Member-only story
When I was very young, I had the tendency to hide behind my skirts when I needed to deny any masculine pursuits at all.
Any time I failed, I ran home to see if I could lock myself in the bathroom and apply makeup and try on any of mom’s clothes which still fit. I had a dream of finally making it to my own transgender womanhood when I grew older, but I had no idea of how. Back then, little did I know, the journey would take me over fifty years to complete and the path would be so curvy and full of hurdles. If I did, I wonder if I would have ever attempted to try it.
Of course, I started out innocently enough as a cross dresser in a mirror. My reaction was a double-edged sword. One side of the sword told me I was not doing anything really wrong, while the other side wondered if I was the only one in the world doing it. If that was the case, being a transvestite just could not be good. Right? All I had to rely on was my instincts which told me I was on the right path. So, I persisted and stayed on it. Since the only real feedback I had was from the mirror, I needed to rely on it when it was telling me I had advanced on from the clownish drag makeup stage I was into a more acceptable feminine form. At the time, I equated it with painting model cars which I was never good at and I was so proud when I thought I had conquered the basics of makeup. Even to the point of purchasing my own from the…
