Birthed in a storage locker

[Note: This is the second installment in my transition stories category.  These early stories are about a time when I first came out as transgendered and I identified exclusively as a cross-dresser.  Each of these next several entries were written about the time that I began cross-dressing as an adult.  I will add comments inside brackets where I find it relevant or I will delete text where I find it necessary and appropriate (and bracket the deletions); otherwise these are as they were written then.  When I first started cross dressing, I rented a storage locker (5x5x10) where I kept all my stuff (make-up, clothing, etc.).  This is a letter I wrote to my wife at the time (January 1993).]

My Dearest Love,

I am writing this letter to you in the event that something happens to me before I have a chance to discuss this with you in person.  If you are reading this, I am surely dead or seriously injured - for I intend you to not see this unless you somehow find my “cache”.

You are obviously reading this through the discovery of my rented storage facility.  That means you’ve discovered Denise.  I have meant to tell you of her for a long time.  She is as much a part of me as any trait or characteristic I have.  Part of what makes me who I am is Denise.  More than anything in the world, I beg your understanding and, more than that, your forgiveness for not sharing this with you earlier.  You cannot know how much I wanted to.

I will not try here to explain what compelled me to cross-dress.  I truly have no idea.  I did seek the advice of a psychiatrist at one time (to the tune of $250 for an hour session!).  She told me the “condition” was curable and related to my relationship with my mother (Mothers are always to blame! HaHa!).  She wanted $6,000 - $7,000 for therapy sessions to “cure” me (over a 6-7 month period, minimum). [I later saw this same psychiatrist as part of my transition and reminded her of this; she flatly denied it ever took place - she claims she never said it was curable nor that it was related to my relationship with my mother.  I must have just made that up.  Yeah, right.  Personally, I think she just changed her tune as she, herself, learned more about transgenderism.] Since I clearly could not afford that, and, like you, I have an innate distaste for them and their profession, I looked elsewhere for answers.  I did much reading, and those books, for the vast majority, argued that the condition is not curable.  Furthermore, frankly, I didn’t want it cured.  I enjoyed being Denise.  I hurt no one.  I will leave it to you, if you desire, to read about it.  I wish you simply to know that the “condition” - to me - is harmless and is not caused by anyone external to me - especially you.  It is a desire in me that I have had for a very long time.  Remember, I told you about my dressing up in my Mother’s clothes when I was young? 

The urge to wear women’s clothing never left me.  I suppressed it for many years.  Finally, about the time I moved back here by myself, I succumbed to the urge and began to wear women’s undergarments.  I even wore pantyhose to work.  I kept that up for almost two years while I simply dreamed of being able to completely dress.  Finally, I got up the courage, shaved off my mustache (remember that trauma?!) and donned make-up and a dress.  I can’t tell you how free that made me feel!  That is, of course, the real reason I never let you talk me into growing it back. 

Now, months later, I feel trapped again.  Trapped because, while I accept who I am and what I am, I don’t know how to ask you to.  I truly don’t want to subject you to the pain and social stigma associated with my cross-dressing.  This is not your fault; ergo, why should you suffer?  And, yet it forces me to lie to you.  My monthly “poker” games are really meetings of Starburst, a cross-dressers’ support group.  Their phone number is xxx-xxxx if you ever have any desire to talk to someone else about all this.  I feel trapped because I feel so alone.  Starburst is a great organization and their help has been terrific, but I need more than 1 time a month (I never wanted to give up a Saturday evening to attend their second monthly get-togethers).  I need you.  But, how can I tell you???

I never felt less a good Father or Husband because of my need to cross-dress.  I always tried hard to be the best I could be.  It was not always enough, I know.  But my love for you and for my children is undying.  I wanted to shelter you from a side of me that is clearly not socially acceptable.  I know that if the situation could somehow be reversed I would want you to share all with me.  And I also know, in my heart, that you would want the same thing.  Still, I can’t bring myself to interject something into our perfect life that would, in any way, make it less perfect in your eyes. []

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My God, I love you.  Beyond anything else I’ve done in my life, my marriage to you and the birth of our 3 wonderful daughters are the highlights of my life!  Watching them grow has been 97% pure pleasure (the other 3% is just so you know to appreciate the balance!).  I leave it entirely up to your wonderful judgment and keen instincts to decide how much, if any, of this you share with them.

Remember me however you feel most comfortable with.  I encourage you to burn all evidence of Denise and wipe her existence from your mind, if that will help you.  You never knew her, so she cannot be important to you.  Your happiness is all I care about.  I would not have even told you about this at this juncture except that I couldn’t figure out what else to do in the event of an untimely death.  Surely, the self-storage people would be in touch with you eventually and you would be forced to investigate why I had a storage room.

Good-bye my Love!