RANSVESTIA

As I lived my FP life, it seemed like one confusing event tumbling after the other. Now, many years later, I can perceive a positive growth and direction. It is almost as if some mysterious guide took me by the hand and led me through the mental hazards and traps to a place of true peace.

This is how it came about. I am sure much of it will sound familiar.

When the first realizations of transvestism came to me, I was sure that I had invented a new "sin." I was truly frightened that an unspeakable monster dwelt inside me. The combination of the drives of early puberty and the desire to express them in women's clothing is a great deal for a sexually immature mind to comprehend. Naturally, there is no one to ask. Who can discuss the soft sheen of a satin slip with the boys on the corner without fear of dire consequences?

I was raised in a home with more than the usual number of relations. Being a family that was involved in heavy industry, the men were all very masculine and the women were not far removed from them. All except one woman: my youngest aunt. As if fate were interceding, she and I were the only ones whose rooms were on the isolated third floor of the large house in which we all lived. What a perfect set-up for a budding FP!

Though I know that my transvestite urges were with me from my earliest recollections, it was my aunt's room that enabled me to bring my fantasies to fruition. It was my dream world!

Red-faced and with heart pounding, I made my first forays into the world of femininity across that narrow hallway. The perfumes that hung in the air, the gentle caress of nylon and laces, a small world where sen- sitivity dominated - these were the irresistible lures. Time after time I returned. And, despite repentance and pledges, I knew I could never abandon that magic land. From panties and occasional slips, I became more brazen as my familiarity grew.

At this point, I suppose that we would be much less than honest if we did not admit that transvestism presented an early sexual outlet for most of us. I would think that it would be a rare one among us who cannot recall the discovery of masturbation through the medium of the warm softness of an article of feminine clothing. Sexual titillation is not my purpose here, but because of the pattern it established within me, I feel everything must be discussed frankly if I am to tell a completely open story.

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