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