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how did it all start with you? How old were you?
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On advice from other contributers I’ve decided to delet my post.
thanks,
Claire -
Dear Claire
When I asked this question so many years ago I was happy with the simple answer that people had given, but Claire you have really revealed far more of yourself than I had anticipated anyone would have done. I thank you very much for sharing your story so other people may see that they’re not alone and we all dealt with this life we live in many different ways.
I am truly happy that you have moved forward so positively from what I can see must have been a confusing time for you. To now be a very confident and strong young woman.
Penny
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(note: I have edited this for continuity within the topic development)
It all began when – and with Red lipstick and…..
As one of the more mature members on the TR site I am often aware as I read /interpret various responses to a range of topics of the influence of our personal circumstances, cultural backgrounds and respective historical periods have had in shaping our lives and the decisions that inform them.
For instance, I am a baby boomer (b. 1950) and I grew up during the cold war period in New York City. And it was really cold…cold in every sense, a nuclear holocaust cold that made lipstick red the warmest, most sensual thing imaginable in a field of orthodox drab grey. I desired it more than anything all my life. From the moment I could walk (by my mother’s telling age 3) I was at my mother’s dressing table in search if that secret warmth that seemed to attach itself to femininity. For those of you who find this ‘historical’ (and it is)- you must appreciate the context: there was no acceptance of diversity ‘as an alternative’- in fact no alternatives at all…no one to offer you the lipstick- even in good natured openness …the reality of no diversity meant the likelihood being arrested for “impersonating a woman”- In the pre-puberty period I had been traumatised (crying in bed at night) that little breasts would soon begin to blossom like the other girls in the class and everyone would know the truth. But I persevered and by the time I was 13 (the age of becoming a man) I had summoned the courage to buy my first bra and girdle (all women wore girdles then) in a small fabric & notions shop. The shop was even across the street from the neighbourhood police station …just to tempt fate -would I be arrested even at the tender age of 13?…
With a cold rationalism of adolescence (a defense to keep depression at bay) and having no idea that there could be a breadth of definition to feeling feminine (from CDers to TVs, TS etc) it seemed to all boil down to the terrifying question whether you were, or in my case, just how much of a deviant were you? I thought (was convinced) I was really deviant…and felt really feminine- by then I had quite a wardrobe of stolen women’s things (temptation of clotheslines at night). On reflection, this made perfect sense given my character which since childhood shopping trips with my mother I would regularly lose myself in the women’s section of department stores, mesmerized by the underwear clad manikins. I was also, from any early time 5-7 year old) squeezing into my younger sister’s party dresses-frilly pink was less than red but close enough- (given all the frills). My mother was of course a wealth of practical insight to ease my mind, -but no lipstick. She dutifully informed me that I was really too pretty to be a boy and had to be ‘careful’-(whatever that meant) “it was such a pity that I wasn’t a girl”. (My thought exactly) Later my mother once asked (perhaps sensing my distress) if I wanted to see a psychiatrist, which was growing in popularity in an increasingly neurotic New York of the period. Being vaguely aware that most mental health problems (and I had concluded by that time that I must have had a serious mental health problem- and also aware that in the behaviourist therapy of the period most solutions resulted in electro shock therapy) -I declined the offer.
In retrospect I remember when I was 18, in my first year of uni (1968), I went to the library to look up ‘transvestites’, skimming the volumes as quickly as possible until I got to one that offered a definitive prognosis “No Known Cure” –a mixture of dread and delight….Oh great… then its true… Okay, I’m a woman- what other conclusion could there be – even though the breasts hadn’t appeared at puberty I was still a freak of nature.
There were however bright moments in this otherwise bleak childhood existence. Being more than 13, I could walk around New York City by myself… buy black stockings at out of the way lingerie stores (slightly slutty ones off-Broadway) and go to the public library washroom to put them on. There were of course few role models worth considering and it became a question of extremes…. Was I dressing to be a woman?… well of course. But which woman?…. Between Doris Day square dancing into the public heart and Marilyn Monroe popping out of a birthday cake to sing happy birthday to President Kennedy… what could you answer? …Sensuality and the reddest- most immodest shade of lipstick you could find, forgoing even the deepest anxiety to pick it out of the display in 60 seconds. I also bought my first Bob Dylan album and became an antiwar activist, which eventually saw my departure for Canada.
So I left New York (in a hurry) and drove to the west coast of Canada, Vancouver in fact at 19 years of age believing myself…. an incurable deviant transvestite. As I had only $100 for petrol I decided I couldn’t afford a skimpy outfit (not even the red lippy) that I thought I would need to apply for the waitress job at the sleazy nightclub/bar (Cage au Folle style) I anticipated finding/joining. In short, I had the worst possible opinion of myself and even allowing/fanticising within the optimism of 1968 social/political struggle- (my part would be the heroic redemption of a tarty waitress by night and radical uni student by day) I still looked forward to a new day. Surely the new and meaningful life that I imagined, risked everything for would be beginning to unfold before me after all this.
But Vancouver wasn’t Paris and it didn’t quite happen as I thought, but that’s another story….( I did marry a French woman though- with lovely lingerie- or was it because of the lingerie?)
I still passionately love red lipstick and wear it daily. And I still dress to be a woman and then….had my mother only indulged me with the one thing I wanted- the feminine warmth of red lipstick how much colour could heve been added to a grey childhood
Regards to all,
Sonya -
Hello ladies & gentlewomen. OK where to start, well as far back as around 5 year’s old I can remember seeing beautiful women & thinking how lucky they were to be female & look as good as they did. I use to always wish I was a beautiful woman. I admired they way they looked, dressed & how nice they smelt. Not a day went by without it always in my head, yet there was another side of me that loved boy stuff, sports, fishing, helping my father work on the car, general boys stuff. But always on my mind was this urge to be a girl, but it was like a tug of war in my head part of me wanting to be male & another part wanting so much to be a female. I remember some nights I’d lay in bed crying, so confused, scared & no one to talk to. I felt so alone with what was going on in my head to scared to tell my parents & growing up thinking I was a freak. Anyway the first time I dressed I was about 10 or so, in the bathroom just finished having a bath when I saw a nice dress in the washing basket that my mother had been wearing, I decided to try it on, the feeling when I put it on was one of amazement it felt fulfilling, whole………. & every time I went to have a bath from that day on I made sure I raided the washing basket looking for something to try on. I still get that same feeling to this day when I dress, like the first time, every-time. Then it went on to raiding the bags of clothes left beside the sallies bins & finding places where I could hide & dress. It would mainly be the toilets out the back of this old service station that rarely got used so some days I could hide in there for a hour or so till some one came knocking, then I’d quickly get undressed & bolt lol.
This is a brief outline of my story, hope you liked it, sorry if I bored anyone, cheers
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Tressa ,
Your story is so similar to mine, so utterly similar !
tis a bad situation to feel caught between the boy things you enjoyed s0 much and the attractive girlly things youd like to do
These days many ,so many, of the “boy ” activites, that were not open to girls back then now are. I feel that girls these days can “have it all…” or close to that.if I were a kid these days I would most certainly would want to be female – much, much more than i did back then …
Also , th eboy wanting to be a girl or dress as a girl is now much more free to express his wishes – sometimes not without disapproval ,but certainly with much more acceptance than when i was young
hugs
Suzz -
Hi all,
In my case probably about nine or ten. There was an “impromptu play” of some description, (it was very long time ago, so I cannot be precise), at my school and some of the boys got picked to play girls parts. I was very envious.
Then in my early teens I saw newspaper reports of boys at single sex private schools being picked to play girls parts. eg Lady Bracknell in the “Importance of Being Earnest” and I was jealous as hell, cos female period costume was and still is, my ultimate fantasy. Then Geoffrey Rush does it all again 50 years later and I’m STILL jealous.
The desire has waxed, (in my work travelling days and right now) and waned (for about ten years up until two years ago.)
But I still get a kick out of being Caty and right now am enjoying being able to buy nice formalwear outfits. For “logistical reasons”I guess this is the closest I’ll ever get to being able to go to a full blown corset and crinoline rig out.
Cest La Vie,
Caty
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I remember back when I was seven or eight, I was fascinated by girls wearing tights. I even tried a pair on that my sister had been given by one of her friends. As time went on this feeling became stronger and I used to want to wear pantihose. I finally got to wear them and then the next (and it felt so natural) step was wearing panties/bra. It definitely grew on itself and back about 20 or so years ago I started wearing skirts/tops etc and found shoes that fitted. That was when Helen first appeared as herself, the first time was at a CD/Gay/Bi party in Sydney.
Since then I have had a couple of purges and stopped dressing or several years, but there has always been that need to dress and to try to appear (at least internally) as feminine as I possibly can. The urge is as strong as ever and I feel it is getting stronger!
Where will this end, I don’t know and I am not sure whether I will ever want it to.
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I’m not really sure when I first started wearing clothing intended for women but it was probably as a child. I’m not sure because I didn’t grow up being told I had to wear anything in particular, my upbringing was quite bohemian.
I know I entered (& won) a fancy dress contest as a primary school student, dressed as Aunty Jack. At about age 13 or 14 as a high school student at an all boys school I dressed as a ‘chorus line’ girl in a school production but I can’t remember if I chose to or was told to – the photo suggests I wasn’t unhappy about it though!
The rest of my life until Sept/Oct 2011 involved me wearing clothing intended for women but in an androgynous way. I recall it being a statement of individuality & protest rather than a desire to be or look like a woman. I have also lived in other countries where greater clothing choice exists, allowing me to wear unbifurcated clothing ie; sarongs etc. I don’t remember wanting to be a woman though. I have however thought the presence of my genitalia was both an incovenience & ‘untidy’ aesthetically.
Around September 2011, I started investigating on the net, why clothing intended for women held an appeal for me. The outcome of that research is that in February 2012 (aged 47) I started creating a wardrobe of all clothing intended for women. I joined Seahorse & soon after TgR. It is a vary rare day now when I do not present (deliberately & wantingly) as female?, extremely androgynous or possibly even gender bender.
I currently have no intention or desire to wear clothing specifically intended for men, though I do infact usually wear jeans (womens, with body mods).
I am currently working on changing my need to rely on being ‘seen’ to earn my income so that I can present myself any way I wish when ever I want. The possible loss of income/lifestyle is my only real impediment. -
I am a 1950’s baby boomer. Both parents were involved in the services during the war. I have a sister 7 years older than me. My Mother was very ill during the pregnancy prior to my birth. My birth was difficult and traumatic and there was doubt whether both of us would survive.
We did, and my mother is now almost 90. There has always been a formidable bond between the both of us, and I am now returning the love and caring that she gave me as a child, as she has developed dementure in the last few years .
I remember watching my mother getting dressed to go out. I loved to see her putting on her corset with the clips to hold up her stockings. I would put her high heels on and clump around while she dressed.
One hot summer’s day I was in the bathroom, dressed only in shorts and my mother’s heels. I stood on a small chair, looking in the mirror.
I slid open the mirror door and removed Mum’s favourite lipstick.
I turned the base before taking the top off, and being a hot day, the stick squashed in the lid.
Undeterred I applied the wonderfully red colour to my lips.
I was 5 y. o.
A lightening bolt of pain shot through my tiny body as my Father unleashed his belt, buckle end out, whipping around my naked chest.
That day changed my life forever.
My Father had no time for me and I none for him.
He called me a mummies boy, sookie boy and said I should have been a girl.
I was frightened and very confused.
I WANTED to be a girl.
This feeling was reinforced when relatives came to visit as the common comment was how much I resembled my Mother in looks and build when she was that age.
When I was 10,my sister moved out and I moved into her room,complete with a large box of her discarded clothes.
I wore her bathers to school, under my school clothes of course. I didn’t forsee that they would be so uncomfortable having to wear them for about 10 hours.( I caught the schoolbus at 7.30 and returned at 5.30).
I used to wear my sister’s nylon undies to school whenever I could and her nylon nighties and bra to bed.
Mum caught me”dressed” early one morning when she came in to my room to get some clothes to wash. She just smiled and left,and nothing more was said.
After that, the nylons were included in my drawers with my boy clothes when she had done the washing. Love you Mum.
Puberty came and as I watched the girls in my class develop, I felt so cheated that I grew hair and not breasts. I wanted SO Much to have boobs.
I was a loner at school, not knowing how to cope with my hormones going one way and my brain wanting to go another. not wanting to be with boys and too shy to be with girls.
Two male teachers, separately, tried to “seduce” me. They must have noticed that I was “vunerable”. The only thing that saved me was that I had to catch the bus to get home, and couldn’t go to their houses for private “tuition” after school.
I may have exceeded the theme of this post, so I will leave my story here for now.
Thanks to all at TgR. You truely have saved my life.
Hugs
Justene -
How old was I when it all started? A long, long time ago, when I was about four. Boarding school for the sons and daughters of gentlefolk, I wet the bed, a nervous reaction to being locked up in Stalag 13. I was dressed in navy blue knickers and white, lacey party dress with short sleeves. I had to wear that bloody dress for the whole day, and take the derogatory laughter and remarks from the other kids, both male and female. I’m certain it didn’t start enything, I was predisposed for girly things well before birth. The incident just helped things along a little. Funny thing is, I can remember it as though it was last week.
Liz
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My journey started when i was about 10, we had an aunt staying with us and when she moved out i got her room, i was looking through what was left in my aunts wardrobe when i came across a pair of silk stockings, when i picked them up i couldn’t believe how wonderful they felt. I knew i had to keep these, i didn’t know why i had to i just knew i did. I went through the wardrobe with a fine tooth comb hopeing to find some more of these wonderful garments, the only other thing i found was an open bottom girdle with the clips on it to hold the stockings up, i knew about this but i dont remember how, probably steeling glances during the application of the clips to the stockings.
That night i was trembling with excitement, once i had gone to bed and things were quiet i took my booty from its hiding place and dressed myself in my new found clothes. I couldn’t believe the sensation i was feeling while wearing these few items, i didn’t know why i liked it only that i did and i was going to continue to do so. After a couple of hours of enjoying my new wardrobe apparel i remove them and put them back in their hiding place and every chance i got i dressed.
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My analytical adult mind would like to impose the thoughts that as I was tall and thin when very young, meek and weak – That I always knew something wasn’t right, that I wasn’t tough, ‘big boy(ish)’. That’s how I see my early years, although I cannot remember any direct understanding at a very young age…
Ballet. That was my trigger. My younger Sister of 2 years started ballet at roughly 5 years of age (for her, 7 for me). As I couldn’t be left at home alone I was dragged to her classes which were held in a day care centre and I was left to fend for myself in playground outside while Mum was sat inside with the gaggle if other Mothers and the class danced on – No worries there, monkey bars, sand pit, fort and concrete tunnel; what more could a boy ask for!? Nirvana!
Rain. A perfect Summer of evenings could not last. The cold and the wet brought me inside. A vision held me there. Colour, sparkles, shiny clothing, form fitting clothing. I wanted it. Alas, informed by my Mother, it was a girl thing, that’s why I did Scouts.It grew from that. Next step, sleep in the spare bed in my Sisters room, my room was dark, scary, cold, too far down the back of the house (and my room didn’t have ballerina wallpaper of pink ballerina doona covers). When I was older and long after my Sister had finished ballet, I raided a bag of her old dance wear and found an electric blue leotard and unitard. I stole it. Treasured it. Adored the shine, the colour, the cool slinky feel of the material. I gathered enough courage to wear it one afternoon whilst home alone. I raced through the house loving the compression, the feeling, the amazing sense of joy. I ran and slid on my bed, tingles where there were none before – Not long after my first climax.
Wow. Never thought I’d admit that.
The link was formed right there. I had to had more. I relived other dance wear, I ‘acquired’ hosiery (I think because it was close to what I knew and well, after the first wear I was an addict).
In time I came to realise it was not the layer of material that made me feel so giddy, it was the sense of freedom of soul. In the chaos of a male teenage mind, I found the inner female.
I aged with the inevitable progress of time. I married at 18 and had my first child at 19, to a partner so limited and so closed minded that I was terrified to let her in to the real me. We fell apart when I was 27.
I aged even more. At 31 I entered a new relationship, I hid the more… Interesting items of my wardrobe, cleared by bookmarks and was successfully secretive and careful thanks to many years experience.
At 34 I was to be a Farther again. I was struggling to hide the real me from my partner as it was, so in the first weeks of pregnancy I had to be honest so that she knew what a lifetime commitment with me was.
I never expected her understanding let alone approval, I expected the worst but fate it seems had taken pity! The love love my live, my beautiful partner, she loves me. Not the physical casing I exist in but the soul within, she loves me.
She encourages, incites and plays with the inner me. To curl up with a on the couch watching a movie, both encased in hosiery, satin and femininity, with legs and bodies pressed and sliding together… Nirvana!
My limited words will never express the gratitude and thanks I owe this amazing woman, who wants my inner woman to be free.Now? Now I ask sitting here, openly in wet look leggings and a stunning little black dress? Now I’m slowly replacing the outer me. Slowly releasing the inner self.
I’m not sure how far I can allow myself to go, but I know I’m not there yet. I long, ache to be able to be me in the World. Personal goal is to be me for a night, out in the World, to show off my stockinged legs, to be free!Love to you all, ~Sarah~
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I was young.. not sure exactly how old, and I was at school watching a relief teacher fix the strap of her bra and I mimmick her.
It wasnt until an auntie came over one day and she was about 17/18… she wore a halter neck dress and had 3 inch heels on..
She went for a swim and I tried her shoes on… it was then that I realised I loved the dressing component and have been ever since. My first every paying job enabled me to buy what I wanted and when I wanted it.. that was when I was 12/13….
Wow time flies!
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My first recollections of me crossdressing was back when I was around 6-7 yrs old. My mother was very good at sowing and used to make a lot of clothes. She used to make dresses for my cousin who was the same age as me and at that time the same size. Because my cousin lived along way from us up in country Victoria, my Mum used me as the model. I can still clearly remember standing on the kitchen table in just a pair of underpants and a pretty little dress, turning around while Mum pinned the hem. I felt so good and never wanted to take the dresses off. When no one was around I remember putting them back on and walking around the house. Thats how I got started, guess I can probably blame mum ( or thank her ). So here I am at 61 sitting here typing this in a skirt, top, makeup and heels and feeling very good about my self.
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Not sure of the age, but it was before Primary (Elementary) School. I used to lock myself in the bathroom and drag out my sisters clothing from the hamper. Then it was locking myself in the veranda cupboard and trying on Mom’s clothing. Strange thing is that my sisters say these days that they knew. They said nothing until they wrote to my psychologist explaining my history of cross dressing. I guess it would have been hard to explain to Mom why she nearly always had to iron her clothes again before she went out. I wonder if she knew as well? Dad said he had no idea.
Funny story. When I was discharged from my initial army service all the guys in the bus were hanging out for a feed on the way back to Brisbane. I on the other hand was looking out for a store to buy hosiery to wear under my clothes.
