Princess Grandpa
07-11-2013, 11:12 AM
I don't remember when or how we introduced my wearing panties into our bedroom. I really enjoyed the tactile sensation as did Julie. I really don't understand how it is I could be wearing them and not understand I was a cross dresser. Except my only "knowledge" about you ladies were the stereotypes I grew up hearing.
A little over a month ago I asked Julie to paint my nails. As soon as I saw them something clicked inside. I knew I was a crossdresser. I didn't understand how that was possible since I'm not attracted to guys and I sure don't want to change my sex. I just figured I was too broken to even be a proper cross dresser.
I didn't care about any of that. All I knew was I looked at my nails and felt happy. Fortunately I am enough of a man to be able to listen to my feelings and accept myself.
Julie reminded me of a time many years ago. Not sure if we were married quite yet or not. We were all of 19 years old an in our first apartment. I fell asleep on the couch. While I was napping Julie got bored and painted my nails. When I awoke, I freaked out! Reacted way out of proportion and had her immediately remove it. I can only assume whatever it triggered the other day, it triggered all those years ago. Only then I wasn't mature enough to understand and accept.
Flash back even further. I'm a young boy. Not really sure how old but Mom had a nail appointment and Dad had a tennis tournament. Who do you think had to take the kids? As mom and my two sisters got manicures my brother and I sat and cooled our heels. I guess Mom saw me paying attention or something because she asked if we boys wanted one. Did I ever! But of course we are boys so we passed. Mom encouraged us explaining "lots of men get it done. They just use clear polish". That was all I needed to hear.
When we returned home my sisters lined up to show dad their nails. Once they were told how beautiful they were I presented my nails. Dad reacted as many children of the fifties might. In no uncertain terms he let me know that this was not acceptable behavior from his son. A fight ensued between mom and dad. "How could you turn him int a fag like that"! Or some such crap.
Today as I sit here with my painted nails smiling inside and out I wish I could just go back and give him a big pink middle finger. For years after I became an adult we did not speak. Not long ago we reconnected on a very superficial level. His boat is in a slip in Wilmington. Each time I sit down in Hamburger Mary's it occurs to me he could come in here. His extreme anger like mine could be over compensation. But I digress.
Hug
Rita
A little over a month ago I asked Julie to paint my nails. As soon as I saw them something clicked inside. I knew I was a crossdresser. I didn't understand how that was possible since I'm not attracted to guys and I sure don't want to change my sex. I just figured I was too broken to even be a proper cross dresser.
I didn't care about any of that. All I knew was I looked at my nails and felt happy. Fortunately I am enough of a man to be able to listen to my feelings and accept myself.
Julie reminded me of a time many years ago. Not sure if we were married quite yet or not. We were all of 19 years old an in our first apartment. I fell asleep on the couch. While I was napping Julie got bored and painted my nails. When I awoke, I freaked out! Reacted way out of proportion and had her immediately remove it. I can only assume whatever it triggered the other day, it triggered all those years ago. Only then I wasn't mature enough to understand and accept.
Flash back even further. I'm a young boy. Not really sure how old but Mom had a nail appointment and Dad had a tennis tournament. Who do you think had to take the kids? As mom and my two sisters got manicures my brother and I sat and cooled our heels. I guess Mom saw me paying attention or something because she asked if we boys wanted one. Did I ever! But of course we are boys so we passed. Mom encouraged us explaining "lots of men get it done. They just use clear polish". That was all I needed to hear.
When we returned home my sisters lined up to show dad their nails. Once they were told how beautiful they were I presented my nails. Dad reacted as many children of the fifties might. In no uncertain terms he let me know that this was not acceptable behavior from his son. A fight ensued between mom and dad. "How could you turn him int a fag like that"! Or some such crap.
Today as I sit here with my painted nails smiling inside and out I wish I could just go back and give him a big pink middle finger. For years after I became an adult we did not speak. Not long ago we reconnected on a very superficial level. His boat is in a slip in Wilmington. Each time I sit down in Hamburger Mary's it occurs to me he could come in here. His extreme anger like mine could be over compensation. But I digress.
Hug
Rita