Well, as with most transgendered women, it began when I was young, probably about 7 I
think. Mum had to spend some time in hospital, so I was sent to stay at my paternal
Grandparents house in Wigan. I was to bunk up with my Aunty Joyce since she had
the luxury of a double bed all to herself. Joyce would have been probably in her
late teens or early twenties then; this was in 1962.
As I wasn't going to school whilst there, I had the good fortune to be able to stay
in bed until about 8am, Joyce however used to get up earlier than that to get ready
to go to work. Each morning, I would lie in bed, awake, but pretending to be asleep
as Joyce went through the ritual of getting ready: hair, make-up, girdle, stockings,
underskirt, blouse, skirt and shoes.
To a youngster this was heady stuff. I was fascinated by the whole process of her
transformation from dowdy individual just arisen from bed, to beautiful young woman
ready to step out and face the world. There was a huge voyeuristic thrill to it
as well, but I was more fascinated by the whole ritual.
I never saw Joyce nude, she used to appear in the bedroom fresh from the bathroom
already in bra and knickers. But I relished each day I saw her go through the same
transformation process. I was, for some reason, particularly intrigued by the girdles
that she wore. So much so that one night when I went to bed, I decided to try one
on. Being a youngster I went to bed earlier than the adults. That first time I can
remember waiting until the adults were safely downstairs and watching TV. Then,
I crept out of bed and started to investigate Joyce's underwear drawers. Pretty
soon I found her girdles and what intoxicating garments they were. Trembling with
anticipation, I returned to bed, slipped off my pyjama bottoms and, with some difficulty,
pulled on the tight girdle.
I remember loving the feeling of constriction, a feeling which I still enjoy today.
Every night I would try on nothing but Joyce's girdles; usually for just five or
ten minute, then I would remove it and carefully return it to its place in her underwear
drawer. One night, feeling particularly brave, I put on the girdle as usual and
then put my pyjama bottoms on over the top. I just lay in bed loving the sensation...and
then fell asleep. In the morning at about 6am I awoke and to my horror discovered
I was still wearing the girdle. Desperately I tried to take off my pyjama bottoms
and remove the girdle. My fumbling only served to awake Joyce, who turned to me
and hissed, "what on earth are you doing?". Feeling acutely embarrassed and petrified
that my secret would be discovered I pathetically replied, "I'm just turning over".
To my relief I was told to keep still and Joyce fell back asleep. I waited nervously
until she got up and went to the bathroom, then quickly and quietly returned the
girdle to its place in her drawer as I had done many times before. After that, I
never wore her girdles again as in a few days I returned home.
Nowadays, a girdle is still one of my favourite items of underwear
My next memory was at home, discovering what seemed like a dozen or so of Mums bras
in the washing basket. I can remember taking them all up to my bedroom and trying
each one on. I must have been doing this for over an hour or so and was thoroughly
enjoying the experience when I heard Mum shouting that my friend had arrived to
go out and play. Panicking, I hid the bras under the mattress on my bed; not realising
that they were dangling through the frame below. Thinking that I had got away with
it, I merrily ran out of the house to play with my friend.
You can imagine my horror when, the day after, I returned to my bra-hiding place
and discovered that they had gone. I frantically lifted the mattress up further
to see if they'd moved during the night, but to no avail - the bras had been removed,
undoubtedly by Mum.
Mum never said anything about the incident and years later I cringed at the memory
of taking all her bras and putting them under my mattress, not thinking she might
actually need one or two to wear!
And that was that.
Here, my story departs from the usual transgender pattern. From that day until
being about 23 I never wore another item of women's clothing, never experimented
with make-up, nothing. Although I do recall thinking about what it would be like
to go to school wearing a bra; this must have been when I was about thirteen.
I think I always boxed the incidents away with all the other dirty little tricks
that young boys of that age get up to. Nothing else crossed my mind, until I was
23.
TOP | next >> 23 and all that