5 & 6

Happy New Year and Putting it to the test

Christmas has come and gone. Alex spent four glorious days wearing the soft luxurious fabric and deliciously feeling lingerie. Getting ready for work he almost doesn’t think about it as he reaches in the lingerie drawer. As a result, he has to admit to himself that this thing is growing on him. He tries to fight it and finds that he regrets his decision to abstain.

Authors Note: This story is complete and sitting on my hard drive. The novel is 49,188 words long in twenty chapters. I will be posting two chapters per week, roughly 5,000 words per post, on Fridays.

Alex comes home one day and his wife, Carrie, tells him of a problem in Mike and Lisa's marriage. Mike is his best friend since middle school. It seems that Lisa caught Mike cross-dressing and came unglued. She had come to Carrie looking for solace and support for divorcing Mike. But Carrie told her about a Phil Donahue show she'd seen as a teenager featuring married cross-dressers and said that cross-dressing really was no big deal.

Lisa was offended that Carrie wouldn't back her up and said, "If it was your husband, you wouldn’t think it was so cool," and left in a snit; part of her anger now directed at Carrie.

Carrie, on the fly, hatches a plan to help Lisa see that if it was her husband, she'd still think it was no big deal. Alex somewhat reluctantly goes along with it and discovers things about himself that he never knew existed.

When you consider the circumstances in my life, it’s easy to see how things turned out the way they did. My dad was killed in action in Afghanistan when I was eight. He was through with his active duty time and had joined the National Guard and his unit was called up when the Taliban launched a major offensive. There are no male relatives that I know of so I haven’t really had any male influence in my life since then.

Ron is a twenty something cross-dresser. As he grew up he witnessed the birth of the Al Gore’s “Information Super Highway”. And was an early participant in such groups as alt.fashion.crossdress and alt.support.crossdress. From the information garnered there, he’s convinced that if he’s ever to have a successful marriage he needs to tell his intended before he proposes. He’s tried three times and each time has resulted in each of them walking, if not running away.

Is there any hope? Can an understanding wife be found?

Graphic created by Patricia Marie Allen from pictures on pixabay.com

Authors note: This story first appeared in the “One Dozen Roses” anthology and has been edited to be read as a standalone.
You can read it in the anthology here.

This story was originally written by Julie, sometime in the 90s and posted elsewhere. I read it and liked the premise, but the ending didn't suit me. So for my own enjoyment, I rewrote the ending. Julie's end had Chrissy transitioning, mine is more like my life. When I was finished modifying the ending, I liked it so much that I couldn’t resist posting it, so…

"What have we here?" my mother asked as I stood admiring my legs in the heels my sister had offered to let me try walking in.

“I don’t know why you can’t dress like a girl. I mean, I’ve never seen you in a dress and you’ve lived next door for five years,” I told Susie, the tomboy that lived next door. She was my sister’s age, two years older than me, and I was starting to notice girls and she was one I noticed. Under her jeans (boys) and loose shirt, there was a good looking body. The only time you could tell was when she put on a swimsuit. “And you should do something with your hair and maybe wear some nail polish or somethin’,” I continued.

“Leave her alone Frank. She can dress how ever she wants. I don’t blame her. I like to wear jeans and sweatshirts too,” my sister defended.

“Yeah, you’re nearly as bad as she is. You only wear dresses sometimes, when there’s some kind of special occasion. You’ve got a drawer full of nice nighties and all you ever wear to bed is flannel pajamas. The only difference between you and Susie is you polish your nails. Susie never wears dresses,” I complained.

“I don’t always wear flannel pajamas.”

“Oh yeah; I forgot. During the summer, you wear Dad’s old T-shirt and Boxers. Real girlie. I’ll bet Susie wears that kind of thing year round.”

Susie whispered something to Karen, who nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” Susie said. “Let’s have a contest. I’ll bet that I can do everything you do and that you can’t do everything I can do. If you win, I’ll wear whatever you say for a whole week and fix my hair all girlie. I’ll even let you go first.”

“What if I lose?”

“Well then,” she grinned, “you’ll have to wear whatever I say all week.”

“What ever we say… I’ll even do it too. And you’ll have to do something with the sorry mop you call hair to make it look better. I don’t know where you get off talking about Susie’s hair. At least she washes hers,” my sister Karen insisted.