Member-only story
For years and years I needed to be satisfied with merely observing the women around me hoping to see clues on how the women dressed and interacted in the world, among other things. All along, I thought I was doing the best I could in my observation techniques without coming off as creepy.
All along, I was doing all the easy things right. I noticed fashion trends and also observed which women seemed to have conquered the fashion world correctly. Some of whom managed to take fashion to an art form. As hard as I tried, I was unable to go any farther than being a more than casual observer of everything feminine. I was always stopped at the door by gate keepers who wouldn’t let me into the inner sanctum of what being a woman was really about. While I was stuck on the outside looking in, I needed to sit back and concentrate the best I could on clothing and makeup. So at least I was doing something positive. Or so I felt.
As the years went by, I worked hard to perfect my feminine image. My peak of acceptance was the night I was refused admission to a transvestite mixer in New York because I was a “real” woman. The experience was all well and good until my second wife and I became embroiled in a huge fight about it. To make a long story short my still strong male ego got the best of me in a fight and I told my wife what had happened. At that point she told me I made a terrible…
