Changing The World One Skirt at a Time

Deeltitel

He kept tugging on his socks, trying to get them to cover his bare knees. He knew the bright yellow socks were an odd choice given the rest of his colourless outfit. Maybe that was the reason he felt so uncomfortable - that, or the fact that he was wearing a skirt. Just keep staring out of the window. Trying to focus on the cars as they were passing by, he did his best to avoid eye contact with any of his fellow passengers. Not that people were looking at his face. They seemed to be more interested in his outfit. You would think that they had never seen someone in a skirt before. Two more days and then this week would be over. He had not expected it to be this hard. Awkward? Yes, that had almost been a given. But that it would actually change his opinion on his fellow men, that he hadn't seen coming. He wished he could say it had been a change for the better, but his mom had taught him not to lie. No, definitely not for the better, far from it.
He still couldn't believe that he had been wrong. He hated loosing to Matt. He had known him since kindergarten, and as long as he could remember, they had been fierce competitors. Not that they were enemies; on the contrary, Matt was one of his best friends. But that didn't mean they cut each other any slack. Maybe that was one of the reasons Matt was such a good friend; they challenged each other to do better, whether it was in school, during their football games, or even when it came to picking up girls. If it hadn't been for Matt, he would not have had his first kiss. Matt had had a crush on one of the girls in their school. And when the junior high spring dance had been around the corner, and the girl had agreed to go as Matt's date, he had boasted about his ingenious - so he had claimed - plan to kiss her. And of course Matt hadn't been able to resist pointing out that this would make him the first in their group to kiss a girl. Personally, he hadn't really cared about kissing girls yet, but the idea that Matt would beat him to it hadn't sat well with him. So when Amber, the girl who had been following him around for several weeks, had batted her eyelashes at him again, he had decided to go for it. Looking back, it had definitely not been his finest moment. Amber had clung on even more, and he eventually had had to tell her that he hadn't really been interested. He had felt like a real jerk. But of course, Matt had gotten a real laugh out of it, especially because it had all been in vain anyway; Matt had beat him to it nonetheless. Maybe it should have been a lesson, but to be honest it hadn't really affected their competition. It had just taught him to go about it more carefully, making sure others wouldn't get hurt in the process.
It might have been different if they hadn't been on the same level. If one of them had been clearly better at something, it wouldn't really have been any fun to compete. But since they usually couldn't predict upfront who would win, it somehow gave such a rush to be the one coming out on top, like a reward for their hard work. Of course, it was even better if there was an actual reward to win. Both he and Matt had collected quite a number of trophies over the years. If it had been up to him, they would have all ended up in the bottom of some closet - most of them were pretty ugly - but his mom had displayed them all in their living room. She liked showing them off to her friends; fortunately his sister had won a few as well, or it would have been pretty awkward. For him, the trophies didn't really matter. Together with Matt, he had developed their own reward system, one that actually felt, well, rewarding.
It had started off simple. Whoever had won, would get bragging rights - best speller, best goalie, or - his personal favourite - most attractive. But after a while it had grown old. So they had taken it up a notch. The winner would be entitled to the last slice of pizza, or the winner could ride shotgun. Like the bragging rights, however, after a while, riding shotgun hadn't really felt like a reward anymore. And there was only so much pizza you could eat. So they had needed something different - and that was how it had all started. Matt had come up with the brilliant idea that instead of the winner getting a reward, the loser would be punished, with the punishment decided upon by the winner. It had sounded like a solid plan, but with their history he should have known that even this would turn into a competition. Whatever punishment one of them had come up with, the next one had to be better, or more accurately put, more embarrassing. It had started off pretty innocent. He had made Matt take over his turn to clean up the football field and put away the sports gear. But it had quickly evolved to getting the other's lunch, carrying around gym bags, to now this.
When Matt had made his claim, he should have known better. It had sounded too conflicting to be true, which should have been a clue that it probably was true. But then again, he hadn't thought it past Matt to state something outrageous and obviously incorrect, just to mess with him. So when Matt had made his claim that coffee wasn't actually made from beans, it hadn't taken him long to call Matt's bluff. It had to be a trick. After all, it had only been the day before that he had helped his mom unpack the groceries and had put away two large bags of coffee beans - his parents were slightly addicted to coffee. If there was anything he loved, it was the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. He couldn't wait to try his first cup of coffee. He was convinced that it would be heavenly. Unfortunately so far his parents had still considered him too young, but he wasn't one to loose hope. He knew it was only a matter of time before they would cave. Of course, Matt had known of his little obsession and had clearly tried to confuse him - or at least so he had thought. How foolish he had felt, when he had learned that Matt had actually been right, that the things he had claimed to love had turned out not to be beans at all. Apparently coffee beans were actually seeds or pits found in so called coffee cherries. They just happened to look like beans. He had tried to argue that it was all just semantics - beans were planted to grow new plants just like seeds, but Matt hadn't let him off the hook. He had lost and had had to pay the price.
The smile on Matt's face had made it clear that it would be something bad, like drinking pickle juice or washing Matt's dirty gym cloths. But still, this he hadn't seen coming. "What do you think of that girl? She looks pretty." Matt had pointed at a girl standing to their right. He had been a little surprised by Matt's statement. The girl had looked fine but a little plain compared to the girls on their left. Those girls had definitely seemed more Matt's type - or his, for that matter. But since he hadn't wanted to say anything negative, just in case the girl turned out to be Matt's cousin or potentially even his new girlfriend, he had tried to keep it neutral. "Yeah, she looks fine. Didn't realize that was your type, though." "What? No, I didn't mean her looks. I meant her outfit." Matt had looked at him as if that had explained everything. But if anything, it had only added to his confusion. He had nevertheless given the girl a second look, focusing this time on her cloths. "Sure. I am not really an expert on girl cloths, but I guess it looks nice?" "Don't worry. You will become an expert very soon." And then Matt had gotten an even bigger grin on his face. "After all, you, my friend, will be wearing them next week."
A whole week wearing a skirt. Well, from Monday to Friday that was, but still it had meant going to school in a skirt, taking the bus while wearing a skirt, and even going to band practice in a skirt. Obviously, he hadn't particularly looked forward to this week and had immediately thought of ways to soften the embarrassment. But Matt had known him better than he had liked and had been very clear in his instructions - no pants under his skirt and no skirt up to his ankles; as Matt had put it, "we want to see those lovely knees." Fortunately, this had been one of those times that having a sister had its advantages. A skirt hadn't really been a part of his wardrobe so far - nor did he intend it to be after this week. So he had turned to his sister in order to borrow one. Of course, he should have realized that she would consider this an invitation to shower him with unwanted fashion advice, most of which he had ignored, but there had been one that he had decided to follow, although he did his best not to think of how his sister had come up with the idea. He didn't want to think of his sister in that way, swooning over some rugged, fierce-looking highlander, who played the hero by fighting the enemy and rescuing the girl. His sister read too many romance novels. He decided to look at them exactly for what they were - his knee-high soccer socks, which would keep his legs warm and which were high enough to cover his ankles and bare calves. Nothing more. His sister had tried to convince him that he should also wear panties underneath. Apparently nobody liked hairy legs under a skirt. But that definitely had been a bridge too far for him. He felt his man parts shrivel up just thinking about it again. Wearing a skirt had been already girly enough for him. Now, if she would have explained that panties were also meant to keep his legs warm, well, that might have changed the situation.
According to the astronomers, it was supposed to be spring, but he doubted someone had shared that fact yet with the weather gods. Although it had looked sunny over the weekend, the chilly breeze had stopped many people from venturing out. And the start of the week hadn't really been much better, as he had learned while waiting for the bus on Monday morning. Since he had already felt self-conscious enough wearing a skirt, he had stopped himself from fidgeting. But he had felt relieved when the bus had come, even if that had meant facing the other passengers on the bus in a skirt - and facing his class mates.
When the bus had neared his school, his group of friends had been hard to miss. Some had been tossing a football around; others seemed to have been in a lively discussion. But no matter what they had been doing, the moment one of them had spotted the bus, they had all stopped and had watched the bus approach - so much for his hope to get to class unseen. He should have known Matt wouldn't cut him any slack, if only because he himself wouldn't have done so if the tables had been turned. He would have told everyone he knew to be on the lookout for Matt, which had appeared to be exactly what Matt had done. Their entire football team had gathered at the bus-stop, and looking at the grins on their faces, they had been ready for a spectacle, one they had gotten the moment he had stepped off the bus. He had done his best to look cool, but let's be honest, that was a little difficult, when coming from a bus wearing a skirt. So, deciding that a good offence was the best defence, he had taken both sides of his skirt, made a curtsy, and had tried to look proud. "What do you think, guys? Does it match my shirt?"
It was a good thing that he had been so used to the noise their team could produce whenever they were together, because they had made quite a racket with their laughter, cheers and the comments they had shouted at him as soon as he had left the bus. They had clearly given some thought to all the jokes they would be able to throw his way, because the jokes had just kept coming. He hadn't really minded, since he would have done the same thing. The thing that had bothered him, though, had been their attempts to look under his skirt. In a - clearly not well-thought-through - attempt to look cool, he had mentioned the highlanders and how they appeared to be quite though, despite wearing a kilt. He had overlooked the fact, however, that the Scotts were known for not wearing anything under their kilt - something his teammates clearly hadn't forgotten. And so the attempts had started to determine, as they had called it, whether he was wearing a kilt or a skirt. Who would have thought he would ever be happy about the fact that class was about to start and they had been forced to take their seat?
He had known that going to class had meant facing his teachers, but to be honest, that had been the least of his concerns. He had known that, even though they would give him a look, they would refrain from commenting. They had known better than that. With almost every high schooler carrying a smart phone these days, they knew that anything they would say could end up being plastered all over the internet, subjecting them to all kinds of comments and scrutiny. After all, it hadn't been that long ago that their gym teacher had made a thoughtless comment when a girl had used her period to get out of gym class, and he had ended up being called an insensitive pig and worse, when the video had been shared on Facebook. As far as he knew, it hadn't caused any problems for the gym teacher, but it must have been a definite reminder for all his teachers about how quickly things could take a turn for the worse. And so apart from giving him a questionable look, his teachers had all refrained from commenting on him wearing a skirt.
To be honest, he could learn something from his teachers - apart from regular school stuff, that was - because he knew that his own response at times had definitely left something to desire. Thinking back, he still felt a little ashamed. He had never actually hung out with Marc nor, apart from some brief school-related exchanges, had had any conversation with him. Yet, he had known that Marc was gay, not because of anything Marc had said or done, but simply because kids talk - a lot. He had never really given it much thought before, but when Marc had looked at him, that first day wearing a skirt, he had started to feel uncomfortable. Afraid that Marc would think he was gay or would even ask him out, he had almost desperately clung to the first girl he had seen, trying to act all tough and macho, hoping to convey that he was into girls, not boys. When Marc had turned his attention to someone else, he had felt relieved and content with himself about how he had handled the situation - until he had talked to his sister. His sister had looked at him as if he was a complete idiot, and truth be told, he probably had been. As his sister had bluntly pointed out, it wasn't as if girls were dropping at his feet, eager to ask him out, just because they knew he was straight. Why would it be any different if Marc had believed him to be gay? When his sister had called him both ignorant and arrogant, he knew she had been right.
Interestingly enough, it hadn't been the comments of his friends and family that had bothered him; he had known that they had just been relishing in the opportunity to make fun of him. No, it had been the comments and attitude of complete strangers that had thrown him off - people he had never met and would probably never see again, who had nevertheless felt it necessary to make their disapproval known. Had he expected them to give him a strange look? Absolutely. He was realistic enough to know that he himself would not have been able to hide his surprise when seeing a guy wearing a skirt. But he doubted that he would have acted upon it - unlike some of the people he had encountered during his daily commute.
The first time it had happened, he hadn't really noticed it until he had gotten up to leave the bus. He could have sworn that the guy that had been sitting next to him and had gotten up to get out a few stops earlier - or so he had thought - had still been on the bus, only now sitting on the very back-row. Initially he had thought that it had just been his imagination running wild, but when the guy had quickly averted his gaze when he had looked at him, he had known that something had been up. It had made him feel self-conscious. But at least the guy had tried to be somewhat discreet, something that couldn't be said for others he had encountered.
So much for his fondness for elderly ladies and his clearly misguided beliefs that they were all just like his sweet grandma, caring and non-judgmental. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He had never seen so many seniors give him a disapproving look or shake their heads in obvious disgust. Now he knew why they were always carrying shopping bags around; they could use it as a seat filler, warding off unwanted bus passengers from sitting next to them. He had tried his best not to think too much of it. He had heard enough stories from his grandparents about their youth and how different things had been compared to now. The elderly people that he had encountered on the bus had probably never been taught to be open-minded. Maybe his grandparents were just the exception. But despite the excuses he had come up with for their behaviour, it had still bothered him - a lot, especially the comments that people had made. The looks had been relatively simple to ignore; he had never observed the floor of a bus as closely as he was doing this week - talk about disgusting. The remarks, however, had been more difficult to block out. Why of all weeks did this week have to be the week that he had lost his earbuds? He would have given anything to put on some music and pretend that he was the only one on the bus.
The very first day the comments had mostly surprised him. After having heard his classmates going at it all day, doing their best to bring him wearing a skirt into every conversation, regardless of the topic, he had started tuning them out. But the comments he had heard on the bus had been different. Besides the fact that they had come from complete strangers, the comments had clearly not been intended as a joke. Despite the hushed tones, the disdain had been obvious, even without the disapproving looks. He remembered feeling astonished, not by the fact that the people disapproved, but by the fact that they would so openly voice their disapproval. He knew that he could be pretty judgmental at times as well, but at least he had the decency, for lack of a better word, to keep those thoughts to himself or only vent them when the person in question couldn't hear them - although he cringed a little at that thought, knowing that was still wrong all the same.
When the next day the disapproving comments had continued to follow him around, his surprise had turned into annoyance. Who were they to judge him? So he wore a skirt. At least the colour of his skirt didn't clash with the rest of his outfit, which was more than he could say for some of his critics. And he certainly wasn't going to take any fashion advice from a grown woman who thought colouring her hair bright pink was a good idea. Not that he would say any of those things; his mom had taught him better than that - but he hadn't been able to stop himself from returning their disapproving looks.
By the time his third day of commuting in a skirt had come around, he had had enough. If people couldn't be bothered to keep their opinions to themselves, neither could he. So when two elderly ladies had given him a disapproving look, and the one on the left had uttered the words, 'a skirt, can you believe that?', he had put a smile on his face and had done his best to reply in a honey-sweet voice, "Indeed. Doesn't it look nice? Any suggestions where I can buy more? I quite like yours." The startled look on their faces had been priceless. When it had been quickly replaced by a look of disdain, he had wondered whether it had been aimed at him or at themselves for getting caught.
When the second couple of critics had responded in quite a similar way, unsure whether to feel ashamed of him overhearing them talk smack about him or angry at him for calling them out on it, he had started to enjoy himself. Why not have a little fun during his commute? It wasn't as if Matt had told him to suffer his punishment in silence. Unfortunately, he had quickly gotten so wrapped up in his new little game, that he had forgotten one of the most important rules of any game: know your opponent.
The guy's challenging look should probably have been a clue, but he had been too caught up in the fact that this had been the first stranger actually directing a comment at him instead of merely mumbling something behind his back, that he hadn't been able to ignore the challenge. He had known that his approach up to that point - feigning ignorance and pretending to be flattered by the attention - wouldn't have the desired effect. And so he had chosen to go for an equally direct approach. "Yeah? Got a problem? Jealous that you don't have the guts to wear a skirt yourself?" Of course he had known that his comment had been pushing it a bit, but it had felt good not having to hide his irritation. Yet, he had regretted it the moment the guy had risen from his seat. "What did you say?" Yeah, that probably hadn't been the smartest response – especially since he had quickly gotten the suspicion that he might have overlooked the guy's friends sitting two rows back, friends who had suddenly started paying very close attention, clearly ready and, so he had feared, eager to jump to action, if the situation called for it. He wasn't known for avoiding fights and had probably started a few himself, but he knew better than to jump into one when he was outnumbered - and outnumbered he was, no doubt about it. So he had done the only thing he knew would diffuse the situation; he had mumbled something that had resembled an apology and had sunken back into his seat, trying very hard to make himself invisible. He knew that it had been a cowardice move, but he hadn't really liked the idea of getting his ass kicked, especially not when he was wearing a skirt. After what had felt like forever, he had looked up, only to quickly return to staring at his lap, when he had noticed the guy still staring at him. Yet, it had appeared that his retreat had had the desired effect, since the guy had sat down again and had no longer seemed intent on letting him get acquainted with his fists. It hadn't been until the guy and his friends had exited the bus, though, that he had felt his breath returning somewhat back to normal again. Talk about dodging a bullet. Maybe this new game of him hadn't been such a good idea after all.
After the incident, he had been ready to just forget about the dare, to forget about wearing a skirt, and to just put on his comfy shorts. But something had stopped him. Not the thought of Matt; he could have handled Matt's snarky remarks. No, what had stopped him was that it had felt like an easy way out. When he would wake up on Saturday, he could go back to wearing pants and forget that this week had even happened. But he knew that there were people out there for whom things weren't that easy - people who had to choose between wearing a skirt and being ridiculed at or wearing pants and hiding who they truly were; people who didn't fit in what society considered 'normal' and who wouldn't be allowed to forget it, if it was up to their fellow men; people he himself up to this week had looked at funny and with his fair share of prejudices. He was realistic enough to know that this week hadn't changed him completely; he was bound to mess up again in the future. But it had opened his eyes and would hopefully make him at least aware whenever he was ignorant again. And that was something he was grateful for, something he had Matt to thank for, even though he knew that this hadn't been Matt's intent when he had come up with the idea. O no, Matt would most likely be annoyed if he knew that he had actually considered it a valuable learning experience. But that made it even better - anything to annoy Matt. He wouldn't tell him quite yet, though. No, he would wait until the next time Matt lost a bet. And then he would give Matt the exact same assignment, even if that meant that he would never hear the end of how unoriginal he was. Yes, Matt would give him a hard time for that. But he was more than happy to take Matt's banter, if that gave him the opportunity to teach Matt the same lesson he had learned. He knew he wouldn't be able to change everyone. But even if it would be just one person, this whole ordeal would have been worth it.