Hello all, this is my story of how Polly came to be. I’m sure much of this will resonate with all of you. This is my journey and I write for the purposes of making sense of it all, not just for myself, but to share some insights with my wife–whom I recently came out to.
I started crossdressing in my mummy’s clothes around the age of 8. It was the classic thrill and excitement, to be followed by immense guilt. I wasn’t ever really caught crossdressing, but I did actually keep one of mum’s nightdresses in my chest of drawers for a while, as I wore it at night. It magically transported back to her room. My mum never said a single word, and I was worried for weeks. I think she knew about my penchant for women’s clothes, as a few years later when my parents booked tickets for a West End Show, my mum confided in me that it was Some Like It Hot. I’d never heard of it, but she said, with some emphasis, “You will really like it.”
Sadly, my mum is no longer with us and I never got to talk it through with her, which is a shame. I believe that she was understanding and would have been supportive.
My University days and during my early twenties it was a quiet time for my crossdressing. There wasn’t much privacy in shared dorms or the houses to safely crossdress The urge was never far away! I can’t recall questioning my gender back then, and I’ve always been certain about my sexuality. It seemed to be purely about the thrill of wearing women’s clothes. As I look back, the frustrating thing is that I could 100% have passed as a woman. Yet, I never took the opportunity to put it to the test as I grew a beard and bulked up.
I married in my late twenties, and we lasted 10 years. I kept my “hobby” well buried, but occasionally we’d partake in a bit of playful crossdressing. I suspect she knew it was more than playful to me. She was the one that ended it after 10 years; crossdressing was never cited as a reason for why her affections had waned. Maybe something had changed in me. Once, on the way back from our counseling sessions, she told me I was more of a woman than some of her girlfriends. If it was meant to be an insult, I didn’t take it as one. I’ve never thought of women as the weaker sex. I’ve always admired women, and perhaps on some level, aspired to be one.
For the next year, I went crazy and bought lots of clothes and shoes, only to purge the lot when I met my next wife. I was determined to keep it a secret, for fear of it ruining things between us. She is very perceptive and intuitive, and it gradually came out into the open. It caused issues to begin with; she didn’t understand. Luckily, we attended the stag do of a gay couple with whom we were friends. My wife met a crossdresser and had a long chat with them. He helped her to see that many of her notions and worries were incorrect, including telling her that he was straight and his wife was perfectly fine with him doing what he did.
After that episode we had “the talk,” and I fully came out to her as a crossdresser. I let her know that I didn’t want to transition. I have an inner female side that desperately needs to come out now and again.
She is more accepting of this and is ok with me having women’s clothes in my wardrobe, keeping my own makeup and jewelry. We’ve gone clothes shopping together for dresses (so exciting,) and I’ve spent several evenings as Polly with her. To her credit, she has been supportive and helped fine tune my dress sense and make up skills. I’m still hopeless doing my eyes, lol. I know how very lucky I am in this regard. I don’t intend to push my luck, so I still repress my need to crossdress. I cope by under-dressing and wearing panties.
I want to spread my wings further and go out in public, but I really don’t think I could pass anymore. It would be nice to meet up with fellow crossdressers, too.
I feel I’ve come to terms with my crossdressing, accepting that it will always be part of my life. I often wonder why I am like this. I’ve come to the conclusion, after doing lots of research, that I am definitely bigender. I’m comfortable with that term. I do think it’s misunderstood in the general public; I’ve not yet tried to explain it to any of my friends.
Interestingly, I just read about the whole ring finger verses index finger, their ratio and what it means. The difference is determined by how much testosterone you are exposed to in the womb. A man’s ring finger is usually longer than the index finger, due to testosterone exposure. However, my index finger is longer than the ring finger on both hands. Maybe I didn’t get enough testosterone as a fetus and hence this is why I’m wired a little differently? It’s just a theory; the science behind it is fairly solid. At the moment, it’s the best explanation that I have to go on.
I’m not sure what the future holds for Polly, but it’s so nice to have an understanding wife! It’s great not having to dread that I might be found in full dress or caught leaving a pair of knickers on the floor and then be accused of having an affair! I sincerely hope Polly gets to fly free and feel the breeze tugging at her hair and dress soon. Whatever happens, she is a part of my life. I love and accept her.
Tags: accepting yourself Be who you are! bigender