The Planets

Truly, women must be from another planet!

There was a famous book written, called “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus”!

It espoused that because of the differences, men and women were completely different species. At least that much was implied from the title.

I knew that I was a cross-dresser, early on.

My mother, my older sister, and I live together. My Dad died in a trucking accident when I was a young boy. I don’t remember too much about him, but my sister does. She’s older than I ….. An older sister. And that was probably part of my problem.

♀

She discovered me wearing her dress!

When I was young, I used to sneak into her bedroom, and put on some of her clothes, when she had gone to the movies with her girlfriends, or was out on a date. I usually selected something from the laundry hamper in her bathroom where there was no chance of it showing wrinkles from my wearing it, and I knew it would be washed and pressed soon, anyway. I wore her panties, although they were a bit large. Usually panties and a dress. Carefully, I locked the bathroom door, stripped off my boy-clothes and put on hers.

I loved to touch them, to feel them, and to enjoy her scent left behind when she took them off. I danced in front of the mirror to the music in my head, and dreamed of being her!

I imagined having ribbons in my hair, like she did, and fanaticized that we were two sisters, running and playing together.

But that day, she came home early, and discovered me, locked in her bathroom.

The doorknob had a little hole in it, and if you pushed something small into it, like a bobby pin, or a rat-tail comb, you could open it from the outside. I didn’t know that, but when I heard her try to turn the handle, I knew I was about to be discovered, and grabbed for my boy-clothes.

Too late, I thought, as the door burst open, and she stood there glowering at me.

“I thought so!”, she said, as she looked me up and down. “You’ll have to pay me a penalty for this!”

Not only had she discovered me, but she had already suspected!

I learned more about ‘penalties’, as I grew older.

“I’ll do anything you ask”, I begged. “Just don’t tell Mom!”

“No – that isn’t what I mean!”, she said. “That’s not what I meant at all! Of course I won’t tell Mom – I like seeing you in my dress.”

And the die was cast!

A sigh of relief escaped my lips, and my fear went away.

“Well, what DO you want?”, I asked.

“I don’t know”, she said. “I’ll have to think about it. But if you want to be a girl, maybe I’ll have your Willie chopped off.”

It was too fantastic a thought for my young mind, and I started to cry.

She took me in her arms to comfort me, and pressed my head into her chest.

I could feel that she had soft titties like my mother, and I began to worship her.

She held me there, until I stopped crying. She soothed me, and told me she loved me, and would take care of me. She held me even after I stopped crying, pressing my head to her breast.

“Are you wearing my panties?”, she asked.

“Yes”, I confessed.

She held me at arms length, and said, “Lift the dress, and let me see.”

Suddenly, I felt embarrassed, and blushed.

“Don’t be like that”, she said. “I won’t bite you. I just want to see if they fit you properly.”

Hesitantly, I reached down and grasped the hem of the dress and lifted it. I continued to lift it until it was bunched up around my waist. My legs were bare, and exposed the bright blue panties I had stolen from her dresser.

She continued to hold me at arms length, while she looked at her familiar blue panties, clinging to my small hips. My stiff little Willie was sticking straight out.

“They don’t fit you too well”, she said. “I’ll have to buy you a smaller size.”

And a bond was formed! A secret bond between us!

♀

While mother worked, my sister taught me how to dress up, and apply makeup to my face. She took me shopping, and bought me dresses in my correct size. She kept them hidden in her closet, so mother wouldn’t see them. She bought me several pair of the right size panties, and I wore a pair every day! She taught me to wash a pair in her bathroom every night before I went to bed, and leave them hanging in her bathroom to dry overnight. She bought me my first pair of ‘Mary Janes”, and they fit my feet perfectly! When I was older, she bought me my first pair of heels, and helped me to learn how to walk in them.

Better still, she let me bathe with her, and look at her body any time I wished. We had a lot of fun, playing in the bathtub.

I let my hair grow long, and she trimmed it in a male/female “Mullet” style. When I wore a dress, from behind, I looked like a girl, with my hair hanging loose to my shoulders. I got to wear those ribbons in my hair that I had fanaticized about so long before.

♀

The bond became stronger still, when she started calling me her little sister.

As I grew up, her girlfriends began to accept me as just another girl. I imagine some of them even forgot that I was really a boy in a dress. I was invited to pajama parties, and went to the movies with the other girls. I was included in many of the girlish activities, including hanging out with the girls in the ladies room at school. It was funny – all those girls, and one boy, laughing and talking as if there was no difference between us.

I had to sneak in, of course, but the girls knew me, and there was never any question about my being there. I think all the girls knew that I was a boy in a dress, when we were away from the school. Those were the happy days. Even my mother had accepted that I wore a dress, and had bought me many pretty dresses.

I never acted like I was a boy when I was around girls, and they never treated me as one. In fact, I worshipped them. If only I could BE one, I thought!

When I had to go to the bathroom, they would sneak me into the girl’s restroom. I would go into a stall, just like they would, and sit down to pee. There was something delicious about hearing myself pee, and the sound of my urine splashing into the bowl, just like it sounded when a girl used a stall nearby.

I was never interested in girls, sexually, and I believe they knew it – they knew that I was ‘safe’. I had accepted myself, and what I had become, and they had, too. They were always looking out for me, and someone escorted me, everywhere I went. I felt safe with them. When I was dressed, it was just as if two girls were hanging out, or doing, whatever!

♀

I was discovered again!

I was older, and had gone to the Mid-Winter, Mid-Western convention. It was a semi-annual gathering of gays and cross-dressers, and their supportive, significant others. I had been there before, and carried two suitcases. One held my man’s clothing, and the other, my woman’s clothing. You know, my pants in one, and my dresses in the other.

I knew they would never ask why I was paying for a single, but had requested a double-sized bed. I had been there before.

The first night was to be the Grand Parade, where all the “girls” would dress in their finest gowns, and parade in front of the admiring eyes of the other “girls”.

I was no exception. It took me two hours to bathe, shave all my extraneous hair away, put on my gown, and do my makeup.

When I surveyed myself in the mirror, I was a knockout! I had dressed to the nines, and like all the “girls” at the convention, had gone overboard on my makeup.

I first noticed him at the open bar, outside the convention hall, where they were holding the Grand Parade. He seemed interested in the women, and caught my eye. As usual, there were a group of us “girls” sitting alone, and he came over to our table, and chatted us up.

As it became obvious that he was only interested in me, the other “girls” gradually drifted away.

We made small talk. He wanted to know if I was a model, or perhaps a movie star. He flattered me, and I liked it. I liked HIM! As our conversation became more serious, I came to understand he was pursuing me, and I was thrilled at the prospect.

The Grand Parade was over, and the “girls” were gradually leaving the ballroom. But we sat there, just talking. He was paying attention to me, hanging on every word, and I liked it.

Finally, the last “girl” left the Ballroom, and they closed the bar.

“I need another drink”, he said.

“Would you like to come up to my room?”, I tentatively asked.

I shouldn’t have done that, but he was so charming, I couldn’t resist. I was willing to have sex with him – it would be my first time with a man, I thought!

We arrived at the door to my room, and I took the key out of my purse and handed it to him. Anxiously, he opened the door, stepped aside, and let me enter. How gallant of him, I thought.

He closed the door, and standing behind me, held my arms and kissed the back of my neck. I melted!

I turned to him, closed my eyes, and kissed him. He felt the stubble on my chin! Realizing that I wasn’t a woman, he pushed me away.

“What are you? Queer? Or just sick?”, he demanded.

I realized that I had made a wrong choice. I had mistaken his attention, and thought he knew that I was a cross-dresser! What the hell was he doing at a gay ball, anyway???

I’m a heterosexual male, I thought. But I liked women so much, I wanted to BE one! But there was no use trying to explain it to him….. His mind, and his prejudices, were already made up.

“You need some counseling!”, he said.

And he was right!!!

He got out of there fast, while I cried, running my mascara.

It was a devastating experience, and taught me a lesson!

♀

My psychiatrist finally approved me for sex-change surgery, and I was ready to finally become a woman.

Men Are From Mars, And Women Are From Venus. And thanks to my sister, and my mother, I’m from Venus, too!

 

24.06.08