Trying on my sisters bra

That left me with no recourse, if I was not to lose the girl I had found, but to explore my sisters closets. All in stealth mode, I learned to put on a bra, how to manage a garter belt and nylons, to walk in heals and to button blouses and zip dresses behind myself and undo them without help. … and to put everything back with no one noticing I had “borrowed” them.

What this all meant was to elude me for another decade and a half… perhaps three before totally understood. I knew, I was sure, that I was the only guy who had ever done anything like this. What I didn’t realize was this was something that I had no real control over beyond not doing it for short periods of time.

Two things of note happened in my teen years. The first was a direct result of my sister getting married and taking away my supply of clothes. I began procuring panties to wear. None of them came to me in an honorable way, except perhaps those which I “rescued” from the Goodwill Bag. My father and I lived in a small three bedroom house, back up to an industrial part of town. The back yard was very private, except for the connection to the neighbor’s yard. The neighbor was and older woman. A grandmother type. The fence separating the two yards was low and started at the corner of her house, going to the back of the property. Her back porch was accessible from our side yard. She was hardly ever home, so I could spend time in the back yard, during the summer, in my sisters swimsuit in the sprinkler without fear of being caught.

One day, while standing in our kitchen, looking out the window, I saw that the neighbor, whom I knew was not home, had washed a slip and left it hanging on a clothesline on her back porch. I looked at it longing to wear something like that. It seemed to call to me. Finally after a time of longing, I went to my room and got out a pair of panties and a bra. I stripped, put on the panties and bra, stuffing the bra with more panties. I slipped out our back door and walked to the corner of the house; I glanced through the overly tall rose garden at the front of the house and decided it provided enough cover. I darted to the porch, vaulted up on to it and put the slip on. I just wanted to try it on… to feel it caress me. I had to walk around and the porch was small, so I went down the steps and strolled around her yard. I never intended to steal the slip. It was my intention only to wear it for a few minutes and then put it back. I don’t know how long I spent in the luxury of the garment, but I heard the telltale sound of my father’s car slowing down to turn into our driveway. In a panic, I hurtled the fence and ran for our back door. I made it to my room which was, fortunately near the back of the house, and was in jeans and a shirt before I had to confront dad. He said to me, and to this day, I don’t know exactly where he was when he saw me, “You shouldn’t let people see you running around the back yard in a woman’s petticoat, they’ll think you’re crazy.” Another kind of silence was required. Again, no punishment. Not even a demand that the clothes be thrown out.

Some where in my mind, I made a connection between my mother being gone and wearing the clothes. I think that is so because it was about the time I started wearing them that I began to accept that she was not there nor was she going to be there ever again. Also swimming in the murky recesses was the idea that when I grew up, got married, I’d leave this all behind and never do it again. I’d be “normal” then.

Continued in part  4

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Patricia Marie Allen

I'm seventies and have been cross-dressing since I was 9. I'm married to an understanding woman. We've been married for 51 years, 52 come August. We have two grown children and two grandchildren. My daughters know about me, but my son-in-law and grandchildren don't. At home, I'm express my feminine side almost exclusively. I'm free to come and go in that mode as I wish. I have a good wardrobe of women's clothes and nearly no men's clothes. When it is necessary for me to appear as a male, I simply wear the masculine slacks and a "big shirt" from Woman Within that are part of my women's wardrobe. On those occasions, I wear some penny loafers I got from Zappos.

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6 Comments
  1. Joanna R. 4 years ago

    Great images. I can feel the longing in your words. Your want to be what your soul really was. The excitement and satisfaction is so clear in your words. Great piece. Waiting for more. Thank you for sharing.
    Joanna R.

  2. Rosaliy Lynne 4 years ago

    Patricia, normal is what you are – not what society expects you to be.
    sometimes what you are and what society expects you to be aren’t even within speaking distance of each other.

    Since you are the one who has to live with you most completely, be yourself. Besides, everyone else is already taken.

  3. Jackie 4 years ago

    Very nice story. Thanks

  4. Joanne 3 years ago

    Thank you for sharing your journey. Feeling that what we do is normal takes quite a mind shift for me. I have worn panties since I was 14. I stopped when my mother caught me. but easily started again when I left home. It felt I was finding part of myself. I can’t come out to my wife and family. My first wife tolerated my wearing panties quite well and occasionally bought me some and a bra. This all has been a very big part of my life, even when I purged and fought the feelings off for a few years. I have had counselling which was virtually “well just don’t do it” and that didn’t work. Each person has a journey and to share that is giving a gift.

  5. Lisa BANKS 2 years ago

    I relate to the story. I’ve taken underwear off clothesline from strangers yards when I was a kid. I couldn’t wait to put them on.
    The Secret Lifestyle Wore my Spirit Down though. It made me feel sick inside, dishonest and always afraid of being found out.
    I became an adult and that didn’t change. I am finally beginning to ACCEPT MYSELF and Life is getting better. For me Acceptance is the KEY.
    I wish I was Passable, but I am not.
    So I hide out in my house crossdressing just like I did growing up in my parents home 40 years ago.
    I look like a man in women’s clothes, and the only thing that could change that is an Act of God.

  6. Rose Turner 2 years ago

    72? Wow! Older than me. Pardon, I thought I was old. More comfortable than so called men’s cloths isn’t it? Keep going and go out in public once in a while. It’s a blast.

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