As the second son, born to a father who wanted a daughter, I was dressed and treated as a girl. My blond locks were kept long, I was often called by a girly name, and was told I was cute. When my sister was born, all of the sudden I was the forgotten child. The oldest in the family was a boy, and there was a girl, younger than me. As other siblings came into the family, the feelings of being forgotten, ignored, not recognized only grew worse. I so wanted the attention I was use too, before my sister was a part of the family. I could be a boy, and be forgotten, or a girl, and not be accepted. At that young age, didn’t know who I was, or what I was, but either way, I was not happy.
Time passed, we got a bit older and my sisters clothes became more girl specific, more gender specific. My curiosity overpowered me. I just had to know what it felt like to be a girl. Maybe if I was a girl, I would be noticed, loved, and get some attention. When the time at home, alone, happened, I would dress in my sister’s clothes. The sensation of panties, a cami, petti-pants (a favorite) and a dress. Oh, the sensations, the emotions, the sense of well-being. The times were always far and few between. Guilt quickly replaced the elation and thrill. The desire never left.
As the family grew but the house did not, our basement rec room became my older brother’s and my bedroom. Our laundry room, with my sister’s clothes, was on the other side of the basement. When my older brother was out late, gone for the weekend and then gone to college, I had my own version of heaven. I could dress, relax, enjoy and explore my own sexuality. As a teenager it was an exciting but lonely time. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. I even started to discover some of my mother’s clothing, especially girdles. Oh how I just wanted to have someone to share some time, emotions, and sex with. So happy and so lonely, all at the same time.
College came. Not many opportunities to dress, but the desire was always with me. Loved to think of my self as a girl. Even fantasied about being the female in a relationship with my best friend.
Then there was the draft, the Army, and not much chance to be my female personality. But I did meet this special young woman, fell in love and got married. My desire to dress only came back. One night, making love, I asked if I could try a bra and panties. My shocked young wife went along, confused and worried. I was so excited, so sensitive to every sensation, that I was totally hooked. Maybe I could be dressed as a woman and be accepted, loved, have attention. Sometimes dreams come true, sometimes they don’t and sometime they just visit for a short while.
My wife was never excited (well maybe a few time) about my dressing but she did tolerate and accept it, and at times she purchased clothing for me. I still have the first bra and panties she ever bought me. I think I should frame them and hang them on a wall but no one would understand. At that point in my life dressing was entirely sexual for me, a welcomed relief and thrill. It was tough to dress while raising kids but sometimes the opportunity presented itself.
I can remember at a very secluded, private cottage setting, sitting out sun tanning together. I wore a bikini (yes, I did get burned, intentionally) while my wife suntanned topless, with only a bikini bottom on. Memories still bring a smile. Margaritas, lotion, massages, and just dreams in the sun, in private.
My work life was in sales management. Always a higher goal, always expected to be the best of the group, and a personality to reinforce the challenge. Tougher, stronger, smarter, harder, more driven, or at least we all thought we were. Never did recognize the totally different skills, personality, thinking, logic and skills that the women that I worked with used to succeed.
Enough time passed that retirement set in. In retrospect, and with the time to dress while my wife went to work, I began to think about some of the women that I had worked with. Finally I started to recognize how much different, how much better people skills they had. At this point in time my wife’s opinion of my dressing became “She knows but no longer wants to know”. I can dress but she has no interest in sharing or participating. Now when I dress, I want to get in character as JaniceAnn, feel as close to being a woman as I can. When I am JaniceAnn I try to use the same skills, emotions, feelings, logic and people skills that I experienced so many years ago, for so long, that usually drove me nuts. Now they make me feel better.
An interesting side note. My wife likes who I am becoming without having any idea or knowledge of JaniceAnn. I am gentler, kinder, more loving. When I have reverted to my old male persona she has told me she doesn’t like who I have become. Seems strange but I am happy to being a female trapped in a male body, as long as I get to be a physical, visual woman in my own fantasy.