Over the years I have tried to pinpoint when crossdresssing first started for me. The earliest account was in second grade school when my buddy John and I were playing a game at school with several other girls. The game entailed the girls trying to land and sit on a chair we were pulling around. In the midst of this game, while the chair was at the hands of me, one of the girls missed her mark and landed on the floor. Not only did she hit the floor but also smacked her head again the steel closet doorjamb and cut the back of her head open, which required a few stitches. I later apologized for my actions and caught seven kinds of hell when I got home. The kids at school also never let up on the ridicule that stemmed from the accident. From that day forward it seemed the whole world turned against me. I was accused of willfully causing the incident on purpose. Little did anyone know it was an unintentional accident. I felt very sorry for the girl and vividly remember the white dress with red polka dots she was wearing. It was beautiful! I remember being in awe of the beauty of that dress. The memory of that day is as if a picture was imbedded within my brain.
From that day forward things seemed to progress with cross-dressing. I have always admired beautiful things in secrecy. I was always afraid to say anything that might give the impression that I really liked beautiful clothes on girls for fear it would be sissy like or a sign of weakness and promote the sissy stigma. I was always silent after this time. Not saying a word, unless being forced to, came from my father going wild on me after the accident at school. It seems I always tried to avoid any contact or conflicts that would piss him off after that. He was a tyrant and everyone knew it. A good guy as long as things went his way but look out when they didn't. When he went off the veins would bulge out of his neck, his face was red, fire came out of his eyes, and his teeth shown like a monster from some bad movie. Not a fun guy to be around but when you grow up with this type of environment you don't understand it until years later. I soon learned how to cope with this type of childhood. I buried myself within my hobbies and work just to kill the time.
It seems that I have always preferred the company of girls to boys because boys are so rough and tough. I never was rough and tough and always steered clear of those activities all through out school. I was and still am tall and slender and always smiling. I never seemed to fit in. Either you were a jock or a farmer. I hated sports and farming was not our lifestyle. There was no in between and I grew up rather lonely. I did have a couple of friends but they always had their own agenda. Home life after school was pretty boring. We lived five miles from town in a very rural setting. With three younger sisters and no brothers life was kind of boring. I had to find things to occupy my time. I did a lot of fishing and tinkered quite a lot with mechanical things. Always taking things apart and putting them back together again. These were the learned skills that made my life today rather easy going to say the least.
When I did play at home with my sisters it was usually with cardboard dolls and color forms. Do you remember these? Sometimes we would make the clothes, color them, and tape them to the figures. We also played house quite a bit. On days when things were lonely I would often leaf through the many catalogs we seemed to have an endless supply of Sears, Penny's, Montgomery Wards, and Spiegel just to name a few. I remember spending hours leafing through the lingerie sections and dreaming how nice it would be all dressed up like the models. I wanted to be in those pictures. The compelling desire to cross dress was starting to gets it's grip on me. It's strange to imagine that I was never really attracted to girls in the biological sense but only from the beauty they presented when all dressed up. I wanted to be beautiful like them and in my opinion boys are not beautiful and can never be. They need makeup and a change of clothes.
Memories of my very first cross dressing started with me standing in the bathroom staring at my mothers girdle hanging on the shower rod drying. I tried it on when no one was around and the effect was like magic. The snugness of that garment hugging me in all directions was breath taking. I knew from that point on I had to wear women's lingerie. This led to me to sneaking around at night in my parent's bedroom, as we were supposed to be in bed, shuffling through her drawers to find this wonderful garment. I would find it and take it to my room to wear. One night I wore it to bed all night. The following morning I was going to wear it to school but decided other wise for fear someone might find out and embarrass me. I went to school as usual and was met with a surprise when I got back home. My mom was pissed and wanted know who had her girdle. She pants search me and my sisters and she proceeded to search our rooms also. She never found the thing and left disgusted. I had hid the thing behind a wall hanging on the nail. I quickly transferred it in my sister's room for them to find. Low and behold it was found about an hour later and I was off the hook. It was then I realized how much this little garment was valued by my mom. I knew right then and there I was never going to be able to sneak her girdle away again as she would be on the lookout.
This led to me finding my own garments after experiencing the effect lingerie had on me in such a short time. Sometime later I decided that I needed to try on my sisters garter and bra and slept with them on all night. The following morning I hid them between the mattress and box spring for safekeeping. You might know my grandma found the things during making my bed the next morning while I was out playing. The end of the world seemed near when I came home to be scolded by grandma for having such sissy thoughts of having my sister's undergarments in my bed. I really felt like crawling into a hole. I really felt ashamed! I vowed never to do that again. Well guess what! It did return and with a vengeance.
When our family would visit our relatives we would play hide and seek. This provided the perfect opportunity for me to search their drawers for my new private lingerie collection. It grew pretty large and was locked in a cabinet it my bedroom. This provided me with access to a whole new wardrobe that I wore almost every night in bed. I slept so soundly being encased in all that silk and nylons. Soon I was wearing the stuff to school, bras, panties, and girdles. I became very brave as the time seemed to melt away and I dreamed how beautiful I felt under my male clothing. I used to look at the girls and say to myself: Wow you look better than she does and she looks great. One day in English class the kid behind me noticed the bra clasp through my shirt and made a big issue out it right in front of everyone. I wanted to die. Lucky for me it was near the end of the period and I raced out of the class and quickly got the darn thing off when no one was around.
One morning I was putting on a specially made garment I kind of sewed together from a long line bra and panty girdle. Panty hose were also sewn on to it and make this thing kind of tricky to get on. It was as if I wanted to have some permanent type of lingerie on me in such a way that I could not get it off and get caught in it. While getting dressed my mom surprised me by sneaking up the stairs and I quickly jumped back under the covers. She noticed my nylon-covered foot sticking out from under the covers. She and I had a little tussle with covers as she tried to get them off me to expose the inevitable, which she probably knew about. She let me win and I locked the stuff away for another time. Nothing was said about it. The fear of my dad finding out was not an option. He made it very clear that he despised queers and gays. I thought this of myself and did not want to give him the opportunity to find out about his son. He was like Darth Vader. I knew if he found out he would beat me senseless. One day I was out and my sisters found the cabinet in my room unlocked. Of coarse they found all of the lingerie I had liberated from my family over a 6-month period and informed my mom. When I came home I had quite a shock as all the stuff was laid out nicely on the kitchen table. I could have died on the spot and my face was so hot it was on fire. My mom wanted an explanation as to why the stuff was in my room. I tried to lie my way out of it and she knew better. We waited until my dad got home and I knew I was in deep shit! There was no way I could survive this ordeal in my mind. It was more than I could deal with. I thought about running away.
When my dad arrived home from work my mom proceeded to tell him where they were found all the clothes and he wanted an explanation right away. She also stated that these clothes were the same ones missing from the family members who were complaining about it at different family functions. My dad was furious to think he had a thief in the house. He gave all of us an alternative to either tell the truth or face getting it beaten out of us, one at a time, in the barn. I finally broke down crying and made up a ridiculous lie about how I had found them in the barn and that someone else put them there. He bought it and we were all saved and spared of a beating.
Some time following this incident I thought about suicide very seriously. We had a big gun case in the den with lots of shotguns and rifles to choose from. The guilt and denial were bad enough. Fueled up by living with Darth Vader and having the kids at school constantly harassing me I thought that death was surely the only way out. At the age of thirteen I knew exactly what end of the shotgun to use and how to do it. I rehearsed the scene over and over again with the gun in my mouth trying to make sure that I got it right the first time by pulling the trigger with my toe. Before I got the nerve to do myself in I had an experience that changed my mind.
My dad bought a car for $15 for the engine needed to fix his truck with a blown engine. We soon found out that the reason it was so cheap. The previous owner committed suicide in it in the same manor as I was contemplating. He blew his brains out inside the car. There was blood and brains everywhere inside that vehicle and even a piece of skull on the front seat. This sort of changed my mind, as we were all able to view the car for an entire day in the driveway. Afterwards he took the car back in the field and burned it as required by the local police. I never forgot that day. Needless to say I am still writing today and glad to be here.
It's a funny how fate seems to intercede throughout our lives and spare us from the grim reaper form time to time.
Originally Posted by Sami Brown
