Gretchen_To_Be
12-01-2015, 11:47 PM
Recent threads have highlighted the pitfalls or disasters associated with coming out to long-time SOs. I regret the pain my fellow forum members are suffering because of what's happened to them.
The point of my post is to share some of my past, and how my passion for crossdressing influenced my eventual courtship with my understanding and supportive wife. I admit I am very lucky, and tell her every day how much I appreciate her support, but I firmly believe part of her willingness to accept my love for women's clothes is that we share the same interest, and that's part of why I asked her to marry me.
Before I met my wife I dated a gal for 4 years and eventually we were engaged. She was a hairdresser (colorist to be specific) and gorgeous...a face like Linda Evangelista, perfect makeup, fashionable clothes. She had many outstanding qualities. Unfortunately she was also a heavy drinker and after multiple embarrassing situations and a few run-ins with the law because of her drinking, I called off the marriage. Part of what I found attractive about her was that she was tall (5'10" to my 5'11") and that brought back fond memories of an earlier girlfriend with whom I had a passionate but brief romance, and who encouraged my dressing--and she was of similar stature, meaning we could (and did) share her feminine wardrobe. Looking back I know now that subconsciously this was part of my selection criteria for a potential wife, though at the time I just thought she was strikingly beautiful and fun to party with. Being a hairdresser, she had several flamboyantly gay male colleagues, some of whom flirted with androgyny, and she was, I thought, extremely tolerant.
I would buy her lingerie, clothes, heels, etc., and tell her how beautiful I thought she was while wearing them. Unfortunately, she was self-conscious about being tall, had a pronounced stoop, and shied away from heels. While wearing heels she was taller than me, and she was acutely aware of that. No matter how much I tried to tell her it didn't matter to me, that I reveled in her height, and that she should be proud of it...well, it made no difference. She wore mainly flats and always stooped to hide her height.
You know how it is in a relationship--it's perfect until it isn't. After bailing her out of jail because of public intoxication (she spit on a police officer's shoe), I began to see her through a different lens. The little physical appearance things I overlooked out of love and affection became more important, and in reality, more bothersome. I remember buying her some clothing for her birthday, including some classy pencil skirts, some high end nude pantyhose--at that time "Evan Picone" was a good brand--and some beige closed-toe pumps. She sneered at the nude hose and said something to the effect of, "only grandmothers wear 'flesh-colored' nylons." And she never wore the classy pencil skirts because in her fashion line of work they were not sufficiently avant-garde. She only wore boots, clogs, or open-toed low heel shoes in black. If she ever wore hosiery of any kind, it was either heavy denier black or opaque tights. As I recall, most of her wardrobe was black...
After we were engaged, and during a night of drunken revelry, I decided it was time to tell her about my passion. Sitting at the bar I told her I wanted to shave my legs and try wearing sheer hose and heels (though I did not reveal that I had done so before). In her intoxicated state, she cheerfully agreed. She passed out when we got home, but I went ahead and shaved everything from the neck down, and tried on all the items I had purchased for her, but she had never worn, and loved it. The next day, as she awoke hungover next to me in bed, it only took a few minutes for her to realize that my body was now hair free. She had forgotten the whole thing...until I explained our conversation. I told her I had tried on all the clothes...and admitted that I had purchased them vicariously for her, but really wanted to wear them myself. She was silent, complaining of a headache, but eventually said something like, "Cool, honey, glad you got to experience that."
We had breakfast and she nursed her hangover for a few hours...but I had the itch at that point. After screwing up my courage, I told her I wanted to take advantage of my shaved legs by trying on her unused gifts of nude hose, pencil skirts and pumps. She was game, and offered to help...but then it went downhill. Similar to another poster here, once I was dolled up, she recoiled, and her specific words were, "Holy $hit, your legs are prettier than mine." She was a beautiful woman in many respects, but had insecurities. Her face was so gorgeous, and her makeup application so perfect, that both men and women would stop and double take when they saw her--but her legs were not her best feature. As I was admiring myself in the mirror seeing my legs the way they were always supposed to look, I asked her what she thought. All enthusiasm she had shown just a few minutes before was gone, and she said in despair, "Nooo, nooo, nooo...it's not you."
Well, that was that. I relished the moment for a few more minutes, froze the image in my mind of what I saw in the mirror, and then took everything off. I pretty much resigned myself to not experiencing that again.
The next weekend when she picked a fight with a bouncer and was hauled off to jail, I took stock, and called off the marriage the next day. Did CD play in my decision? Absolutely.
Where am I going with this? By the time I did meet my future wife, several years later, during our courtship I was very up-front about what I liked, especially about how I found women dressed in hose, heels, skirts, dresses and lingerie to be extremely attractive. In fact, for our first date, I just put it out there--this is how I'd like you to dress, and I asked her how she felt about it. She loved it, saying she enjoyed getting dolled up, wore heels every chance she could, and appreciated fine lingerie and clothing that was classy but feminine and sexy. When she showed up for our date, I was blown away--black suede 4" heeled pumps, off-black sheer hose, a perfect grey pencil skirt that hugged her curves, and a very pretty white blouse, over which she wore a tailored black velvet blazer.
It bears mentioning that this was in Colombia, in South America, where women tend to dress in styles we CDs appreciate...perhaps because of the more traditional societal norms.
Of course, I didn't marry her for how she dressed, but it was a factor. It helped that she radiated an inner calm, had a quiet confidence, spoke intelligently, and while she knew she was beautiful, she didn't come across as vain or superficial. She looked like a cross between Julia Roberts and Shakira. I was hooked.
Perfect, right? No. Once a CD, always a CD, and unlike my previous relationships, there would be no sharing of clothes with her--she was far more petite in every respect. I resigned myself to living vicariously through her...and thought her femininity would suffice for us both. But I tested the waters during our courtship and marriage. She loved and wore everything I purchased for her. She'd greet me at the door when I returned from work in a dress or skirt, and heels and hose. During our lovemaking, I would try on some thigh high stockings and she would not object. When we watched TV programs about transgender women or CDs, her reaction was pretty much, "live and let live."
I married her. I'm not going to re-hash all my intro posts from 3 years ago, but here is the synopsis. It took 11 years for me to fully reveal to her that I was CD, but the elements of acceptance were there from the start. I should have told her from the beginning, and I know now, knowing her, it would have been OK. It hasn't been all wine and roses but she has been wonderful. In retrospect, I lost 11 years of enjoyment, shared shopping, dress-up sessions, etc. (And I'm kicking myself because I weighed probably 25 lbs less then and would have fit into a 12-14, LOL!)
I feel bad for those that have suffered disastrous reveals. This post is not an attempt to armchair quarterback your situation. It's only to point out that if you love women's clothing and feminine fashion, perhaps a good first step to finding a compatible SO is to find a woman who loves the same things. My personal belief is that women who appreciate those things just for the sheer sensual and aesthetic delight of them are more apt to be sympathetic to a man who likes them too.
Thanks for reading; this was cathartic for me.
Cheers
Gretchen
The point of my post is to share some of my past, and how my passion for crossdressing influenced my eventual courtship with my understanding and supportive wife. I admit I am very lucky, and tell her every day how much I appreciate her support, but I firmly believe part of her willingness to accept my love for women's clothes is that we share the same interest, and that's part of why I asked her to marry me.
Before I met my wife I dated a gal for 4 years and eventually we were engaged. She was a hairdresser (colorist to be specific) and gorgeous...a face like Linda Evangelista, perfect makeup, fashionable clothes. She had many outstanding qualities. Unfortunately she was also a heavy drinker and after multiple embarrassing situations and a few run-ins with the law because of her drinking, I called off the marriage. Part of what I found attractive about her was that she was tall (5'10" to my 5'11") and that brought back fond memories of an earlier girlfriend with whom I had a passionate but brief romance, and who encouraged my dressing--and she was of similar stature, meaning we could (and did) share her feminine wardrobe. Looking back I know now that subconsciously this was part of my selection criteria for a potential wife, though at the time I just thought she was strikingly beautiful and fun to party with. Being a hairdresser, she had several flamboyantly gay male colleagues, some of whom flirted with androgyny, and she was, I thought, extremely tolerant.
I would buy her lingerie, clothes, heels, etc., and tell her how beautiful I thought she was while wearing them. Unfortunately, she was self-conscious about being tall, had a pronounced stoop, and shied away from heels. While wearing heels she was taller than me, and she was acutely aware of that. No matter how much I tried to tell her it didn't matter to me, that I reveled in her height, and that she should be proud of it...well, it made no difference. She wore mainly flats and always stooped to hide her height.
You know how it is in a relationship--it's perfect until it isn't. After bailing her out of jail because of public intoxication (she spit on a police officer's shoe), I began to see her through a different lens. The little physical appearance things I overlooked out of love and affection became more important, and in reality, more bothersome. I remember buying her some clothing for her birthday, including some classy pencil skirts, some high end nude pantyhose--at that time "Evan Picone" was a good brand--and some beige closed-toe pumps. She sneered at the nude hose and said something to the effect of, "only grandmothers wear 'flesh-colored' nylons." And she never wore the classy pencil skirts because in her fashion line of work they were not sufficiently avant-garde. She only wore boots, clogs, or open-toed low heel shoes in black. If she ever wore hosiery of any kind, it was either heavy denier black or opaque tights. As I recall, most of her wardrobe was black...
After we were engaged, and during a night of drunken revelry, I decided it was time to tell her about my passion. Sitting at the bar I told her I wanted to shave my legs and try wearing sheer hose and heels (though I did not reveal that I had done so before). In her intoxicated state, she cheerfully agreed. She passed out when we got home, but I went ahead and shaved everything from the neck down, and tried on all the items I had purchased for her, but she had never worn, and loved it. The next day, as she awoke hungover next to me in bed, it only took a few minutes for her to realize that my body was now hair free. She had forgotten the whole thing...until I explained our conversation. I told her I had tried on all the clothes...and admitted that I had purchased them vicariously for her, but really wanted to wear them myself. She was silent, complaining of a headache, but eventually said something like, "Cool, honey, glad you got to experience that."
We had breakfast and she nursed her hangover for a few hours...but I had the itch at that point. After screwing up my courage, I told her I wanted to take advantage of my shaved legs by trying on her unused gifts of nude hose, pencil skirts and pumps. She was game, and offered to help...but then it went downhill. Similar to another poster here, once I was dolled up, she recoiled, and her specific words were, "Holy $hit, your legs are prettier than mine." She was a beautiful woman in many respects, but had insecurities. Her face was so gorgeous, and her makeup application so perfect, that both men and women would stop and double take when they saw her--but her legs were not her best feature. As I was admiring myself in the mirror seeing my legs the way they were always supposed to look, I asked her what she thought. All enthusiasm she had shown just a few minutes before was gone, and she said in despair, "Nooo, nooo, nooo...it's not you."
Well, that was that. I relished the moment for a few more minutes, froze the image in my mind of what I saw in the mirror, and then took everything off. I pretty much resigned myself to not experiencing that again.
The next weekend when she picked a fight with a bouncer and was hauled off to jail, I took stock, and called off the marriage the next day. Did CD play in my decision? Absolutely.
Where am I going with this? By the time I did meet my future wife, several years later, during our courtship I was very up-front about what I liked, especially about how I found women dressed in hose, heels, skirts, dresses and lingerie to be extremely attractive. In fact, for our first date, I just put it out there--this is how I'd like you to dress, and I asked her how she felt about it. She loved it, saying she enjoyed getting dolled up, wore heels every chance she could, and appreciated fine lingerie and clothing that was classy but feminine and sexy. When she showed up for our date, I was blown away--black suede 4" heeled pumps, off-black sheer hose, a perfect grey pencil skirt that hugged her curves, and a very pretty white blouse, over which she wore a tailored black velvet blazer.
It bears mentioning that this was in Colombia, in South America, where women tend to dress in styles we CDs appreciate...perhaps because of the more traditional societal norms.
Of course, I didn't marry her for how she dressed, but it was a factor. It helped that she radiated an inner calm, had a quiet confidence, spoke intelligently, and while she knew she was beautiful, she didn't come across as vain or superficial. She looked like a cross between Julia Roberts and Shakira. I was hooked.
Perfect, right? No. Once a CD, always a CD, and unlike my previous relationships, there would be no sharing of clothes with her--she was far more petite in every respect. I resigned myself to living vicariously through her...and thought her femininity would suffice for us both. But I tested the waters during our courtship and marriage. She loved and wore everything I purchased for her. She'd greet me at the door when I returned from work in a dress or skirt, and heels and hose. During our lovemaking, I would try on some thigh high stockings and she would not object. When we watched TV programs about transgender women or CDs, her reaction was pretty much, "live and let live."
I married her. I'm not going to re-hash all my intro posts from 3 years ago, but here is the synopsis. It took 11 years for me to fully reveal to her that I was CD, but the elements of acceptance were there from the start. I should have told her from the beginning, and I know now, knowing her, it would have been OK. It hasn't been all wine and roses but she has been wonderful. In retrospect, I lost 11 years of enjoyment, shared shopping, dress-up sessions, etc. (And I'm kicking myself because I weighed probably 25 lbs less then and would have fit into a 12-14, LOL!)
I feel bad for those that have suffered disastrous reveals. This post is not an attempt to armchair quarterback your situation. It's only to point out that if you love women's clothing and feminine fashion, perhaps a good first step to finding a compatible SO is to find a woman who loves the same things. My personal belief is that women who appreciate those things just for the sheer sensual and aesthetic delight of them are more apt to be sympathetic to a man who likes them too.
Thanks for reading; this was cathartic for me.
Cheers
Gretchen