The Life of a Crossdresser

I was twenty five when I wondered into a local cultural center and saw this girl running a projector. I stayed to watch the informative short but kept glancing to the back of the room. She was wearing a two piece dress. It was a light green print. The skirt was straight and knee length. The top was sleeveless with a v plunging neckline. Size 10-12, I suspected. It was very pretty. It was very feminine. The girl wasn’t bad either. We married quickly and I never saw that dress again. “It was too revealing. I got rid of it.” she explained. “I’m more comfortable in jeans and shirts, anyway.” That was a selfish thing to do, I thought to myself.

At one point after we were married she told me that she had “lesbian feelings” for her mother. I don’t think it was ever sexual or anything kinky like that, but they were very close. My wife was an only child, her father traveled a lot for work and mother and daughter spent all of their time together. The family had few friends that I knew of. They were antisocial to be sure. Even I, their soon to be son in law had never received an invitation to their home prior to the wedding. When I picked her up at her home she would listen for the car and come out from around back some where.. That was a good thing because the entrance to the front of the house was so over grown with bushes that I would have needed a brush cutter and a days head start to hack through the jungle. When as a young teen my wife announced her career objectives, her mother quit her job and helped form the cultural center where we first met. When my wife wasn’t in school, the two of them worked side by side and the only other activity which they also shared was church. They were rarely apart. And when they were, the phone kept them in touch. She once said that she felt torn between the pulls of a husband and her mother. There was just not enough time to satisfy both of us.
Why did she marry this cross dresser who had told her about his ‘affliction’ before they were married? I don’t know. For me it was good to get it off my chest. I had carried this lonely obsession with me my entire life. I ‘borrowed’ clothes from my sisters and hid them in my room. I dressed alone in the cover of night. Towards what end, I wondered? What was driving this innate yearning? Was the pleasure soul y in the feel of the materials or an escape to a better place? What was I running from or walking towards? I was not effeminate in any way and had no desire for men. Maybe it just harmless play?
I didn’t know, but my ‘she’ was part of my life and any woman thinking of becoming my wife needed to know what she was marrying. Her acceptance of me warts and all meant that she truly loved me and we were married.
She would later say that she didn’t understand the words. This high school valedictorian with degrees’ from two major universities’ failed to the grasp the concept of someone that liked to wear the clothes of the opposite sex. She claimed to reluctantly buy me sexy nightgowns just to please me. She never liked ‘playing like girls’ in bed. She was just being a good wife when she surprised me with a pretty dress and wig on my birthday.
When the kids were two and four she left with pictures that she had taken and the clothes and wig that she had purchased and threatened to throw them around the courtroom for all to see unless I gave her a divorce and complete custody of the children.
What would you have done if you were caught in my high heel shoes?