Jane’s Story

JANES STORY

 

It took 41 years to finally accept that I should have been born a girl. I have dressed up since the age of 5 (albeit in secrecy).

I found it not only easy to do, because I had plenty of opportunity with having two elder sisters (four and five years older) who were out working while I was still at school, but I also found it, the most natural thing to do. I would get home from school and go straight to my sisters bedroom and try on different dresses. Everything fitted perfectly and felt just right to touch.


The problem I had with it was that it was okay doing it in the privacy of my home, with no one about, but I wanted to live my life like that and be seen as I felt inside, a girl.


It’s almost as if I wanted to get caught by someone. I know the punishment would have been: “So you want to dress like a girl do you? Well, you can wear that for school tomorrow – that’ll teach you!” (Not a punishment in my book.)

When I was 11, it was the Scouts’ Christmas party, and we were all to go in fancy dress. I had heard that two of the older Scouts were going in girls clothes, and I told my Mom that everyone was going as girls. Mom got some of my sister’s clothes and set to work. I acted ignorant about how to put tights on so Mom had to do it for me. I didn’t want her to think I knew what I was doing. She seemed quite pleased with the end result (I was too), but I could not tell her the dress she had selected was also one of my favourites and had been worn on many occasions before.

She also got me a pair of my sister’s platform boots to wear – I had not seen these before and loved them immediately. I walked to the Scout hut (good excuse, I thought) only to find out the party was the following week. With that I just walked home dejected and disappointed, but taking my time. I wanted to make the best of this opportunity.


When I got home I explained the mix up to my Mom not knowing if she would believe it or not. She seemed to believe me, but she did say that next week I could dress myself. The following week came and I got no help from my Mom so I put my thumb straight through the leg of the tights that I was pretending to put on like a novice.


I still didn’t want them to know that I knew what I was doing. It worked, but this time it was my elder sister to the rescue, and she even applied make up which my Mom had not done the week before – much better this time. The local paper was there and took a group photo of us all. When reading the paper my Mom wanted to know why everyone wasn’t dressed as girls, I told her that the ones who did (all three of us) had been set up by the others. A lie I know, but worth it…


I remember when I was about 12; I must have left something in a different place than it should have been in one of my sister’s drawers. Whatever it was, I knew that they suspected something. My Mom came into my bedroom one morning, as I was getting ready for school, with a pair of my sisters knickers. “Your sister is throwing these out, she wondered if you wanted them”? So I was right, they did suspect me. Quite naturally I took them off my Mom and put them on and looked at her and said, “I can’t wear these Mom they don’t look like underpants they look girlie.”

“Well, I did say that to her but I said I’d ask,” she said. I passed that test with flying colours, though I often wonder what might of happened if I had owned up to it, told them how I felt and wore them. Trips to the shrink I think?

The dressing up still continued but I was very careful from then on – but not careful enough. I had stolen a bra and a pair of panties from my elder sisters drawer and hid them in a tin under my bed with the rest of the junk I kept there. I used to put these on under my clothes to deliver my paper round morning and night.


I got in one night from playing with my friends and found my bed on the landing while my Dad was putting up new wallpaper. My Mom had totally emptied the bedroom of all its contents. When my Dad had finished, everything was put back in my bedroom. Everything, except for my tin with the bra and panties in it. I knew I had been discovered, and I was waiting for something to be said. Nothing ever was. I think they must have decided that I might grow out of it, so not to make a fuss about it and make matters worse.

From then on my hiding places were better thought out.

 


 

Over the years, I have used all sorts of excuses to wear female clothing in public, from fancy dress, plays (Rocky Horror Picture Show), charity work and even music (I used to have a group and would start off with ‘I Want To Break Free’ dressed like Freddie Mercury in the video).

Once with my first wife I put on a pair of stockings and suspenders (I jokingly said, “lets try something kinky”) and we had great sex, but the next time I suggested the stockings the look on her face said enough.


I divorced 3 years later (not because of the incident above) and met my wife of now. We have been together now for 16 years (11 living together and 5 married). I had told my new wife about the incident above and she said, “I can’t see any harm in that.” So I said, “lets try something kinky” and she didn’t bat an eyelid, but went straight to her drawer and got a pair of stockings out and helped me into them. This became a regular event, and we both enjoyed great sex, which led to my wife buying me my first set of my own underwear. She never once pulled a face or laughed at me, but helped me into whatever she had bought me.


But things still niggled me; I still did not feel happy within myself. I am a 41-year-old man with a bald head and hair everywhere else (back, chest, legs and face). Wearing female clothing as I was doing was alright for sex with my wife but it still didn’t feel right, something was missing. Basically I looked like a man dressed as a woman, hairy arms and legs and a chest like a gorilla. Also at the end of sex, I did not have an excuse to keep wearing what I had on, so off it came leaving me feeling empty inside.

I never once dressed up behind my wife’s back. I would only ever do it with her permission; I think that honesty is very important between each other.


2 years ago I had a terrible injury in work, smashing my left hand. I couldn’t do much with it. Sex with my wife stopped for 18 months – I can’t give you a definite reason why, it certainly wasn’t anything to do with my wife, but pain in my left hand was some of it. The rest of it I put down to not knowing what I was going to do. I found it hard to get my mind to concentrate on one thing (sex), when all I was thinking about doing was coming up with an excuse for putting on the clothes my wife had just took off. My wife never complained about the lack of sex but I knew it was hurting her.

I had taken 2 months off work over the Christmas period just gone, and gave a great deal of thought to my situation and finally came to terms with how I felt. For the last thirty something years I have only ever dreamed of being a woman, and it’s about time I at least accepted that fact. My wife is a very understanding person, I should at least tell her the truth, and put her mind at ease. Time to come clean, and hope it doesn’t hurt anyone.

Having sat my wife down, I showed her the page on the Transformation website Why am I a TV. There were a few tears on both sides (hers, because she thought that I did not love her or find her attractive anymore. Mine because I hate upsetting her, she is the last person on earth I would ever upset.)


After she had read the website and a few contributions from myself, I knew that she fully understood what my problem was and agreed that I could do what I have always wanted, dress as a female whenever I wanted, given the right time and the right place.

After that talk with my wife, I got my razor out and made a start shaving. I also had to think of a name for myself, I’ve noticed how a lot of TV femme names are simply a female name similar to their male name. Why be different, John to Jane works all right for me.

The biggest discussion was about breasts. I have always wanted my own, and after buying a pair of cheap false breasts, we both agreed they do not look or feel like the real thing. So with my wife’s permission I have just started hormone treatment (she even applied the first lot of cream to both breasts and nipples!).

We gave a great deal of thought to what the potential could be and also what problems might occur (bald man in shower at work with 38B chest) we don’t want to broadcast the Transformation I am approaching, so all possibilities had to be looked at. (I would hide my breasts when in public; I have a few ideas for this.)

But no surgery! I do not want to make a decision that cannot be reversed for several reasons. Most importantly my wife still wants a husband (regardless of how he looks or what he is wearing) and I still want to make love to my Wife. I suppose if I’d had the option to choose 30 years ago I would not have hesitated.

 


So in a strange way I am now getting the best of both worlds, with the right partner not only to understand, but also to take part in my fantasies and encourage them, and finally having admitted to myself and my wife that I am not weird but confused a little. It’s nice to know that I am not on my own in this, I have the full support of the best friend I could ever have – my wife.

 

There are a lot of people out there just like me, some more confused, some less. I feel the only way forward is to embrace things for what they are and make the best of it. At least being open with my wife about it has cleared a lot of pain for the two of us. We now know where we are coming from, and where we are going. And we are both enjoying it.

My wife knows roughly what kind of clothing I like and she has the experience to know what I can get away with and what I can’t. She buys me at least one full set of underwear per week. Something I haven’t overcome yet – fear of someone guessing our secret. I was always capable of buying sexy lingerie for my wife, but haven’t got the confidence to walk in and buy for myself. I guess it’s a paranoid phobia, thinking that the shop assistant will suspect the suspenders, panties, bra, skirt and top are for me, and not my wife.

Not only is my underwear draw getting full, but I now have two wigs, 4″ stillettos, 2″ court shoes and several skirts and tops (plus anything my wife lets me try on of hers). We are a similar size.

Life at home is now fantastic (it was always good before). I get home from my job of work and jump straight in the bath. Once dry, I apply the breast hormone cream. Then on goes the correct clothing to my mood. Once dressed my wife at first applied the make up, but after a short while, she put her foot down, saying, “no, you do it, I’ll watch.” Her theory behind this being that if I didn’t try, I’d never learn.

This does work quite well, because if I do make a mistake, she points it out there and then, so it is easier to rectify before I have applied any more make up. Surprisingly to myself, I am getting the hang of it (too little looks better than too much). Then to finish it all off, on goes the wig.

Once again, the wife showed me how to make it look just right. The 4″ stilettos gave us both a laugh – I nearly broke my neck trying to walk in them – but with practice walking round the household, I have mastered them.

I agreed with my Wife that coming out to the public was very risky. Where I live people don’t like anything different from the “Blinkered” upbringing they know (it’s a fishing fishing community). However, I would like to go to one of the TV clubs and meet more people like myself who will treat me with the same understanding that they ask for themselves. I think my wife might enjoy the club as well, as she could meet other saints like herself.

It’s amazing how after all this, our lives are back on track with each other, swapping jokes, ideas, clothes and making love better than ever before. A clear conscience can work wonders for a troubled mind. It certainly did mine.

To walk around my town dressed up without an excuse is out of the question, but if a fancy dress party does pop up I know a Gal who can’t wait to get her party gown on!

Hugs and Kisses, Jane DuCidre.

 

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