Wives, the Media and Transvestites

It always amuses yet angers me when I see a letter in a newspaper from a puzzled or angry housewife who has come home suddenly, unannounced, and been shocked to find her husband walking around the bedroom wearing her bra and knickers.

By Jeanette de Martyn

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The transvestite who loves his children, treats his wife with gentleness and chivalry and takes a full share of the household duties - is he to be counted as evil, while the drunkard, the womaniser or the gambling wastrel is the kind of husband a wife will standy by, swear obedience to? If I were a wife I would wish my husband to be loving, kind, considerate and gentle even if he were dressed as Miss World.

Why do we wish to trans-dress rather than transgress? The simple reason is that our mothers taught us many feminine ideas; taught us to be gentle, to love beauty and admire good taste. We found that the colourful and dainty lingerie and the soft touch of silk and satin brought a clinging, sensual and almost erotic sensation, for it was as gentle as an angel's kiss.

The crude, utilitarian cut of male Y-fronts hurst the aesthetic ideals of life we have gleaned from our mothers, and there was the heavenly delight when the true beauty of lace-trimmed French knickers caressed our thighs.

Everything feminine was delightful, the pale pastels of well-designed bras, the fairy cake lightness of silken slips, the gossamer see-through of the baby doll nighties. Was all this to be denied us because we were created male?

Did the wearing of it cause us to be perverts, to wish to make love to our own sex, to make us less worthy of loving and caring for children?

There were the lovely hairstyle that women could adopt, perms and curls, long waves to the shoulders and colours as variant as the rainbow. But, to be manly, it had to be short back and sides, natural colours whether pleasing or not, until grey and white proclaimed one's age.

There were the exquisite perfumes distilled from the flowers of France, odours that lingered as if one lived beneath the honeysuckle or the jasmine, sweet delights that hurt nobody. Why are we perverts because we admire the scents that are like bouquets of paradise?

When I am as a woman I am happy, I feel full of gentleness and love, I wish to take all children by the hand and pour out true affection on them. I am not aggressive, I have no desire for over-indulgence in alcohol, and no longing to beat girlfriend or wife.

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