party came up, we never mentioned to each other how we had gone to the ball as girls.

Before another year had gone, I was serving at sea, and for a long time had only memories of what I had done. However, on my visits home, I managed to get dressed a few times. Then, on one occasion while I was in New York, I had a date with a girl who suddenly thought she would look cute in a sailor's uniform and wanted to know if I would let her try it on. I saw the chance to get into femme clothes again, so I said it would be fine if she would let me wear her clothes. we both cross-dressed, and then for the heck of it, pre- tended I was the girl and she was the boy. But, I guess one time was enough for her, for she never suggested it again, and I was afraid to. From then on, the only times I dressed until after I married were when I was home on leave.

So

For about a year before my marriage, I never so much as put on a pair of stockings, but after that, the sight of femme pretties so much in evidence around the place got the better of me, and whenever my wife was out, I would slip into some of her things, and once, when she had gone to a show with a girl friend, I dress- ed completely, wearing a skirt, blouse and high heels, and slipped out of the house and into the car and went for a drive. Of course, it was at night, or I never could have done it. Even so, I realized afterward what a tremendous chance I had taken and never did that again. Like most TV's, I have lived and practiced my desires in secrecy and fear.

My wife knows I am a TV, but does not approve nor understand it, which makes it very difficult. Even knowing my feelings and desires, she still frequently has me shop for her hosiery and underwear, and always wants my opinions of her clothes. Her sister also knows that I a m one of the "indoor sisters", as some one ex- pressed it, but she seems to understand and thinks none the less of me for it. And, it so happens that my sister- in-law loves extra-long nylons, but claimed to be un- able to find them in her size, which is 9. So guess who knew where to find the nifty nylons for her? Just little old Dorothea, that's who. My life is not made easier by my contact with femme clothes not my own, such as

47.