Soon after I had suffered a second case of the dreaded whiplash, I began having the obligatory difficult conversations with my newly revealed crossdressing husband, “Michayla.” I was reading a book about crossdressing and I discussed a part of it with Michayla that I didn’t understand. The part in question talked about the author coming home from work in male form and beginning the long process of becoming his femme self in order to relax. It was something along the lines of spending an hour or two doing makeup and selecting a wig, donning the padding and breast forms, cinching a corset tight before putting on a dress, and then pulling up the silky pantyhose and slipping on a ridiculously high set of heels. Again, this was all in order to RELAX?
I explained to Michayla what I had read, and how absurd I thought it was. I didn’t feel that any genetic girl would view such an arduous process as “relaxing.” A genetic girl would find it to be quite the opposite! Michayla disagreed with me. Michayla felt it would be a wonderful and relaxing evening despite the effort required to achieve such top-tier relaxation. I postulated that there is nothing relaxing about coming home from work and transforming into the opposite gender. Michayla saw the value in what the author was saying and I argued that I would not find anything enjoyable or relaxing if I came home and transformed into some guy named “Steve.” Michayla scoffed at the idea of me transforming into a man for the evening. Why? Because the notion was so over the top that it made him laugh out loud. That’s right, Michayla laughed at the suggestion of me becoming Steve, yet stood firm in the idea of a man transforming into a woman for the evening to relax was a reasonable thing for someone to do. I decided to paint a mental picture for Michayla in order for him to see it from where I was standing.
This is Steve’s story:
My male persona is Steve. Steve first made an appearance when I was a young girl. I had the urge to sneak into my father’s closet when my parents were away and I would try on many of his things. It started with his boxers, then I added a tie, and eventually, I would wear his button-up shirts, dress pants, and dress shoes. I liked to put on his clothes and study myself in the floor-length mirror. I pretended I was a businessman who made lots of money and got to be the boss of everyone. When they were available, I would add his fedora and briefcase to complete the look. Sometimes I would put a little of his deodorant on or just a dab of his cologne. I liked to comb my hair with his comb and I might sneak in a little bit of pomade if I knew I was going to hop in the shower before he got home. I was always careful to put his things away just as they were so I didn’t get caught. Sometimes his starched office shirts would have a little bit of wrinkling but if he noticed, he never said anything to me.
As I got older, I tucked Steve away and focused on dating and going to school. Once in a while, the urge to dress manly bubbled up inside of me and I would wear a pair of my boyfriend’s boxers or a flannel shirt to tide me over. This is not something boyfriends tend to enjoy so I tried to be pretty good about hiding it.
Once I was able to have a place of my own, I could fully indulge in my masculine fantasies. I was single for a few years and I made a point to dress after work and on weekends. The urge to dress as a boy ebbed and flowed but it was never completely satiated enough to go away. While I was happy to be Steve freely, I also started to long for the companionship of a boyfriend. I decided if I wanted a serious boyfriend and marriage someday, Steve would have to go. I loved being Steve and it felt good but I needed to move past this and get on with my life. I knew that once I had a serious boyfriend, the urge to dress as a male would die down. I packed up Steve’s clothes and accoutrements and tossed them in the dumpster behind the building where I live. I felt a sting of regret as I walked away, but I felt this was the only way to move forward in my life.
Fast forward to the present day where I am married to the wonderful man of my dreams. We have good jobs, nice cars, and a beautiful home. I never told my husband about Steve because I thought that was all in the past. Somewhere along the way, I felt the tug of desire creep back into my subconscious. I started dreaming of Steve throughout my day, and fantasizing about becoming him. I began to sneak into my husband’s clothing when he was at the store or if I knew he would be home late from the office.
At first, it was boxers and an undershirt here and there, but eventually I needed more and more. One day I had to run an errand at the mall during my lunch hour and that’s when it all changed. I found myself window shopping for men’s t-shirts and hats. While dormant, Steve had evolved into everything I believed a manly man to be. That day at the mall turned into many and soon I had a collection of things for Steve. I tucked it all carefully away in places I knew my husband would never find them. I had a stash hidden in the kitchen pantry, one in my sewing box, I even had work boots and high tops behind the washer and dryer!
On rare occasions, my husband has to do jobs out of town and I would have the house to myself for an evening or two. When I know he has an out-of-town job coming up I stop shaving my underarms and legs at least a week in advance. My husband doesn’t like it but I tell him my skin is irritated and needs a break from daily shaving. The day he leaves is so special and I spend a great deal of time becoming Steve. I use my eyebrow pencil to draw a nice thick mustache on my face and then I use some matte eyeshadow to give the illusion of a five-o-clock shadow. For these occasions, I have some briefs that I wear that will accommodate my packer (that is what they call a fake penis). I love feeling the weight in my briefs and the lovely bulge that it gives me. Next, I bind my breasts and add some of my husband’s deodorant. I put on a white tank top. Over that, I put on a t-shirt (this one says “you ain’t a redneck unless you got a beard”) and a flannel shirt. I put on some rugged jeans, socks, and a pair of steel-toed boots. I spritz myself with my husband’s cologne and get to work on my hair. I like to slick down the front part with pomade and then pull the rest into a ponytail that I bobby-pin to the top of my head. I put on a ball cap with “John Deere” on the front and mesh in the back to complete my look.
I spend my evening watching football even though I don’t really enjoy the game, but it makes me feel manly. I grill myself a steak using a small charcoal grill and I eat it with just a potato on the side. I take my time nursing a beer. I don’t love beer so much as the feel of the can in my hand. As Steve, I swear more and burp more. I walk differently and I carry myself differently. I make extra trips to the bathroom to check myself out. I frequently touch the front of my pants because I love the feeling of the manliness below the denim of my jeans. I know that I don’t pass well as a man so doing these extra things helps me make that leap into feeling like a manly man. For this short time, I feel relaxed and fulfilled. I am Steve…
Hopefully, Steve made you laugh a little bit while also helping you to see things from another point of view. When I learn about new things, I like to understand them fully, from all angles, and I hope I have done this for you. I hope Steve’s story helps to illustrate how challenging it can be for us to understand when we learn our husband is a crossdresser.