I am now sixty-five.   A lot of water has passed under the bridge.  The more I have thought about my sexual leanings over the years the more I have come to feel that what I have been doing can't have been all that wrong. If the Good Lord gave us these feelings how could they be all that bad? Still, at the age of sixty-three I kept things hidden from my wife.

About eight years ago, while surfing the 'web' I stumbled upon a site called XtraTalk, hosted by a gentle Domme named Jane. The site really set me back on my ear, so to speak. There before my very eyes were the words:

Jane's words from XtraTalk.

I joined that site and corresponded with Jane for about a year before she became so busy that she found it necessary to concentrate her efforts on other things.  Several of our conversations did end up on the "Jane's Journal" page of her site.  I corresponded as "Sammy" but for anonymity's sake she changed that to "Danny" before publishing.  By now, of course, the site has disappeared, so you won't be able to verify what I have said, but believe me, it's all true.  Still, it was the first validation of my feelings and sexual leanings.  I felt that I was not alone, that I was all right, and that wearing things feminine wasn't 'wrong'.

I had kept a journal of my correspondence with Jane, and used to re-read it every once in a while.  However, it wasn't long before I began to realize that "femme-dom", or whatever tag you wish to put on it, wasn't for me.  For me the wearing of the clothes seemed much more important.  It gave me a feeling of contentment that is still difficult to put into words.

At that point I decided that such incriminating stuff, as that journal was, shouldn't be left in the house, so I put it all in the recycle bin.  For some reason or other, my dear wife decided that something which she had thrown out was needed, so she went to the recycle bin to retrieve it.  She found and read the journal, every page!

Major, major confrontation!!!

I was accused of having deliberately deceived her when we were courting.  I was the lowest of the low.  I was a ridiculous, pathetic piece of low life.  She wanted to know what was in those locked boxes down in the basement, no doubt all those panties and women's clothing.  Well, it was either them or her!!!  And that was IT!

At the best of times I don't like confrontations, and this was going to be the mother of them all.  I couldn't take it.  I needed time to think.  I got in my car and headed out, not knowing where I would end up.  I found it difficult to drive through my tears.   How could this be?  I love her dearly.  She says that she loves me.  Sure, we do a lot of hugging and kissing, and we are constantly telling each other how much we love each other. So what had changed with this discovery?  It wasn't that I was playing with another woman, it was that I liked to wear women's underwear.  What kind of pervert was I?  About seventy miles south of home I realized that I didn't have my medication with me, and I knew that it was essential.  I had planned to spend overnight in some motel to think things through, but without my medication I would have been in trouble.  So I turned the car around and headed home to what I was sure to be another confrontation.  And it was, followed by chilly silence the rest of the day.  I cried a lot that night, contemplating my future, and the future of our marriage of over forty years.

The next day she brought the subject up very early.  It was either her or the clothes.  What was it going to be?

I was unable to answer.  I wanted, no needed, both.  My life would be nothing but an empty shell without her, not worth living.  I love her deeply.  Yet I know the turmoil I have gone through over the years trying to wean myself off panties.  I knew that it was an impossible task, and that it would have been equally impossible to live without her.  I know I had hurt her deeply, but the deceit wasn't all mine.  Over the years, every time I tried to edge slowly into the subject her reaction was swift and emotionally charged.  The subject was always quickly changed.  I eventually gave up, accepting that my outlet would have to be masturbation and dressing up.

She was the one to break the silence, saying, "Well that does it.  It looks like I'll have to accept the inevitable.  I don't like it, but I guess I'll just have to learn to live with it."

End of conversation...

She got to her feet and left the room.

I breathed a sigh of relief and said a silent "Thank You" prayer to God.

It was at this time that I decided to do some research on what I perceived to be my problem.  I felt that in order to address it I needed a much deeper understanding of cross dressing. Turning to the Internet I searched on the subject "understanding crossdressing".  I didn't know what to expect in the way of search results, but the list of sites dealing with the subject was formidable.  I added my home town to the search criteria in the hopes of narrowing it. One site on that narrowed list stood out above the rest, for it purported to deal with support for couples.  It was Gender Metaphor hosted by Michelle Renee.  The more I delved into her site and read its contents the more I wanted to meet with her.  It was with a little trepidation that I wrote to her by email, explaining my situation in broad terms, asking if it were possible to meet.  She replied!  And a meeting was arranged at a local restaurant for the following Saturday.

The long and the short of it is that I joined the Gender Metaphor group, went to as many support group meetings as possible, and within two months attended my first group social event.  Since then I have done a lot of reading about being transgender and have at least a basic grasp of what it is that I am dealing with.

Unfortunately my dear wife, although trying to be supportive, refuses to meet Samantha. She doesn't want to see her, doesn't want to read about things transgender, doesn't want to take part in support activities or to meet with other wives who are living with transgender partners. Still I should be grateful, for we are still together after all this time, she lets me wear her clothes, and says that she has no objection to me going out as Samantha as long as I am careful and none of our friends or neighbours see me around the neighbourhood.

So, am I out of the closet or what?  At least the closet has been enlarged considerably for me.  As my therapist says, "When we come out of the closet they go in."