Superman was a cross dresser
It wasn’t the cape or the sexy tights. It was the secret identity. Sometimes Mild manner Clark Kent, I take off those shy glasses, take off the baggy dress shirt and slacks, brush out those luscious locks and get into something a bit more flattering and Voila! SUPERMAN.
Getting dressed feels incredible. It’s a rush. I feel a transformation inside and out. My edges soften, my mind slows and focuses, colors deepen and my body feels more fluid and sexy. My voice goes up ever so slightly and I’m not abrupt. I listen. I have less to say, more to hear, see, take in. I feel fluid, my muscles feel soft and I feel lighter It’s just clothes. It’s not just clothes at all. I take my time getting done right. I consider the right earrings, necklace, bracelets. I glide towards the door with that intoxicating tap of heels on the hardwoods, I barely touch the ground. I just float on the balls of my feet. The dress material gliding off my skin feels electric.
Pauline loves going to art museums, shopping, and dancing. Here and there, Pauline flirts with the boys and nothing beats a girls night out and conversation over a glass of Prosecco. I like my Barre class, window shopping, and, did I mention Prosecco. I love spotting a mirror and glancing my lashes, my eyes, my silhouette.
My male alter ego, Clark Kent has more than his share of fun. He’s a broad-shouldered man. He skis hard. He camps in the backcountry. He eats red meat and likes his whiskey straight on the rocks. He leads loud and proud. He is a man from head to occasionally manicured toe.
Superman came from some alien planet, fought Lex Luthor and evaded Kryptonite, blah blah blah. Those stories were all well and good, but I wanted to see how Superman balanced his split personality. Who knew? Who didn’t? How could he keep it safe? What would people think? Why was he a freak? Why couldn’t he just be mild-mannered Clark Kent, a reporter for the Daily Planet?
As Clark Kent’s story began, he would feel fleeting moments of something out of the ordinary. Powerful, frightening. He would test his differences and hide them at the same time. He knew it mattered, but it wasn’t to share with everyone. Over time, he built his fortress of solitude to be Superman, out of the public glare.
As a child, I had my moments with this dark strange power. There was a stolen afternoon in my parent’s basement when no one was around and I wore a girl’s swimsuit that fit just right. I saw a pretty girly body in the mirror. I felt a magic boost.
I had a few visits to my grandmother’s walk-in closet in my teens. (Interlude, she was a young grandma and surprisingly sexy. She was very single and dated a lot. I quickly outgrew her stockings and sexy dresses in the years that followed) I had my fortress far at the end of the world, also known as Seagate Colony overlooking the Chesapeake Bay. The web didn’t exist to post photos. Digital photos didn’t even exist. I thought I was the only one in the world with this strange dark twist.
Superman’s parents knew he was different, they raised him just the same. Hopefully, Clark could just have a good simple happy life like they did. My parents were likely entirely oblivious to this bit of me.
There was one time, as a bit of a prank, I dressed up for a school paper photo shoot. What a gag! I invented “Jodi Bah,” a fake student for school newspaper spoof. I dressed in my mom’s clothes and played it up. My mom applied a bit of blush and took pics. I loved it, no one needed to know how much. Hiding in plain sight felt just fine. No need to discuss it.
Superman pretending to be Superman so no one suspected it was Superman. A stroke of genius.
I went to college in NYC. After very careful planning, there were a couple nights here and there. My college mates had left the fraternity house for the holidays, out she soared with all of NYC at her disposal. The internet and Craigslist had just begun to open up. The power and excitement were frightening, memorable.
She soared off and on. There were times on these excursions that I feared it may be tempting to leave Clark behind, don the cape and fly every day. She was a force. The thing was, he was a force too.
Clark was happy, busy, ambitious and there was so much to do and to be. The cape came out very sporadically. The fortress of solitude was still there, it just grew a bit cobwebbed as she lay dormant and he took the lead.
Much later, I came out to my Lois Lane. She was the one I wanted to make a life with and I couldn’t hide it from her. She had to know.
Opening up scared Lois. She had hoped for a normal life. Having a husband in a cape (or in this case a dress) wasn’t what she planned to sign up for, but she was already in and there was no going back now. She stomached it well enough. She was cautious.
We would keep the secret between us or really just between me. She got Clark. Superman’s days, she hoped, were in the rear view mirror. I hoped and expected the same. Superman continued to lay dormant.
As time went, the secret continued to grow its own weight and the need to flex those unique powers returned. Superman needed to explore beyond the Fortress of Solitude. My extraordinary powers are addictive, intoxicating, somehow important to being all of me.
Stretching into Pauline on frequent out of town work trips, I found out so much more about her or me or both or one at the same time. It’s a bit of a jumble.
Being Pauline, going to the museum, I was in a magical place. I will never forget that moment in front of Monet’s water lilies. I walked up to the painted and felt a cool calm pastel breeze blow through me like from the pigments. I was overwhelmed, orgasmic from the inside out in a way I had never experienced. I soaked it all in. From there, I wandered to the Egypyt exhibit. The gods of Egypt were so masculine and sexy. Wow, just wow. The rich colors of the Art Museum reached deep inside me to a place I had never felt.
These feelings mattered. Pauline mattered.
Part of the shame started to fade away. No one seemed to care what I wore or better said, I learned I seemed to be the only one who cared and I ceased to reject this part of me. The shame was my shame. I let it go. I was better for it.
When I returned to my home town from out of town trips, I would return to Clark Kent. I would put away the cape and tights, but I couldn’t put away the memories and the expectations of the next trip to Pauline.
Lois couldn’t help but wonder what Superman did when he wasn’t there. But, she had Clark and that was that. She didn’t fall in love with Superman. Pauline and Superman were imaginary and Lois liked it that way.
The only problem is they weren’t.
Superman lived in Clark’s skin and vice versa. With each super experience, Superman’s story grew. Clark had a story too. Where was Superman’s brain when he was saving the damsel in distress? Was he thinking about making it home in time to his son’s soccer practice? Where was Clark’s brain during soccer practice? Considering the death-defying swoop into the burning building and the damsel he saved (or he was)?
Superman’s revealed his alter-ego to a selective circle. So did Pauline’s. The logistics of a double life just don’t work without some accomplices. Getting fabulous and femme lives better in a village. I needed a gal pal to shop with, get a manicure with, plan an evening with, talk boys with, enjoy museums with, eat, drink and dance with. My world continued to grow.
Superman also made friends with other Superheroes. The Justice League was a safe place for everyone to don a cape. Other cross dressers understood the unique experience and I sought them out. The details of how to juggle shaved legs. The experience of buying women clothes for the first time. How to do get cleavage from a flat chest. Places to go and feel safe. How to handle boys, How to handle girls, How not to handle both.
The cross dresser edition of the Justice League was wonderful but weird. However amazing the members are, its still a lot of people in capes and tights. Is this where I fit in?
Over time, Superman learned the Justice Leagues reverse code. After years of hiding Superman, Superman now had to hide Clark Kent. Here Pauline was the loud and proud one, hiding the masculine man I’d spent years putting out there and never hiding. Neither the twain shall meet.
My shaved legs grow back quickly. My beard even quicker. I shave and dip into Pauline for a quick visit then back … to he. Lines blur. I feel that certain feminine glide in my step as I get out of bed on a day I plan to put on slacks and a sports coat. I take a work call midday dressed to the nines, my voice drops, my shoulders widen, I’m in it for some hard-nosed masculine aggression while I’m mid pedicure. The call ends, and I feel a lightness in my muscles again.
I have to be both if I want to be either.
His clothes selection has improved a little. He listens more. He’s more understanding about the challenges of femininity, of being an object of desire, of the pain of traveling distances in heels and the power it brings when you get done up, looking good. He feels the sisterhood and longs for it.
Pauline started to go to work very selectively. She doesn’t just enjoy the museum. She owns a power suit. She pulls a bit of her weight and is just as fierce as he. There are no free passes from one to the other for what either has done.
Superman isn’t Superman without Clark Kent. Clark Kent isn’t Clark Kent without Superman.
Superman’s and Clark’s worlds began to collide more and more. Friends met both and requested an audience with one or the other. Painted toes sticking out in my stinky boy sandals in the summer. Short on time, the makeup left a bit of beard growth while out thrift store dress shopping. When making plans for the night, friends would respectfully ask, “Is Pauline coming?” Years of hiding a dark shame and that was it, a bit of mundane curiosity and not much more for something that once so deeply tortured me.
Tapping Superman’s powers ebbed and flowed. Pauline has never been a dude in a dress, but at times, as he prepared for an evening of her, he would have been just that. She wasn’t there. Crossdresser Kryptonite. Long periods came where the dresses felt like they came from a distant girlfriend’s closet, not someone inside me.
Was the source of Superman’s power and desire the secret? After years of hiding and denying her, he missed her now that he had finally let her breathe in the big wide world. He could force it, do the work, shave, makeup dress. As time allowed he might see if she might still be in there, just in need of waking.
There was a time when Pauline would take control and make sure she found her way out. At the first hint of a need, like Superman, she would find a phone booth and with a whirlwind, out she’d come, killer heels, legs for days, eyes that popped, Watch out world, she’ll eat you up!
Now Pauline appears to be a welcome choice. He can summon her when the moment strikes and time allows. I have the privilege to see the world through different eyes and quite literally different eyelashes. What a gift to literally walk a mile in another’s shoes?
Sharing Pauline with friends that only know him refreshes friendships and discovers places neither have been to together.
Sharing him with friends that only know Pauline deepens the friendship and fills in the grime and dirt that makes the world so messy, rich and real.
When Superman and Clark both have the chance to walk the streets together, openly, life turns out to be far more fascinating and nuanced than Clark or Superman had ever imagined.
And so goes the burden of my once and sometimes hidden superpowers. I may soar in a dress but I can hold my own in trousers. I can trip the light fantastic in a pair of glamorous heels or cut the rug in some trendy sneakers. I can “git ‘er done” in a button-down shirt and sports coat or my white pantsuit.
Clark and Superman, Pauline and I, a world awaits, for all of us.
