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For as long as I can remember I have had an urge to wear women’s clothing. I can remember being about 7 or 8 years old and sneaking out of my bedroom after being put to bed because my mum had left one of her skirts sitting out and I desperately wanted to see what it felt like to try it on. Later, at the age of about 13 or so I was pretty much the same size as my mum and all her clothes fitted me. If she and my dad went out for the evening (as they did a couple of times a week) I would put on one of her bras stuffed with my socks, then get dressed in one of her dresses, a pair of tights and her high heels. This continued for a few years until I was just too big to fit into her clothes any more and all I could do was squeeze my size 9 feet into her size 7 high heeled shoes. Then when I was 18 I went off to university and it all had to stop, but the urge didn’t go away.  Remember, these were the days before internet shopping and I was far too lacking in confidence to walk into a ladies clothes shop and buy myself a dress that would fit, so I thought that was the end of my dressing.

As a short digression, they (whoever “they” are) say that boys experiencing the urge to cross dress often question their sexuality and wonder if they are gay. I can honestly say that this has never happened to me. I have never found men attractive and that remains the case, and I never thought that my somewhat variable gender identity had any bearing on who I fancied.

My mum died when I was 23, and my dad when I was 26. About a month after my dad died in 1996, I started going out with the woman who would become my wife. We had known each other for a while before getting together.  She actually went out with my mate for 6 months before dumping him to go out with me – what a rotter I am! Things moved on fairly quickly and we were married in 1998.

A few months after the wedding we were lying in bed chatting, and I was about to drop the bombshell that I had fallen off the wagon in my attempt to stop smoking. But typical me, I hmm-ed and hah-ed and took an age to spit it out, and when I finally confessed to her “I had a cigarette yesterday” she replied, “Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to wear women’s clothes or something”. Now where she got the inspiration to say that I don’t know, I can’t think that I ever gave any indication that I had such an inclination, but there it was. So I pounced on it and replied something like “Well actually that does have its appeal”. And she wasn’t freaked out, she was intrigued. She asked questions about what I wanted to wear most and I replied truthfully that it was skirts, stockings and stilettos. But the biggest mistake I could have made was to leave it at that without elaborating further, which ended up with my restricted dressing being classified as a kinky fetish thing rather than something much deeper emotionally.

Kirsty’s note: I showed my wife this blog and she claims to have no recollection of ever having said “I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to wear women’s clothes or something”, but she definitely said it. They are words I will never forget for as long as I live. Now back to the blog

With the internet now having arrived in our house, I went online and bought some 5-inch stilettos in a size 9 and two skirts in a 16. Meanwhile my wife went to Primark and bought me 2 pairs of hold ups, a slip and a pair of silky knickers. And while that kept me happy enough considering I hadn’t worn anything female for 10 years prior to this, I was still very much just a bloke in a skirt and high heels without taking on the female persona that I wanted for myself. Ultimately I thought my wife could handle me being a bit kinky, but not me wanting to transform myself into a woman even if only temporarily. So I continued to keep my mouth shut about the true extent of my “urges” for fear of frightening her off.

Then my wife became pregnant with our first daughter and that was the end of that – dads don’t wear skirts!

to be continued