Restart

 Several years have passed since I opened up to Tamara. She did not remind of this story. Of course, I could not forget a second of this adventure, but everything remained inside me.

I entered a period of serious relationship with a real girl. All women's things were decisively thrown out. It seems that during this period, as well as during my military service, my feminine side calmed down. But the relationship which the girl did not work out, and by the age of 27 I returned to my nature again. And this return made me realize that everything is much more complicated than I could have imagined.

I did a lot of stupid things while changing, but it felt like a gamble. Every time I went out into the street, it was an emotional outburst, reaching trembling all over my body, risk and frustration. Wearing underwear hidden by men's outerwear is an imperceptible rebellion against everything unfeminine in me. But it seemed to me that I, already an adult, was able to control my actions and restrain my emotions. How wrong I was.

A short time later, after the end of the romantic relationship with the girl, a new cycle of clothing accumulation began. All I had - a combination and tights, fit into a small suitcase, which I kept at work, fearing that it might accidentally be found at home. Here, in this photo.

When I had the opportunity, I brought the suitcase home and changed for my pleasure. Daddy still lived with Tamara, and of course I used her clothes as well. But somehow there was no chance to remain alone for a long time, and I decided on a desperate act.

What power controlled me when on a weekend through the window I climbed into the room at work to briefly put on a shirt and tights and so briefly remain in almost complete darkness? The guards could catch me, they could see me through the window, the room was on the first floor. This act cannot be called reasonable, but it was categorically impossible to resist.

“Perestroika” began; there was an opportunity to earn extra money, which I spent on women's clothing. New cosmetics appeared on sale - foundation and cover stick.

It was still difficult to buy tights, but I bought a bodysuit, a belt for stockings, the same as those of my mother, which I really liked. I used foam to shape the thighs, and the breasts were created with water-filled balloons. The dressing process was not easy. Applying makeup using a lot of foundation was even more difficult. I tried to go outside, but usually at night. In the mirror, I seem to look pretty good, but on the street it happened that passers-by just stopped and looked at such a miracle with surprise. And I started a photo session in order to understand what actually the matter is and what I am doing wrong. I took into account the mistakes of recent times, put the mirror closer, and installed the backlight. It didn't work out better.

My shoes and underwear are already mine, but Tamara's robe is still there.

My sweater, Tamara's skirt.

I decided to show my legs.

Here is Tamara's blouse.

At some point, it seemed to me that even without a wig, I look quite feminine.

This is my suit, pink with white polka dots. I went to the store for several days in a row, trying to decide whether to buy this suit or the dark one that hung nearby. It seems to me that I was not mistaken.

I had a very memorable story with this suit, I'll tell you soon.

First twenty years.

 

The most vivid memories of early childhood relate to the desire to put on something that only girls wear. But at the same time I firmly knew that it was a terrible disgrace. I attributed the apron to the girlish things. In kindergarten, when I was 5 or 6 years old, for classes with clay we were given very simple aprons made of oilcloth, but there were one or two - beautiful, made and embroidered in a special way, which only girls wore. Being embarrassed to put on even a simple apron, I dreamed of putting on that beautiful. Once at home, I put on my mother's apron in the bathroom. It was up to my heels and I wrapped it twice. Suddenly my mother came in and laughed, but it was my dream come true and I tried on my mother's clothes for the first time and for the first time I got caught.

A little later, when I was in first grade at school, I began to secretly try on my mother's clothes. On the rare occasions when I was alone at home, I crawled into the closet and put on my mother's combinations, sometimes all at once. And nylon stockings, thin, slippery, which lay in a beautiful crunchy plastic bag. At that time we lived in the same room, in a communal apartment, and I, fearing that someone might peep through the keyhole, closed it with a piece of cotton wool. Somehow noticing a mess in the closet, my mother asked, turning to me: "Did you wear it?" I portrayed extreme indignation, how could such a thing be thought!

As time went on, I grew up. I could already wear my mother's shoes, but soon they became small for me. But the clothes, although they were long, began to fit me more and more. Nylon stockings and elastic belts were just a hit for me. But there was only one belt, and when my mother used it, I had to improvise with garters from gauze.

Tights were in short supply, and I so wanted to wear them. In the end, I just sewed stockings onto my panties. The panties were from my mother's two-piece swimsuit. It was very comfortable with him. Firstly, it was lying on the far shelf in the closet, and it could be taken away unnoticed for a long time. Secondly, the set also included a bra.

Mom caught me countless times, but all the strict words only worked for a while. Whenever possible, I tried to wear something from my mother's clothes. Sometimes in school there were stockings or even a combination under the uniform. Several times classmates noticed that a nylon stocking peeped out from under the trousers or laces were visible under the shirt, but, apparently, the morals were still simple, and these cases had no consequences.

And I fantasized continuously. The fashion of the late 60s and early 70s was cocky and I really enjoyed looking at fashion magazines. Every dress that I saw there, I mentally put on. I looked through the entire stack of magazines over and over again, each time playing up some story where they asked me, or even forced me to change. Sometimes the story was quite simple: I was a girl from the very beginning, and it was natural for me to wear beautiful dresses.

Now it seems completely incredible, but I even managed to go outside during the day. The only mom's shoes I had at the time were low rubber boots. I put on a synthetic cloak on top, tied a headscarf to hide my short hair, and went out for a walk. To be honest, I don't remember the details of this adventure, but everything ended well. It's amazing that even then and much later, going out into the street in women's clothing, I felt fear and most of all was afraid to meet someone. I don't know how to explain such a paradox: to go out as a girl and hide in dark corners, afraid to be recognized.

A little more about paradoxes. Once our whole family went to rest on the sea. Mom bought me shorts before the trip, but I read the label, which said they were girls shorts. There was no limit to my indignation. I categorically refused to wear them. The shorts went into the closet, and later I often wore them when I was alone.

It seems that I have tried on all the women's clothing that I could reach. In the summer, these were sundresses, dresses and swimsuits of my aunt, in the rest house, things of my roommate.

Mom died tragically when I was 17 years old. I was in my senior year. I kept some of my mother's clothes and it seems that from that moment on I was always wearing something made of women's underwear. During the day at school, at night in bed. That year I already went to college, I even tried to sew a dress and a skirt myself. I sewed the skirt according to the pattern in the magazine. It turned out to be very long and narrow. Not at all what I expected. I had to shorten it first to my knees, and then completely to mini.

I was still afraid to buy women's clothing in the store. Several times, having plucked up the courage, waiting until there were no other buyers, I bought myself stockings. Buying stockings in those days did not happen quickly. The saleswoman opened the package; spread the stockings to show the buyer that they were free of defects. After that, they were packed again in a plastic bag. All this time, I was barely alive with fear, confident that everyone around was looking at me and knew that this boy was buying himself stockings.

And then my father left for a few days and, for some reason, my grandmother stayed with me. Probably, I was considered not yet independent enough. We lived in a two-room apartment - I had my own room. In it, I prepared for the entrance exams and wore a dress, putting on my home clothes only when I left the room. In addition to the dress, I had my mother's skirt, which I shortened in half, tucking the hem inward, and a lace blouse. I used my mother's two-piece swimsuit as my underwear. There was also a garter belt, which I myself had already saved and restored from things intended for disposal. But I didn't have any shoes. And as without shoes, the image is not complete.

And so, having collected some money, I went to the store. In the window I saw a pair of inexpensive sandals and decided to buy. Just so that they would not think that I was buying for myself, I decided to name the size smaller. With sandals, this is possible. I, holding my breath, walked up to the saleswoman and said: "For me, please, these sandals are size 37". And she replies: “There is no thirty-seventh, there are 35 and 38. Well, of course, then I should have said 38. But I blurted out of fear: “Come on, 35”. I have no idea what the saleswoman was thinking. I grabbed the purchase and just ran out.

There weren't even disappointments at home. I finally have my own shoes! I put on all the best I had: nylon stockings and a silk dress. I walk around the room, but I can't even go up to the large mirror - my grandmother is at home. She sits on the couch in another room, watches TV and seems to be napping. I slipped past her and sat down in a chair. From the sofa, because of the high back of the chair, you can't see how I'm dressed there. I’m sitting supposedly watching TV, actually admiring my feet in new sandals.

Suddenly the grandmother said: "But I look, I don't understand what kind of girl is sitting." I froze with fear. The grandmother exclaimed: “Sasha! Do you wear women's shoes? “I had to get up and show that I was wearing not only shoes, but also a dress. Now I know it's called "Coming Out". Grandma didn't ask what, how, why. She simply said, "If you like to dress like that, you can wear this dress at home."

We agreed that my grandmother would not tell anyone, and at home I was already openly wearing only women's clothing. My grandmother no longer paid attention to how I was dressed: no emotions, no comments - nothing ... It was even insulting, for me it was a big event, but for her it was a common thing.

But my grandmother scolded me very much for the cigarettes and made me throw out the whole pack at once.

But after my dad, who unexpectedly returned from work, saw me in a dress, I had to throw everything out.

The pause did not last long. In the summer, I managed to earn some money, which I spent on buying women's clothing. I bought a bodysuit and a wig from a thrift store. I was looking for an opportunity to buy a dress for a long time. I walked past the hanger several times, trying to make out the dress, but didn’t stop so as not to attract special attention. Somehow I chose the moment, right before closing, when there were no more buyers, I bought it, as if at the request of my sister, although I didn't have to explain the reasons for the purchase - well, the saleswoman did not care at all. It was a green dress with embroidery on the chest. This was my first dress.

There were a lot of things, and I kept them in a cardboard box, and then in a suitcase, in an automatic storage room at the station, transferring from cell to cell every 3 days. The next summer I worked at a construction site, and there was an opportunity, under a plausible pretext, not to spend the night at home. But I had no idea where to change until I saw a suitable place on the southern outskirts of the city, near the pipes of the heating main, not far from the road, but behind the bushes, it seemed I was no longer visible. I doubted and was afraid, but in anticipation of the evening I went to the cinema, where the plot involved a moment with changing clothes (Breakout, movie 1975, but I watched in 1979, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0072737/). I thought it was a sign and made up my mind. So, in the evening, I went to the pipes of the main pipeline and changed my clothes on a small section of the concrete foundation (the only clean place). I was wearing grace, stockings, a dress, a wig, high-heeled shoes, and a handbag. I put my clothes in a box and just left there by the pipe. It was August and it was getting dark early. I walked the streets for quite a long time without attracting attention to myself, but, truthfully, without going into crowded places. One thing is bad. I practically did not know that area and caught myself very late at night on the road, far from houses. First, one car slowed down, I waved my hands that it was not necessary, I would go there myself, although I had no idea where to go. Legs from heels began to hurt, there was nowhere to sit, only the road and the field all around in pitch darkness. In general, when another car stopped and offered to give me a lift, I agreed. Two guys went, one started a speech that, they say, we guys are good, went to visit. However, as soon as residential buildings appeared ahead, I said that I had arrived and jumped out of the car. Then I was 21 years old and just amazing naivety. However, hardly anyone could have imagined that at night a guy dressed in women's clothes could walk the streets. Everything ended well that night. I walked up; the rest of the night sat on the bench, taking off my shoes.

But other exits have seriously undermined my confidence. The next time I arranged such a walk: after work late in the evening, when we all went home together, I returned to the locker room, to my secret drawer under a plausible pretext. I changed into a dress and went home, where I changed again on the stairs and came home as usual. Somewhere in the middle of the road next to me a car slowed down, and the driver, opening the door, asked: "Let's go?" I said no, but then he said: "Oh, what a man worth." His girlfriend looked at me and scolded him: "What are you?" He left laughing, but I was not at all funny. It's so easy to expose me from afar at night …

And after another incident, he completely stopped going outside. In those days, leatherette coats came into fashion. It was so shiny and looked so great that I bought it. And so, in the fall, I went out of the house at night. On the street, I met two girls and bravely walked alongside them. When I looked around, I saw that they were looking after me and laughing merrily. It convinced me that I didn't look like a girl and everything is very bad.

Green suit from crimplene

Several years have passed since the story about "coming out". Tamara didn't mention this story. I, of course, could not forget a second of this adventure, but everything remained inside me. I was trying to build a relationship with a girl, a work colleague, and I threw out all the women's stuff. But the relationship did not work out and I began to slowly restore the women's wardrobe.
The history of this dark green suit is most accurately dated to 85-86. In those days, the topic of homosexuality, not to mention TG/TS / TV/CD, was closed in the USSR and I had no idea what was happening to me and how to explain the desire to be like a woman. And I lived and changed in spite of my own " common sense."
I didn't have my own outerwear at the time, and this Tamara suit was practically the only top women's clothing in the house.

I also had cheap gray sandals with low heels. Something else from women's underwear. Especially remembered nylon stockings. Then they were produced with a drawing in a line along the entire length. So I had these with cubes. It was summer, but the nights have been already dark.
One night I was drawn to the street.
Appearing on the street, in public, is probably a separate topic of conversation. On the street, the excitement, if it was, immediately passes. Only fear remains. "Sense of danger" doesn't sound so offensive. You try to avoid meetings. If people pay attention to you, the first thought is to hide. But if you don't arouse suspicion, it's a great feeling. So, the goal is close, and if I'm not becoming, then at least I look like a woman.
I walked down our street. You can stay in the shadows there. Then there was a difficult place, You need to go through a wide Avenue. Then follow the path along the Avenue to the next street. And even on it, though the yards to the lake, surrounded by alleys, where, in the shade, and you can walk. I had a plastic bag where I threw my cigarettes, a mirror, and some makeup.
 The adventure began on the path along the Avenue. The path is about six meters away and passes through the trees along the construction fence. I was turning into the next street when I caught a glimpse of a taxi that was slowing down too fast at the intersection. Well, don't turn around! I'm coming, I hear someone following me. I'm on the other side of the street. When I cross the street, I look back - some guy. I crossed over and he followed me. That's when it became very scary. I run into the first front door and fly up almost to the roof. I hear him coming in, too, and stopping on the floor below.
What to do? Nowhere to go. I stand there, trembling all over. It's quiet downstairs. I must have stood there for an hour, afraid to move so that the plastic bag wouldn't make a noise. At the bottom silence. The guy doesn't leave. Well, I was starting to come to my senses. I can't stand here forever. Hell with it. He knows I'm here anyway. I sat on the windowsill and lit a cigarette. That guy, maybe out of fear, seemed huge to me. I'm wearing heels. I'm not very stable. But the situation is hopeless, I have to go down and pass it.
I clenched the lighter in my fist and started down the stairs. The guy is standing at the bottom, pressed against the wall and does not block the road. Bared his cock and shows me opening-closing the tip. I pass as if I don't notice, though my eyes must have been like saucers of surprise. I live on the street. Where to? I can't go home! He catches up and asks something neutral, like, " What time is it?"or something else. I'm scared to death, whispering in the highest possible pitch, " Go away. I'll scream!". The guy went somewhere to the side.
I thought it was all over well. Just in case, I decided not to go to the house yet, so that no one would follow me and find out where I live. I went out onto the Avenue and walked along the sidewalk along the houses. Without moving away or approaching my house. I've calmed down. I walked slowly and looked at my reflection in the windows. Suddenly I hear that someone is following me!!!
I am almost running, until I reach a street where I can turn into the shadows. Then I realized that my heels were clattering. I turn into a street that looks like it's too far away to see me. I went from the asphalt to the lawn, past some garbage dumps, through the bushes, winding in different directions. I think that he will lose me, will not find me. I'm wearing a dark green suit. Only the face and legs are visible in the dark. Yes, this package is white. I'll run, get up, listen-quietly. I'll run again, quiet again. Well, I think I ran away, and he lost me.
I sat down on a bench near one of the houses. I think if I hear him coming again, I'll hide in the house. It's getting lighter and morning is coming . I'm going home, there will be a lot of people on the street soon. Suddenly, quite silently, my "vis-a-vi" appears on the track . Passes by the house and asks me in a dissatisfied voice something like "do you have Matches?". In General, something that I had to answer either "Yes" or"No". I no longer have the fear or the strength to run.
He looked at me and went on his way. Apparently he got a better look at me. I sat still. Made sure the guy left. I went home quietly, looking around the yards. That's what he was-my first "admirer".

This photo was taken ten years after the adventure.

Another story is connected with this dress.

After mom died, dad didn't date anyone for a very long time, and we didn't have any women at home.  When I got back from the army, I found out that my dad had met Tamara. She lived in another city, but often came to work in our city and stayed at our house, sometimes for a few days. Tamara was about 40 years old, but I saw in her an adult woman who seemed much older than me. To my joy, women's clothing appeared in the house that matched my size. Of course, I wore her clothes in secret. But I kept my secret strictly from both dad and Tamara.

And then one day my father went away for a few days, and Tamara, so inopportunely for me, came. I wore lingerie and tights under my usual home clothes, but I really wanted to change completely. I made up my mind. I started telling Tamara a made-up story that I had argued with the girls at work that I would change into women's clothes. But before I saw them, I want Tamara to look at it and tell them if it's going to look too bad. This story looks dubious and certainly not original. But at the time, it was completely new to me and unexpected for Tamara. Consent was obtained, and I quickly changed my clothes. I was wearing underpants with foam padding to add volume to my thighs, a bra stuffed with rags, the only non-torn tights, shoes, and a pink dress. Wig, clip-on earrings, lipstick and bright blue eyeshadow. It was fashionable then.

And so I went out from my room. I was just shaking with fear, but Tamara took the situation calmly and even a little prosaic. She examined me, said that it turned out well, but I need to " walk around, get used to it." Now, after reading a lot of real and fictional stories on the Internet, I constantly see that this story is repeated countless times.

I begged her not to tell dad anything. Tamara promised to keep the secret. She also said that she did not see anything unusual in dressing up, and that her first husband wore women's clothing when guests were present.
Further, however, I did not know what to do and events were already developing under the control of Tamara. She asked me what I was wearing, what clothes I still had.
Then she asked me to go to the grocery store and buy a bottle of wine. I had to dress back and I thought the party was over.

But then she asked me to change and put on a bodysuit and stockings. She didn't wear a tight-fitting garment herself, and she wanted to see what it looked like on me. Wow! I changed quickly. And although times were still chaste, I decided that there was no reason to be shy about showing a women's underwear to woman. As something strange, perhaps, on me looked modified cowards, for adding volume to the thighs with a zipper to the fanny. For a very long time afterwards, I remembered this exit with delight. And I wished I had thought to wear a short Tamarin robe to make the show even more spectacular with a small element of Striptease.

Tamara gave me an appraising look, complimented me on my figure, and told me to put on a dress.
Under the dress I wore a petticoat with lace at the hem.
Well, it's late in the evening, we sit next to each other on the couch, watching TV and Tamara explains to me such a feminine trick that when you sit leg over leg, the skirt hem should be slightly pulled up so that there are laces of the petticoat. Somehow I didn't notice this for the girls, but if it is necessary, then it is necessary, and I carefully pulled up my skirt so that the edge of the lace was visible. I experienced a very unusual feeling when she stroked my knee.

Then Tamara let me wear her skirt and shirt. Well, then she offered to undress at all. This was my very first sex in my life, helpless, because I only had a very General idea of how it happens.

Never before, and never since, have had I missed the sex. All my fantasies ended with dressing up. I've come up with a lot of daydreams where I've had to change my clothes, either willingly or unwillingly, but it's never been about sex.

The next day, Sunday, I was confused and didn't dare change my clothes. But on Monday, I changed my clothes right from the morning before Tamara left for work. Allegedly, the resolution of the dispute was scheduled for this day. But I just wanted to show her again.

The first photos

In 1980, when I turned 21, after three and a half years at the Institute, I joined the army. For me, it was a psychologically difficult time that left very scary memories. My transgenderism played a significant, if not decisive, role in these events. Studying was difficult for me and my focus on crossdressing up was probably the reason I stopped attending classes.
Service in the army, in the North, is quite an extreme adventure and the problems with dressing up are forgotten. But as it turned out, only until the moment of returning home.
When we left the army, we were given a fairly decent amount, about two average monthly salaries. Everything was spent on women's clothing!

Although it was not easy to get up the courage, but I bought the necessary underwear. There was a bra and even a Shapewear bodysuit. Then I started thinking about being more like a woman. Looking at pictures with classical statues, I tried to calculate the proportions of the female figure with a ruler. To create the hips, a design was sewn from two corrective underpants, larger and smaller, with a layer of foam between them. The waist was formed by tightening the cord. 
To be able to use the toilet, a long zipper was sewn into the underpants. Everything was bought in second-hand stores without fitting, so the shoes again went wrong. But in those moments when I was alone, changing clothes, I spent hours walking around the apartment trying to learn to walk in heels. The only dress was pink, made of a light, silky fabric.
I was too shy to be photographed in a bodysuit, This photo shows a little bit of how I look in a swimsuit.

The very first photos I took through a mirror, which had to be put far away to reflect completely. The images were small and fuzzy. This is what I looked like in the very first photos I took.