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� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.

�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.

�hates: Microsoft. Obviously.

�reads:
secret-motel
artgnome
enfinblue
stepfordtart
ten-oclock
boombasticat
lawliiet
annanotbob
fifidellabon
my-serenade

Lynn Jones
Becky
Samantha

Telling Victoria. Sort of.
11:15 a.m. -- 2008-07-07

Although I hadn't explicitly told Victoria that I was a cross-dresser, I was able to indulge my tranny urges, courtesy of her uninhibited attitude to sex.

I remember once, after we had been together a few months, asking her if she had any fantasies I could help her out with. I was interested to know what made her tick. She was actually unable to tell me anything that she wanted to do... at that time, anyway. But she countered with 'How about you?'

'Ah... nah. Not really,' I stammered, but she pursued the issue. Within a couple of minutes, I'd come out with it: 'I'd like to wear your underwear.'

She didn't bat an eyelid. Handed me a pair of knickers, and climbed back into bed.

Gosh.

I asked for a bra as well. This she found a little baffling, but as I have said before, tranny dress sense isn't the same as womens' dress sense. Real women don't wear a bra to bed, and if they were wearing one during sex, it would probably soon get discarded.

Still, okay... a bra was duly handed over.

I was actually in two minds about the whole thing. Really scared that I'd just crossed a boundary that would lead (as it had with Lucy) to my lover having doubts about me, no longer fancying me... whatever. After a few minutes of kissing and cuddling, I actually removed the underwear and we had some 'vanilla' sex instead.

What? No tranny heroin rush? No stupendous rush of lust?

Nope. Life is funny, isn't it? You're fascinated by something for ages, and then when you have it within your grasp, you realise you actually want something else. Well, it's complicated.

Still, it wasn't all bad. I'd faced down my demons, and stayed in control. I hadn't freaked out the lovely Victoria. A little later, she did ask me why I'd wanted to wear her underwear. Fortunately, I'd come to understand my cross-dressing a lot better over the years. Thus, I didn't use the stock Tranny Mafia answer, that it was a side of my personality that needed to be allowed free rein from time to time (and which could actually be a really good thing, bringing us closer together, et cetera...) Instead I told her:

'I don't know, really. It's just a kink. It turns me on.'

And that's the truth. I don't need a fully-formed feminine side. It would appear that some people do, at least at some time in their life. There are websites full of tranny autobiographies, complete with photos and details of tranny-themed social events... but that's not what I need.

All I needed, in fact, was Victoria.

There were other times when my tranny urges were indulged, and with greater success than that first time. It wasn't to become an everyday occurrence, but there were some good times ahead. Probably one time in fifty, my transvestite urges would manifest themselves outwardly, like the time I borrowed the 'Rock Chick' pants I'd just removed from her, and wore them while giving her some oral attention. She didn't mind a bit!

('Rock Chick' was a range of nightwear available from Ann Summers. Like everything of theirs, the quality was iffy and the taste was questionable... but Vicky enjoyed an occasional slutty romp... and I had no complaints.)

At other times, I'd find it useful to imagine myself in lingerie while we were making love. Maybe if it was the third time, and I was struggling to reach a climax (hey, I'm not getting any younger...) I'd imagine her tracing the line of my bra straps with her fingertips, or snapping my suspender belt.

Peter Pan's happy thought makes him fly. Mine is cross-dressing, and it helps me over the edge when I'm chasing a difficult orgasm.

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