“Me, I’m touchy...” (a-ha)
[SIZE="2"]I’ve always wanted to ask this question – do you come from a touchy-feely family? I sure don’t! Growing up, I can’t remember ever getting a hug from my mother, or my father, or either of my sisters, nor do I recall getting a reassuring pat on the back, a token pat on the head, or even a momentary squeeze from someone’s hand. Nope – it was as if a force field existed around every member of my relatively small family, keeping us apart and unconnected, leading to acts of unabashed selfishness...
I’m wondering if this “Don’t touch me!” attitude contributed to my eventual need to crossdress. I mean, I wasn’t getting any physical contact at all, and I was painfully shy as a result, so perhaps dressing-up was a way to GET hugged by way of the clothes I chose to wear. Conversely, would I have even thought of crossdressing if I had been part of a “hands-on” family?
I should explain that I’m 50% white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, and 50% white, Scandinavian Protestant, so I’m made up of 100% northern European stock, theoretically not the most sensual individuals on Earth. Your results may vary, but my forebears, English Puritans and Finnish laborers, came to America with their touch-less sympathies in tow, and I am the distillation of their curious mindset. Somebody obviously touched SOMEONE, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, but why couldn’t I get a hug now and then?
My sister (the one I live with) and I talk about this all the time, usually accompanied by rolling eyes and expressions of regret. She and I have managed to overcome this aversion to physical contact, even though I don’t dole out the hugs willy-nilly. My other sister still retains a strong aversion to being touched, to the point where any mention of sexual subject matter causes her immediate discomfort (and expressions of disgust soon follow). Her personal force field is still intact, many years after our hands-off childhood...
If I stopped to think about it, and I often do, I begin to realize that many of the first non-male items of clothing I wore had hugging in mind – for a time I was obsessed with Lycra garments of all types, and they hugged my slender body in a very pleasing manner. I still prefer near-unisex undergarments to more feminine unmentionables, simply because I get a long-overdue embrace when I wear them – I’ll wear a bra just for the hug, rather than for any attempt at modifying my shape, in fact I could make a connection between the bra and my mother without too much difficulty. The outer clothing is somewhat less important, as long as I’m being hugged inside...
Of course, in many ways I was blessed to grow up in a family where touch was an unknown quantity – I was never molested in any way, and there were MANY adults around at all times. Being the only little boy born to five brothers, I certainly could’ve been targeted for abuse, but nobody touched me (as I’ve already related). Meanwhile, I don’t recall being spanked, either by my father or my mother. Oh, they (especially HE) would threaten to spank me, but it would never actually happen. Again – no touching, no contact, no matter what the circumstances...
I wound up being painfully bashful and emotional, a boy looking for some reassurance through human contact. None was forthcoming, even during a brief period when I attended art school – imagine being in a place where sensuality reigned, and yet not be able to let go of your own reticence! Well, something had to give, so I slowly, gradually, moved towards the promised land of crossdressing. It was somewhat inevitable that I was left to my own devices, hugging the so-called “other” gender via a change of clothing. Crossdressing helped me to overcome my inherent aversion to touch, and I am very grateful it did...
Being a visual artist is all about touch, and “caress” is one of my favorite words. As a result, when I dress-up I overload the sensation of touch as much as I can. Not only do my aforementioned undergarments provide a constant warm embrace, but the dress or skirt I wear captures gentle currents of air, helping to caress my exposed knees (or even higher up). This is a sensation that provides much satisfaction, to say the least. Not only that, but my feet, encased in cute little shoes, come in intimate contact with whatever is beneath them - delicate hosiery hugs my legs, my waist is pulled taut (hands on hips), and so forth. Earrings dangle from my earlobes, pulling gently, while my lips, dutifully painted, touch each other in a scarlet dance...
It’s all about touch, and I like to be touched these days. Crossdressing has certainly re-dressed the balance (pun intended), filling in that dearth of human contact I suffered through as a child (and beyond). As such, I can never see CD’ing as a problem or as an addiction – I see it more as a remedial measure, restorative in nature, existing as full-touch therapy for a deprived soul...
Do you come from a touchy-feely family?![]()
PS - I CAN be ticklish (unless I’m excited), but that’s another story![/SIZE]