrating on the awesome feeling of the nylon. I mean, it felt almost like I was wearing a thick pair of girly panties! But the thing I remember was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, my nerves going crazy.

My 13 year-old boy’s ‘parts’ were clearly making a noticeable bulge. Oh my god! Was it too small? Which way should I position…it? No way! I simply could not wear this in public. (Ironically, I wore it to sleep in. A lot. After all, to a young boy with a nylon obsession, it felt totally amazing every second it was on my body.)

So, the very first day of our swimming period arrived. I went up before class, and told the coach “Sorry, coach. I can’t swim today. I forgot my suit.” Boy, was I clever. I’d just sit in the seats and read, or do homework. Alas, Not going to happen. The coach sighed and said “Don’t forget your suit tomorrow. But for today, here’s another suit. What…are you like a 30?” I corrected him on the size, and sighed as he handed me my worst nightmare. A brand new suit to ‘borrow’ for the day’s class.

At this point, all 50 boys were standing in a line next to the pool while attendance was being taken. So at least I had the locker room all to myself.

As slowly as I could, taking my time, I put on the suit. It was made by Dolfin, and even had a little dolphin logo. Ugh. But, I was wearing it. Granted, in an empty locker room. Nevervously, I opened the door to the pool.

50 boys all turned to see what the noise was. The door slammed, and there I was. I had it on. My ‘package’, my skinny legs, my hairless chest, all of it on public view for all to laugh at.

But, an odd thing happened. After the boys saw it was just a late-comer to class, (and no one popular), they all looked away and faced front. I walked by the long row of students, every last one wearing the identical swimsuit. Of course, not one boy said one word to me. No one even snickered. They were all probably feeling as uncomfortable and shy as I was.

After the coach finished taking attendance, he shouted “All right. Everyone in the pool.” All 50 boys jumped into the cool water.

Being the first day, we mostly played around in the pool. We may have done a few laps, and different swimming styles, but the main thing I remember is just having fun in the water.

Five minutes in the pool, and the swimsuit wasn’t an issue any longer. Ten minutes in, and I started to actually enjoy the feeling of the wet nylon suit. Loving nylon like I did, the sensation of wearing it in a pool was new and exciting.

Looking back, I sure did love wearing that beautiful nylon suit. And on the good-looking boys, I started to sneak peeks at them, and was amazed at how the suit looked on them. It turned into something that was very hot, and very exciting.

[No, I never got a boner wearing the suit. (In class, at least.) And I have no doubt that all the kids in my PE class could not care less about that experience now.]

But me? I’ll never forget it. And a few years ago I bought the same Dolfin suit on line, (but in a nice blue color), the same cut, 100% nylon, and I’ve worn it to many pools as an adult. As I’ve said, it’s not as revealing as a Speedo, and I never have gotten unwanted attention while wearing it, walking around, swimming, lounging by the pool.

I still love and adore my Dolfin, 100% nylon, tank suit.

But hey…what do you expect from someone who has “the nylon obsession?”

Well…I Don’t Give a Fuck About Labels!

I haven’t posted in a bit, so I thought I’d let you know what’s up with me.

After a shitload of pondering and frustrating myself, and google searches, I’m worn out.

Maybe I’m Trans. But, maybe I’m Genderfluid, or… just a transvestite…or…

Ugh!

Too much for my brain!

I’ve decided this: I don’t need a label. That’s just something to tell a stranger if they ask.

I AM JUST MYSELF.

Some days, I feel like wearing a skirt, I feel like wearing jeans. A baseball hat. (But, the one constant is panties. Everyday. And some makeup. Gloss and a bit of color for my lips. I mean, I’m not a Neanderthal)

I guess what I’m saying is wear whatever the fuck you want. Fuck labels.

Maybe somewhere there’s a label that fits how I feel. Wait…! I know that label! I know what it is! It’s…

COREY.

Today, for example, I’m wearing my Adidas by Alexander Wang green satin track pants. (God, I love these!),

Stan Smith shoes, and a white untucked oxford shirt. Now…as I said I always do, I have panties on. (They’re the prettiest navy blue, and 100% NYLON!) A matching bra, and pantyhose. But, I guess if you were to look at me, maybe you’d see a guy. Maybe you’d talk to me and think Boy, this guy is kinda girly. That’s fine. I am girly. If you know anything about me, you’d know how much I was bullied for being a fem boy, starting when I transferred schools in 5th grade. Ugh. Boys. Am I right?

Though now, I don’t wear what I feel I have to. I wear what I want to.

What the hell am I? I don’t fucking care.
Now, am I right?

OFF TOPIC

I found a couple old old vintage pics taken by my then-girl friend of me wearing parachute pants. They’re Polaroids from ’85. Cropped a little. But, I vividly remember trying on a new gray pair. Can I believe I once could fit into a size 31L? Well sure I can. Jeez, I have kept the original tag in a photo album all these years. The second small pic is another Polaroid she took of me in my ubiquitous black pair. Great crotch shot, huh? Eeeew. I guess she knew what it was she liked about my parachute pants.

THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE

IMG_7103Okay. Well, I’ve shared my big news. I am trans. I think. Wait…I know. Well….pretty sure I am.

It’s rare for me to write an entry so soon after the last. But, I can’t stop thinking about this thing. It’s like every waking moment I have this fantasy. This dream. And I’m sad and frustrated because I don’t think it’ll ever happen. But, here is what I wish could and would happen to me on any night.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my night’s outfit. Fixing my makeup so I look just right. Feminine, pretty, but not tarty. I’m very surprised and pleased with my choices.

There’s a soft knock on my door. I run to answer it, checking myself out one last time in the foyer mirror before opening the door. I know who it is, and I’m instantly shy, and very very nervous. It’s hard for me to make eye contact.

Who’s at the door? It’s my date. It’s a guy. A cute guy! He’s wearing maybe jeans, an oxford shirt, a nice dark blazer and nice black leather shoes. His hair is short and perfectly mussed, when in actuality he spent 30 minutes getting it to look like he didn’t touch it. He sees me looking at the floor and he quickly checks me out. A huge smile breaks out. Beautiful smile, with beautiful teeth. Just a hint of facial hair. Enough to look masculine but not too much so he looks like a Swedish Death Metal fan.

Of course, he hands me the requisite flowers. They’re tasteful and perfect. I invite him in.

“Hi, Jeffrey,” I say. Yeah, his name is Jeff in my dreams. (It’s a long story.)

“Wow,” he says, “You look fantastic.” I blush at the compliment. Even though I believe him, it’s hard for me to take compliments. He even leans in and gives me a quick, sweet kiss on the cheek. Once I get the flowers in water, I’m ready to go. Jeff has made himself comfortable on the couch. As soon as I walk into the room, he stands.

“Are you hungry, Corey?” he asks. He helps me put on my jacket. He smells wonderful. No matter how much I’d like him to kiss me passionately, it’s not going to happen. Tonight, I’m being a good girl.

Yes, Jeff knows about me. He knows who I am. He couldn’t care less about my “parts.” He loves women. And to him, and to me, that’s what I am. And to him? I’m a very pretty, nice, funny, smart and loving woman. That’s all he sees. I can tell from everything this boy does that HE feels lucky to take ME out on a date!

Honestly, and I say this with no hint of self pity: that’s never happened. I’ve never felt a person, male or female, taking me out…and HIM being the nervous one. HIM being the one subtly trying to impress me. But this night, Jeff is on his super-best behavior. He’s trying to woo me. His boyish attempts to hide his attraction and… just plain INTEREST in me is soooooo adorable.

Jeff does everything right. At dinner he looks into my eyes the entire time. He’s transfixed. He takes my hand across the table, and softly rubs his thumb up and down the back of my hand. He’s wonderful. We talk. A lot. He asks caring questions about me and growing up trans. I ask about what it was like being the star athlete in high school. He’s funny, self effacing yet utterly knows who he is.

And you know what else I dream about happening that night? Nothing. No sex. Nothing fantastical. Just a date. A date with a sexy, handsome, polite, and utterly charming guy. He takes me home after a long over-two-hour dinner and kisses me goodnight. A nice kiss. Not sleazy. He tells me he’ll call me very soon to set up the next date. I stare, watching him leave. I’ve got the stupidest, most wonderful smile.

Jeff leaves, and I enter my apartment. What a great night, I think as I slip off my heels. Then, my phone rings. I don’t immediately recognize the number but I answer anyway. It’s Jeff. He’s on speaker while he’s driving. He couldn’t wait the bullshit three days. He’s calling me five minutes after dropping me off. He asks if I’m busy tomorrow. He wants another date. (And naturally, No. No, I’m not busy.)

And that’s the end. I know, it’s pretty tame and a little boring. But in my whole life, I’ve never had a fantasy I’ve wanted more.

Ugh! Sigh.

A GOLD NECKLACE ON A GUY CAN BE SEXY!

Yeah, yeah…we all know. I’m a child of the 80s. But there are certain fashionimg_6506 trends that I wish were still around. For instance…

A cute teenage (or older) guy with a button-down oxford, open at the collar (only one or two buttons please) with a tasteful gold necklace? Yup. It’s sexy.

The people who say “Only fags and mafia guys wear them.” are wrong. Naturally, that’s an oversimplification about those who wear any kind of jewelry. Cute guys wear necklaces, too. And not just “hemp.” Please.

Though, generally speaking, there are a few rules.

1. No more than two buttons undone. Ever. Personally, I’m a one button guy. (Though for the above picture, I wanted to show how two buttons undone looks with my necklace.)

2. No chest hair. Sorry guys. Chest hair is gross. Unless it’s closely trimmed. And if you’re going to trim it, might as well shave it. I have always been lucky in that I’ve never had chest hair. It just never grew. Good for me.

3. The chain just has to be tasteful. No Justin Bieber bicycle chains. Try to stay away from rope chains, as well. Yellow gold looks the best. And buy a REAL GOLD chain. Not plated, hollow, or filled. A nice flat chain looks the best. And no bigger than 2.5 mm. (White gold is okay, but to me it just looks like silver.) The necklace I wear is a flat wheat chain that is 2mm wide and 22 inches long.

4. Finally: always…ALWAYS keep your chain under your shirt. It’s that smallest hint of gold around your next that is so sexy. Showing less is more. A little visible sparkle always makes me look twice at the wearer. And keep your gold necklace new-looking and sparkly. Always remove and clean it at the end of the day. And never wear it in the pool. Chlorine is terrible for gold.

And always remember the sexiest trait a guy can have is confidence. If you think your necklace looks good, chances are others will, too.

Maybe part of the attraction is that perhaps it DOES look a little feminine. It shows that you care about your appearance. Buying yourself a nice gold necklace is like giving yourself an elegant gift. I guess, if you think you look “macho” in your chain, nestled in your chest hair, as long as you’re confident, perhaps it will come across.

But the sight of a soft, pretty-ish guy, cute smile, nice clothes, with that sparkle around his neck when the light hits the necklace… now THAT’S hot.

[Update: I think Ross Lynch is one of the cutest boys ever. I mean…EVER. Recently, he did an interview, and I’ll try to include a picture of his beautiful face. But it’s really what he was wearing. A gold necklace. It is the exact same width, length, and type of necklace I wear. SIGH.]