‘Are you getting dressed tonight’ was the question I asked myself

‘Yes, I am ... but I want to try something different. I want to take one more step.’
That was how this happening happened last night.

So I tried something really different. Instead of my preferred arrangement of bra, cami-top, knee-length dress brushing my knees – I had just panties and a very lightweight short summer dress. And it didn’t feel ‘right’.

What was wrong? I really missed the knowledge that a ladies’ dress was brushing my legs – in a way that trousers never will. I missed the weight of the dress slinkily sliding on my panties.

I missed the bindingness of the bra. Even wearing what I was – there was something missing – and those two were the most obvious. I had never thought I was a pretend-woman. I had never looked at myself as further onto the transgender-transsexual spectrum than ‘I enjoyed the colours, materials, softness and overall effect of what women could wear and men couldn’t. I really thought that relatively minimal dressing was enough.

And yet, and now – I was dressed – and it wasn’t enough.

It made me re-assess what I enjoy about dressing. Clearly just a dress is not enough. Just panties is not enough. Actually, I’m a bit surprised. Having studied, read, agreed, disagreed with what others said, I know that some of my behaviour can be seen as ‘an addiction’.

Do I feel distressed if I cannot dress. Yes

Do I need to do it more and more – after today, I do know that less is not so good.

Over the years, I have gone from wearing panties and nighties to a bra, skirt, dress. A bodyform once – but M&S was too short and too small so it went back. Tights or hold-ups, as garter-belts and stockings never seemed to suit. Shoes – sometimes but a deformed toe made anything but an open-toe shoe really difficult. So, I now prefer panties and bra, with a dress or blouse and skirt. Jewellery rarely – most often a necklace or clip-on earrings. And, I have to recognise – I don’t really want to wear less.

I’ve investigated wigs more than a few times. I love the feel of fluff and weight at my neck and shoulders – but where to hide something so significant and obvious – tricky. So no.

I’ve gone into formal-dress shops three or four times; and they’ve been really very helpful and accepting.

Another ‘are you addicted’ question … Does the need to dress, the desire to dress interfere with my life. Yes

Does it cost me time, money, effort that I cannot spare. Yes especially when purging happens.

Does it interfere with my relationships. Yes.

Any ‘am I an addict’ quiz will ask similar questions. And my answers will be the same. Bother. It seems that at least one of my behaviours is a sort of addiction [weasel-word time].

So I find that what I have done today is not womanly enough. Not trans enough – if that is the right word. Am I more trans that I thought.
Surely just ‘ordinary cross-dressing’ should be enough – if I wasn’t self-indoctrinated after several years of covert dressing to want, to need more. Oh well. Perhaps

Certainly, I’ve just noted as I sat down to write some more that it’s somehow wrong when there isn’t enough material to sweep behind my behind – as all the training stories say girls must.

I think I’m going to stop calling it cross-dressing – it gives me the wrong vibes. I dress. That’s it. I dress – and sometimes it’s in male clothes and, less often, in female clothes.

I’ve said it before – and I’ll say it often. Male clothing is drab, dull, too often black, beige, blue and BORING. I wear a variety of waistcoats as my male plumage. This means I have spoken often and often about it being the only way that men can be colourful. A colourful spread of brocade or silk is so much more than neckwear, however gaudy, and coloured socks are a feeble gesture.

Not once have I seen a glimmer of significant response – the majority do say ‘yes I agree’ but no more. Men or women – it doesn’t matter. If on one or two occasions I have said ‘women have so much more choice of colour, material and all that’ – in the mild hope that this would get a reaction. I remember nothing.

Now, apart from being married to a fervently anti-trans wife, I feel that opportunities must be taken to push the boundary. ‘I may be right, I may be wrong, but I’m certainly willing to swear that when I dressed with gorgoeus hair, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square’

So – what will I do next time. I have actually got rid of quite a lot of clothes – they didn’t fit right, or didn’t match properly. I know you can get a lot from sales and thrift/charity shops – but really the choice is minimal and the likelihood of getting enough for a good outfit is low, very low.

So, a whole bunch of stuff comes and quickly goes. Items which please me stay - in secret places. Have I any concept of choosing or even looking for a particular style or colouring. I do try to be selective - and careful - and small in my purchasing.

Then the wife found a favoured blue dress – and that was fed to the fire. Allowing for at least a little grovelling – stuff went. I’ve never been one for repeat, let alone regular, trashing. I have a few panties and other (hopefully) well-hidden items. But all cross-dressers know that one mistake is more than too many.

But it’s time to get some new things. I’ve decided after enough visits that if I say I want clothes for me – many shopgirls accept the situation as ‘just another sale’. Rarely is there a refusal or even ‘another-girl-will-help-instead’. I want, they have, they present and sell, I try and buy, I leave. The wife is away on a four-day visit. I've decided, I am determined that I am going to have some me-the-woman time.

I've been to the shops. New panties from M&S. a new bra too - the new t-shirt types almost need no chicken-fillet boobage. New stockings to go with the shooes I found a couple of months ago - blue, 2 1/2 inch heel, gold buckle - and astonishingly well-fitting. A new skirt and a new dress and two blouses. All in what I thought was a series of sufficiently matching shades of blue, except the second blouse in crisp white with a frill down the front.

But about tonight. It must be so different when you have someone helping. Perhaps helping wouldn't be the right word for me. Not in any ofreseeable future. The best I could ever hope for would be less than the usual and expected disapproval / unhelping / distaste / anger / aggression and all the other wrong words.

I'm dressing for myself. And I'm going out. After much consideration, I've found a winebar where a local cd group meets. So it's semi-public but allegedly safe. I MUST try this. I need to do this. Estelle (me) needs to find out what the world has to offer.

Back to the beginning - what I was wearing didn't feel 'right'. I said that didn't I?!

So, on with the bra - I wasn't going to try going without again.

And down the stairs. To the door. To the car. OUT.

And a couple of the neighbours, Joe and Anna, .... they waved at me as if there was nothing out of the usual. My stomach lurched. But I knew that making a scene by running back in was, I had been told quite strongly, the most obvious and yet wrong thing to do.

I had no idea what, if any, repercussions there would be.