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I have been dressing in varying degrees since before puberty. I have no idea how it started but back then I could easily leave the house in what I thought at the time made me look like a tomboy and pretend I was a girl. I even had a name, Lucy. It was a game, but why did I do it? As a child, even in drab I looked feminine and on many occasions was mistaken for a girl so did the game develop from my girlish appearance, or did it hint at a desire to be a girl, and perhaps my girlish looks and build hinted at me perhaps being actually somewhere between girl and boy?
Once society beat it out of me I stopped going out as Lucy and haven’t been outside dressed in 30 years. But still I dressed. During my teens it became a sexual thing and I would borrow underwear for sexual gratification and this was intermixed with borrowing other clothes and just dressing in my room. When I left home and moved into a flat with a friend, my dressing absolutely had to stop, and I relied on my then girlfriend to occasionally leave items behind.
When I eventually lived on my own my dressing expanded and I began to buy my own clothes. I wore knickers every day and slept in a nightie. I shaved my legs and I had a couple of items of clothing and I enjoyed my own space. Then, when my new girlfriend moved in I purged. The lot. That was 2005 and I put it all behind me. We got married, had a couple of kids, moved house a few times and Lucy went on a long holiday. It was 10 years before she came back, although I had tried on some of my wife’s clothes, including her wedding dress (!) on the sly. Then in 2016 I started dressing again; I started wearing knickers under my man clothes and started building up a hidden wardrobe. I dressed when I could and realised I hadn’t felt so comfortable in a long time. What’s more, the sexual dimension had completely evaporated and I dress now just because I like the way I look and feel.
I was recently found out by my wife. I had been planning to tell her for months because the secrecy was just horrible, but she beat me to it. She couldn’t have been better about it, and it has definitely reaffirmed my love for her and I could not feel any luckier. And this has led to some interesting developments which has had me asking questions I had never contemplated before.
My new freedom has allowed me the scope to try things that I could not do in the closet, like shaping my eyebrows, shaving the top of my chest, and trimming the rest of my body hair. I still have a very slim build for a man, except the over 40 fat deposits, and I think that with my beard shadow covered I look almost passable (I look like my sister, which is a bit weird) and this brings me back to the same questions as before: am I somewhere between man and woman? Do I want to live as a woman? Should I have been born female?
I’m sure these questions haunt us all at some time. As I write I’m in drab (except the knickers), unshaven and drinking ale out of the bottle. I dazzle my friends with my burping vocabulary and I hanker after American muscle cars of the 1960s and British Fords of the 1970s. Yet I love dresses, lingerie and makeup and I long to show the world my female self. I would like nothing more than to walk unnoticed into a bar or along the high street in a dress.
In short, I just don’t know why. I’m on this journey but the map is incomplete. I will take a few more wrong turns I’m sure, but it’s the scenic route and there are plenty of places to stop and enjoy the view.
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