RANSVESTIA

element of my relationship to FP: it was a permanent part of my life. I this time, I lived constantly in an aura of secrecy, listening for footsteps attempting to re-fold pieces of clothing the way I found them, fantacising all day over what I hoped to find that night. Whatever there was was never enough.

When marriage came, there was a fumbling attempt at an incomplete explanation. This did little more than place my FP desires in the category of a "cute" sexual quirk that was acceptable for a time and later resented as a rival.

Never able to face the situation squarely, I “swore off" and returned to the world of inner secrecy. Years passed and still there was no progress. I was no closer to understanding the churning inside me than I was the first time I crossed the hall to my aunt's bedroom.

Item by item, I began to assemble my own wardrobe and tuck them away in secret hiding places, daring to dress at scattered intervals.

Then, another door opened!

Bemoaning her boredom with the city in the hot, muggy summer months, my wife announced her plans to rent a summer home miles away by the seashore. She and the children would depart as soon as school was out and return at the end of the season. I would visit on weekends when work allowed and spend my month's vacation with them near the end of the summer.

She asked, "Would I mind?” !!!

Probably one of the most difficult and ambiguous tasks I ever faced was trying to conceal the palpitations of my heart as the time of their departure approached. I knew I would miss them all terribly, but-

I forced myself to live one day at a time. The thought of spending six full weeks dressed in the clothes I coveted for a lifetime was almost too much to comprehend. Eventually, the day arrived.

It was another birth. For the first time, I was able to allow my feminin- ity to penetrate every one of my senses utterly and completely. There were no distractions. The empty house was mine and mine alone. After so many years of waiting, every dream became a reality.

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