Wives, the Media and Transvestites

 

The poor demented housewife will then say that she questioned her blushing partner and he confessed, the wicked pervert, to finding a delight in women’s clothes, lingerie, perfume and make-up. He went even further, said he wished to be a girl, was sorry that God had made him a male, would love to walk around town as a female, and had almost a hatred of male clothing.

What could the poor girl do? It was a cruel blow, he had always been so loving, gentle, a good father and she had thought how manly he was! Now all that had been lost because he loved knickers.

She must take pen to paper and slowly write down her problem, seal it with tears and post it to Aunt Maude, or Dear Fiona, or Diedre or any other understanding media girl…

One would expect a little sympathy tinged with understanding and sound advice, but the Agony Aunt is as horrified as the poor wife. Yes, seperation would be a good thing. Maybe he is gay or perverted, it is certainly something to keep hidden from the children, and maybe one day she could find happiness with a more manly man, and yes, she was right to feel upset, afraid, and to seek some drastic way of escape.

How lacking in understanding are the experts, for as any true transvestite or transsexual knows, there is no major connection between wanting to dress as a girl and being gay. Sure, some transvestites are gay, just as some of any group are gay.

When dressed as a man I feel frustrated, depressed, hating every unattractive garment. But when I throw off my male attire, as I do whenever possible, and put on the beautiful lingerie and clothes of a woman, then I feel happy and free.

To be dressed as a girl would not make me a less gentle or loving husband for, indeed, it would show how gentle, how feminine, how soft-hearted and emotional I could be.

 


 

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.

 


 

The very clothing of the male is designed to create aggresssion; even the three buttons of the sword-fighting days still remain on coat sleeves, and all that utility and plainness is to make getting to battle stations more easy.

Nevertheless, many wives who return from the shops or office to find their husband or son happily prancing around the bedroom in bra and panties balieve there is a weird perversion here, a danger to domestic life. Such men are unworthy to look after children, and Agony Aunts recommend a break-up of the home, a tearing apart of family life.

Oh, the futility of such ideas! For if I had been born a woman then I would have chosen to marry a gentle, kind, loving, transvestite rather than a macho, heavy drinking, wife-beating aggressive male. The former I could love, and the latter I would divorce. SO much for tha Agony Aunt and her advice!

I love perfume, I appreciate jewels, I admire earrings and bangles and prefer delicately-coloured lingerie to plain male attire but that does not make me gay. It does not give me any desire to love my own sex – far from it. I long for the company of those who share my feelings and sensations – and such people are women.

The time is surely here when a person should be able to walk freely, head held high, dressed as he or she pleases and not be restrained by Victorian and Medieval taboos.

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