It seems we're all trying to describe all the shades of grey between black and white, with various amounts of pink thrown in. Impossible!

I could write a thesis on this, but would still not clarify a thing. I'll only offer a comment based on my own tragic experience. I'm divorced. I lost the love of my life over this. Not worth it! I would have and could have given it all up rather than divorce. Especially now, looking back, I can say that with absoulute certainty.

It was my fault. For decades I had lived on the barely-passing-as-a-male edge. At the time the sh*& hit the fan I was closer than I'd ever been. Far too close for her, as it turned out. She'd given me lots of freedom and encouragement over the years, but in the end she saw it all leading to me living full time as a woman. During what was perhaps our last "discussion" on the subject when I was trying unsucessfully to convince her that I was "just a crossdresser", she said, "No you're not! You're a WOMAN!

Several times over our three decades of marriage she had told me that she didn't know if she could "give me what I wanted", infering that I had some need or desire to be with a man. I assured her that I had no desire to be with a man. I suppose I was never able to convince her of that. It was the truth.

She saw all of this as a black and white issue. It's easy to see where she was coming from. The evidence was pretty overwhelming when looked at from an objective view. I didn't hide it. I didn't think I had to. I relished being in the open with her, never realizing that this put it all "in her face". I was oblivious. Over a period of time it wore on her. There was just no escaping it. Every day she saw the makeup, nailpolish, curlers, etc. on my side of the vanity. She washed my bras and panties and girlie clothes and put them away in overstuffed drawers and closets. She saw and felt my shaved body. She winced when someone would comment on my long nails or my long hair, or my earrings. My hair was longer than hers. My nails were longer than hers. My clothes were a smaller size. My clothes were more feminine, and I had more of them. I took time off work and time away from her to get my hair and nails done. I took overnight trips out of town specifically to indulge my feminine side. Irrefutable evidence that I wanted to be a woman (or was one), and in her black and white world, women want to be with men.

She was wrong about me wanting to be with a man, but on many other levels she was right. I loved "being a woman", and I had intentionally become more and more so, to the point that there just wasn't much male side left. What she either didn't realize, or it no longer mattered, was that all she had to do was say, "Baby, you've had your fun, and I thought I could play along, but I can't do it anymore. I don't want you to be my girlfriend anymore. I want you to be my husband."

It probably wouldn't have been immediate, and I wouldn't have been completely happy about it, but I would have and could have done it. The thing that made my life complete was being with her. Not being a woman. Certainly not being with a man. Her. It was too late.

I've been divorced for some time now. For a period of time I toyed with the idea that maybe she was right about me being a "woman". I'm not. As it turns out, I didn't have to give it all up, although I did for a while. My current girlfriend encourages a certian amount of cross-gender stuff. Her idea, not mine. I'm extremely lucky in that regard. I don't crossdress 1/100th that I did when I was married. Don't even feel the "need" to. I'll say again, I could have and would have given it all up. I wish I'd been given the opportunity to do so.