When I was very young, for reasons that are important to you, I became a very helpful 'son' to my mother when it came to chores. I had four siblings and I was the one who was the most helpful when it came to doing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen, dusting, etc.
I was so helpful that it was something of a family joke that I would make some woman a 'good wife' some day. I actually think that I enjoyed thinking of myself as a 'good wife' and that it may have contributed to my decision to experiment with being a girl by visiting my sister's room and trying on some of her dresses.
In fairness to my family, it was seen as something of a compliment that I was so helpful. It should also be noted that I grew up in a small farming community in eastern Washington during the Sixties. The idea that such gentle teasing would somehow come to set me on this path most likely never occurred to my parents.
I never had a chance to dress up as a French maid when I was young and I have not done so as an adult. The young 'man' wearing this French Maid outfit shares in his notes on another video that he is straight. If he is in deed straight, if this is just a costume he enjoys wearing, then he had better never make a career decision to provide maid services dressed as a maid. Walk into my home looking like this and I want you face down on my bed in a hurry. And that comes from someone who would rather be her than him.
I cannot stress strongly enough how intensely I want to have a man dress me up as his maid and then take me like a boss takes a maid. In this video, the maid is on the stairs. I also have a fantasy about being taken on the stairs.
I know I could never be even remotely as hot as this young lady. But I am willing to dress as she dressses, dance as she dances, reveal myself as she reveals herself, and then to go down on a man and suck his dick. And when he is ready he can take me up the ass.
To achieve my fantasy, all I really need is a man who wants to fuck my ass while I am dressed up as a French maid. Case in point, the following video.
When I reflect back on my early years of 'dressing up,' there is not a great deal I can with recall with certainty. What I do know is that one day I went to my sister's bedroom and tried on several of her dresses and outfits. I did so on a school day. I had stayed home sick from school and I was alone in the house, a house normally filled with four siblings and two parents. How old was I? I cannot recall.
Regarding my age, I was older than eight and not yet thirteen. I first visit her home in a house that became our home when I was eight. When I was thirteen, I can recall trying on one of my sister's sweaters and being frustrated that the pin in my thumb kept snagging. What pin? I had inadvertently stuck my hand into the blade of a table saw that school year. I almost lost four fingers. They were able to save my fingers with a pin protruding from the tip of two of them including the thumb for healing purposes.
This hand injury was the second of two major health issues I had during this time. Two years before, at the age of eleven, I had appendicitis with complications. After three weeks in the hospital and three surgeries, the doctors sent me home with the certainty that I had less than seventy hours to live. But I bounced back and after another week back in the hospital and another surgery, I was released with the doctor's assurance that all was better. They must have been right because here I am still ticking.
I do not share these stories in search of pity or sympathy. I share them because I lived in a small house among a big family and yet for several years no one ever 'discovered' that I dressed in first my sister's and then my mother's clothes. Or did they? As a parent facing the loss of your child in the weeks, months and years that followed would you not be willing to look the other way when it came to some of his pastime -- even if you disapproved.
In the weeks and months leading up to my first extended hospital stay and in for several weeks and months after, it was not uncommon of me to tell my mom I was in pain or not feeling well and she would allow me to stay home -- unattended. It was on one of these days that I made my first visit to my sister's room. I will also share that during both my appendicitis and my hand injury I was given a ton of pain killers and other medicines. My life during these years is something of one big blur. It is also relevant that at the age when most young boys are becoming young men, developing a love of sports and an interest in girls, I spent a great deal of this time unable to be active in sports and socially separated fro the rest of my class including the girls.
We were on the stairs my younger brother and I one day going up to our bedroom when he confided in me that he had heard our parents scolding our older brother. According to him, he had been caught wearing some of our sister's clothes. It was a memorable moment for me because I had never consider wearing her clothes and yet hearing that my brother had dons so, it suddenly occur to me that I should give it a try. Not to copy my brother. But because it felt like an answer. An answer? What was the question? No real question, but rather the gnawing discomfort I felt that something was not right with me, that something was wrong, that I was not who I was meant to be.
Did I wait weeks or months before giving it a try? As is so often the case for me, I cannot recall. I do however know that it did take me quite some time to find both the opportunity to do so and the courage to do so before I would make that first visit. Why coiurage? As I have shared elsewhere, because I had the sense that it would answer my questions and answer them in a way that would prove me defective as a boy and sinful as a Christian not to mention most likely the only boy in the whole world who wanted to be a girl.
I have shared in a previous post about how my parents wanted me to be a girl. I cannot also recall sitting on the bathroom counter and watching my grandmother put on makeup that made her so pretty. And with just a bit of shame I must admit that my grandmother rarely closed her bedroom door, even when she was dressing for work. Something about the clothes she wore enticed me. Also, because we were a big family, because we were poor (my dad was a teacher at a rural high school), because Mom often had to work, and because Dad often got mad at Mom when the house work was not done,, I took it upon myself to do most of the household chores. It was a commonly told family joke that I would make some woman a 'great wife' one day. Finally, my Dad doted on my sister, gave her a greater share of his time and love. I am not saying he loved her more, but he obviously cherished her more. If I had been the daughter I was meant to be, I would have been the apple of his eye. In short a therapist could have me in therapy for months with the fodder that was my childhood particularly when you add in that I started 'dressing up.'
So here is the wrap up. On the day that my younger brother told me about my older brother, I know only one thing about how I was feeling about myself. I felt that I was somehow different from other boys. I did not think of myself as transgender. It would be several years before I would ever hear that word. Nor did I think of myself as a girl in a boy's body. I simply felt different, different from other boys. I will take that one step further and say that hearing about my older brother had we wondering if my life might not be better as a girl. More consequential, I quickly jumped to the fantasy that it would be better as a girl, From my first experience with 'dressing up' it was never about dressing to look like a girl, but rather dressing to be a girl.
As an young crossdresser I took a great deal of satisfaction from how well I successfully protected my secret from my family. And yet as I reflect back, I am forced to consider two possibilities. One is that my parents never knew because I did such a great job as protecting my secret or they knew and simply chose to look the other way, not wanting to cause me any additional grief in my young life. It seem much more likely that they knew. They were not dumb and I truly doubt I was as sharp and as clever as I thought I was. Were they in their silence and indifference being supportive of a son that they already sensed would never be like other boys.
This is a glimpse of my story. It is story I find compelling because it is so meaningful to my life. I say glimpse because I have so much more I could share. What I have said so far is enough for the purpose of this blog post. If I have accomplished nothing else, I have tried to convey that my decision to cross dress was the decision of a boy, a boy who felt different, a boy who did not like being different, but knew by being more of who he wanted to be, he was only making himself more different. And with that, I will call that the end of my story.
Before I address this question directly, I feel it is important to begin with a definition of crossdressing. Wikipedia (which is sufficient for my purposes) defines crossdressing as "the act of wearing clothing and other accouterments commonly associated with the opposite sex within a particular society." I see this as relevant because crossdressing is less about the clothing we wear than about how society regards the clothes we are wearing. While this speaks to a lot of issues commonly discussed regarding crossdressing, I stress societal definition of crossdressing here to emphasis that for whatever reason I may choose to step out of my home in gender-inappropriate attire as defined by our society, it is society and not myself labeling me a crossdresser.
Crossdressing is Not Gender Identity or Sexual Oreintation
Why have I begun with this digression. Crossdressing is too often tied to unrelated issues of gender identity and sexual orientation. Transgender women insist they dress as they do because of their gender identity even though everyone admits women are pretty much free to wear whatever they like and many disdain wearing bras and dresses and anything feminine. Society tends to see any man dressed as a woman as someone who is gay, one who is out displaying 'his' feather to attract a mate. Even though many studies suggest that most crossdresser see themselves as heterosexual and have no interest in men.
I now come to that part of this post in which I draw my over-riding conclusion. We all have our reasons for crossdressing and while it may or may not be related to our gender identity and our sexual orientation, crossdressing is still something we choose to do. Now some may suggest I have it all wrong, that if I only knew what it felt like for them, I would know how wrong I was. And I may well be. One thing is for certain, we cannot both be right so one of us must be wrong and that could be me.
So why do I crossdress? Why do I enjoy crossdressing?
I enjoy it for the sex. If I did not crossdress, I would not attract men and I prefer male partners as Veronica over female partners as Glen. Did I just contradict what I said about gender identity and sexual orientation? It is important to re-consider my premise. How I choose to dress is always a matter of my choice. I do not care how intensely certain you are that you are a girl that does not compel you to slip into a bra. It is still your choice to dress as a woman. Secondly, why I choose to crossdress, my desired result, is not how I am judged by society. Whether I dress to attract men or because it feels good or because of a dare, I am still seen as a crossdresser to those who see us out and about.
I often remark in my online communications that I am not a 'crossdresser,' that I am one who crossdresses. it is a distinction between a label assigned to me that defines me and what I do. However, I am becoming increasingly unhappy with the whole concept of crossdressing. It feels archaic to me. It is telling me as a member of a free society how I may dress and what is inappropriate, how I may choose to express myself. It could be said that I hate crossdressing and yet love to dress up in dresses and lingerie.
So lets say that this was a free society, that I was free to step out of my home wearing whatever I choose without be judged, without being seen as a 'crossdresser' or 'a man in a dress.' In this prefect world, I would be no different than the 95-98% of Americans who do not crossdress. My gender identity and my sexual orientation would not be questioned. In this prefect world it could be said that I am simply someone who has chosen to step out looking her best and not uncommonly one who is open to attracting the sexual interest of others.
Am I Gay or Straight?
In this prefect world, as I am one who dresses to attract men am I gay? I think not. I am not attracted to gay men. Quite frankly I often find it repulsive when I see two men kissing (even though it is wrong to be that close-minded and even though I am much more accepting of it than many or even most would be). Gay men are not attracted to me and straight men are often attracted to me. While occasionally a man I am with might share that he is bisexual, most of them would label themselves 'straight.'
So am I a woman; am I transgender? Socially (and sexually) I will always prefer interacting with others as a woman over doing so as a man. But in the privacy of my home, being 'her' is usually just too much trouble. I am content to wear guy clothes for comfort -- not unlike millions of women who upon arriving home will strip off their dress and change into a pair of jeans and never put on makeup when spending the day at home.
Despite everything or anything I may have said in this post, there may be a million and one butterfly effects for why I prefer dressing as a woman to dressing as a man. But it all comes down to this. When I am getting ready to go out, if I am looking to have a good time out, if I am looking to meet someone with the ultimate goal of having sex, I dress as a woman. If I am a woman, I must be a woman who prefers anal sex with men. If I am a man, I am a man who prefers those who appreciate my beauty as a woman. If I am transgender, I am reasonably content to be a man when alone while preferring to be a woman when with others. If I am a gay male, I am one who disdains the flamboyance gay men so often display and if I am straight woman why do I find almost all of my hookups at gay bars.
So why do I enjoy dressing as a woman?
Like everyone else, when I step out I like to look my best. My best demands I be wearing a dress, a wig, breast forms, makeup, high heels, perfume and anything and everything else that might create the prefect package. More often I am on the prowl and I am looking for straight men -- not gay, not bisexual, straight. I am looking for men who will find me attractive, men who will feed my ego with compliments and lingering looks and soft embraces. I am looking for men who want to be with a woman and a man who knows I want to be with a man. I am not looking for a man who wants to be with another man, but a man who sees me for the woman I am, the woman I will be with him.
While it could be said that I dress as I do to attract and lure and seduce men into my web, I am also dressing for men who have sought me out, seeking something more from me that other women cannot provide, do not provide. To these men, in some ways, I am more 'woman' to them than the wives and girlfriends that are alone at home, unaware that their man has chosen to seek out a woman who will fulfill his sexual desires as only a real woman can. I dress not because I have any illusion that I am his female, but as one totally willing to be his woman. I dress (and I enjoy crossdressing) because given a choice between the role and live of a woman and the role and live of a man, let me be the woman every time. And never more so than when he is using me and abusing me according to his basest desires as a man, leaving me undeniably a bit more of a woman than I was when the night began.
There is a great deal of discussion as to whether or not if one is transgender it is due to genetic destiny or flawed nurturing. While I cannot discount the likelihood that genetic predisposes us to favor a feminine over a masculine self-image and no doubt genetics affects our personal appearance, personality and manner, I tend to see crossdressing and being transgender as more a product of one's upbringing.
I based this conclusion on a shared trait of all who crossdress and all who are transgender (using 'all' very loosely as there are always exceptions). We all begin our journey by adopting the social role of our preferred gender. At three, six and nine, a child does not know enough about being male or female to see this as a choice, but they have learned a great deal about being a boy or being a girl.
There Is No Single Reason We Become Who We Are
I feel it is important to know that being transgender or becoming a crossdresser most likely does not have a single explanation, a singular cause. There is no better testament to this conclusion then that gender identity does not determine sexual preference. I will also acknowledge that my thoughts on why one is transgender or why one loves crossdressing has been largely shaped by my own experience.
Before I discuss the origins of who I am today, I would like to stress that as a child, I was grappling for answers. I had feelings I could not explain. I was full of doubt and questions. I found answers to my desires through crossdressing. As an adult, I am no longer powerless to my urges. I crossdress now because I chose to crossdress. Am I transgender? Is that why I crossdress? Crossdressing allows me to dress as a woman in our society dresses, but clothes are not me. While I do see myself as transgender (self-defined), crossdressing is supportive of that idenity and not what defines me as transgender.
Whether or not one agree with my position, whether or not one understands my position, is not of any concern to me. At 53, I am who I am and I am who I choose to be.
My Parents Wanted Me To Be A Daughter
I am going to begin the question of why I choose to first visit my sister's bedroom one day at the age of ten by suggesting something rather bold. There is one and only one reason I became a crossdresser. I do not offer this as a factual statement, merely as a starting point for my discussion. If it were a fact, what would be the single reason behind my life as a crossdresser.
My dad was an only child and when Dad married Mom they both knew he wanted a big family and he wanted a daughter. There first child was a coin toss. When they did not have a daughter, when Mom became pregnant with a second child, they wanted that child to be a girl. That child was me. I was born a boy. It had always been their plan to have a large family so they had another child. Having had two sons already, they did not have much hope their third would be a girl. They had another boy. Their fourth child however was born a girl. As the story was often told, if Cheri had been a boy they would have stopped at four sons. As she was a daughter and they had three sons, they opted to have one more child in the hope of a three-two balance. Instead they had a son and a four-one balance.
This story was often told when family and friends made comments to my parents about having four sons to raise. I heard it told over and over and over again going back into the most distant corners of my memory. It is also fair to suggest that I heard it often told in those years into which my memory no longer travels. There was however one aspect of this story that I glossed over in the previous paragraph. Each time it was told, I was the focus of the story. I was the son who was suppose to be a daughter, the boy who they wanted to be a girl. While they hoped my two younger brother and to a much less extent my older brother would be a daughter, I was the only one of their sons to which it could be said, 'We really wanted him to be a girl." "Fred (my dad) had high hopes that Glen would be a girl." "Glen was suppose to be a girl."
Did I Choose To Be A Boy?
As a boy of two or four or six, what did I know about being a girl. I knew girls wore dresses and grew up to be Mommy. About boys, I knew that they wore pants and grew up to be Daddy. Each time I heard this story told, I had to sense their disappointment that I had not been born a girl. Or, . . . And this is a question I might have had -- Did I choose to be a boy when Mom and Dad wanted me to choose to be a girl? Did I choose to be a boy by dressing as a boy instead of being a girl by dressing as a girl? Did it ever occur to me that Mom and Dad would have been happier if I had been born a girl? Did it ever occur to me that Mom and Dad might love me more if I had been born a girl (which is not to say they did not love me with every ounce of their fiber)? Did it occur to me to ask if I could still be a girl?
I am not suggesting that as a child of five that I sat down and pondered these questions. What I am saying is that a few years later, when the idea of dressing in my sister's clothes was presented to me, it felt right to consider the option even as it by then felt wrong to actually do so. So here is the logic. At five, I hear my parents share that they really wanted me to be a girl. At ten, I begin crossdressing. Is it logical to see this as cause and effect. I think so. At the very least, it seem illogical to suggest that it did not impact my lifestyle choices.
The Seed of an Idea is Planted
One day I was hanging out with my younger brother when he mentioned that our older brother had been caught wearing some of our sister's clothes and had been scolded. My brother shared this as a means of mocking our older brother, but upon hearing of this, an idea was born. As mentioned above, I was by this tine old enough to know that dressing as a girl would only get me in trouble with my parents or ridicule from my brother and friends. And yet it struck me instantly as the prefect solution to deal with some of my feelings.
It would be several weeks, maybe even a few months, before I would find both the courage and the opportunity to visit my sister's room and try on some of her clothes. I did it one day when I stayed home sick from school, a day both of my parents were working. (It was a different time and place, a time when parents would actually consider leaving a ten-year-old boy home alone.)
I Had to be Courageous
Why did I need courage? I knew deep down that even though I should not that I would most likely really, really, really enjoy wearing her clothes. If I did that would make me the 'only boy in the whole world' who liked wearing girl's clothes -- to my mind. It would prove that I was in some way defective and would most certainly seal my fate and send me to hell. My fears were not unfounded. I did really enjoy wearing her clothes. So much so that as I left her room, I promised myself I would never do it again. I needed to make this promise as if I did not I would surely do it again. The promise however did not protect me from a life of sin. I broke the promise I made and return to her room, her closet, her clothes -- her life.
I feel I have much more to say on this topic but I will leave it there for now as this is already considerably longer than I had wanted it to be.
Keeping the backstory very, very brief, I started crossdressing when I was about ten and for the next twenty five years of life tried to pretend I was just a straight guy who liked dressing up as a woman. At about age thrity five, I went out to a gay bar for the first time in full femme. Nothing happened that night which does not mean I did not invite the one guy I spoke to home with me. He was gay gay and said I was not his time.
From that night going forward, I knew I wanted to be with a man. One night I was at the club and meet three people out celebrating a birthday. Two of them were lesbians, one of whom was having a birthday. The third in their party was the designated driver, a roommate to the birthday girl. We struck up one of those friendships that are so common when everyone is out to have a great time and get drunk.
Brad made it very clear that the only reason -- the only reason -- he was in this bar and would ever come to this bar was as a designated driver for his roommate. However, him and I often found ourselves sitting together at our table while the two girls danced.
I think I asked him to dance or maybe he decided to ask me. Whichever was the case we ended up on the dance floor and as we danced he reminded again that he was straight -- Nothing was going to happen. He simple wanted to to dance and he was not going to dance with another guy.
Did he say 'another guy?" Possibly. Maybe not. What ever term he may have used he somehow was already willing to accept that dancing with me was different than dancing with a guy.
How cozy did Brad and I get at the club? I suspect not quite as cozy as this young couple, but when closing time came upon us, the four of us were in complete agreement that we should all go back to his place and continue the party. Now mind you four people could also be seen as two couples. The two lesbians were one couple. Were Brad and I also a couple?
His home was a small one bedroom house. His roommate was staying with him short term and sleeping on the sofa. I do not know what I was expecting from this after-hours party, but I know I had expectations. At one point I stood up from my chair and headed down the hallway to use his bathroom and spotted the open door to his bedroom.
After I had used the bathroom, rather than return to the party, I sat down on his bed and waited. Was I expecting him? I know I sat there for several minutes and then decided it was pointless to remain any longer and I returned to the party.
A while longer passed and I stood up and headed down to his bedroom again. Did anyone know I was in the bedroom? That I was waiting? Not sure, I was simply hopeful he would make it down the hallway. I gave up again and headed back out to the party.
Now I am preferring willing to acknowledge that I might have gotten the wrong message from him, particularly as it was quite important to him that I did not get the wrong message.
However as I return to the living room that second time I found myself almost angry at him. He had taken me out of the game at the bar and had brought me back to his place. If he was not going to fuck me, why had he brought me home?
A few moments after I sat down in my chair, one of the girls turned to Brad (most likely not his real name as I cannot recall it) and said, "I think Veronica is tired of all this talking." Or words to that effect. Brad replied, "What do you mean?" To which she replied, "She has been sitting down in your bedroom just waiting for you."
Had I picked up the wrong signals from Brad? Had he brought me back to his home to fuck me? The answer to that question is totally moot. Presented with a clear invitation to fuck me that is exactly what he did.
Soon enough after that brief exchange, I was face down on his bed. He pushed my dress up about my waist and pulled down my panties and then laid into me.
I cannot recall much of what occurred. How easily did my ass accept his cock? I cannot recall? Did he fuck me because he wanted to or as a concession to his responsibility to do so. What I do recall is someone calling out to me from the living room to 'tone it down some.' Apparently I was making quite a racket.
At one point I told Brad to pull out, I needed a break. I stood up and stumbled out of the room. I ended back in the living room where the two girls were having their own party on the living room floor. They told me to go back to Brad. And when I did so he was right back at it.
It was my first time. It was mostly likely his first time. It was approaching dawn when I finally told him I had had all I could take. I can recall him asking for more time to 'finish off.' I did not have the energy for him to finish off. I told him I couldn't. Now I would have known how to help him. Then I did not.
I never saw him again. I wonder sometimes what happened to Brad. Did he become a tranny chaser or would that prove to be a one time thing? Did he ever go out looking for me? Did his friends ever tease him about the night he fucked a tranny? So many questions. One big answer -- I loved cock.
This is not the easy question many assume it to be. Allow me to share two thoughts on the subject. First of all, occasionally I am watching Glee or some other show with gay characters and there comes a moment when I sense two male characters are about to kiss. I cross my fingers and say to myself 'Please don't do this.' Should they kiss it is not as bad for me as it would be for many, but I am not a big fan of guys kissing. And yet I love being kissed by guys.
Secondly, gay men do not find me the least bit attractive. When I go to a club, usally a gay club, if I am picked up, it is by a straight man. Straight men do find me attractive.
Without question, many would say I am 'gay' but as Glen I have no interest in men. It is only as Veronica that I am with a man. I am not attracted to gay men and I am attracted to straight men. More often than not the men who fuck me are married and looking for something from me that they are not getting from their wife.
There is one more comment I can make. Some crossdressers are heterosexual males. I often will come across a crossdresser who calls herself a lesbian becasue she likes women. Am I bi-sexual, a term many of my taste might use. I would say 'Yes' except that as Veronica I only prefer sex with men and as Glen I prefer sex with women and yet without question any day of the week, any hour of the day, given a choice I would go for sex with men as Veronica.
The three videos below care something of a litnus test. I am not saying that it is a litnus test as to whether I am gay or straight, I feel those labels simply do not apply to my sexual preferences and gender identity. Let's just say they are a litnus test as to whether or not you are a crossdresser who likes men or women.
The first video is eights minutes long and is one shot after another of what you see in the screenshot. Like what you see. You will probably like the rest. Don't like what you see, Maybe you will enjoy the second video more. What do you like the most -- the girls or the lingerie? In the third video, if you see yourself as a young girl who could soon be fucked, you are a lot like me. If you see yourself as a young man about to get a hot piece of ass you are nothing like me.
Men are often held in disregard because they so often tend to objectify women, treat them less as individuals than as objects, ignoring who they are inside by focusing entirely on who they are on the outside.
And maybe this criticism is justified, but it suggests that all women want men to see beyond the suprerficial. That is not me. Now of course I am not truly a woman and so maybe I do not speak for any women other than myself, but it is my singular ambition to be totally objectified by men.
And when I say objectified, I am talking as in buy me, own me, use me, discard me as your pleasure. In the first video below in the opening moments there is a stripper dancing around a pole. Every time I watch this woman, it excites me. I am not saying she excites me. I am saying 'it' excites me.
She is performing for men. She has stripped herself bare to show men that she is sexy and desireable. Without question, as she dances around that pole, there are dozen of men watching her who would gladly fuck it. They don't care her age, her name, her religion, her favorite hobby, whether or not she has brothers or sister, did she do well in school, what are her dreams, etc. They just want to fuck her. Nothing would please me more than being her, to know that I am stripping for men, that should I choose to do so I could step off the stage and be getting laid with minutes.
I want to be objectified. I want to be his toy. I want him to buy me and own me. I want him to use me and abuse me. I want him to discard me when he is through with me so I am free to be bought and owned by another man.
