This article turned out rather long and had to be split in two due to submission limits.
Hint No. 2
About two years ago, I decided to wear a clip-on earring on my left earlobe whenever I was away from the house. I even started to wear a simple one around a circle of my friends, with whom my wife never has contact. It kind of took them by surprise, but now it seems normal to them, even though it’s still the topic of a joke or two sometimes. Little do they know.
At first, it was just a small band with rhinestones, sort of unisex. Then, I bought more dangly types, like 2” hoops and little chains adorned with faux diamonds. I liked to wear two different earrings, a smallish one on the left and a complimentary girlier one on the right. I’m still careful about letting anyone who might recognize me see anything but one on the left, but wear two whenever I can get away with it, including when I’m shopping or running errands.
Once I forgot to remove the earring on the left before I got home and my wife quizzed me on it. I acted like it was nothing, yet removed it. Her disapproving look somewhat shaming me. Still, almost instinctively, I put them on when I leave the house. I just don’t wear one around her intentionally, lest she dig too deeply. But a handful of other times, I have forgotten to remove it.
Hint No. 3
Five or six years ago, I began experimenting with makeup. I found a multicolor palette of eyeshadow in the bottom drawer of her vanity along with several forgotten tubes of lipstick. I started checking her wastebasket for discards and picked up even more items. The appetite grew. I wasn’t going to get everything I needed from her giveaways and throwaways. I would have to buy things. I bought fake fingernails and nail polish. I bought false eyelashes. I bought a half dozen pairs of clip on earrings. I bought mascara, foundation, rouge, setting powder. I bought lipstick. I was becoming obsessed with looking like a woman.
Shortly after or coinciding with the decision to wear earrings in public, I developed a compulsion to wear lipstick more often. I’d even put it on when I was working in my home office, while she is in another part of the house, just to wipe it off thirty minutes later when I walked to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
No, I don’t wear it around my friends, either. But, before face masks, I would wear it in public whenever I thought I wouldn’t possibly encounter someone I knew. Particularly whenever I’m behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette.
So, just this past October, I had to drive to a nearby city about an hour away for work. Naturally, I put on lipstick for the drive over and during the drive back. Well, I wiped it all off before arriving home, but my dumb ass forgot to wipe the rim of my travel coffee cup when I set it by the kitchen sink. She noticed the lipstick on the coffee cup. “Where’d the lipstick come from?” She asked. “That’s not my shade.” Oh crap! I just kinda shrugged and said, “Huh.”
She dropped it. It was a Wednesday evening and my wife was heading to the beach for a four-day weekend with her friend and her friend’s daughter and the daughter’s friend the next day. I hoped she would forget it or drop it. I hoped she didn’t start thinking I was having an affair or something like that. She left with her friend and the girls Thursday morning.
Thursday afternoon I got a text. “Are you going to explain the lipstick on the coffee cup?” I texted back, “I was wearing lipstick yesterday. We can talk about it later.” How else could I explain it? What was I going to say? I spent the next three days agonizing over what I would tell her. I also spent it painting my fingernails, wearing makeup, and dressing up. Sunday morning came and I threw out just about everything – lingerie, clothes, shoes, makeup, jewelry. I thought this was the end.
Sunday evening, after she arrived home and settled in, she asked again about the lipstick. I was dreading this, but I had decided I would just tell her some of the truth. I had tried some of hers on a while back to see what it was like and had developed a fetish for it. I told her I couldn’t explain why it was so, it just was. That’s all it was, a weird fetish.
She seemed satisfied. Maybe she suspected it was more. Maybe she didn’t want to know more. We haven’t spoken of it since.
I recovered a lot of what I had thrown out, before garbage pickup day and hid it back in the garage.
Hint No. 4
Most recently, she noticed that my legs were clean-shaven. Now, they never really had that much hair, and I had been shaving them for quite a while, as an extension of the “manscaping” I performed in other areas, so I find it hard to believe she hadn’t noticed before.
The manscaping, which also began several years ago, came to me as an idea for a way to add another layer to my feminization. I noticed she was trimming her own nether region and without announcing it, began my own shaving regimen, taking a little more off each time. It may not have gone unnoticed, but it was not discussed. Although I suspect she liked some aspect of not having to “deal with” my pubes. Wink wink.
I discreetly added my legs to my shaving routine.
Move forward to a beach vacation a few months ago, we were sitting on a pair of barstools at a beachside bar and she rested her hand on my leg, noticing a slight stubble. “Did you shave your legs?” “Yes. A while ago when I started manscaping, I noticed that it looked strange to be smooth down there, only to have hairy legs, so I just began shaving them, too.”
Nothing else was said.
Hint No. 1a.
I had forgotten that I had stashed a pair of panties in a vanity drawer in the condo we were renting on that vacation. I had taken them off before I got in the shower, but she was in the adjacent bedroom, so I just tucked them into a drawer. We weren’t even using any of the drawers.
On the last day, as we were packing up to check out, she was in the bathroom, making sure we hadn’t forgotten anything, and asked out loud, “What’s this?” I was in the bedroom packing some of my stuff, and replied, “What’s what?” It hit me. But before I had time to react, she said, “Panties. I guess they’re yours?” The tone was sort of accusatory. Of course, they were mine. I could have said, “Nope, not mine. I don’t know why you’d think that. The last renters must have left them.” Instead, I sheepishly walked into the bathroom as she was exiting, and recovered the illicit item.
Does she know?
I have shown her, or gotten caught showing, the other side of me four ways over the years – panties, earrings, lipstick, leg shaving, and then panties, again. She either won’t admit it to herself or knows, yet chooses to let me be who I am, as long as she wasn’t confronted with that part of me.
Am I in the classic DADT relationship?
She clearly disapproves of the crossdressing and/or feminization techniques she knows about.
Does she suspect my other activities? How far into it I am?
Am I subconsciously sabotaging my secret?
Have we had “the talk” and I just don’t realize it? Am I the one who is fooling herself?
I know she loves me. I just wish she loved all of me.
Thank you girls for taking the time to read my article and I’m looking forward to hearing your responses or a similar experience matched to one of mine noted above!
Much Love, Raquel