The Tina Story

"For as long as I can remember, I knew I was different." Sound familiar? It seems to be the opening line for every transgendered person's autobiography. But that, perhaps, is the common denominator of transgendered folk. We know that we are different from others.

It was at about the age of five, when I began school, that I first suspected my divergence from the norm. I was sent to Catholic school, where uniforms were required. Boys wore blue pants, white shirts, and striped ties. Girls wore jumpers with white blouses, anklets, and saddle shoes. I know that it doesn't exactly sound glamorous, but I was fascinated with their skirts from the very beginning. I would often imagine being punished by having to wear a girl's uniform to school.

My feelings did not end with clothes. I would often watch my sister and other girls play with dolls, tea sets, and other girlish toys, wishing I could join them. But I dared not let anybody know about my feelings. Boys were brutal enough. Being perceived as a sissy was like wearing a target to a turkey shoot. So I kept my thoughts to myself, and learned to play boy's games. Not that I hated them. I enjoyed playing cowboys or soldiers. Hey, remember the Fanner 50 cap gun? I had one. As well as an air rifle, a jet pilot's helmet, and a ray gun. I enjoyed many hours playing with my imagined instruments of destruction, dispatching bank robbers, cattle rustlers, and bug-eyed aliens with panache. Sword in hand, I imagined myself a swashbuckling pirate, the scourge of the seven seas. I would take my place in the batter's box on the last game of the World Series and smash a home run into the stands to win the game. And I loved it! A boy's world of imagination is a wondrous thing.

I don't know if my parents ever suspected the feelings I held so secretly. I do know that my mother tried to get me to wear a dress for Halloween for years. I resisted this for a long time; again not wanting to be labeled a sissy. But Mom was persistent. When I was 9, I finally gave in and let her dress me as a flapper. (See my story "First Time In A Dress") I enjoyed it so much that I readily agreed to wear a dress next year. It was not as much fun, however. That year my Mom thought it would be cute to dress me like Aunt Jemima. So I got to wear a "Fat Lady" dress with a pillow shoved under it, blackface, and a bandanna. Our racist neighbors thought it was hysterical.

This part of the story should be familiar to all crossdressers. I was 13 and for some reason I was home alone. My parents were visiting relatives upstate and would not return home until Sunday. They had taken my siblings with them. I had to stay home for some school function, which I could not get excused from.

I suppose it was puberty, but I was now quite fascinated with breasts. I loved them! They were beautiful! Along with this came a curiosity about intimate apparel. I was suddenly quite aware of brassieres. I would spend many hours secretly reading the lingerie sections of the Sears, Penny's and other catalogs that came to our house. And I wondered what it was like to wear one. Today I would get my chance.

I remember getting a bra and panties from my Mom's dresser. It took me a while, but I soon figured out how to work the snaps. I put on the bra and panties and admired myself in the mirror.

Hmmm. Something did not look right. After a few minutes I realized my problem: I was flat chested! I needed something to fill the cups. I searched around for a suitable stuffing material, finally settling on some socks. (I thought I was quite original!) Now when I looked in the mirror, I beheld these two marvelous bumps on my chest! To be sure, they didn't resemble natural boobs very much, but I was beyond caring. I loved my shape! Emboldened, I opened Mom's closet and took out a dress. I had a bit of trouble figuring out the zipper, but determination won out. I went back to that wonderful mirror, admiring the feminine (I thought) image in it. My imagination was going full tilt now! In my mind I was the most beautiful girl in the world! I felt so absolutely feminine!

Oh, what a wonderful day that was! I was so taken by my newfound femininity that I spent the day in my mother's dress. I experimented with makeup, producing some rather comical results. I tried to put on a pair of Mom's shoes, only to find that my feet were too big to fit in them. But that didn't stop me from enjoying the day in feminine attire.

From that time on, during my teenage years, I would crossdress at every opportunity. Whenever I could arrange to have the house to myself, I would dash up to my parent's room to try on something feminine. I never had a whole lot of success with makeup, except perhaps for lipstick.

During this time I had a few close calls, usually in the form of somebody coming home unexpectedly. I never did get caught.

My dressing was a source of great pleasure, but it was also a source of great concern. I had a lot of confusion. The only thing I knew about crossdressing were the half-truths and misinformation available in the general media. I worried that I might be a "queer". But I liked girls, enjoyed dating them, and like most teen boys experiencing that explosion of hormones known as puberty, I was anxious to sow my wild oats. So how could I be gay? But I liked wearing women's clothes, and only a queer wears women's clothes. What did that make me?

I had read about Christine Jorgenson, and knew about transsexuals. I often suspected that I might be like her, a woman "trapped in a man's body." I was also curious about what sex must be like for a woman. But the idea of surgery to remove my penis was not something I relished.

My first glimmer of enlightenment concerning my transgendered nature was found in a most unusual place. I was reading the autobiography of Lenny Bruce when I saw, for the first time, a clinical description of a transvestite. Bruce repeated the clinical description and went on to relate how he used this knowledge to get discharged from the Navy. (I wonder if this is where the producers of "MASH" got the idea for Max Klinger? Also, as I am now aware of Bruce's penchant for bullshit, I wonder just how true the story is. But I digress.) This inspired me to head to the library, where I found a copy of Kraft-Ebbing. This text described transvestites as heterosexual men who enjoyed and were sometimes sexually stimulated by female clothing. It stated that the condition was relatively rare.

It came as a relief to learn that I wasn't gay. But what was this transvestite business about? I tried to find more information, but our library had no listings under the subject of transvestites. I would spend many more years before learning the truth about who I am and what I am.

I had a lot of guilt feelings and suffered from low self-esteem. Catholic school doesn't exactly build one's self-esteem to begin with. On top of this, I was worried that I was some sort of evil sinner, forever cut off from the grace of God because of my love of things feminine. There was that damned bit in Deuteronomy which one of my religion teachers saw fit to dwell on for nearly a week. At times like this I would pray desperately to be cured, to someday wake up and have no more desire to crossdress. Many times I would resolve to stop. I would tell myself "Just one last time, and then I'm done!" Of course this never happened. I would somehow find myself back en femme every time.

I met the girl who would someday be my wife in the High School library. It was not exactly love at first sight, although one of her friends later told me that she knew from the start that we would marry some day. At the time I was already going out with somebody.

She was, and still is, a really great girl. We became friends, but not the romantic type. We liked to talk about books, movies, music, and other things we enjoyed. But somehow I never managed to ask her out.

She had invited me to a party she was giving. I was unable to accept for some reason that escapes me. I felt bad about declining the invitation, so I offered to take her to a show. It was my way of making it up to her. It was also the night I fell in love.

The movie was Woodstock. We both enjoyed it, especially the music. It's still one of our favorites. But our date had been nothing special. We were friends, but not really passionate. Then I kissed her.

Have you ever kissed a girl and felt your spine melt? Have you ever been consumed by a desire so intense that all other needs and wants were rendered irrelevant? Have you ever fallen head-over-heels in love? In that brief instant between the time our lips touched and the time they parted, I knew I was in love. In this manner, a one-night fling was suddenly and irrevocably transformed into a lifelong, enduring partnership.

The next night, I proposed. On my knee, as I had seen in so many movies, I pledged my undying love for this woman and asked her to honor me by becoming my wife. She accepted. Two years later, we married.

When I proposed, I was in my first year of college. My wife-to-be was still in her last year of High School. In an ideal world, I would have finished college and married her after our future was more firmly assured. Alas, the world is far from ideal. Our plans came crashing down.

First, I have to tell you that my college experience was not a good one. I managed to breeze through high school and get high grades with very little study effort. I am not saying this to brag about my intelligence, but to provide a little background. You see, since I expended so little effort in high school, I never really developed the disciplined study habits needed to succeed in college. I did so poorly that I was asked to leave. Well, OK, I was expelled. This made me vulnerable to the draft.

The Vietnam War was still raging in those days. Being drafted was not so much a case of if, but of when. I decided to seize what little control I had of the situation and volunteered for the Air Force.

Much to my surprise, my Air Force experience was a positive one. It was definitely a maturing experience. I learned to get along with people, thus improving my social skills. And I learned the self-discipline I would eventually need to return to college and succeed.

One thing I did not like, though, was that barracks life did not allow for crossdressing. I had to keep that part of my personality hidden.

After Basic Training and Tech School, I found myself in Minot, North Dakota. Winters were cold there. Minus 40 degrees was not an uncommon low temperature, and for a few weeks the temperature did not go above zero (Fahrenheit). That's where I learned one of the tricks of keeping warm in severe cold: pantyhose. Worn under G.I. long underwear, pantyhose is just the thing to ward off frostbite. Most of the guys on the flight line used it. It was not unusual to see guys standing in line at the BX holding several pair. This was about as close to crossdressing as I got in the barracks.

My fiancée and I decided to marry during my second year in the service. We were tired of waiting. And I was tired of barracks life. Unfortunately, I spent the first year of our married life in Southeast Asia, where she could not join me. War zone. It would be another year until we could really begin our life together.

It was during this second year that I crossdressed in front of her. I don't even know how it started. I think she was trying to tease me. But I found myself being helped into a bra, panties, and a dress. She had me look at myself in the mirror and asked me what I thought. Well, it was kind of funny. But it brought back a lot of familiar feelings.

This would be the last time I would crossdress for many years.

Although I did not crossdress for many years, the desire never really left me. I would watch my wife shop for clothes in department stores, specialty shops, etc., always wishing that I could pick something out for myself. But I managed to suppress my desires. As long as I didn't actually crossdress, I reasoned, I'm not really a transvestite. Denial is a powerful thing.

This denial did not come without a price. Suppressing my true nature had the unfortunate effect of causing a lot of unreasonable anger. I had an extremely short fuse. Just about anything could set me off. I now realize that this anger was the result of bottling up my emotions for so long. Like a safety valve, my outbursts were venting the tremendous pressure building inside me. Sadly, my wife was often the target of my explosive temper. She has put up with so much that I often wonder why she stayed with me. To this day, my temper is volatile. I struggle daily to keep it under control.

A few years ago, I once again tried on some femme things. This time I borrowed my wife's bra, panties, and dress. As I admired my sort-of-feminine shape, I once again felt the exhilaration of so many years ago. But there was another feeling. I began to sense a sort of calm which emanated from within. It felt right. Soon I was dressing several times a week. I even dared to get some pantyhose and a pair of heels. Then I found an old wig that my wife had bought years ago. I was back to crossdressing, now more successfully then ever.

Along with the good feelings came that old negativity. I still didn't want anybody to think I was queer, especially myself. I needed more information.

Fortunately, I discovered the Internet. With this powerful tool at my disposal, I soon found that I was not alone. There are many girls like myself out there, each having her own story. And for many of us, the stories sound so similar as to be identical.

I guess it was on my second or third Internet session when I discovered The Pink Room. This is such a wonderful chat room! But that first time in, I was so afraid! I remember signing on as Tina, and being welcomed. "Don't be afraid," I was told, "you are among friends." I can't begin to tell you just how good it felt, to be able to finally express my hidden feminine side. Here I was free. Free to be a girl. Free to act girlish, to giggle, to hug my girlfriends, and to talk about dressing, makeup, lingerie, and how it made me feel. I was in heaven!

It was here that I finally came to terms with my true self. I will no longer deny myself the truth. I am a crossdresser. And I am beautiful.

With this realization, I soon achieved a kind of inner peace. I was content with my nature. I shed all guilt about it, realizing that crossdressing is not an immoral act, but a manifestation of my psyche. I mean, I know I'm a man, but I can enjoy being a girl.

However, this produced another problem. How would I tell the one person I love the most in this world, my soulmate, my best friend, my lover, my wife?

It was not long after my epiphany that I knew I would have to tell her. I was never very good at keeping secrets from her. But I managed to keep this one for over two decades. How could I tell her? What right did I have to not tell her? And after I told her, could she ever trust me again?

 I found support in the chat rooms. My girl friends helped me find the courage to come out. And they helped me to find the words. I will always be grateful to Beth in Massachusetts, to Debra Ann, to Vera Emm, to Lynnette, and to all of the gracious ladies who aided in this effort. You have all been like big sisters. And a special thanks to my dear friend Suzie, who came out to her wife about the same time as I. We formed a kind of mutual support network.

I had planned out just what to say and was waiting for the perfect moment. That moment never came. Instead, the moment just happened. You see, my wife knew that something was bothering me, that something was on my mind, and she knew that I would be upset until I told her. We were in bed, talking. Just what we were talking about I honestly do not remember. I remember her urging me to tell her what was on my mind, to rid myself of this onerous burden.

Once I started, the words seemed to gush forth. The moment took on a life of its own as I recounted my crossdressing adventures. There was no retreat. For good or ill, I was now sharing my deepest, darkest secret.

In my mind, I envisioned many outcomes to this moment. The worst-case scenario was that she would run screaming from the bedroom, calling me a dirty faggot, and filing for divorce the next day. The best-case scenario was that she would be simply delighted with my newly discovered feminine side, and nurture me into the mysterious ways of womanhood.

The truth lay between these extremes. She hugged me that night, and assured me that it was all right. She said that it must have been difficult to keep this secret for so many years. And she kissed me. After all these years, her kisses still make me tremble.

That was about 2 years ago. We have talked about it many times. I must be honest and tell you that she is not enthusiastically supportive. She has not seen me en femme since I came out to her, and says that the thought of me crossdressing gives her the creeps. But she also does not want to force me to stop. She has given me some of her outfits, and has said that I am welcome to anything she no longer wants. We are still very much in love, and committed to our marriage.

It is a compromise, but one which I am willing to accept. I am free to dress up at home when she is at work. She has asked me to keep my dressing a secret from the family. She fears that others will not understand, or will try to hurt us.

Again, to be totally honest, my revelation has caused some strain. But, as steel gains its strength from the flames, our relationship is now stronger and better than ever. We have been married now for 26 years. Recently we celebrated out enduring friendship with a re-affirmation ceremony. Once again, in the sight of God, our family, and the community, we pledged our undying love for each other, and renewed our commitment to share our life.

Recently, my wife has surprised me with two tantalizing revelations. First, she told me that she hoped some day to gather the courage to see me en femme. She told me that she has refrained from doing this because she is uncertain how she might feel about me as a man once she has seen me as a woman. The second thing is a bit puzzling. She called me her girl friend. She explained that she has a difficult time trusting other women, and so she confides in me the way women often confide in one another. I have to tell you, I was stunned when she told me this. On some level, it seems that she has accepted my feminine aspects. I remain hopeful for a future in which she accepts my feminine side as well as my masculine.

This is by no means the final chapter of The Tina Story. I am a work in progress. God is not done with me, and I certainly would not want to disappoint Her!

Be Beautiful!

My wife and I like to dress up to give out the Halloween candy. We get a kick out of seeing the kids in their costumes. Sometimes we see grownups in costume as well. Parents will occasionally dress up to take their kids around for trick-or-treating.

My costume this year would be the most fearsome apparition imaginable to anyone who ever went to Catholic school. I was going to be a nun!

I found the nun's costume last year at a costume shop. I went in the day after Halloween. Everything was on sale at half price. I actually wanted to get a French Maid's costume that I had spotted there two weeks ago. It was called Buster Feather Duster and it was designed for a man. Hey, it's Halloween, right? But Buster was nowhere to be found. There must be a lot of guys who want to be maids on Halloween.

Then I spotted the nun's costume. It was designed for "full figured" women, so I figured it was big enough to fit a flat-chested man. The shop was happy to be rid of it. They threw in a cross for free.

I held on to the costume for a year. As Halloween approached I found myself thinking about it more and more. Then I broached the subject to my wife. I wasn't sure what to expect because she hasn't exactly been enthusiastic about my crossdressing. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she thought it might be fun!

My wife surprised me in a number of ways. She asked me if I wanted some make-up for the costume. I didn't since nuns don't usually wear makeup. She agreed. She said that it's true, nuns all look like middle-aged men anyway. (Hey, wait a minute!)

Halloween arrived. I was nervous. My wife helped me into a bra. We adjusted the straps to make the boobs droop a little. I put on the black dress, the white bib, and the headdress. I didn't need a wig. I checked myself out in the mirror. It was awesome! I really looked like a nun!

I stood outside our front door holding a yardstick. The night was mild, which was good for the kids. I waited for the first of them to show up. I didn't have to wait long.

I decided to be a kindly nun rather than a stern one, just to ease the fears of the younger kids. This turned out to be a good idea. Just about everybody smiled when they saw Sister Tina giving out candy.

I wasn't the only guy in a dress that night. Within fifteen minutes, a father wearing a red dress and sneakers brought his kids to our front door. I complimented him on his dress but noted that the sneakers didn't go with it. He laughed.

I saw some kids hesitate at the end of our walk. Their mother urged them on. "Don't worry," she said, "nuns aren't bad. Nuns are nice."

I answered, "I see you didn't go to Catholic school." She laughed.

A bunch of kids came up dressed in prom gowns, high heels, and makeup. At least two of them were boys. I didn't let on that I knew. I just told them all how pretty they looked. I think I made their night.

One group of women escorting their kids asked me to bless them. They said, "Do we address you as Mother Superior?" I answered that I had been called "Mother" before, but not in quite that context.

I got only one negative comment the whole night. A smart-aleck pre-teen girl said to me, "You aren't a real nun."

I answered, "How do you know? I might be friends with the Pope."

"Don't you have to be a girl to be a nun?"

"Listen, kid, this is Halloween. You don't even have to be a girl to be a girl!"

We gave out over 300 candy bars that night. I had a ball talking with the kids. But the best part of the night was seeing my wife smile whenever she looked over at Sister Tina.

I don't know if this counts as progress, but until the day that she sees me fully en femme, I will take whatever I can get.