Cross the line

Note: This story is inspired by a documentary I’ve watched a while ago on German TV.
It’s for adults only.

₪ ø ιιι ·o.

Casually leaning against the doorway, I watch my indecisive man standing in front of the wardrobe while he is creating a medially chaos in our bedroom. Alternately, he pulls out several short skirts before he finally opts for a tight black denim skirt, which he throws with dash on the bed to the various other pieces of clothing that had previously found their way there. Again he emerged with his head into the depths of the cabinet. With a triumphant “Hah,” he quietly closes the creaky wooden door. With bright-eyes he holds his brand new fluffy cashmere sweater with black and blue diamond-patterned before his so far only with a black French lace bra clad torso.

His eyes sparkling with anticipation ask silently for permission, which I gladly give him with a smile and a tight nod. His sigh of relief does not go unnoticed by me and I can not help a chuckle, given the uncertainty about his style that still affects him now and again. Even though, in my opinion, there is not the slightest reason anymore for this since a long time. On the contrary, he now has nearly perfected it to transform himself skillfully into Mary on Wednesdays. That Mary, who represents his feminine side and allows him to live out this part of his personality.

When we got to know each other about ten years ago and fell in love, I had no idea of Mary’s existence. I learned of it shortly after we moved into our apartment together. After a while of living in harmony, I observed that my underwear was no longer in the drawers, as I had placed it in. I also noticed that some of them even smelled already worn. Quickly I realized the scent of my life companion clung to it and confronted him.

In tears, he confessed his sneaking inclination. He had told me that when he was a teenager he had dreamed about to transform himself visually into a woman and that at one point those dreams had no longer been enough for him. Back then  he didn’t wanted to feel bad anymore just because of his true identity and because he could not live out his private needs. So when his mother was away, he secretly began to wear her underwear and clothing. Of course this didn’t remained hidden from her for long.

When she found out she abused her only son viciously and threw him out of the house, although he was not even of legal age. At seventeen and a half years he had to learn the hard way to battle his way through to survive. He didn’t got anything for free in this life and had to work hard for everything. Next to the school, he took various odd jobs to afford a shabby but cheap apartment and to struggle along. Often he did not even have enough to eat, so he had to go to sleep with a growling stomach. But he survived school and study and finally found a good job as a computer specialist, working flexible hours, which was paid well enough that he could create himself a modest prosperity.

Before he met me he had several girlfriends, but he never revealed his secret to one of them. For he feared further rejection too much. He also feared to be mistaken for being gay because of the state of his transgender identity. Although many people think that crossdresser prefer their own gender when it comes to sexuality, but I have learned it is mostly not the case. Best proof is my husband. I will never forget this Wednesday afternoon back then. His fears and his relief when he finally had gotten it all off his chest and the moment when, after my first uncertainty, I assured him, that it would be fine for me, as his feminine side is finally as well a part of what makes him who he really is. I explained that I just had to get used to it though, because I had absolutely no experience in this matter, but I would not love him less because of this, and therefore of course I meant what I said.

On that memorable afternoon, we not only decided that from that moment on  he could wear whatever he wants at home and be whoever he feels like. No, we also decided that every week in the future would include a day that totally belongs to Mary. Oddly, this day still is on Wednesday’s right from the start. It became some kind of  tradition for both of us in the meantime. Since then this day is exclusively reserved for us girls. On our so-called women days we do all the stuff, best girl friends do together. We go shopping, preferably exclusive lingerie, eat ice cream, or go to the movies, etc. All these little things like that.

We both always look forward to this very special hours we share. They are preciously to us as a precious treasure. We are aware that we have a very special relationship, but we love our life together exactly the way it is. Meanwhile, I’m so engrossed in thoughts that I get frightened as my love suddenly appears in my field of vision and looks at me expectantly.

“Can I go like this?” My eyes wander from his head to his toe, checking out his slender body. Carried away by his looks I nod silently. I bet that some women could easily be envious at the sight. His dark hair is falling loosely on his shoulders under the slightly slanted seated, red Basque beret. His make-up accents his fine features and his eyes perfectly. A charcoal-colored, knee-length wool coat covers sweater and skirt. The belt of the same material underlines his narrow tail perfectly. His long, for a man almost too well-formed legs are covered in a pair of warm black wool leggings. On his feet he wears comfortable boots, which shoelaces he has not closed completely. His outfit is topped off  with a black and red scarf and black wool gloves since its winter outside and pretty cold with all the snow that has silently felt down to earth during the past hours. At this sight  no one would come up with the idea that a man is crossing a for him very important line here, because he really looks like a woman now. What a beautiful lie he is.

Suddenly my heart is flooded by downright tender feelings for this man whom I love with all my heart. Despite, or perhaps even because of his feminality.  I can not and will not even imagine a life without him. We look at each other and the world around us seems to disappear into nothingness. Almost automatically my hands find their way around his middle, while my lips find his for a soft kiss.

~ The End ~

© Copyright The Storyteller’s Garden


₪ ø ιιι ·o.

Come as you are – Nirvana


About The Storyteller's Garden

Creature of the night ₪ ø ιιι ·o.
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