SuzanneBender
11-20-2009, 04:38 PM
Girls have you ever had anything like this happen to you before? If so, let us know.
The other day someone had a post about sleeping en femme. I used to love sleeping en femme until the incident below happened. Now it is silk and satin oversized (XXL) men’s jammie tops with panties. I also make sure I have a pair of boy shorts next to the bed.
I love sleeping en femme and luckily I have a wife that has never complained about it since I came out to her. Being one to take full advantage of a situation my sleeping apparel always consisted of a silk or satin chemise or baby doll nightie. The cold of the coldest Kansas winter months couldn’t break me. Once the kids were tucked in bed it was off to our bedroom and on would go the pastel satin night shirt and fuzzy slippers. A girl can only comprise so much when it comes to what she wears.
As with most things in life my chosen wardrobe for sleeping seemed to work out perfectly until that fateful Kansas spring night. My beautiful bride and I have four wonderful children. I am currently only out to my oldest who just left for college. We have decided to not tell the others until the get to an age where we think they are able to deal with it in a mature and forthright manner. We are not sure what that age is because my wife keeps reminding me that I am still yet to achieve that age.
We live in a wonderful two story colonial style home with a full basement. For those of you unfamiliar with the frontiers of Kansas a basement in your house is important. During most months of the year we live with the threat of the awe inspiring weather phenomenon of Tornadoes and Severe Storms. My fellow Kansans will explain to you that movies like twister and the wizard of oz don’t just happen on the big screen. All too often they play out in our backyards. Although, I must admit I have yet to have a combine drop out of the sky on me or Bill Paxton drive through my house in his new Dodge Hemi.
Given the fact that we live with the imminent danger of being sucked out of our beds and tossed over the rainbow on any give spring or summer day, we often develop a cavalier attitude about storms. I sleep with a weather radio on my bed stand. It sounds an alarm and provides a NOA weather update when a warning has been sounded. You don’t know the number of times that I have scrambled to shut it off as soon as it starts to wale its warning of looming demise. My failure to quickly quiet it brings a wrath from the rest of my family that makes an F5 cow tossing twister pale in comparison. The other overtly caviler action that those with a Y chromosome in my state have developed is the sense that once we have our families deposited in the closest storm shelter we should walk outside and observe the sky. Some of my fondest heartfelt memories are conversations with the other males in the neighborhood that occurred while standing in the middle of the street looking up at the sky. This ritual is even better served if someone has a cooler of beer in their garage and you can tempt fate with your buddies while simultaneously enjoying a cold adult beverage. I know its Darwinism at work. The female in me wonders how the human race has survived this long with males that are driven by such dangerous and ridiculous bonding practices. The male in me has found myself agreeing with Suzanne as I sprint back across the street as transformers are sparking and golf ball sized hail is falling.
Let me recap the stage that I have set for the rest of this tale. First, my taste in sleepwear is not based in comfort and flannel is not allowed in my wardrobe. Second , I live in a house where two thirds of my family are still unaware that Dad dresses more feminine that Mom at night. Third, Midwesterners are desensitized by the fact that we live in constant danger of being swept up in a swirling vortex of wind and what used to be your home and possessions. Fourth, you should always keep a cooler of cold beer stocked in your garage during storm season (just kidding, not everyone likes beer).
The night, we will call it the night of infamy, all was quiet. I tucked the kids in bed. I p
Slid into my nightie and cuddled up with my wife for a well deserved night of rest. I had just started my dreams of shopping at 90 percent off sales when the weather radio began its earsplitting warning of the calamity that was on its way. True to form my arm shot out from under the covers and located the volume button. It immediately turned down the screaming banshee on my night stand without waking the rest of my body or the beauty sleeping next to me.
I began to settle in and begin my travels back to dreamland and the 90 percent off sale that was going on there, but was awoke again. This time it was the piercing siren of the civil defense siren just located up the block. Fortunately, the brilliant engineer that designed these sirens did not put a snooze alarm or volume knob on the sirens. I sat up, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Here is another if you find yourself in the heartland tip. If you turn on a cable TV and all you hear is the country emergency manager talking immediately run to the basement. It means that really bad things are headed your way. As soon as my wife heard the voice on the TV she was in her robe and sprinting down the hallway mustering our children and herding them down the hallway towards the stairs and protection of the basement. I was quickly following behind her.
I am not sure if it was the swish of satin and silk but the realization that our sleepy panicked children’s father was in a sexy nightie that was seen earlier in the season on the Victoria Secret Runway special came over her. Completely in charge she yelled to the kids to get to the basement, now. Without looking at her our oldest son took command of our brood and directed the upstairs evacuation as my blushing bride wheeled on me in a way that only a mother can muster. “Get something a little more masculine on!”
I wanted to say something cleaver like “why are you jealous” or “this is the perfect outfit to wear to a disaster”, but that wouldn’t have been prudent. I would rather face a twister than my wife when she is putting her foot down and I could tell this was one of those moments. I turned and ran as quick as my fuzzy slippers would carry me back to the master bedroom. I muttered something about who the heck wears the pants in this family. Then I felt the lace brush across my thigh and realized that was an empty argument. As I walked into the bedroom the lights went out. This was it. I was doomed because of my love of the frilly. I couldn’t help thinking, “would my wife had been so insensitive about sending me back to change if I wasn’t so well insured.” No time for thoughts like that I need to find a wardrobe choice appropriate for running to the basement past the Grim Reaper.
I tore open the closet door. My closet was a dark cavern with no lights. The only illumination was the lightning that was cracking all around. I shoved my hand in looking for something that felt drab. I pulled out an old sweatshirt and sweatpants. I dressed like a fireman heading to a fire. As I was dressing I turned towards the window and swore I saw an old lady on a bike with a basket on back and a little dog peddling past! Seriously, when you see a lawn chair blow past a second story window its now time to move expeditiously to the nearest emergency exit. I turn back towards the door glancing at the mirror as lighting stuck again. Oh no, this won’t work! I have a blue hoodie with black pants. By gosh if they find me dead and twisted in a field two miles away I am not going to be found in a fashion faux paux like this. Tugging the blue hoodie off I moved towards the bedroom door via the closet. I flung my arm back in the closet to grab another hoodie. Whew, It was red. I ran towards the stairs sliding the hoodie over my head. Fear brings out the coordination in a girl. I hit about every other stair on the way down.
I couldn’t help but stop at the front door and open it to see if any of my neighbors were bonding. A lack of neighbors in the street looking up at the sky confirmed I needed to continue my trek to the basement.
I literally slid down the basement stairs. So much for danger making a girl more coordinated. As I came to rest in the wonderfully relative safety of our basement I received a huge hug from my kids and my wife. Nice outfit she quipped. I smiled gave her a kiss and told her its what all the best dressed people were wearing to disasters this season.
The other day someone had a post about sleeping en femme. I used to love sleeping en femme until the incident below happened. Now it is silk and satin oversized (XXL) men’s jammie tops with panties. I also make sure I have a pair of boy shorts next to the bed.
I love sleeping en femme and luckily I have a wife that has never complained about it since I came out to her. Being one to take full advantage of a situation my sleeping apparel always consisted of a silk or satin chemise or baby doll nightie. The cold of the coldest Kansas winter months couldn’t break me. Once the kids were tucked in bed it was off to our bedroom and on would go the pastel satin night shirt and fuzzy slippers. A girl can only comprise so much when it comes to what she wears.
As with most things in life my chosen wardrobe for sleeping seemed to work out perfectly until that fateful Kansas spring night. My beautiful bride and I have four wonderful children. I am currently only out to my oldest who just left for college. We have decided to not tell the others until the get to an age where we think they are able to deal with it in a mature and forthright manner. We are not sure what that age is because my wife keeps reminding me that I am still yet to achieve that age.
We live in a wonderful two story colonial style home with a full basement. For those of you unfamiliar with the frontiers of Kansas a basement in your house is important. During most months of the year we live with the threat of the awe inspiring weather phenomenon of Tornadoes and Severe Storms. My fellow Kansans will explain to you that movies like twister and the wizard of oz don’t just happen on the big screen. All too often they play out in our backyards. Although, I must admit I have yet to have a combine drop out of the sky on me or Bill Paxton drive through my house in his new Dodge Hemi.
Given the fact that we live with the imminent danger of being sucked out of our beds and tossed over the rainbow on any give spring or summer day, we often develop a cavalier attitude about storms. I sleep with a weather radio on my bed stand. It sounds an alarm and provides a NOA weather update when a warning has been sounded. You don’t know the number of times that I have scrambled to shut it off as soon as it starts to wale its warning of looming demise. My failure to quickly quiet it brings a wrath from the rest of my family that makes an F5 cow tossing twister pale in comparison. The other overtly caviler action that those with a Y chromosome in my state have developed is the sense that once we have our families deposited in the closest storm shelter we should walk outside and observe the sky. Some of my fondest heartfelt memories are conversations with the other males in the neighborhood that occurred while standing in the middle of the street looking up at the sky. This ritual is even better served if someone has a cooler of beer in their garage and you can tempt fate with your buddies while simultaneously enjoying a cold adult beverage. I know its Darwinism at work. The female in me wonders how the human race has survived this long with males that are driven by such dangerous and ridiculous bonding practices. The male in me has found myself agreeing with Suzanne as I sprint back across the street as transformers are sparking and golf ball sized hail is falling.
Let me recap the stage that I have set for the rest of this tale. First, my taste in sleepwear is not based in comfort and flannel is not allowed in my wardrobe. Second , I live in a house where two thirds of my family are still unaware that Dad dresses more feminine that Mom at night. Third, Midwesterners are desensitized by the fact that we live in constant danger of being swept up in a swirling vortex of wind and what used to be your home and possessions. Fourth, you should always keep a cooler of cold beer stocked in your garage during storm season (just kidding, not everyone likes beer).
The night, we will call it the night of infamy, all was quiet. I tucked the kids in bed. I p
Slid into my nightie and cuddled up with my wife for a well deserved night of rest. I had just started my dreams of shopping at 90 percent off sales when the weather radio began its earsplitting warning of the calamity that was on its way. True to form my arm shot out from under the covers and located the volume button. It immediately turned down the screaming banshee on my night stand without waking the rest of my body or the beauty sleeping next to me.
I began to settle in and begin my travels back to dreamland and the 90 percent off sale that was going on there, but was awoke again. This time it was the piercing siren of the civil defense siren just located up the block. Fortunately, the brilliant engineer that designed these sirens did not put a snooze alarm or volume knob on the sirens. I sat up, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Here is another if you find yourself in the heartland tip. If you turn on a cable TV and all you hear is the country emergency manager talking immediately run to the basement. It means that really bad things are headed your way. As soon as my wife heard the voice on the TV she was in her robe and sprinting down the hallway mustering our children and herding them down the hallway towards the stairs and protection of the basement. I was quickly following behind her.
I am not sure if it was the swish of satin and silk but the realization that our sleepy panicked children’s father was in a sexy nightie that was seen earlier in the season on the Victoria Secret Runway special came over her. Completely in charge she yelled to the kids to get to the basement, now. Without looking at her our oldest son took command of our brood and directed the upstairs evacuation as my blushing bride wheeled on me in a way that only a mother can muster. “Get something a little more masculine on!”
I wanted to say something cleaver like “why are you jealous” or “this is the perfect outfit to wear to a disaster”, but that wouldn’t have been prudent. I would rather face a twister than my wife when she is putting her foot down and I could tell this was one of those moments. I turned and ran as quick as my fuzzy slippers would carry me back to the master bedroom. I muttered something about who the heck wears the pants in this family. Then I felt the lace brush across my thigh and realized that was an empty argument. As I walked into the bedroom the lights went out. This was it. I was doomed because of my love of the frilly. I couldn’t help thinking, “would my wife had been so insensitive about sending me back to change if I wasn’t so well insured.” No time for thoughts like that I need to find a wardrobe choice appropriate for running to the basement past the Grim Reaper.
I tore open the closet door. My closet was a dark cavern with no lights. The only illumination was the lightning that was cracking all around. I shoved my hand in looking for something that felt drab. I pulled out an old sweatshirt and sweatpants. I dressed like a fireman heading to a fire. As I was dressing I turned towards the window and swore I saw an old lady on a bike with a basket on back and a little dog peddling past! Seriously, when you see a lawn chair blow past a second story window its now time to move expeditiously to the nearest emergency exit. I turn back towards the door glancing at the mirror as lighting stuck again. Oh no, this won’t work! I have a blue hoodie with black pants. By gosh if they find me dead and twisted in a field two miles away I am not going to be found in a fashion faux paux like this. Tugging the blue hoodie off I moved towards the bedroom door via the closet. I flung my arm back in the closet to grab another hoodie. Whew, It was red. I ran towards the stairs sliding the hoodie over my head. Fear brings out the coordination in a girl. I hit about every other stair on the way down.
I couldn’t help but stop at the front door and open it to see if any of my neighbors were bonding. A lack of neighbors in the street looking up at the sky confirmed I needed to continue my trek to the basement.
I literally slid down the basement stairs. So much for danger making a girl more coordinated. As I came to rest in the wonderfully relative safety of our basement I received a huge hug from my kids and my wife. Nice outfit she quipped. I smiled gave her a kiss and told her its what all the best dressed people were wearing to disasters this season.