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It would be five years before the depression returned. These corrections were always served with a dose of shaming. The shame would kill me. After several months of weekly sessions, I finally admitted that I wanted to dress as a woman. I wanted so badly to in.

I tried to explain. This was bad-assed enough to allow me to keep them, although they had mysteriously disappeared by the next morning. The muscular surfer. It looked like a simple access to utilities, nothing that would raise suspicions. The take-charge person.

My earliest memory is lying on the floor of my bedroom.

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I wanted an honest relationship with my wife. By that point, I had two sons I loved deeply, a house and a career in clinical pharmacy. I then felt free to marry, thinking it was all behind me. I would lie awake at night wondering Why was I this way? This was a devastating diagnosis. I did not see a downside in that, but I was sent outside instead. I thought it would work. Mentioning anything girlish was met with an admonishment. But I also felt like I could breathe. I was sinking again in I saw that second therapist again after many years.

While pulling it over the barrel, I barked out gunshots. But it was also abundantly clear that any mention of interest in feminine clothing or activities was not acceptable. Huge step for me to tell anyone.

I rented a tiny office in Costa Mesa to store my wardrobe. Tons of girl talk and sharing of outfits for their dolls.

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Sometimes it was gentle, other times not so much. She was right. I dated more than women. Besides, guys from school would drive to Hollywood to harass transvestites. Not to anyone. But I still longed for a woman to be my soul mate. It is time to leave this behind.

High grades came easily, as did academic accolades and awards. So I asked her to go to my therapist with me. There was not a lot of tolerance to being different while growing up in the s in La Habra in the middle of Orange County. I truly felt that no one would know the real me. Nothing about being a boy felt natural. I knew about transvestites and drag queens. She noticed I was hanging on to these and insisted I throw them away.

Somehow, those feminine feelings really did seem to be gone. The illustrations of the girls and women in dresses were riveting. Something clearly was not right. After all, I was a boy. She asked Long beach woman adult married from day show it would feel if even one of my boys found out and I lost him. I had always been attracted to women. I had a wife and family.

I was expected to act like one.

My wife got her own therapist. All my feminine clothing, makeup and wigs were in there. I did it when I had the house to myself. I was totally stunned, I sat up straighter and thought maybe I finally had my answer.

I was raised Catholic and felt this secret of mine would certainly damn me. Whenever I saw a pretty woman, the draw to be with her was equally shared by the feeling I wanted to be like her. When I was 6, I found a string of fake pearls that Mom had tossed. I found a house a few miles away that was affordable for me and the boys, and we shared custody. It felt like I was adrift for 29 days and then would have one day of life. After listening to my story of a lifetime of struggle, she ran to the bathroom and vomited.

I felt like my survival and acceptance were based on what I could do as a young man. I could finally step up and have a normal, happy life. We actually congratulated one another on this incredible achievement. I stammered and started to cry as I tried to admit that I was a cross-dresser.

There was no way I could confess to any of the priests.

I had to go to a strip club to get the bad taste out of my mouth. So it was back to therapy with a new female counselor. It seemed like they were on to something, but I could not ever imagine going out in public dressed as a woman. My sister was around 10 when her girlfriends would come over to play Barbie dolls.

Being self-schooled in deception, I claimed it was a bandolier of bullets for my plastic Tommy gun. I had to be the leader, even when it came to selling new subscriptions to the Fullerton Tribune for my newspaper route. A big wedding and big dreams.

Mom threatened to make me wear a dress and play with them if I did not leave them alone. There was a feeling of want and fascination that kept me looking for hours. We had a third son. That was a knife through my heart.

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I noticed the way girls dressed, moved and spoke. It very much felt like a double life. Not to my mother, sister or family friends.

I loved being with my boys and would never let them know. Cold turkey.

Halfway through college, I sought out psychotherapy in hopes of easing a black depression. I would go there once a month. I raced through the requirements in any activity.

Who would question a frat guy, right? While being a father and working, I found time to meet other cross-dressers and eventually gave lectures at the local colleges for psych and human sexuality courses.

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I installed drywall and a locked door. I would watch and see what the other boys did, then mimic them. I built a hidden closest in the house by walling up an alcove that backed up to the master bedroom. I never, ever felt I earned or deserved any of them. Naturally, my sister was annoyed. I quit dressing again. As much as those picture books drew me in, they also haunted me.

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In Boy Scouts, I completed the Eagle Scout prerequisites so quickly as I turned 14 that the adults discussed whether this was too young to finish the program. No one would ever see me or know. But it did also feel like a solution. Driving out of my garage while dressed as a woman was nerve-racking, as I was still hiding it from everyone.