Note: This is the final installment of the original article that I wrote a dozen years ago.
Out of Control
I had just spent from Thursday noon to Monday morning completely en femme. I felt fantastic! However, household chores needed to be done, including mowing the lawn. I certainly couldn’t do that in full makeup, wig and a dress. I changed back to boy clothes (I left my toenails painted for two weeks) and did my household chores. Afterward I discovered that I was tired. I resolved not to dress that night and to simply stay home and watch television (a movie “Just one of the girls” was on).
Then, Stacy called. She, her fiancée, and several other friends (including two CD wannabe’s) were planning a late night trek to a newly discovered gay bar that was featuring a female impersonator show that night. Did I want to come along? Well, sure. It took me only an hour and a half to get ready - maybe I’m getting too practiced at this? Stacy and her fiancée stopped by to pick me up and we were off. On the way down Stacy and I had one of our good talks. She is a good friend; one in which I placed such confidence I let her re-finance my home mortgage. We got to the bar and everyone kept wanting to buy me drinks. I restrained myself so I had only had two when the emcee of the show approached me to see if I was planning to be in the show. “No.” Did I want to be? “No.” Would I please? “No.” “Please? We need you.” “Well, OK, but I’ve never done it before, and I don’t have a clue as to what I’m doing.”
Stacy went out to my car to pick up a tape of a song I’ve fallen in love with: Whitney Houston’s “Run to You.” Naturally, I did not have on stage (read “drag”) make-up, so I borrowed the makeshift dressing room to add a little emphasis to my eyes, lips and cheeks. Going on stage in front of people is quite an interesting adventure. Even though all you do is lip-sync the song, you do have to know the words in order to make it believable. Also, you can’t simply stand in one place and move your lips. Fortunately, I had this song memorized and it meant so much to me that I was able to do a fair job of acting out the emotions it holds for me. I came in second place. Of course, the selection process is slightly rigged. They choose based on applause and since I had so many friends with me, it would have been impossible for me to come in any lower! Still, it was a lot of fun and an experience I’m glad I tried.
I was oh-so-tired for work the next day (Tuesday). I had just spent 4-½ days en femme with only a short break for yard work. I didn’t dress at all Tuesday or Wednesday. I just didn’t have the energy! I went home, made myself dinner, watched a little TV and headed to bed early. After all, the weekend was approaching and I needed to rest up.
My work began to suffer. My thoughts were constantly on dressing and what I would do that evening, where I would go, who I would meet. I logged onto the computer every day, just to be able to be with other cross dressers, if only electronically. I found myself in stores more often, looking for new clothes, jewelry, make-up, and shoes. I was clearly on a binge and I didn’t know how to stop. I told myself I didn’t want to stop. I did another show at a different bar. I found that I liked being out amongst people and I enjoyed the caricature represented by the drag queens. I avoided any heavy contact with them, because I sensed they were not a happy lot and I’d heard that many of them are into drugs, not a scene I have any interest in. But, I also recognized that I was losing control of myself, and my grip on reality. I knew I needed help; I was unable or unwilling to rein myself in. And I was becoming unhappy; I felt something was missing.
I was smart enough to know that I missed my “real” life. It is a life I’ve worked hard to have. Yet, I was afraid of losing the “life” I’d found amongst my cross-dressing friends. I sank into a bit of depression as I contemplated the loss of one or the other. My fondest dreams had them integrated, but my conscious mind could not work out the details. Even now, I’m not sure it can be wholly resolved. I knew that whatever was to happen would begin as soon as my wife arrived home from her vacation.
The Discovery
She came home a day early. I had received a letter from her that day (Saturday) that put them at least 3 days drive from home and they said they were going to make one more stop before heading this way. That worked out to being at least Sunday night or Monday before they arrived. Therefore, that night after I finished dressing, I left everything out, including my makeup, jewelry, an extra wig, and even some lingerie. I left the house about 9 PM, certain that it was late enough that they were sure not to arrive that night. They got home about 11 PM. My kids discovered all my stuff in the master bathroom and called in my wife and mother-in-law in to check it out. I was found out.
I was out that night with Cindy. Cindy is a delightful CD who is almost always fun to be with. She’s a bit more “drag queen” than I am sometimes comfortable with, but she has a good sense of humor and enjoys having a good time. I like to bar hop with her, despite the fact that she will sometimes take chances that I think are too much. She is tall and very passable and will almost always get tons of compliments when we’re out. This night we were off to explore two “new” bars. Neither of us had ever been to Bedrox or to Murph’s, both well known gay bars in Pinellas County. That night, Murph’s was having an FI show, but we’ve seen enough of them (and participated in a couple!) that we weren’t necessarily trying to get there for the show; we just wanted to see the bar and find out if it was a place we would be comfortable with as part of our repertoire. We started off at BJ’s (natch!) then headed across the bay to Bedrox. We were somewhat disappointed with it; we’d heard much about it, but it didn’t live up to its reputation that night. Perhaps it was simply because their a/c was broken and it was warm. Nevertheless, we left there just past midnight and headed over to Murph’s. We got there about the time the last act was on stage. We stayed there until the bar closed, chatting with the performers and some of the other patrons. I took Cindy back to BJ’s to get her car and I headed home.
I opened the garage door as I turned onto our street and, even before I was in the driveway, I saw her car in the garage. My stomach lurched. I panicked. I immediately shut the garage door and turned my car around. Almost heedless of traffic laws, lights, etc., I raced to the only place I knew I could go and be safe. Stacy is Denise’s best girl friend. She had once offered that if I needed a place to go, if I needed a shower, whatever, I could come to her house. Her fiancée is a cross-dresser (in the closet for more than a year now, though) and she is extremely open and accepting of the whole concept and its implications. It was to their house I was headed. They were not home. Again, I was devastated. I cursed myself, my stupidity, and my lack of care. Now what was I to do?
Why, oh why, hadn’t I cleaned everything up before I left? I KNEW there was a possibility they could arrive that night. After all, I had taken almost all my clothes out of the closet that day and put them in my car trunk in anticipation of returning them to the storage locker; I had packed all my shoes (I have more than my wife). In fact, I had put away everything except what I needed to get dressed that night and the next so that I could easily pack things away in a single suitcase to be hidden in my closet - just in case they should come home while I was out. But I had convinced myself they couldn’t be home that night. Some have suggested that I wanted to be found out. Although, I cannot deny the evidence, I don’t think that is the case. I DID want to talk with Susan about this, but I DID NOT want her to be shocked into discovery like this. Now, what was I to do?
I stood in Stacy’s private driveway and changed into the boy clothes I always carry in my trunk. I fairly ripped off my blouse, skirt, lingerie, wig and accessories and indiscriminately tossed them into the trunk, cursing myself all along. I had no makeup remover, it was after 3 in the morning and there were no secluded restrooms nearby where I could borrow soap and water and paper towels. I made do with a paper napkin and the remnants of a cup of ice to “wash” my face. There was, of course, no way to remove my nail polish. I would have to go home like that.
During the three mile drive back to my house, I entertained all sorts of panic-induced thoughts, ranging from the rational to the totally irrational and bizarre. Maybe I should never go home. Maybe I should just run away. No, that way my wife and kids would be penniless; they needed me too much for that. OK, then I should just drive my car into the bay; the insurance money would set them for life. ANYTHING was better than having to face my family and admit I sometimes want to be a girl and that, in fact, I was out tonight, in public, dressed as a girl. But, no. I was determined to face Susan, to come clean with her and give us a chance to deal with this as a couple. Still, I was very frightened by my perceptions of her possible responses. In retrospect, I handled the initial contact with her very poorly.
I parked in the driveway so as to not have to walk through the house to get to our bedroom. My mother-in-law had gone on the trip with them and I didn’t want to risk running into her. I went in the front door and found our bedroom door locked! No sneaking now. I knocked. What could I tell her? What could I say? I was torn between the anticipation of finally having this out in the open and the fear of her possible negative reaction. When she opened the door my first words were: “Hi, can we talk about this or do you just want to kill me?”
To her, those words confirmed her worst fears. She had concluded that I was out somewhere (she assumed a Halloween party) dressed as a woman, but the discovery of an unpadded bra and non-prescription sunglasses had also convinced her that I was with another woman. That was her biggest fear. She didn’t know that both items belonged to me. I had just purchased contacts two weeks earlier and had only bought the sunglasses the day before, and I use breast prostheses so I don’t need a padded bra. She turned away from me without a word. I followed her into the bedroom and she asked where I had been. At that point we began a discussion that would last the next several hours.
Her immediate concern was that I had been with someone else. I don’t believe she ever really entertained the idea that I had been with another man, but I allayed those fears nevertheless. Once convinced that all the paraphernalia in the bathroom was my own, we were able to discuss the fact of cross-dressing. She immediately began to question me as to my whereabouts. When I told her I had been at a bar, she wanted to know what KIND of a bar. I evaded the question and she repeated it. When I confessed I was at a gay bar, I explained that it was one of the few places we (CDs) could go and be accepted as people without lengthy explanations or discussions. Still, this mortified her. The thought that I had been in public was almost more than she could stand the thought of.
Learning Together
I am tempted to relay as much of the actual discussions and conversations as I can recall so that each of you may draw your own conclusions and learn from my mistakes as well as the instances that worked in my favor. However, I think I would be unable to eliminate my bias from that recounting and the space required would be prohibitive. So, I will give you MY version of what has transpired over these days (now almost two weeks as of the time of this writing). Additionally, I will write periodic updates as my wife and I together begin a new voyage of discovery into this gender world. I have benefited from your experiences; I hope someone can benefit from mine.
[My wife] experienced the full range of emotions, in gatling-gun fashion. It was almost more that I initially could handle. She was frightened, angry, confused, hurt, concerned, and finally, compassionate. Although I have not yet revealed all to her (like the extent of my public forays, or the fact that I use a girl’s name, or the actual amount of money I’ve spent on this endeavor), I have also not lied to her. I’ve told her the truth as I know it. I described my need to cross-dress from a “feelings” and “needs” perspective rather than trying to label it. We spent the balance of that night crying and talking and talking and crying. I told her how I had longed to reveal this to her for many months. I reminded her how I had tried to tell her on several occasions over the past 3 months. I told her I wasn’t sorry that I was a CD and that I believed my gender enhancement was one of the reasons I am the kind of a person I am - caring, sensitive, loving. I also told her about how troubled I was about my lying to her and how insecure I initially was. I told her about Tri-Ess and Starburst and the BBS in Atlanta. I told her of the number of people I’ve met and how these organizations and people helped me to understand better what was happening and to deal with it in a rational manner. I told her about my single trip to a psychiatrist and how it confirmed in my mind her own observation that most of them are sicker than the patients they purport to treat! (We both got a good chuckle at that). Despite the “seriousness” of the entire issue, I also tried to interject some levity and not let it get too deep.
As I’ve said, her initial concerns were that I was with another woman. Once past that she began to focus on “how this is going to change our lives.”
