Should I tell the one I love?
By Frances Freeman
Uncomfortable
I should have been more honest and come clean, it was an uncomfortable arrangement for the both of us.
Although Irene let me indulge myself it was far from perfect, she was confused that her husband, a man, should want to wear her clothes for no apparent reason other than a game, and for my part I was gaining very little pleasure from these occasional opportunities.
For me, dressing as a woman had nothing to do with sexual gratification, I didn't want to become a woman and I definitely wasn't gay, and yet because of my inability to express my true feelings those were the thoughts that were going through my wife's mind. And with no logical explanation from me, who could blame her really?
I spent long hours deliberating over the problem and trying to figure out a way to tell Irene, I became obsessed with wanting her to understand me. The pressure of keeping this secret to myself was starting to become an intolerable burden.
It was such a simple, harmless and innocent pleasure, so why did it evoke such misunderstanding and prejudice? It wasn't something dirty or perverted, in fact quite the opposite.
When I had rid my body of hair, slipped into skimpy lace trimmed underwear, pulled on my stockings and high heels, put on my skirt and blouse, placed my wig upon my head and applied my makeup I stepped into another world, a better more peaceful and gentle world. The stresses and strains of everyday life seemed to drift away, worries and anxieties were replaced with an aura of beautiful tranquil pleasure. How could this be so wrong?
I stopped requesting our little game and reverted to dressing in secret again, alone and isolated, but at least I was dressing as a woman for my own reasons and not as a compromise.
I continued like this for some time and life went on - we had two beautiful daughters and we went through the normal ups and downs that all couples have to endure. On the face of it we were a very happy, healthy couple except that I was leading this terrible double life. On the one hand I was the respectable loving husband and father and on the other this person who craved to dress up as a woman in secret because there didn't seem to be any other choice.
The burden of keeping my feminine half hidden soon began to take its toll and I am sure my family suffered as a consequence. I became increasingly bad tempered and irritable and started to turn to drink for solace. I couldn't see it then but I became a pitiful creature full of self pity and sorrow, and it was all my own creation.
I went through bouts of depression and guilt, throwing away all my feminine belongings, promising myself that I could live without it only to find a couple of months later that the irresistle urge would return with a gretaer intensity. I would then go out on mad shopping sprees replacing everything that I had lost, and so began an expensive destructive cycle that was to last for fifteen years.
Every so often I approached Irene asking her if she would agree to my dressing up in her presence, but my requests were always greeted with an emphatic no. This did not help my growing anxiety and depression, but it was not her fault, it was mine. Why couldn't I have just been more honest from the beginning. It would have made life so much easier...
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