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.