My New Life

By Yvonne


Would you like to share Your Story with us?
It's easy! Submit your copy by e-mailing it to Cindy Martin here at TGF. Copy is edited by Cynthia Smith who will work with you on polishing up your article.
Hope to hear from YOU!

You could say that my story begins almost 30 years ago. That would be around the age of twelve or so. The first time I snuck into my parent's bedroom I slipped a pair of my mother's nylon stockings from the dresser and tried them on. I used a large T-shirt as a short dress and immediately fell in love with the femme image and the feel of nylon on my legs.

Or perhaps my story began earlier, when my parents, wanting a daughter to raise with their two sons, instead is presented with a third son. Or maybe it was spending so much time as toddler home alone with my mother while my brothers were off at school and Dad was working. Of course, the fact that my father never expressed any warmth or tenderness toward his children may provide another piece of the puzzle.

But one of the greatest turning points is much more recent. In July of 1993 my stormy marriage finally fell apart just shy of its 14th anniversary. I was alone, scared and swimming in uncharted waters. I didn't kid myself: survival was a concern. At stake was the rest of my life.

I had to take some stock at this point and see what resources I had available to me. I had a good job in a growing field, so money was not an issue. I was fortunate to have an amiable divorce with none of the self-destructive behavior that too often ruins any hope of future happiness. I had a good therapist whom I had been seeing on and off for four years, through an earlier separation and attempts at reconciliation, who was behind me 110%, although at the time he did not know I was a cross dresser. I ha d the house, so I had a decent place to live.

That pretty much was it. Oh, yes. Another thing. I had myself.

Still, now, in retrospect, I realize that I really didn't know then if I could rely on myself. I had never nurtured myself, although I spent years and unbelievable energy trying to make my (now ex) wife happy.

The first thing I did was accept the fact my marriage and that relationship were over. There would be no looking back, only forward. This time there would be no reconciliation. Now she would have to expend her own energy making herself happy. I was let g o from that job.

Next, I seriously acknowledged to myself that I had joint custody of our then five year old daughter, and that no matter what else happened, I was going to be a parent, a provider, and a friend to a very special little person.

For a while I thought about selling the house and moving to a different part of the country. I never liked the weather in the Northeast, and I have always had a "wanderlust" about me. If time and money were no issue, I'd do a lot of traveling.

I decided to stay close to my daughter and keep the only home she had ever known, to be a visible and active part of her life, to share with her what I have to offer. I really began to understand what it meant to be a father. I would eventually come to realize that in that defining moment I made a very real, very powerful commitment to another person. In that first year of living alone, that role I chose for myself would serve me like a shelter against a storm. It would be my rock. It would be the place where I could always return to feel grounded, to reconnect with myself, to regroup, to recharge, to get the strength and the courage to keep trying.

My ex-wife knew I dressed. I told her 15 years earlier, before we married. Her initial tolerance (I would never call it acceptance), quickly disappeared partly due to my own self-centeredness, and for her my cross dressing was a big problem in our marriage. Sadly, it didn't matter to her if I wanted to wear women's clothing, or if I wanted her to wear something in particular. The simple fact that I found certain women's clothing to be erotic left her feeling hurt, rejected and inadequate. Lacking any real knowledge or insight into myself and my behavior, I was powerless to correct this situation. It wasn't long before I felt I had ruined our marriage and that I and cross dressing were to blame.

What happened over the next twelve years of our marriage is a predictable story to most crossdressers. I had periods where I dressed secretly, hiding it from my wife, lying about my feelings. That she one day came home unexpectedly and found me dressed should also not be a surprise. For the hundredth time or so, I purged, swore I was through and told myself I could control this. Just as predictable, I was no happier and my marriage continued its downhill slide.

Perhaps less predictable was the fact that I didn't start dressing the day after my ex-wife moved out. For one of the few times in my life, after we separated, the urges were really buried deep. What I did was start dating. Within a month I was seeing someone. It didn't last long but it was a step in the right direction. In time my dating skills improved and I found that grown, mature women, intelligent, interesting people in their own right, were attracted to me, enjoyed going out with me, found me interesting, fun to talk to. I started to allow myself to believe I was going to make it through this. I considered the possibility I was OK.

Then, about a year after my separation, I met Lori, and life will never be the same again. Never had I met such a even-tempered, kind and gentle spirit as Lori. Never had I felt so much love pouring fourth from a person, like a beam of light cutting through the dark, pushing back the night. It changed any ideas I may have ever had about what love is or could be. Her love reshaped itself and redefined itself every day, every moment. It was being and becoming all at once. It was all around me, adding new colors to my world. It was like I had been blind and could see for the first time.

We didn't feel this way right away. It was not love at first sight. We went slowly at first, respecting each other's need for time and space, never taking more from the relationship than we were prepared to give. We became friends. We shared the things w e had in common, respected the differences and made our time together positive and uplifting.

I have heard from some crossdressers that their urge to dress diminishes when they are in a relationship. For me, it's the opposite. Maybe it's the intimacy, the proximity, the presence of feminine things in my life that triggers my interests in cross dressing. Maybe it's the sense of acceptance and a feeling of being secure that lets me open myself up more. It was shortly after we began a sexual relationship that my desire to dress was reawakened. I discovered that like myself, Lori also found clothing and "dressing up" to have an erotic appeal. So I was able to share my clothing fantasies with her before I actually started cross dressing again

I started dressing in secrecy, as always. However, this time something was very different. I had my own place and space. I had privacy. I was free to acquire my own clothing, accessories, cosmetics and still be financially independent. I didn't have to justify the expense to anyone. I didn't have to fear someone finding my things and could experiment to my hearts content. I discovered mail order! I did a lot of experimenting and had actually gotten good at a femme image.

I discovered support via the Internet. I learned a lot about my unusual preference. I read what other people like myself said about themselves. I exchanged E-mail with some of them. I sharpened my image of myself, defined myself. I actually learned to like the cross dressing part of myself and no longer felt like a freak. I was enjoying the opportunity to spend a whole evening dressed. I found it very relaxing and it was very self-indulging. I liked the fact that I treated myself so well while starting to like myself.

For the first few months dressing did not affect my relationship with Lori. It was the best of all worlds. We didn't start in love, but we ended up in love. Before the end of our first year together, the specter of life together was very real. Some time during the summer months the realization set in that pursuing my relationship with Lori will seriously conflict with cross dressing.

I decided I would have to tell her. Not only did I feel I had to tell her, but that I really should tell her. She had a right to know whom she was involved with.

Fortunately, there was help. There was the Transgender Forum, Creative Design Services and Alt.Transgenedered. I became a voracious lurcher, soaking up everything I could find about couples and cross dressing. I downloaded articles I thought I might show Lori, we watched "Wigstock" and "Just Like A Woman." I educated myself so I could help Lori through this. Then I sat and wrote her a letter. I wasn't going to mail it to her. I would give it to her personally. I felt I had to know how she would take It. I refused to even consider the possibility of another committed relationship centered around a "deep, dark secret." If we were going to live our lives together, she would have to know this about me.

I forced myself to consider the possibility I might lose her. I also thought about the range of possible reactions from total acceptance and support to being back in the closet ("You can do whatever you want, just not around me"). Life as a second class citizen in my own home was not something to look forward to. I decided that kind of limited acceptance was not going to be enough for me.

There were several very important things that needed to be said in such a letter:

More importantly is what I didn't say. I didn't ask her to share this with me, to help me dress or improve my image, to even talk to me about it. I didn't ask her for anything except to try to understand what I was all about. I just wanted her to know, s o she would truly know me and we would have no secrets. I didn't allow myself to imagine I would or could get much more than that, but that alone would have been plenty.

I spent almost a month writing that letter. I would read it every day, change a word or two, add something. It was like therapy for me. Now I just had to pick a time to give it to her.

I waited for a weekend late in August. We had planned to take my daughter to my parent's house, about three hours away. She was going to spend a week with her grandparents, while Lori and I stayed just for the weekend. When we got back, I would tell her.

I chose this time because I would have no responsibilities for the next week that would keep Lori and I apart. I could give her my full attention and spend as much time with her as we needed.

I was so wrapped up in my plan I had forgotten that that weekend was also the first anniversary of the day we met. We had wanted to somehow mark the day. I considered waiting for another time (but I also questioned myself whether I was getting cold feet). That evening we got back we went to dinner, talked about the past year and what we wanted for the next year. We agreed we didn't want the next year to just be a repeat of the first year. Well I knew just how to guarantee that!

Later, back at my house, I gave her the letter and sat with her while she read it. It was three pages long. When she was done, she put the letter down, reached over and hugged me, long and hard. The first two sentiments she expressed were how much she appreciated that I would share something so intimate with her, and the courage it must have taken to tell her.

I knew right then and there that everything was going to be OK.

We did spend a lot of time together that week. I answered all her questions, always offering more information than she was seeking. It felt wonderful to finally be able to talk about it without shame after all these years. Two days later I showed her some photographs of myself dressed, taken with the help of a tripod, a timer and a mail order photo lab. We were planning to go shopping that night, and she was going to help me buy some femme things. I wanted to show her the photos before we went out for the evening so she would have time to process what she saw and we could talk about how she was feeling. I realized that she couldn't possibly have any idea what I might look like en femme. I owed it to her to help her associate an image with the idea.

I never felt the photos were all that good, but then I was always very critical of myself. Lori, on the other hand, is an artist, and was very impressed with the quality of photos, the effort I had made on my femme image and how expressive and animated I appeared in the photos. We planned for her to see me dressed that coming weekend.

I knew that Lori would eventually want to talk to someone other than myself about what was happening. I was prepared to discuss this, and had told her in my letter that I would appreciate if we could talk about it first. She wanted to tell her closest friend, another woman, whom I had met (and would meet again from time to time). In fact, Lori and I regularly play cards with this friend and her husband. I was sure that if Lori told her friend, her husband would eventually know as well.

That would be a first for me. In the past I had told other people, a girlfriend in college, my ex-wife, and now Lori, but the thoughts of having another man know produced some strong feelings in me. I think the feelings came from the traditional view that men who wanted to wear women's clothing were somehow weak (since women were viewed as the weaker sex). While women who impersonated men were considered ambitious and strong (for wanting to belong to the stronger sex).

I was starting to feel like the spotlight was on me. But Lori's friend and her husband were both excepting, and again I was viewed as being courageous. I was starting to enjoy this new person I was becoming!

One thing Lori and I talked about was what we would do together while I was dressed. I felt we should have something planned other than just sitting around watching television. I wanted these times together to somehow be special. I didn't want to spend the time as if nothing was different. I confessed that I really wanted to be able to go out, but for a variety of reasons that would be hard to do. Nevertheless, we do talk a lot about how that might come about and what I would need to work on.

As an artist, Lori experiments with photography, so we decided that would be a good activity to start with. I was very limited in how well I could photograph myself. I would enjoy having a chance to see myself through the camera's lens. She wanted to make some slides as well, which she then uses to create paintings. She also sketches, and perhaps I could pose while she did a sketch. I offered to make dinner for her one night, which she liked.

For that first time, I dressed before she came over, so she didn't see me transform. I didn't feel comfortable having her see me get ready. She came over late in the afternoon and all in all, the time was very pleasant. We talked and laughed, she took so me photos, I showed her more of my things, clothing and cosmetics. It was pretty late when I changed and cleaned up. We talked for a while about how we felt about the day. All the signals were very positive. What is most important, Lori helped pick a name for my femme self that day.

Over the next two months I dressed several times for Lori, and eventually felt comfortable enough to let her watch while I did my makeup. She has been very helpful with makeup advice and wig styling. Each time, we had something "special" planned. Once Lori video taped me and that has been extremely helpful in improving my femme image. She has also helped me buy things I need and we enjoy shopping together for Yvonne (although I don't go out as Yvonne).

I honestly can't say that everything is perfect. There is always a process of negotiation taking place. For example, I had never shaved any part of my body before, as I felt that explaining to the women I dated would be hard. Actually, I had started thinning my eye brows, and even Lori had never noticed until after I pointed it out to her. I told Lori I would like to try shaving my legs. She said that was OK but didn't think she would like it if I shaved my upper body. We learned to compromise quickly.

I found that the compromising was not always at Lori's request, which sometimes I had to ask Lori for something I needed. In one instance she told me she thought she may need to tell another person about me because she was afraid it might affect their work together. I knew the person she was talking about, although not well, and was not comfortable with having him know. In the end I had to insist that Lori give me the privacy I needed, and she agreed.

Lori likes spending time with Yvonne and would probably spend as much time as I allowed. That can be very compelling, as any cross dresser knows, and I could easily see myself spending ever more time en femme. That thought scares me. There are a lot o f things that I enjoyed doing, with friends, by myself and with Lori, that would get sacrificed if I were to dress more often. I didn't feel that I wanted that trade off. I realized that even if I don't spend more time dressed, the time I do spend dressed will be much more enjoyable. Thanks to Lori, it has been.

Occasionally, I still like to be alone when I dress. Sometimes I do this so I can experiment with something new, a new makeup technique, a new outfit, whatever. Sometimes I just like being alone. It seems that what is essential is, as in all things, balance.

I made what was for me another big step. After six years, encouraged by my success with Lori, I told my therapist I was a cross dresser. As strange as this may sound, I never felt a need to discuss it as part of my therapy. For most of that six-year period I was not actively dressing. Nevertheless, now that I had begun the coming out process, I felt that having as many people as possible to talk with was important. I didn't want the burden to fall on Lori, especially if things sometimes went badly. I also reasoned that one's therapist is usually a safe person to tell one's little secrets to, and telling him would help me to practice for other occasions.

As always, he was behind me all the way. He assured me that there was nothing medically wrong with me (we looked up the definition of transvestitism in the DSM-IV). His primary concern, as always, was how I was feeling about this. He was impressed with how much I knew about myself and how comfortable I was with myself. I look at that as a real credit to how much intelligent information is now available on this subject and I consider myself fortunate to have access to that information.

In my mind, telling other people and showing other people, be it photographs or in person, are two different things. Right now, I don't feel a need to tell many other people, and I can't imagine anyone else appreciating my femme image as much as Lori does. For the time being, I am getting all I need from her. I am and have always been a private person, and prefer to retain some control over how much of myself I share and with whom.

Yet I do have a need to make contact. I am fortunate in that in spite of some rough times in my life, things have worked out well for me. I don't feel the need for support. I want to enjoy my new self and discover what Yvonne can contribute to my life and my well being. For that I need the company and companionship of those for whom cross dressing is more than a topic to be discussed on a talk show. I need to connect with others who understand something about the special person I live with.

My next goal is to meet other crossdressers. I no longer feel I need to tell someone about me and just want to. I have never been the kind of person who thrives in a crowd. I relate better to people one to one, and like giving people the opportunity to open up to me. Unfortunately, clubs and support groups may be the only way to meet others like myself.

I write this story as my 40th birthday approaches. My own father was 38 when I was born, so by the time I was old enough to develop any notion of what age was, he was well into his forties. In those days I felt so emotionally distant from him that my young mind could never imagine myself to be that age.

Now that I am that age, being 40 has no significant meaning, or certainly not the same meaning it had to my father. The last two years, and especially the past few months, have shown me how much our notions of time and age are simply fabricated notions that we use to build our own private prison cells. Two years may have once seemed endless to me, now I find that a person can turn their life around in that much time.

Time is my ally now, and every moment is precious. It is Fall now and I find myself spending a lot of time watching flocks of birds leaving, making their way towards warmer climates. It's a bittersweet feeling, but it's a feeling, and it's my feeling.

With love,

Yvonne


Back to Transgender Forum's home page