Call me Suzanne

Like most of us girls, I've been dressing or thinking about it for as long as I can remember. My interest in all things feminine started early on. So early on, in fact, that I don't remember any other way. The desire to try on my mother's things or my cousin's things were always there but opportunities were few and far between that the deeper realization of what it meant never fully jelled in me. Knowing you are a little different or a little quirky is not the same as knowing you are a crossdresser or maybe even transgendered. I knew there was something to be gotten out of this, but I could never quite put my finger on exactly what that was.

Growing up in rural Mississippi in the 60s didn’t provide much information for girls like me. Throughout my childhood all the way into my twenties, I had thoughts and feelings and no real way to act on them with any consistency. I dressed whenever I had the chance but mostly I dreamt about crossdressing or being a woman. My feminine side was always there but it was buried really deep.

I got married in my late twenties and we had our first child four years later, but I was still in limbo. The feelings were still there, though the desire was either dead or dying. That is until I started trying on my wife's things and experimenting with makeup, jewelry, and hair. I didn't realize it at the time, but this was the beginning of Suzanne.

For the next couple of decades, my feminine feelings would rise and fall. At times, the desires lasted longer and were more intense than they had been previously. In my latter 40s, my feminine feelings began to overwhelm me. I started buying my own clothes, wigs, and makeup, all as I became more serious about my feminine presentation. It was both wonderful and also my deepest secret. Gradually, my dressing became more frequent and more complete. When I dressed, I went all the way, or I didn't dress at all. Just putting on panties, a bra, a dress, or some makeup no longer did it for me. I wanted to do everything other women did, complete with nail polish, wig, etc..., etc... Shaving my legs, arms and underarms became part of my normal routine (and still is to this day).

Around ten years ago, one night after a party where my wife had a little too much to drink, I pulled up some of my online photos and introduced her to my female side. At first, she didn't recognize me. When she realized it was me, all she said was, "You have on too much blush." The next morning, we talked and although she didn't seem enthusiastic she also didn't ask me to stop. We went on this way for several months—with me being placed in limbo; tolerated but not fully accepted, (what I refer to as the crossdresser's purgatory.)

There are many stories of others like me whose wives say, "You can dress but I don't want to see it." I didn't want to end up like them, circumventing the one thing that makes me feel authentic and that which brings so much joy to me as being partially off-limits. The need to be able to share my feminine side with the love of my life was very important to me.

A good sign things were breaking in my direction happened late in the Summer of that same year. I had taken one of the kids on a camping and whitewater rafting trip. We were gone for about 4 nights. When we got back my wife told me she had a little something for me. It was a bra from Victoria's Secret. Not only had she bought me a bra she helped me try it on. I still remember her adjusting the straps. It didn't really fit or feel that good, but because of what it represented, it is still one of my most prized possessions.

Being able to dress with my wife is so wonderful; it's hard to explain. Getting her advice on what to wear, sitting at her vanity (and later my vanity) with her applying my makeup, picking out an outfit, and trying on different shoes are all beyond my wildest dreams. Nothing makes me feel more feminine than having my wife help me with my eye shadow and mascara. From time to time, she buys me makeup or a top or a dress, just as a little happy gift as she might for "one of the girls.” We've been out together as women a couple of times, once to a couple of gay bars and another time shopping. Shopping in a dress is about as good as it gets.

With the realization that it was here to stay is what finally prompted me to come out to my wife. Having to hide everything and only dress during the rare stolen moments just got to be too much. Having my closet full of women's clothes and shoes, my own makeup drawer, and vanity is beyond words. It's so much easier to dress and not have to drag everything out and then pack it all back up for just a few hours of contentment. Now, I can stay dressed for days at a time. My side of the counter in the bathroom is littered with my makeup. My darling wife calls me by my female name, Suzanne, which hearing it makes me feel elated every time I hear it. When I go too long without dressing she asks me, "When are you going to dress again?" Being asked to dress makes me feel wanted and validated. It makes me feel like "one of the girls."

This last year, I've started forcing myself to go out more dressed. I haven't had a single bad experience thus far. Everyone has treated me very well. My quest to be "one of the girls" has somehow remained unfulfilled. I look good as a woman, but I don't pass. When a sales clerk says yes ma'am, I know they are just being polite. Or when I catch another woman looking at me out of the corner of her eye, I realize I've been read. They don't do or say anything; it just makes me feel a little different.

I started writing this months ago and could never finish it. I finally realized it was because I still hadn't experienced what I was looking for. I had never really been "one of the girls" until recently.

I found an accepting church and started going as Suzanne. The congregation is about 90% LGBTQ+ so I fit right in with little effort. The first Sunday in November they held a dinner and worship service. I sat at a table with two other women. We talked about cooking and recipes. It was uplifting. I finally felt like "one of the girls." It made up for all those dinner parties where I got stuck in the den with the husbands discussing the new SUVs or hunting or something else I had absolutely no interest in. I tended to embrace the room where the wives talked about children and school. Hopefully, it wasn't too obvious.

This time, I was with the women, and I was dressed for it. It was a moment that made me feel truer as to why I was put on this Earth. In my being"one of the girls." So worth the journey. Maybe there will be many more moments to experience; a "girl" can only dream.