After a perfect marriage and having the husband she dreamed, the wife finds out that her husband is a hidden cross-dresser. What would she do? Will she divorce? Or is love strong enough to stop her?

I've seen Aslan, my husband, dressed with my clothes and wearing my make-up. I could not watch this and ran away. It is now late. I should return home. I wander what explanations will he have. But still, I am thinking about what my close friend, Astana, told me. He must be doing this for long, maybe from childhood. Who knows. Maybe he first worn his mother's clothes or his sister's and got addicted to this... at least this is the official explanation.

Can I cure him? Can I send him back to the mainstream population? Astana did not say a word about curing a sissy: Sometimes a partner finds it out and this can end two ways: a divorce or an acceptance. There is no alternative that will last for long. If I try to force him back, what will then happen? He will suffer. Astana showed me the answer of what will happen: But many wives or girlfriends can't accept what their partner does and feel strange that their husband or boyfriend have these needs. They live like strangers under the same roof only sharing a house. Or, again, it will end up in a divorce because there is a loss of trust and love. So, I clearly see what are the options. I have to accept or divorce.

But how can I accept this?

Only 200 m to the house. But, I don't get in. Instead, I go right, on a street that leads to a former classmate from high school. She is nicknamed Adria. We were best friends in high school. And we had a lot of fun together. Now, she no longer is the girl she was. She married a rich state employee and started to feed on his money, like a leech. It was the time before hyperinflation, when state employees had all the power and destroyed the economy with their bribes and ever increasing taxes. In the end, the fragile economy collapsed and hyperinflation destroyed everything, leading to famine. Now, they have far less power, as mafia factions rose from the ash. Still, her husband is a rich man... and she forces him to work harder ever, draining all money she can get.

I reach to their home, a luxurious building. I ring at the door and Adria comes.

"Abida, welcome!" she says. "What brings you here?"

"Adria, I need your help", I say. "I need to talk with you, but you promise to keep this a secret".

"Ok. Just come in".

I take my sandals off, as it is polite to do so at the entrance. She wears make-up even in the house, with a sensual short dress. Her feet are not covered by pantyhose, exposing big, painted toenails and a gold chain around her ankle. She has large gold earrings and a big gold necklace, a symbol of richness.

"Are you alone?" I ask.

"Yes, Abdullah is working late", she answers. "I forced him to work late at night".

We go to the kitchen, where usually people come when they talk. Adria prepares for herself coffee and for me green tea. We both light a cigarette. After all, I learned her how to smoke, in high school.

"What is the problem, Abida?" she asks, blowing smoke through her small lips.

"You know my husband, Aslan?" I say.

"Yes. Nobody thought you will get married ever. Is there a problem with him?"

"Well, for long, I thought he is the perfect husband. We never had a fight, we never had any problems. He always was kind with me and made me a lot of surprises. But..."

I put the cigarette on the ashtray, looking up at the roof. Rooms are very high and all walls are decorated with paintings. So much luxury! I take the cigarette to my mouth, take a deep inhale, then let the smoke out and say it short:

"I found him wearing my clothes and my make-up".

"You what?" says Adria, not understanding.

"I've seen him in the house, in the bedroom. He had no idea that I was coming. He was wearing my black dress, with pantyhose and my sandals. And he had make-up on his face!"

Adria changes her face like she was chewing a lemon.

"For the holly name of Allah, what are you saying?" she says, with disgust in her words. "What a guilty and stinky animal! Abida, how did you find this idiot? I mean, this baboon?"

Her words make me feel shocked. So, this is the attitude I should have about this subject?

"Get rid of him, kiddo!" she says, crushing the cigarette with anger. "Get rid of him! There are men on all roads. I just don't understand why you still live with this baboon".

"I don't know", I say, with a sad voice. "I still love him".

"For the holly name of Allah, get rid of him. Come on, girl, what is wrong with you? Do you want to be killed on the street for hiding such an asshole? What the fuck is in your brain?"

"Should I..." but I don't have a chance to finish what I want to say.

"A man must be dominated through frustration. If your husband wants you to paint your hair blonde, paint it black. If your husband wants to have sex with you, tell him you don't feel well. If he wants cheese, bring him potatoes. Let him see you, but not touch you. That is the secret about men. Hurt him, not too hard because he will get away, but enough to frustrate him. You never listened to me. And by doing so, you force your man to work harder. Abdullah will never do what he did on his own. He would never work late at night, he would never had built this great house. Now, because you showed love to your husband, this is what you've got. Only bad things. He loves pantyhose, you told me once. If I were you, I would have never worn pantyhose again. But not you. You just did what is wrong with him. Come on, kiddo! It is time to change your attitude!"

For about ten minutes, Adria continues with her speech, just like this. I just watch her and smoke. Then, she lights a new cigarette, just as I finish mine.

"He has a feminine side", I say.

"On the fuck with his feminine side!" says Adria, almost screaming. "Men only exist to serve us, women!"

"Maybe there is an alternative way".

Adria looks puzzled at me, then says:

"Remember in school, how many times you said I wish I were a boy? Many people said that you are a man in a woman's body. Maybe he is a woman in a man's body too. If that is the case, on the fuck with you both".

I leave Adria's house. Well, I am not thinking about what she said, but about her poor husband. He took bribe after bribe, only to make her happy. He did everything for her wife, almost up to getting in jail. And when he was nearly imprisoned, Adria told him this: "If you have a problem with justice, then there is nothing more between us". He loved her... and did everything to win the trial, using bribery to convince judges that he was not guilty. In his place, I would divorce at once.

It is starting to get late. But still, I don't want to get home yet. I sit on a bench on the street, thinking about all what happened. Am I a man inside a woman's body? The answer is yes. I start to think about my childhood. How many times I wished I were a boy?

Even now, I feel the need to take a piss. Men just get behind a building, zip their pants off and piss. For a woman, it is more complicated and cannot do this fast enough. Men have no idea how painful is for a woman the menstrual period. You're bleeding and suffering pain. They simply treat you like you are not suffering anything, because they never experienced this.

How easy is for a man to get an erection. It sometimes makes me laugh. For a woman, it's different. They often think that for a woman it's not big deal, the hole is there and nothing needs to be done. Well, they're wrong. The genitals of a woman are far more complicated. We catch infections that they never get. We, women, are far more sensible.

How many women had been raped in this town? How many times this happened? And how many men had been raped? Nearly no one. Many of us ended-up as sfenists or went insane after a sexual abuse. What do men understand from all this? Nothing. And how could they actually understand something?

Yes, many times I wished I were a man. Well, not completely. If it would be possible and mainly if society would accept this, I would like to transform myself into something between. I would like to have a woman body, but to have a penis. To be a shemale. That would be fine. I've seen shemales on a TV documentary. At that time, I was a child and I thought they were born this way. Later, I found out that a shemale usually gets born as a man, but transforms himself (or herself) into a woman, by using hormones and surgery.

When I was a teen, that was my fantasy. I dreamed about this. How would it be for guys, trying to seduce me and trying to fuck me... to find out that I have a penis and I want to fuck them instead? That should be a good punishment for all perverts in this town.

I cannot have children. So, wearing the woman genitals is useless for me, anyway. To be a shemale, would be just perfect.

I remember a scene from school. The toilette was not working. boys started to piss on a wall behind the school. We, girls, could just watch, we couldn't do this. For us, it was impossible. We had to wait and get home.

And here comes the hardest part of all. Being a woman and having the genitals of a woman, comes with great risks. I know two women who died from uterus cancer, but I know no guy who died from penis cancer. Yes, old men suffer from prostate diseases, but they are old, not teen, nor sexually active. They lived their lives.

After thinking about all this, I have the courage to move on, to go into the house and talk with Aslan. Maybe, it is not so hard as it seems. I always dreamed to be a boy... or at least a shemale. I have my masculine side. Why shouldn't also men have a feminine side?

**********

As I get closer to the house, I hear noise. Two drunk men are trying to make it home. Somewhere around, I hear screaming. Who knows, could be another fight. People get killed all the time in here. Unwritten laws govern this place. If you don't know them, you're dead in an instant. There is no police that will ever come to save you. If they will ever come, they do it for bribery and not to save you. Well, at least till now, I managed to survive.

I enter the house. immediately, I notice something. It smells good. Aslan cooked something for me. I see he washed the floor. Is he trying to be nice after all this? He made me tea and cookies. I can see all clothes are washed too and placed on a rope to dry. He is trying to offer me a present so that I will forget him.

Then, I see him. He is dressed like a man in all aspects. He comes to me and says:

"Where have you been? I am worried, it is late".

"Nowhere", I answer.

"I thought something bad happened to you".

He is worried about me. And he really is, not hiding this. I know him well. Is this the man I wanted to divorce? And what for? For wearing women clothes? Oh, that is disgusting anyway.

We go to the kitchen and eat in silence. We talk nothing. He is silent, feeling guilty for what he has done. Well, he is... from a point of view. We finish eating. Then, he offers me a cup of tea, like always. I offer him a cup of milk with honey, which helps him go to sleep. Then, I light a cigarette.

"Here, take one", I say. "I've seen you smoking".

"I don't actually smoke", he says.

"No need to hide from me, I insist", I answer.

He takes the cigarette and puffs.

"Not like this", I say. "You have to take it deep, inside your lungs, not in your mouth. Only then you will feel the pleasure of smoking like I do".

He listens to me and coughs.

"Try to inhale less smoke", I say. "It takes practice, but once you've got it, you will never stop".

He listens to me and does exactly what I am saying. I see on his face that he is scared, like a caught thief waiting in a trial court. He starts to feel dizzy and coughs again.

"So, for how long have you been cross-dressing?" I ask him short.

His face becomes red and his tongue locked. He wants to speak but is unable to find the proper words.

"Honestly"... he says.

"Tell me the truth", I continue. "Did you start by wearing your mother's clothes?"

"Well, I"...

"I guess the answer is yes", I say, short.

His face turns from red to pale white.

"Please don't lie to me", I say then.

"I will never ever do that again", he says.

"No, not like that", I say. "I am not asking you never to do that again. I am upset because you lied to me. You never told me about your secret side. It took me time to find out. Don't lie to me again. it is better to tell me the truth, since we are together for the rest of our lives".

"I decided to hide you this because I was sure you will reject me".

His answer is true. I would had rejected him if I knew about this. But I knew nothing until now.

"Everyone would reject me for this. I think I need a psychological treatment. I am just an asshole with a stupid addiction".

"Do you think you can handle yourself and never again wear women clothes?" I ask.

He says nothing for a while, then answers:

"I do".

I look deep inside his eyes. Something makes me think he will try, because he loves me. But, in the same time, I think about what Astana told me: They live like strangers under the same roof only sharing a house. Is this what I want? Is this what he wants? And without the fulfillment of love, what is the purpose of a marriage? None.

"I don't believe you", I say. "You did this before and you will do this in the future. Since we were together, you did this on some occasions".

"How do you know?" he asks me.

Well, I didn't know, just asked him, to convince myself that this is the truth.

"I just know", I say.

"And you still love me, after all this", he whispers.

I kiss him.

"How couldn't I love you, silly?"

"I am sorry", he says. "I am guilty for all this".

"I think it is time for us to have no more secrets", I say.

We go to bed. Just like always, he hugs me and we sleep together in this position. Yes, he loves me and I love him.

In the morning, I ask him to give me some money, without telling him anything. He gives me what I asked. Then, we eat breakfast, we smoke together and go to work. I give him a pack of cigarette for work. Well, it was a hard day. The good part is that our relationship did not meltdown. But still, seeing him dressed like a woman is something I find disgraceful. I don't think that I will ever cope with it.

TO BE CONTINUED