This is a brief history of who I am and how I grew up here in Cape Town.
My name is "Chris", I was born in Cape Town on the 9th March, 1950 as the first born to my parents Florence and Trevor.
"A Pisces soul who is gentle, artistic, dreamy, prone to flights of fantasy and who appreciates all things beautiful ....... birds, butterflies, pretty things, pretty colours and pretty people. "
In the words of my favourite song from my very favourite movie......
"DON'T BE STRUNG OUT, BY THE WAY I LOOK.
DON'T JUDGE A BOOK BY IT'S COVER.
I'M NOT MUCH OF A MAN BY THE LIGHT OF DAY, BUT AT NIGHT I'M ONE HELL OF A LOVER........
I'M JUST A SWEET TRANSVESTITE, TRANSSEXUAL FROM TRANSYLVANIA !! "
My earliest memory in life is that of watching my beautiful mother bath and dress every morning. I remember being seated on her big double bed leaning against her soft pillows, waiting for her to get ready to go out shopping or something together, and then in later years, when I started school, of sitting on that same bed, holding my baby brother while watching her select her delicate lingerie from a special drawer in her dressing-table, laying it out on the bed, creaming her tiny shapely white body all over and then systematically dressing, taking great care in applying her minimal make-up.
She always looked well groomed although we hardly ever went anywhere and although she never had many clothes she always tried to look her best. Her finger nails were always long, filed to a lovely shape and painted beautiful shades of pink or red to match the lipstick that she always wore. Some times she would ask me to pass her things, and once or twice when I expressed an interest in how they felt on, she would playfully put her bra or panties on me so that I could feel them too.
My younger brother was, as it turned out, very different to me. He was fair-haired, where I had jet black hair, he was athletic and well-built where I wasn't. At school he excelled at sports, and in particular, loved football. He went on to play football and cricket for varies clubs and still, at the age of 56, plays both sports actively and competitively.
Consequently, during his younger years he spent more time out with all his friends than he ever did at home, whereas I always preferred to spend time with my Mom.
Although we got on alright together, he and I were never really very close.
JUNIOR SCHOOL DAYS.
I attended a public school with lots of other boys and girls from the immediate neighbourhood and beyond.
I enjoyed learning and I always sat near the front of the class so I could see and even smell the teachers as they taught the class. I liked to be near the front where I could see everything they wore and how pretty some of them looked.
I was always able to cope well academically, always being in the top half of the class averages, but I never really liked the breaks that we had during the school day. I was neither over popular nor unpopular with the other pupils. Physically I was a little on the smaller side and not particularly athletic. I could catch and throw a ball like most others, but somehow never got picked for any team games until almost the last few to be selected.
Sometimes I just watched. I didn't really mind because I was happier sitting sharing my lunch with the girls than being pushed around by the bigger boys anyway. And if I came home with dirty or torn clothes my mother used to get really cross because sometimes they were the only items of school uniform I had and she would have to fix the damage before school the next day.
Over time, after school, if I was alone in the house, I would often sneak into my mother's room and dress up in some of her clothes. My mother was very small so I was always able to find something to fit me. Some times I would find some of her lingerie in the washing basket in the bathroom and I would proceed to wear whatever I could find under my clothes for the day.
The feel of the satin and lace, the nylon against my skin was totally exhilarating and I found myself, more and more, looking for these opportunities.
My biggest day, as I grew older and bigger, was the day I decided to try on my mother's high heels. She had a collection of simply stunning shoes and like most women, I guess, could not resist a sexy pair of stilettos. Most little boys try this a time or two and then go on to something else, but for me it was a great big wobbling step towards who I am today.
One quiet day after school, having just arrived home, when I was alone in the house I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and there, hanging on a line over the bath was one of my mother's dresses. I took it off the line, took it to my room and laid it on my bed I stood and looked at it for a while. It was a plain dress, tightish at the top and flared from the waist down. It was fairly short and I remember it always looked good on her. But still I didn't understand what was so amazing about it, what attracted me to it, but I knew that I had to put it on.
That was the day that I tried on my first article of female clothing. I rushed through to my mother's lingerie drawer, grabbed some underwear, stockings and suspenders and ran back to my room. I didn't know how long she would be away. She had told me she would be at her sister's house not too far away, to perm her hair and I didn't know how long that would take. I didn't worry too much about that, but I knew that I had indeed found at least a portion of the magic that I was looking for.
The material felt like nothing that I had ever felt before. It was so much softer than my normal, abrasive, rough boy’s shirts and pants. It was extremely smooth and light against my skin. It took me a while to figure out how to do up the zipper, which was in the back, but when I was finally done I stepped in front of the full length mirror and WOW!. The image in reality was only that of a ten-year old boy playing dress up in his mother’s things, but to me it was way more than that. To me I was suddenly the head turning beautiful, sophisticated, sexy, magical woman that my mother had always been. I turned and looked at myself from all angles and the longer I stood there the better I felt. I was as far from being the drunken man who smelled bad as I could possibly be and I was as close to my mother as I had ever been before. It was as if we shared something of great importance now.
Something else happened that I didn't understand. The silky material that was so foreign to me had touched my skin and caressed me in a way that I had never been caressed before, if you know what I mean. It was a huge moment in my life and a turning point that has led me down this road to try to create and re-create that same magical feminine image time and time again, as often as life allows, sometimes wearing make-up sometimes without.
All was absolutely fantastic, as I paraded up and down in front of the mirror admiring myself, the beautiful girl who smiled back at me, the beautiful girl who was trapped inside me, who yearned to be set free.... and then I realised that my mother and brother would soon be returning and that I would have to pack all my mother's clothes away before I was discovered.
Instant panic set in when I realized that I couldn't reach the zipper with enough hand to be able to unzip it!!
Thank goodness I somehow managed, almost like a contortionist, to finally extricate myself and return everything to its former place in my mother's wardrobe just before I heard her key unlocking the front door. It was very, very close and it was over a week before I ventured near my mother's wardrobe again.
I remember that my father was absent from my life most of the time due to the "pressure of work" and when he was there I was normally in my bedroom getting ready to sleep. He had become a regular drinker back then, and a bad gambler who was always trying to find a horse with long odds that would make him a fortune. Of course it never happened and he just always seemed to be in debt while he and my mother argued constantly about the lack of cash. He was a survivor of a sadly abusive childhood himself. He could hardly say three words without stuttering so badly that it became difficult to understand what he was trying to say, so when the war broke out, he dropped out of high school, enlisted and joined the army. He was always an "ex-Military man who had endured a tough war" and seemed to keep most of his thoughts to himself. He was very good looking and it wasn't long after he had met my mother that they married. When he was sober he was a kind, gentle guy who hardly spoke much except to go on about his passion...... sport, particularly South African rugby and cricket. He hardly ever missed a Saturday to go to Newlands Rugby or Cricket fields to spend the entire day watching his beloved sports.
I was just a little kid, but I remember that he always seemed to smell like alcohol or cigarettes. I tried to disappear whenever he came home drunk, which was almost every night, because it invariably ended up in a screaming match between him and my mother. I felt extremely sorry for her, because I always felt she needed protection from him. I don't think he would have ever hurt her physically, but the mental pain was always there.
My mother was, I thought, a very beautiful woman. She was small and thin and took very good care of herself. She was always well groomed and kept her nails done at all times. She always smelled like expensive perfume, bubble bath or flowery lotions. She was the epitome of femininity. She was the kind of woman who wouldn't even go to the grocery store unless she was properly dressed with her lipstick on and her hair just right. She was usually playful and fun and was seldom without a warm smile or a hug for whoever happened to visit. Everyone was welcome in our home and people were always visiting. My Mother often spent her days doing hair for all the ladies she knew. She would wash, cut, set and do all sorts of things to their hair.
Sometimes when no-one was around she would practice on my hair which was always (and still is to-day) on the longish side. I had few friends as she preferred to keep me inside where "I would be safe" she used to say, so, I suppose, not only did I cling to my Mother but she clung to me as well.
She often told me that in the last few months of her pregnancy everyone, including her doctor, told her she was going to have a little girl. Consequently, the name picked out for me was to be Christine and all the clothes and toys were bought for a little girl. Because we were very poor in those days, everything was used by me, being replaced only as I grew older, which of course wasn't a problem because clothes for small kids are mostly suitable for either sex anyway, so it worked out fine. I believe my favourite toy was a doll that I used to spend hours dressing and which I took with me wherever I went. She was eventually thrown in the rubbish bin by my dad.
When I think back to those times before I was even five years old, I guess that my life pattern was already being set. I connected with my mother and not my father for obvious reasons. I wanted to do everything that she did. I wanted to be just like her. It seemed to me like she was some sort of a magical being who was loved and appreciated by her friends, but used and abused by her own husband and I sub-consciously promised myself that I would never ever treat any woman like he did.
I would anxiously wait for the next opportunity to indulge myself and when it arose I would grab all of my mother's clothes that I felt I needed, rush to my room and slip into them as often as possible. It was a strange sensation, the material would tickle and arouse but the mental comfort of being who I truly wanted to be was calming at the same time. Those emotions contradicted each other but somehow complimented each other as well. I hid this from everyone and kept it my little secret. At ten-years old I didn't have a huge idea that it was considered deviant behaviour or anything, but I was smart enough to realize that no-one else was doing it, so it probably wasn't going to be exactly acceptable, but the yearning to do this as often as possible never ever diminished. In fact, in time, I believe it has grown even stronger and has become almost overpowering.
Over the next few years I was able to enjoy these moments fairly often, but not often enough and, thank God, although I often took risks not always knowing when someone was going to suddenly come home, I somehow managed to remain undiscovered as a sissy-boy/queer, which is what "different/transgender" people were labelled in those days. I was lucky, I thought, to be able to read some of the very interesting magazines that my mother's sisters would pass on to her from time to time...... magazines containing pictures of movie stars, current fashion trends, adverts for shoes and handbags, recipes for cooking, patterns for dress-making and knitting and my mother and I learned a great deal from them. She cooked some delicious meals and also made some amazing clothes, mostly dresses for herself. Occasionally I would be allowed to help, normally only to stand on a table, wearing the "new dress" while she pinned the hemline to get it straight and to the right length. In time she taught me how to cook simple meals and even to knit. I remember knitting squares with scrap wool which she sewed together to form beautiful warm blankets and shawls.
One day, she took me to see a movie which starred a young Elizabeth Taylor and I knew that this was the woman that I yearned to be.
I always thought she was the most beautiful creature God had ever created and I wanted to be exactly like her and even to-day I still think she is the most beautiful of all the lovely women I've ever seen.
HIGH SCHOOL DAYS.
My high school years were not exactly the happiest years of my life either. It was during this time that my sister was born and I spent quite a lot of time helping my mother to raise her. I can remember spending many hours reading to her and generally looking after her. Sometimes when no-one was around I would pretend that I was her mother and I knew that one day, the ultimate gift to me would be to feel a child growing inside me and maybe even being able to suckle her to my breasts which I felt certain would develope one day. All I had to do was pray hard enough. Unfortunately this never ever happened. I was enrolled at a "boys only" public school and that is where the struggle to survive really began.
Boys were brought together from all over Cape Town. The school fees where reasonable so the school complement was quite diverse. There were rich kids, poorer kids, good, bad, nice and ugly kids. Some were tough, really tough and others were gentle souls. It was a real melting pot and I was in the middle of it all. Because of my "subject choice" I spent my school years surrounded by "tough guys"...... better at football skills than academics and because I was generally smaller in stature than the average guys in my class, I only weighed 125 pounds, stood only 5foot 10inches tall, so life was not always easy.
One of the happiest memories of my high-school life are the days when we had "musical appreciation and drama classes". Everyone up to Grade 10 had to do this subject as part of their school curriculum and because it was a "Boys" school meant that some of us had to act the part of girls in our plays. This meant that generally the smaller "prettier" boys were chosen for these parts and I was always considered to be one of the nicer looking boys in our class so I was often chosen to play the part of one of the girls during these classes. I didn't really mind and wearing a dress and make-up on stage made it difficult to identify the boys who were chosen to be girls. I thought it was quite a lot of fun.
The part of school that scared me the most was when we had to attend "Gym" classes or "Rugby practice", because, after each session we were required to strip naked in the Change-room, walk to the cold showers and shower in front of everyone before returning naked and wet to dry off in the change-room again. This was a nightmare for a guy whose smallish body did not have a single hair on it and hadn't yet started to shave, while most of the other guys had hairy chests and had been shaving for quite long already. These facts and the fact that some of us were quite "small" did not go unnoticed and hurtful things were done and said often during these sessions.
In those days, in South Africa sport was a big issue and it was no different at our school. Everyone was required to do gym (physical training) classes and play Rugby. There were very few exceptions allowed and for a few years I also had to tolerate some rough treatment at times. I prayed hard during those years and I eventually also started to shave, which somehow made things easier, I think. I also made some "special" friends, big guys who would protect me against any kind of threats. I was always easy going and prepared to help anyone, never accusing or judging, but always willing to forgive, which helped, I believe. One such "special" friend was Bradley, a big surfer/athlete and we spent a great deal of time together at school.
Over time, growing up surrounded by boys, I became comfortable with them in close proximity. There was no other choice, after all some of my very best friends were boys, but I always preferred to be with girls. I always felt more comfortable sharing their interests and I seemed to enjoy most of the things they liked. Unlike the boys, I did not enjoy talking non-stop about "sport, cars, girls and sex". In fact, sex, throughout my life has never been near the top of my favourites list. I soon found life without was as good as life with. Not having sex much has never ever bothered me...... in fact, the idea of sex with other boys didn't seem right and sex with girls somehow seemed like I was somewhat Lesbian, which I don't really consider myself to be. So I never really looked for sex at all and the urge to masturbate (in case that's what you are wondering about) almost never came into my thoughts either.
During my second winter season at the school I developed Bronchial Asthma and I was forbidden to take part in any physical activities which used to cause, from mild to serious, asthma attacks for me. This, as it turned out was another blessing which I only realised later in life. Apart from everything else, it meant that I no longer had to do Physical Training or play rugby, which meant ....."No more humiliating, traumatic naked showers in front of anyone".
For several years I cursed God and prayed to die, often sitting alone on my bed in my room, struggling for each and every breath that I needed to take.
My lungs would feel as if they were on fire, especially during the cold winter months and I couldn't call my mother for help because it was during these cold freezing times that I started to sleep in stockings and panties.
It was all that would keep my legs and feet warm enough throughout the cold nights....... anyway that's what I told myself and that's what I wanted to believe and that's what worked for me.
Later, I soon learned to thank God for giving me this affliction, this trauma of having to live with Chronic Asthma all those years, because it was the only thing that prevented me from being conscripted into the military after finishing school. Being different, being effeminate....even slightly, in the Army, would have been an absolute disaster for me and would probably have led to an early death. The rate of suicides in the Transgender world is very high indeed, because tolerance in this regard is very, very rare, even to-day and transsexuals are sometimes subjected to horrific abuse almost always being ridiculed, judged and condemned by the majority of people, often even by their closest friends and families. It is not enough that they are forced, by circumstances and these attitudes to spend their entire lives practising a HUGE deception daily, but they live with constant guilt and shame, largely brought on by themselves, knowing that they will always fall short of the expectations of them by others. It is for this reason that they are forced to create an almost perfect "double life" to lead. Believe me it's not an easy way to live every single day of your life..... Very seldom being able to drop the guard, switch on the light, open the curtain you constantly keep closed and just be yourself, the real you, the person you feel you could sometimes die for just to be able to be YOU and be accepted without prejudice by everyone you know and care about. For the most part, it is a very lonely life to live.
I must confess that I would spend every opportunity that I could get wearing stockings and panties under my "boy" clothes, because it just felt so "right" for me and I yearned to release the girl in me almost every day and every night, but only ever at home. I never ever had the guts to take "Christine" outside on my own in case I was seen. I had no idea what would happen to me if I was, but I knew it wouldn't be good. Often I found I couldn't fall asleep unless I felt the delicate touch of my satin panties or the comforting texture of the stockings caressing my freshly shaved legs under the blankets.
It was during this time as a young teenager, that I met a girl who became one of my best friends. We were the same age and therefore in the same grade although we attended different schools. She was not very pretty, in fact she was not pretty at all, she was bigger than me and she was a smarter student than I was. She also liked school whereas I definitely didn't. We lived within a block of each other and we used to travel part of the way to school each day on the same bus, during which time we would compare some of the subjects we had in common and we would help each other prepare a little for the day's assignments ahead. As our relationship grew and we became closer, we would spend more and more time together after school, sometimes at my house and sometimes at her apartment where she often used to love to play dress up with me. I suppose it started mainly because I liked to wear my hair and nails slightly on the longer side (which I still do to-day, whenever I can), which irritated her father who was a Colonel in the Army. I guess he never missed the opportunities he had to point this out to her regularly. She, on the other hand, liked it and in fact encouraged me to grow them as long as I liked. She would sometimes pressurise me into wearing nail polish ( which I absolutely loved, in fact, I found the slightly sweetish smell somewhat almost intoxicating..... unfortunately it was very visual and impossible to conceal, except on my toes, which I love to paint when I'm certain no-one will ever see) and putting my hair in curlers, which I also enjoyed.
Occasionally, I would wear a clear nail polish, but the risk of discovery was too great so I had to do it only when I thought that the prospect of this happening was very small. She used to call me "Christine or Christina" and she would often borrow her mother's make-up and jewellery and dress me in lingerie and stockings on smooth, newly shaved legs and her mother's high-heel shoes. I had often told her of the "plays" that we had enacted in Drama Class and I had no objections because secretly I was just getting another chance to express my feminine side. I never told her that, secretly I loved our dress up games, but I'm sure she and her mother came to realize it when I didn't really object too much when "forced" to wear their girly things and they even knew what my favourites were and what they could dress me in next.
If I protested too much, or if I had been a "bad girl" as she sometimes called me, my girlfriend would take me out, after I had dressed up from head to toe....... make-up, high-heeled shoes and all, onto their balcony where there was an old soft coach and where she would tie me up tightly and leave me alone in the dark for what sometimes seemed like forever. I really didn't mind this too much either, because I was Christine and alone and that, for me was fine. Or occasionally she would take me out of the house, along the road a way, chatting and laughing at jokes we shared and then suddenly she would disappear and I would be left to find my own way back to her flat alone, sometimes finding the door locked and the flat in darkness. These escapades were frightening and exhilarating at the same time, but the enjoyment of wearing make-up, bright red lipstick, dark charcoal coloured eye-shadow and thick black mascara on my long, thick eye lashes was far greater for me than the fear of ever being discovered. Anyway, we were always very careful choosing just the right time to venture out and fortunately she was sensitive to that too.
The fear of discovery was something I lived with constantly and in those days being "different" could prove to be rather dangerous. I was often ridiculed and teased about my long, beautiful clean shiny hair, which was the only thing I could not hide, but I could never be comfortable with it short, so I just used to smile and walk away knowing that I had no intention of cutting it no matter what. The tolerance of people and the police was not very high and transsexuals, homosexuals, transvestites, etc. in fact any "different minority group or individuals" for that matter, were very badly abused sometimes even being badly beaten and jailed. Come to think of it, nothing has really changed all that much in this regard.
I knew that what I was doing, what I was feeling, what I was dreaming about every day and every night, was probably not what a "normal boy" was thinking of, but I was powerless to change that. I often woke up at night and couldn't get back to sleep just thinking about developing breasts and becoming the "real girl" I knew I wanted to be. I prayed to and cursed God when none of this ever happened, but it made no difference. No matter what I did or thought, I was in a prison from which, for me, there was no escape. I had no-one to talk to about this, because I knew I was unique and I was afraid of the consequences if my secret was ever known by anyone else. It was not easy, but I wanted, more than anything else, to wake up one morning as a girl. I believed that it would happen, as it had to my sister, but it just never did. As my relationship with my "girlfriend" developed and grew so too did my urge to be more and more the girl I knew I was. I found myself wanting to spend more and more time with her as "Christine" during which time we often enjoyed reading, cooking and knitting together at her home.
Sometimes when her parents were away and sometimes when they weren't. I soon realized that we were becoming ever more daring and we would sometimes even visit her neighbours for tea after supper when invited.
Life, for me.....for us, was absolutely fantastic, but I knew that it would not be long before I would end up in big trouble. So I started to look for a way to end our relationship....... I knew that away from this environment I would be able to take control of myself and be "normal".
Then one day I met a beautiful girl, fell in love and proceeded to chase her until she married me.
It did not suppress my need to be feminine as I had hoped it would, in fact over time the feminine feelings steadily grew and ultimately went beyond anything up to that point. I have often tried unsuccessfully to purge these thoughts from my mind, but I continued my search for femininity, only now I became extremely cleverer in hiding it after that.
Because my wife worked every Saturday and I didn't, I was able to be a "girl and a house-wife" at least one day a week for several hours anyway.
My wife and I were similar in size except for our shoes, so it was quite easy for me to share her wardrobe without having to buy anything specific for myself, and as long as I only wore her sandals I had absolutely no problems. I encouraged her to always be sexy, stylish clothes, make-up etc., which I believe she enjoyed, because..... firstly she looked absolutely stunning in my eyes and secondly because as I watched her dress each day I imagined myself being her and that was what I always wanted to be....... a beautiful proud woman who could happily do anything and go anywhere she wanted without fear.
Over time I acquired my own clothes..... Lingerie and make-up and of course shoes and shared her wardrobe only on rare occasions. Unfortunately, over the years, I have thrown away many, many of my favourites at odd times in my life when I promised myself that..... "I would never allow this to happen to me again." I told myself over and over again that I could and would be a "normal man", but sadly, it didn't last for long and I would end up "shopping" once more, only to go through the whole process all over again.
At some stage or other, I joined an Architectural firm as a technician. The M.D. of this company was Jewish and the firm religiously observed all the Jewish Holy Days closing the doors on these days, which was ideal because it meant that I regularly had whole days to myself with no-one else around to suddenly appear and discover my most closely guarded secret.
Eventually, in time as happens to most married couples, we were blessed with children of our own. It was during my wife's second pregnancy that I began to understand and appreciate the wonder of God's ultimate creation and the gift of life which He gave to us all. I always sensed when she was pregnant even before she knew herself somehow. It was almost as if there was something starting to change within me...... I felt somehow different. As the child within my wife's womb grew, I too become broody. I found myself now borrowing her maternity clothes and pretending that I too was expecting a child...... not that I particularly wanted children, but more like wanting to feel that tiny person growing and moving inside me also, just as was the case for my wife.
I longed to be able to enjoy this GREATEST GIFT that God had bestowed on most women. I wanted to feel the joy of breast-feeding a tiny, warm soft child. I wanted to be a Mother, if only for a short time. Because of the modern lifestyle we enjoyed, I did get to help raising our three beautiful daughters, through their trials and triumphs and I was able, at times, to pretend to be their mother too, when mom wasn't able to be there for them herself. I think this also helped the bonding process between our girls and me, as we are very close and always seem to have things in common which we sit and discuss whenever the opportunity arises.
I still thought of myself as being unique, constantly having the thoughts, wishes and dreams of a normal woman, but with the body of a normal man. I had not heard nor read of anyone else experiencing what I lived with every day and at times I cursed God for making me this way. It was harder for me to pretend to be a normal guy than it was for me when I was able to be a "girl". When I was a "girl" I felt absolutely relaxed, normal, happy and content, at peace with myself and the world around me. When I was a "boy" I was always on guard, careful not to do or say anything that might lead anyone to believe that I was in fact different in any way. I think I was pretty successful, as I never actually had to endure a serious accusation or intimation of me being "different" that I can recall.
Well that is how I believe it started for me. I know it sounds like a pathetic story, but I'm afraid every word as far as I can remember is true.
I have since spoken unofficially to people experienced in dealing with others who are similar to me (including a renown Sexologist) and have been told by all that, although it is regarded as a sickness, "Gender Identity Disorder" it is called, there is no "cure" other than having gender correction surgery to make me completely female, which I have often wished I could do, but which, at my stage in life, would lead to all sorts of complications that I don't really need now. I have done an approved official Gender Test and the results indicate that I am indeed a transsexual who might have to consider some sort of Gender Treatment or the company of similar people who have the ability to understand and share, so that I can at least find some peace.
That means, I'm afraid, that I will be condemned to live the rest of my life, neither true man nor true woman, searching daily for stolen moments of peace and wholeness.
Over the years I have cursed God for this, but no more. Since knowing that I am not alone, that there are in fact thousands out there just like me and after spending several hours with a Registered Sexologist I now find myself no longer feeling as guilty or ashamed, but rather grateful to be able to experience both sides of life...... both points of view and I believe it has made me a better more considerate, gentle person, quick to love and slow to anger. For this I have also thanked God. I still occasionally feel guilt and shame, but only in so far as the pain and hurt I have caused me wife over recent months is concerned, but whenever I am able to release "Christine" from within me, as she yearns and battles her way to the surface I am always overcome by the sheer ecstasy I feel of being a woman........ A total, gorgeous, sexy woman who would give anything to be accepted by everyone as just that.
All I want to do, each and every day is to be the woman outside that I know lives just below the surface inside of me!!
Gender Test Results as mentioned above:
COGIATI Test (Results)
Your COGIATI result value is: 225, which means that you fall within the following category:
COGIATI classification FOUR, ......... PROBABLE TRANSSEXUAL.
I now realize that, amongst others over the years, I have made 2 very big mistakes in my life:
The first one being that I have kept this secret to myself all these years, until it is now too late to correct without seriously affecting some very precious people....... people who are very special to me.
And the second is that I only recently shared this secret with the one person who is the most "Special, Precious Person" in the entire world to me.
18 months ago I confessed to my wife that I could no longer pretend to be a "normal" man and that in reality I was a Transsexual/cross-dresser/transvestite, whatever. You can imagine her reaction....... and although she has tried hard, she will never be able to accept that there are people like me in this world.
For her, and most "normal" people, it is "boy or girl" and nothing in-between or any possible combination thereof. Sadly, this is not true...... never has been and unfortunately never will be. There will always be "grey areas" no matter what. Everything is made up of a little bit of this and a little bit of that and people are no different. No one single person is exactly the same as anyone else and no one single person...... no matter what they think or who they think they are, is perfect. All are created by God, but only one was ever created "perfect".
Some are created with serious defects, while others have only minor, but NO ONE IS PERFECT.
During the past few months she has told me several times that it was time for me to stop this "nonsense' which has been destroying her life for the past 18 months and once again become the "man' she married.
I have been trying to figure out what happened to cause me to start acting more feminine now than ever before, when and how did this all start and I have come to realize that the very first feelings, thoughts that I can remember are of my mother getting dressed in her little lace bra and panties, suspender belt, stockings and high-heel shoes and looking exquisite in her prettiest dress and make-up.
I knew then that in time I too would be able to dress like her. It is what I wanted more than life itself, but hope and pray as much as I did, I never ever grew breasts and the only time I was able to experience any of the life I wished for was when I was completely alone, as I am right now, wearing my most feminine clothes and make-up and feeling like a beautiful Princess from the top of my head to the tips of my sexy stilettos.
At night I find myself, although I like girls, dreaming of being a girl and married to a rather hunky guy.
I don't know if this is how I should be thinking, but I just feel that if the guy in my dreams was a girl (or my wife) I would be a lesbian, which also doesn't seem right.
I am utterly confused and really don't know if I'm Arthur or Martha so to speak.
I have tried very hard from time to time to cleanse my thoughts of all things feminine, but I cannot it is in my blood...... it is a huge part of who I am and who I have always wanted to be. I never wanted to be a soldier or a doctor or a pilot or a cowboy, I always really just wanted to be a girl. I still just want to be a girl!!
I am permanently confused and have a million questions which I cannot answer.
Firstly, I would like to know how special, fantastic, beautiful, peaceful feelings and emotions can be made to feel dirty and shameful.
How can the irresistible yearning and the expressing of these uncontrollable urges to be a woman and the absolute sheer pleasure of being able to fulfil them be wrong??
Why can such joy and peace, both mentally and physically be made to feel bad??
What do I have to do to live a normal, ordinary life??
These are questions that are on my mind every day and every night. Desperate questions I cannot answer. And although I know these emotions are not perceived to be "normal" by normal people, but they do feel absolutely normal to me and I do not feel that they are "bad".
I try every day, to be "normal" too, but it never happens, only when I pretend to be, and this is only something I do when I am not alone.
Will I ever be able to feel like I belong, like there is nothing wrong with me?
All I wish for each day is to exchange my hairy male body for a lovely, soft smooth complete feminine one.
When I am wearing female clothes (and my often smoothly shaved legs under long pants), and high-heels, lots of make-up and nails polished and can feel the beautiful sensation of skin touching nylon or satin with delicate wisps of lace and the wonderful smell of sensational perfumes, I have feelings that cannot be easily expressed, I feel extremely Special, normal and complete.
Every waking minute, and indeed even in sleep I try always to resist and suppress these urges, but I cannot and the need for them appears to be getting stronger every day. Or maybe I am just not able to fight it quite as much as I always have.
Now that my wife knows how I feel, the deception somehow seems so wrong. In all the time that I have known her, this is the only secret I have ever kept from her ...... the only lie I have ever perpetuated..... The only time I have ever deceived her in any way. And it was not entirely for my own selfish gain either, because, in many ways, for me, if I had told her all those years ago, my life would have been different, maybe better...... who knows? Perhaps I would have resolved a lot of the unknowns that I have harboured all this time.
How is it going to be possible to cope with these instinctive feelings and emotions and still maintain a degree of sanity? Again..... Who knows?
I realize that I now have the body of an old man...... still with a lot of hair, but mostly grey, but I also know that I still have the feelings, the emotions, the hopes and dreams, the likes and dislikes of a vibrant healthy woman looking for peace and only finding it on rare occasions of "stolen, precious moments in time".
At the moment, I, like so many others like me I guess, am completely alone and I would appreciate just being able to share these thoughts and feelings with someone who actually cares (or anyone who can advise me).
At times I cursed God for making me different, for forcing me to try and cope with these complications throughout my life, but since discovering that there are many, many of us all over the world, some probably worse off than me, I have come to thank God for Blessing me and I have learned to cherish the butterfly, the beautiful gentle loving girl who lives in me.
Thank-you girls for listening to me.
I love you all.Take care always.
Thank-you God.
Chris
