My story is similar to those of so many T-girls. Even as a small child I was fascinated by the women in my life - my mother and my aunts seemed much more interesting people than the men around me. They smiled and laughed much more often than did the men. They just seemed to enjoy life more. I knew that they were different from the men and the difference fascinated me.
My yearning for things feminine slowly grew stronger. In the second grade I would look over at the girls and wish that I could join them. I particularly envied the way that they interacted with each other and I just loved the way that they looked when dressed up. I so wished that I could wear clothes like theirs. I remember a particular fascination with a dirndl dress worn by one of the girls. The only drawback that I could see to being a girl rather than a boy was in the area of athletics.
Some years later in a closet I discovered a bag of feminine undies that my mother must have discarded. Panties, bras, even a girdle. Whenever I was lucky enough to be alone I would go to that closet and put on those lovely pink silky underthings and the girdle. How good they felt. So much better than the cotton underwear that males wore. They made me feel so feminine. I would put on a pair of her heeled shoes (too large of course) and wrap a shawl around me to simulate a dress. I felt like a little girl playing at being an adult instead of a boy and so loved that feeling.
A growing boy was bound at some point to be the same size as his mother and when that wonderful time came for me I couldn't wait to go to her closet and try on her clothes. I experimented with her make-up too. As was inevitable I had several close calls when either someone came home early or I dallied too long because of my reluctance to take off my feminine finery. Thank God for a bathroom with a door that locked and for an early opportunity to smuggle my borrowed clothes back to their proper place. As far as I knew no one ever guessed my secret
After high school I went off to the Navy and then to college and had little opportunity to dress in clothes of my choice. Even in my vacations at home I couldn't dress fully because I had outgrown my mother's clothes. But the desire to dress like a girl, to be a girl was always there. Only when I finally had an apartment of my own could I act on that desire. And so I gradually assembled a feminine wardrobe, foolishly purged several times, and then each time replaced all that I had discarded.
I so enjoyed the company of women that marriage was inevitable, and when I met a woman who was fully feminine in her mind and who expressed that femininity in her actions and in her dress I married her. I thought that her femininity would be enough for me - that I wouldn't need to express my own. How wrong I was. I began to build up a wardrobe again - much of it initially bought in stores that catered to T's. But over time I began to patronize the same stores that genetic girls did, and with that came the need to lose weight to that I would have a larger choice of clothes. And, of course, with that incentive I did lose the weight and keep it off.
I do so love to shop for feminine things. The boldest I have been in shopping involved stopping at a cosmetics counter in Lord and Taylor and asking for Dermablend. The clerk didn't bat an eye, but stepped into the aisle with me and tried on various shades until she found the one that fit me. What a joy to be doing something so feminine. I wonder what the passersby thought.
The most fun that I have had recently involved having a transition specialist, Lynda Krupa, do a makeover on me. She does miraculous work. She even manages to make my all too obvious nose less prominent. When she is done I look and feel so delightfully feminine. Its an experience that I recommend to all.
I would so love to have a female body, but I
recognize that the cost of transition would be too high socially. So
here I hang like so many others suspended between the worlds of the
masculine to which my body belongs, and the feminine for which my
mind and spirit yearn.
