"She's Leaving Home" - part I

“She’s Leaving Home”

“She’s Leaving Home” is a song by the Beatles on the Sgt Pepper Lonely Hearts Club Band Album.  I’m going to use that theme in the next few days.

Important note:  I love my wife.  This is NOT a condemnation of her, she had her reasons. 

On Saturday, October 29, 2018, I moved into my apartment in Georgetown Texas.  We had rented a U-Haul truck and my friend Roger, my wife, and I filled the truck with some necessities for me.

Actually, my wife had been planning this for some time and really had done a great job. She had packed boxes of kitchen utensils, pots, pans, plates, cups, silverware and much more. My new kitchen had the basic utensils that I would need.

But, let’s go back two-and-one-half years prior to that.  (I’m reluctant to share, but it is time).  

My wife was gone to visit our triplet grandchildren in Nebraska.  I had done the laundry and for some strange, unknown reason as I am putting things away, I put on a pair of her underwear.  (Yes - very strange).  This is the moment I describe as a “ton of bricks fell on me” or “a Mack Truck ran me over”.  And this is before my retirement and my major surgery and depression.  (In computer terms, this was like a power surge that switched all the 1 bits to zeros and all the zero bits to 1s!!)

Why I did so, I don’t understand now and didn’t understand then, but it was like a bolt of lightning (my metaphors just don’t seem to say it).  Something happened in my brain - something that maybe had been there for years and suppressed - I don’t know.  Was it a mini-stroke?

It wasn’t just putting on a different fabric - it wasn’t the touch or the feel (although I did like the touch and the feel).  It was MENTAL.  It might have been like Saul on his way to Damascus to persecute Christians and getting knocked off his horse; or those three-thousand people on the Day of Pentecost who listened to Peter’s preaching.  

I wore that underwear for the rest of that day and the next day, I went out and got five pairs of my own.  By-the-way, I had no idea where ladies got their underwear, but I found a website about men wearing panties, and some mentioned going to Lane-Bryant for larger sized items.  

The next day, I went to Lane Bryant and boldly told the sales-lady (Kasey) I was there to buy panties.  Her face brightened to a huge smile and she helped me pick out my first five pairs.  I was going to get one or two pairs, but they were something like twelve dollars each, but if I got five pairs it would be $35.  

I had no idea what to buy!  I bought briefs, bikinis, boyshorts; I bought pink, green, blue, and red panties.  I was set.  Two days later, I stopped at a target and got another five pairs of colored briefs for twelve dollars plus a pair of thongs!!  I soon learned that thongs were (ah) not appropriate for me - and that bikinis were a little small on my 6’3” frame and that boy shorts didn’t feel right either.  

I was hooked!!

When Connie returned a few days later, I had bought her a new pair of jeans and a top that went with them. I had taken some of her things with me to Lane Bryant and Kasey helped me pick out some things for her.

I also had laid out my ten pairs of panties on our bed and I told her of my experience (and I did have one pair on).  She was almost speechless.  I was excited.  I told her “I found I have a feminine side to me as well as my masculine side.”  I hugged her.  (I really wanted her to join in my happiness).  

It wasn’t acceptance on her part, but tolerance.  (Oh well).

I soon found that her clothes fit me.

If you could wear out a mirror by looking in it too long, we would have to replace our bathroom mirror!!!

I didn’t wear anything (other than the underwear) for more than a few minutes.  In the terminology, I guess I was a closet crossdresser.  

*****

Note, I sought God on all of this.  Was this sin?  (maybe some of the vanity of looking in the mirror).  Was I crazy?  

I found that I could slip my hand in between my pants and my panties just to feel the fabric.  In the restroom, I found I would slip into a stall so I could look at the colors that were surrounding my waist.  

*****

To my readers - I’m sorry to go into this - and yet happy to go into this.  

More on this tomorrow - leading to my being moved to an apartment. (Note - I didn’t say “I moved”)

Hugs!!

Karen