Partners of crossdressers all have their stories about discovering their loved one's "other side" and coming to terms with it. Some have to work through painful feelings of inadequacy. Some have to learn to reject the basic philosophies they were taught growing up. Some are too afraid to accept any step outside the "norm" whatsoever. I guess I had it easy.

Speaking the language of stereotype and appearance, Ed is a very masculine individual. He is broad-shouldered, deep chested and has a beard besides being pretty hairy in other places. He is a veteran and a former firefighter. He's strong and assertive. And he drives like a maniac.

But he's also graceful. He listens. He meets a woman's eyes instead of her breasts. He's artistic, open-minded and compassionate. He'd rather have a deep conversation than watch a football game (He'd also rather have a deep-jagged flesh wound than watch a football game, but that's beside the point.). So I knew he wasn't the typical male when I met him. Clues as to just how atypical he was began to snag my attention. The long nails were the most obvious. A few days after we met, he painted them bright red for his Halloween persona, the Red Death. Here was this muscular male with an almost growly voice elegantly bearing his cigarette between the scarlet fingers of his upturned hand. I understand this would turn a lot of women off, but I was definitely, oh, how shall I say, NOT turned off.

His walk seized my attention easily. He moved with grace and confidence like more women should. When he was especially comfortable, he let his arm come up and his wrist dangle. I wondered what made him different. He kept Kissing Slicks lip gloss in his bathroom. I somehow assumed he was using it, which was pretty foolish since the guy hired models for his period photographs. I don't know why. I just had a feeling. I'd always been interested in psychology and sociology. I'd read the Victorian studies to the modern studies, catching crossdressing here and there. But I was beginning to think I needed

Then one day he was telling me a story from his recent past and he casually mentioned that he was "in heels at the time." Aha! I ran to Jean Barnes Books. They had a total of one book on crossdressing, Virginia Prince's Understanding Crossdressing. Whatever people may think of this book now, it was almost the only positive information I had at the time. I raced through it at once (Yeah, Mom, just studying for that medical botany test...). It was a while before he dressed fully for me. At first, I just saw lipstick and earrings and maybe a satin robe. Many psychologists would consider me worse than an enabler because I did encourage it. Elizabeth was fun, but, more important, Ed was comfortable and uninhibited. Why would I be unnerved by a harmless act that imparts a sense of freedom to the one I love? We started shopping for Elizabeth. We were circumspect and only had trouble at Target. They absolutely refuse to waver from the policy of males with male clothes on the male side, females with female clothes on the female side, no mixing. That's okay; they charge far too much for cookie-cutter cotton-poly stitched by cross-eyed donkeys on heroin (bitchy, bitchy...).

Now every time I stop to look at clothes, I look for my size and Elizabeth's size. If I look through catalogs, I have two girls in mind. This Christmas I bought Ed presents and a silver sequined skirt for Liz. I like his crossdressing to be just one more thing we share (especially when I raid Elizabeth's jewelry box). I get a little kick out of watching men navigate on their toes, adjust their bras and try to remember not to rub their mascaraed eyes. They have some idea how much work it is to follow the femininity rules and can empathize with women. I feel a camaraderie with crossdressing males that I couldn't possibly feel with a male who didn't dress. While I bristle at the appearance-oriented demands placed on women, I do realize we have more options when it comes to clothing. If I want to wear pants, no one calls me a "fag." Heck, if I wear a tie some people think it's "cute." But if Ed wanted to wear a comfortable denim skirt to the grocery store, people would laugh and/or be horrified. He might be thrown out of the store, not because he was harming anyone, but just because he was stepping outside society's clothing restrictions.

(to be continued): but I never got the next installment.