The Tiger or the Lady?

"Couldn't I just tell you the way I feel,
I can't keep it bottled up inside"
"The Way I Feel" Todd Rundgren

I'm sitting here, really unsure as to the reason to be writing, only knowing that I feel a need to. Life is getting intense again, just like last year. The meds are helping, but I still feel like I could start crying at any time. I started to last night, just thinking of how selfish I feel, how stupid my goals seem to be. Why do I feel so strongly the need to pursue something so out of reach? I could wear a suit of feathers and say that I'm a bird, and it would be no less convincing.

I told myself last weekend that I wanted to have my legs bare before this Saturday's support meeting. I resolved this in a week that makes purgatory look welcoming. Seriously, stress levels for me and the wife have been through the roof, related to the school and our special needs daughter. The stress makes me want to attack my legs even more, but my wife is not in a good place to deal with it.

My therapist and I had a long talk on this subject today. When am I going to stop bending to the will of the missus? When do I stand up and declare myself an adult capable of making these decisions without her input? I don't care if she doesn't like the idea. I just want her to sigh, and say, "Go ahead if it's that important to you." Because it is. I have enough grim reminders of my maleness without having to look at curly black hairs from hip to ankle. It's not like she'll ever be offended by the feeling of stubble on my legs. I'll maintain it religiously.

Shaving my legs doesn't violate the letter of our contract, but I sense that it goes against the spirit of the document. I think her aim in introducing the agreement was to lock things in the status quo so we can work through our differences. But if this thing progresses like it did last fall, I'll be a basket case before Christmas. I tried the stew-in-my-own-juices strategy last year, and it did nothing for me, or us. It just made life unbearable for both of us. Could choosing the other door be any worse?

Buyer's Remorse

I have a habit of creating drama where there was none. It's a habit neither newly acquired nor easily disposed of. This might be a case of that, but I'm really too close to see.

You'll remember that I signed my wife's agreement with no stipulations of my own. Very big of me, thank you very much. Now I'm wavering. The last two weeks the feminine urges have been welling up in me, much as they did last fall. (What is it about October!?) And I'm starting to realize just how much I long to go out into the world as my hidden self. I don't know what I would do or where I might go, but I'm sure I would think of something. However, I made a promise not to do that, until April 10th or the end of the marriage, whichever comes first. I feel now like I signed away a basic human right, to be myself. Maybe this is an over-reaction, or an hormonal surge, or a bit of undigested beef. I look back at some of the comments I recieved pre-signing, the suggestions I opted against, and I'm questioning whether I really did give up something with this contract.

I'm starting to wonder how this situation can resolve itself. The missus seems unlikely to open her heart to this, and I'm sure not closing mine, so how can there be a middle ground that we would both see as a happy ending? The Magic Eight Ball says "Ask again later."

As It Should Be

I climbed into my brother's car, and started with a preface. I've wanted to share something about myself for a long time, and it's pretty serious. "You're not getting a sex change, right?" He laughed. "Well...it's not quite that severe. You remember us running around the house in Mom's heels when we were little? I never stopped. I've been crossdressing most of my life."

He was really surprised. I talked, he asked good questions. He complimented me on on my stealth. He never suspected anything. That's what a successful crossdresser has to do. We talked about twenty minutes, till we got to the stadium. When they played the national anthem, he asked me if I would've had to remove my wig, as we did our caps.

After the game, more talk on the way home. Does this mean you're gay?, he asked. Can't come out to anyone without that question. But he didn't care what the answer was, he just wanted to know. It was a good honest conversation, and I told him everything that came into my mind. I commented that he's never really known me, and I hate that. I wanted to change that.

When he dropped me off, he told me that he still loves me and that this doesn't change anything between us. We're still one another's best friends.

I feel like this is a first step toward turning my life right. I am so tired of not connecting with people, out of fear that I will say something that might hint at my dark secret. That's why I so love all the friends I've made since I've found this community. I can be myself without fear, something everyone should have. And now I've embarked on including the people I have history with. I'm not sure who might be next, maybe my wife's sister, the one who doesn't already know. Liberation could become a habit if it always feels this good.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

I signed it. I mulled over all the suggestions, and talked to my counselor about it. I signed it, and I did not add a word to it. No demands for her. It's just a symbolic contract, with nothing that affects me and my current situation. I don't need to ask anything of her, because I trust her already. I was the one with a secret life. Now I will have to weather six months without meeting strangers from the internet, and having sex with them. Sorry, y'all. I have to ask for sacrifice from everyone in these tough times.

We went out tonight for a movie and a late meal. She wore a short dress and low heels. Yes, I was terribly envious. No, I didn't say so. I actually walk better in heels than she does, but I 've probably had many more hours of practice. She looks great, fifty pounds lighter than she was nine months ago. She's even dabbling in makeup on date nights, something she hasn't done in years. She's trying very hard to rekindle our relationship. If only I could go out in a dress too. That'd rekindle me!

At one point, she was talking about how great it felt to be wearing a dress. I didn't say anything then, but this will come up again the next time she refuses to see why the clothes are so important to me. It's much easier to feel feminine in a dress than in jeans, at least for me. Maybe women can pull up this feeling any time, but I need some tactile and visual help.

This time next week, I hope to be writing about coming out to my brother. Wish me luck.

Fist Bumps All Around

I'm happy to say that momentum is indeed moving in a positive direction.

I attended my support meeting Saturday evening, wearing a skirt in front of others for the first time. It added a little more nervousness for me, mainly because I was hiding leg hair beneath hose and black tights. I felt like I could detect it, but one would have to do some serious staring. I stare at my legs a lot!

After the meeting, the missus and I went to see the new Bill Maher documentary, Religulous. Then we had a late meal. This is a big deal, as we have never previously done anything post-meeting. She's always been rather cold after meetings before, like "I know what you were doing, and I don't approve." And heaven forbid we make love on a meeting night. I think she believed me to be stimulated by others at the meeting, and I would be fantasizing about them during our encounter. We managed to overcome that obstacle as well last night.

Afterward she asked if I was wearing some sort of cologne, as my face had a smell to it. I hesitated, but explained that she was either the smelling the vestiges of my foundation, or the makeup remover I used to get it off. I figured this would shut her down, but she accepted that and carried on.

Her efforts to be loving seem much more sincere than previous detentes. She does seem to really be trying to start fresh.

I still haven't decided what, if anything, I might ask for in our little contract. You, my friends, have given me much to think about, and I am indebted for your contributions. Thanks for caring. I hope you know that I care about your well-being, too.

Sign Here

"Nothing's changed, just rearranged" --Michael Penn--

I didn't have to wait long to find out what she had in mind for our contract. Late this morning she sat me down and handed me a piece of paper. The agreement is for six months, while both of us are in individual counseling, and perhaps some couples counseling as well.

Once again, I'm taken aback by what she believes is going on in my head. The restrictions listed will not be difficult for me to agree to, as I'm not really doing any of them anyway. The relevant items call for no crossdressing in public, excepting my support group, and not violating our privacy on public blog postings. This blog is no longer public, so that's not a problem. And my opportunities for public dressing are miniscule at best.

The surprising material was regarding sexual matters. Sexual activity will be limited to one another (I agreed to this when we got married, and haven't messed that up yet). No meeting strangers from the internet. No emotional affairs via internet or phone. I am truly astounded that this is what she believes I'm heading for. Granted, things have been cool between us lately, but my libido is pretty well nonexistent. I like sex enough to get through it, but I don't really miss it much when it's unavailable. She is really worried about nothing.

I really don't know what I should demand. She's not really tieing me down anymore than I already am. I think I should insert some sort of stipulation for her, but I have no ideas. Her promise on the agreement is to commit to try to improve her own emotional state. Pretty vague, huh? Maybe I should make her promise to read True Selves or something similar, to get a better understanding of the inner workings of my head. I won't sign anything till after my counseling session next week, so any provocative ideas are welcome.

On the plus side, she called me at work tonight just to say she loved me. Let the healing begin.

Contractual Obligation

"Every loser gives up what hurts most" -- Aimee Mann--

A moment of panic today. My cell rang as I sat in the waiting room at my therapist. The missus was calling. She had just left her first appointment with her therapist. She said that she and I need to have a meeting. We have to write a contract, documenting our needs and limits. A good place to receive that call, as it gave me a raw fear to discuss in session.

My fear is that this is all about setting limits for me and my sartorial quirks, an effort to build a cage around my exploration of my new self. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Perhaps it's just setting boundaries as a foundation on which to rebuild our trust. But the cynic in me (and she's always close by) is sure this is going to turn into a Leslie-bashing. I am filled with dread. This will be a rough negotiation even if tempers stay calm.

My therapist seemed genuinely worried about this. She told me not to give up too much, that I have the same rights to my humanity as my wife. If I'm the only one bending, I need to back up and punt. Live to cry another day. This discussion hasn't been scheduled yet, but I will report when the snit hits the fan.