jaye_cd
05-27-2014, 05:03 AM
So I have been a member here for a little over 2 wonderfully enlightening years now, and I finally have the courage to share a little bit about my past growing up as a crossdresser in a little tiny mountain town in California in the 80’s. I started dressing a little in the late 70’s, but I really started obsessing with it in the 80’s. But the 80’s were a dark time for me on many different levels. At 11, one thing in particular kicked off a downward spiral for me but that’s something I still dislike talking about so I will skip a year ahead when my dressing went into pink fog overload.
I was 12 and my mother had these friends she would house sit for to take care of the pets and the plants, and to make sure someone was there off and on due to the valuables they had. I would go and stay there with her and help clean the house and straighten up, etc.. They had a massive back yard, and it would take my mother hours to mow it leaving me a lot of time alone in the house to myself. (I have severe grass and plant allergies so I was excused from outside chores.) While dusting the shelves and the dressers in the bedrooms, my curiosity would always get the better of me, and I would snoop through their stuff. At 12, I was small and fairly thin, and I came to find out that the lady of the house’s things were almost a perfect fit for me…. so I started trying things on. I would get dressed up in a few things, and leave my clothes in the bathroom in case I heard my mother come back into the house I could dash in and change and just say I was ‘occupied’ in there. (It only happened once over the entire few years we watched the house). I would continue to do my chores around the house feeling so girly and alive I never wanted those times to end.
So one night… I ‘borrowed’ some items and brought them back home with us. I spent the whole night dressed up in my room just reading a book and feeling like that is exactly where I belonged. then I fell asleep….
I awoke to the shrill voice of my grandmother who was more upset than I had ever seen her before. She was yelling very foul things at me, about me, and started flailing into me with one of her wooden cooking spoons. I have never felt so helpless in my life at that point. I didn't know what to do except deflect the blows as best as I could. She was my own grandmother after all, I was not ever going to hit back! She kept up with the insults and vulgarities until she had hit me so hard she broke the handle of the spoon on me. All I could do was sob and apologize and promise to stop and swear to never do it again. I hid in my room the rest of the day until my mom got home from work and wanted me to go with her back to the house to do my chores there. When she saw all of the bruises on me she freaked out, and ashamed of what happened that morning, I lied to her and told her I got into a fight with some kid I didn't know at the park while she was at work. She grounded me for a few weeks and gave me more chores to do at the house we were care-taking at and around our own house. Once we got there, I quickly returned all of the items I had borrowed and went about my chores until it was time to go.
I stopped dressing for about a year, until the same people went on another extended vacation and my mom once again was care-taking for them. And once again I was there helping with the chores. The feelings about dressing all came back to me, and I found myself trying on things again, running around the house feeling fabulous and getting all my chores done with such a spring in my step. There was one nightgown that I could not stop thinking about, and the little devil popped up on my shoulder and coaxed me into borrowing it for a night. So I did. And when it was night time I remembered about the year before and instead of staying up all night, I put it on and purposely went to sleep with the alarm set for early in the morning so I could wake up before anyone else and change!
And I got away with it! One night became two, two became three, and it turned out to be a whole week. Then I pushed my luck too far… Again I was awoken by a very very irate grandmother shouting the same insults, the same vulgarities, and her new spoon. this time went pretty much like the last. The beating didn't stop until this spoon was also broken. But this time… my mother was still home. She came rushing into my room right as the last blow was dealt, and all three of us were yelling at each other. It was chaos. I tried explaining myself, but all that came out was babble, sobs, and tears. When my mother asked where I got the nightgown, I lied again and told her I bought it at a local store with my allowance money I had saved up. I couldn't bring myself to tell her I took it from her friends. I think she knew though but never said anything. The next day I returned it back to where I got it from. and I never went back to help her after that. I felt out of control, and feared I would just cause more damage between me and my family if I went back if I couldn't control myself.
After that incident, nothing about it was ever talked about in our house. It was a few more years before I felt like dressing again. And that started leading to actually going out of the house at night, and eventually, with friends once for Halloween. (That’s a riotous fun story I will tell another time.)
This has been, and always will be, a part of me. Not even vicious family members doing physical harm have permanently swayed me from this path I chose to walk down. At times, I have hated myself for it. But it doesn't go away. I don’t want it to. I feel lost inside without being able to express myself this way. I survived my childhood, my family, my past. It’s made me into the person I am today, and I’m pretty happy with how I turned out. To those of you reading this, that have gone through similar experiences, I just want you to know: you’re not alone, you will survive too.
I was 12 and my mother had these friends she would house sit for to take care of the pets and the plants, and to make sure someone was there off and on due to the valuables they had. I would go and stay there with her and help clean the house and straighten up, etc.. They had a massive back yard, and it would take my mother hours to mow it leaving me a lot of time alone in the house to myself. (I have severe grass and plant allergies so I was excused from outside chores.) While dusting the shelves and the dressers in the bedrooms, my curiosity would always get the better of me, and I would snoop through their stuff. At 12, I was small and fairly thin, and I came to find out that the lady of the house’s things were almost a perfect fit for me…. so I started trying things on. I would get dressed up in a few things, and leave my clothes in the bathroom in case I heard my mother come back into the house I could dash in and change and just say I was ‘occupied’ in there. (It only happened once over the entire few years we watched the house). I would continue to do my chores around the house feeling so girly and alive I never wanted those times to end.
So one night… I ‘borrowed’ some items and brought them back home with us. I spent the whole night dressed up in my room just reading a book and feeling like that is exactly where I belonged. then I fell asleep….
I awoke to the shrill voice of my grandmother who was more upset than I had ever seen her before. She was yelling very foul things at me, about me, and started flailing into me with one of her wooden cooking spoons. I have never felt so helpless in my life at that point. I didn't know what to do except deflect the blows as best as I could. She was my own grandmother after all, I was not ever going to hit back! She kept up with the insults and vulgarities until she had hit me so hard she broke the handle of the spoon on me. All I could do was sob and apologize and promise to stop and swear to never do it again. I hid in my room the rest of the day until my mom got home from work and wanted me to go with her back to the house to do my chores there. When she saw all of the bruises on me she freaked out, and ashamed of what happened that morning, I lied to her and told her I got into a fight with some kid I didn't know at the park while she was at work. She grounded me for a few weeks and gave me more chores to do at the house we were care-taking at and around our own house. Once we got there, I quickly returned all of the items I had borrowed and went about my chores until it was time to go.
I stopped dressing for about a year, until the same people went on another extended vacation and my mom once again was care-taking for them. And once again I was there helping with the chores. The feelings about dressing all came back to me, and I found myself trying on things again, running around the house feeling fabulous and getting all my chores done with such a spring in my step. There was one nightgown that I could not stop thinking about, and the little devil popped up on my shoulder and coaxed me into borrowing it for a night. So I did. And when it was night time I remembered about the year before and instead of staying up all night, I put it on and purposely went to sleep with the alarm set for early in the morning so I could wake up before anyone else and change!
And I got away with it! One night became two, two became three, and it turned out to be a whole week. Then I pushed my luck too far… Again I was awoken by a very very irate grandmother shouting the same insults, the same vulgarities, and her new spoon. this time went pretty much like the last. The beating didn't stop until this spoon was also broken. But this time… my mother was still home. She came rushing into my room right as the last blow was dealt, and all three of us were yelling at each other. It was chaos. I tried explaining myself, but all that came out was babble, sobs, and tears. When my mother asked where I got the nightgown, I lied again and told her I bought it at a local store with my allowance money I had saved up. I couldn't bring myself to tell her I took it from her friends. I think she knew though but never said anything. The next day I returned it back to where I got it from. and I never went back to help her after that. I felt out of control, and feared I would just cause more damage between me and my family if I went back if I couldn't control myself.
After that incident, nothing about it was ever talked about in our house. It was a few more years before I felt like dressing again. And that started leading to actually going out of the house at night, and eventually, with friends once for Halloween. (That’s a riotous fun story I will tell another time.)
This has been, and always will be, a part of me. Not even vicious family members doing physical harm have permanently swayed me from this path I chose to walk down. At times, I have hated myself for it. But it doesn't go away. I don’t want it to. I feel lost inside without being able to express myself this way. I survived my childhood, my family, my past. It’s made me into the person I am today, and I’m pretty happy with how I turned out. To those of you reading this, that have gone through similar experiences, I just want you to know: you’re not alone, you will survive too.