Why am I a TV?
By Angela James
A night away on business gives one the chance to spend several hours dressed in the hotel room and afterwards the garments may find a home in some hiding place in the car or the attic.
I have heard of TVs who have had an entire wardrobe in the attic under the pretext of having a model railway up there. This is fine and allows many hours of cross-dressing right in the heart of the home, but surely discovery is also inevitable? But that's another story.
What I have described here is a route that frequently leads to the TV way of life, but many would be able to put in different details that round out the story in their own case, and many have only the need to go some of the way to feel an acceptable level of contentment.
For some, the joy of wearing feminine clothes is enough in itself and it doesn't worry them if a beautiful wedding gown, for instance, is set below the sight of a scruffy beard. For others the frequency of episodes of cross-dressing can be low, perhaps just once or twice a year, and the manner of it can vary from the outrageous caricature of femininity to the well known cliches of schoolgirl, tart or nurse.
Encounter
These may all relate back to images from youth, close friends in primary school perhaps, or a hauntingly romantic but brief encounter with some one who was clearly a whore at heart.
They provide the satisfaction that is good for the particular individual and at each stage the process towards further changes may stop, frustration satisfied, or the price of carrying on to high.
The image of self may be too upsetting because we are not necessarily proud of our secondary personae. Alternatively the challenge to our family life is too great - it's ironic really because cross-dressing may have its origins in an attempt to find a compromise for one's sex drive without placing family at risk.
Another critical point in development may soon crop up; the wish to create a truly womanly image of oneself. It may start as dissatisfaction with what has been achieved so far. A bra stuffed with tissue, or a pair of stockings, soon seems a poor alternative when compared with the almost natural feel of prosthetic breasts or the possibility of growing ones own with hormone creams or pills.
To feel for the first time the weight of prosthetic breasts moving as a part of ones body is an unbelievable thrill. To wear an entire ensemble with frothy petticoats, undies, high heels and a pretty frock can open the door to more possibilities, although again there is a price to pay, and there is a risk that such exhibitionism can be damaging to ones social standing.
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