My mother used to take care of Elderly people in her home. She had anywhere from 3 to 6 patients that she cared for 24/7. I often thought that she did this as a way of compensating for the fact that all 7 of her children had grown up and now had homes and families of their own. She was always the nurturing type. My father hated having them there. He figured that with the kids gone that this was the time for him and my mother to spend more quality alone time together. Not unreasonable. But my mother always had different ideas. She hated nursing homes and similar institutions after having worked in them for many years. Her entrepreneurship allowed my parents to completely pay off the mortgage on their home and live quite comfortably. My father tolerated it only because the money was good and it allowed him to stop truck driving. But I never saw him lift a hand to help my mother take care of the people. So from time to time I would volunteer to help her out when I had a day off at the Nursing Home that I worked at. That way she could finally get some rest. She was always exhausted.
It was in this setting that I first met another cross dresser. As an adult who was married and had 3 children I kept my infrequent CDing very much “closeted” from everybody, even my wife.
One of the lady residents had a husband that was very devoted to her and would come to visit every day. My mother warned me before hand of what to expect. She said that he wore his wife’s clothing as a way of feeling close to her.
“Just be respectful. You don’t need to call him Mam or “MRS.”, mom said to me, “He’s a really sweet man. “
“No problem.” I told her “Go get some sleep.”
While my mother retired to the bedroom I went about checking on all her residents, making sure they were comfortable and taking them to the bathroom or changing them if they had soiled. It wasn’t too long before there was the sound of a car coming into the driveway and the click clack of heels on the sidewalk to the front door.
As the front door opened and I heard “Hello?” being said in the cutest little voice. (Years later when I saw the movie Mrs. Doubtfire I couldn’t help but think how similar they sounded.)
He was a little man. The poke-a-dot dress he was wearing was obviously a bit too large for him and his stocking were drooping down on both his legs like the garters weren’t fastened tight enough. He had on a pair of high heels that were two sizes to large but didn’t seem to have a problem navigating in them. A large black purse was slung over his shoulder and he kept one hand on the strap to keep it from falling off. He had on little too much make up and the rouge on his checks needed some serious blending. If he was trying to pass as a woman he was failing miserably. But I had a feeling that he didn’t care. For all the obvious faults he had an air of confidence about him that was hard not to admire. He knew exactly who he was.
He was beautiful to me. Not in the shallow term of beauty that we are all too familiar with. It was an inner beauty that seemed to radiate outward from every fiber of his being. This person was truly a magnificent example of a human being at its finest.
I introduced myself and told him that his wife was expecting him.
If you ever wanted to see evidence that love is ageless and what a mature accepting relationship looks like all you had to do was look in that room where this husband and wife sat, talked for hours and held each other’s hands.
Then, of course, my father had to come inside from mowing the lawn and joke to me in private how ridiculous he thought it was for a man to be wearing woman’s clothes.
“What a freak!” he said.
Dad, sometimes you make it very hard to say “I love you”.
Originally Posted by Gina X
