Left behind

Okay, I married a young lady, much younger than myself, possibly too young, but I married her. When we met she was pregnant, alone and living on the couch of a friend and she had lost almost all of her possessions. We met, got together and well, things progressed from there. Progressed enough to where we eventually moved in together. I have talked about her being my best friend. that was dumb, she wasn’t even that.

Those were happy days. I was in heaven, yeah, she got on my nerves, I got on hers. I told her, from the beginning I dressed as a woman, she was fine with that. I thought maybe this was the one. I thought maybe I met the woman who was going to grow old with me, help me face the next years beside me and give me someone to cling to when things got tough.

Things got tough, and here I stand alone.

She went out, found a new boyfriend, brought him home and fell in love. I immediately get left behind or relegated to “friend” wow, does anyone really believe that is a good word to tell your ex that they are a friend, you may as well say “Your fucking poison and I detest you” definitely would be more truthful and a lot less hope would spring from your avoiding saying the truth.

Ultimately, I need to leave, I need to get out of here and put her so far behind that her self-centered ways no longer antagonize me, her claiming of my property as her own can no longer bother me. I probably wont even get my bed back as she and her boyfriend need it so they have a place to fuck like bunnies.

Basically, I need to leave this as a man, all my possessions belonging to her except my clothing, and am not sure I am even going to get that much. Sorry the bitterness is making it difficult to write like I usually do, you know, intelligently.

Call me what you shall, my heart knows it’s true name.

Okay, I went to the Veterans Administration, like many girls in my position, my younger days were filled with trying to prove how much of a man I was. I spent 7 years as a soldier. My job description ?”Kill People, blow stuff up” the name of the job was “Light Weapons Infantryman” and I was good enough at it to receive several pieces of paper that say how honorable I was at my job. A couple of ribbons, a medal or several and scars that will outlast many of my positive contributions to this world.

But I digress.

Point is, I had a mole that was doing all the bad things we read about so it was time to go in and get it taken care of. Dr. K (A wonderful young fellow, but oh my gosh, just a wee bairn – so young I wanted to give HIM a lollipop for being so good during my visit) he applied liquid nitrogen, just so dermatology wont yell at him for not doing his job (what ?) and we talked. It was hilarious, after I got over my initial nervousness. I was having such fun with this one. here is kind of how it went down. I requested a screening of my blood to make sure I was healthy enough to start my HRT regime (yes, buying them over the INTERNET – VA does not handle gender issues well, and I do have enough chemistry, biology physiology and anatomy to read such things, self prescribed is bad, but at least I have some training) and helped him figure out the difference between TS TG and CD, then, well, he needed a little more info.

Dr. K – Okay, Mr, uhh, Ms, miss ?

Me – Dr, I am married, Mrs is appropriate Ms is also good.

Dr. K – Okay, and your last name is “R****” (pronounced R***y – it is a French spelling of an old Irish name, O’R*****y) Do I call you Peter or, uhh, (cough)or just stick with Ms.

Me – Dr, I am wearing women’s slacks, yes, they are Gloria’s (Vander…oh never mind, I am such a designer whore) but my overall appearance today is masculine, you may refer to me as Mr R****, Peter or hey you, just don’t call me late for dinner (grinning). If, however, I am here in makeup and women’s clothing, it would be incredibly wonderful if you would refer to me as Ms, Mrs R**** or Sindee. But don’t put yourself out. I do not envy you your job. You have real work to do rather than screw around trying to figure out who your addressing.

Dr. K – Well, Mr R***, I am a little new to this, sorry if I appear to be having an awkward moment.

Me – Dr, I just admitted all this to myself less than a year ago, if you think this is new to you, you ought to try it from 5 inch heels sometimes. My whole life to this point has been a series of awkward moments.

At which point, my dear wife, Sara, can no longer contain herself and laughs out loud. She has been trying not to interrupt because she is worried about possible cancer but having to sit on the sidelines while the good Dr and I dealt with our issues of discomfort, well, it was too much for the poor girl. She later admitted she almost peed herself.

Truth be told, trying to talk to such a young Dr about it almost made me pee myself.

I hope I get him again soon, he reminded me of Anthony Edwards, especially the almost stutter.

Discovery Fears

When I started dressing up (3 years old, yep, before I went to school I figured out women’s clothes were for me) the fear of being discovered was always there. Why ?

Shhhhhhhhh...

I don’t know.

Maybe, when as a three year old, I dressed in a woman’s clothing, I got strange feelings. Most three year olds, if they dress in the other genders clothing, don’t even realize it, those are the normal ones. I was far from normal. I was wrong. My sister and mom dressed in these clothes. My dad didn’t, my brother didn’t but I did so something was wrong with me.

This started a life long obsession with a fear of beaing discovered. It carried into my teen years (fear of being discovered by Mom and Dad) my friends wouldn’t find out because there were a couple that already knew (Gay and/or bisexual, so me dressing up wasn’t a big deal to them and I felt if they were already broken like me, what did it matter ? Right ?).

My adult years, what if the women I was seeing discovered it ? Truth be told, in retrospect, I think most of them either suspected I was gay or something like that. Apparently, most of them didn’t care. maybe they were trying to cure me ? Whatever works. And my friends ? Oh, I had a great guys guy persona developed. Hell, it was developed so well I would help my guy friends make fun of “Drag Queens” and other “Queers”.

Yeah, so, I hated myself. Not just a little either, oh, maybe at first, but after a while, it developed into a quasi-suicidal journey to get payback on myself. Since I sucked so bad at hurting myself, I naturally gravitated towards hurting those closest to me ! Talk about sucks. So, you want people to love you and how do you reward them ? You make their lives miserable. Worked for me !

Okay, flash forward about 100 years, err, wait, 30 yrs and where am I ? Married, for the fourth time. Kids all over the US and still wearing dresses.

Okay, so concealing didn’t work, gotta figure out some way to make this work. I know, how about being honest about it and coming out ?

Let’s give this a try and see how it works.

Hey, folks, when you have a cross dresser who is nervous about coming out, jokes aren’t the right way to help them over it. Telling them they better have a great lawyer before they tell their wife is already a nightmare they have lost sleep over, how about trying to give them a little support and not help them to crawl back into their fears ?