Words of Hate –
I hope that the stories on BC offer a better hope than this. But sometimes what we do and what we are does upset people - and some of then can't cope. And some of us can't cope.
“You’re disgusting. You revolt me. Dressing as a pretend-woman is a rejection of me as a woman. A rejection of everything that makes a woman separate and different from a man. What sort of man do you call yourself? What sort of pervert? What other disgusting things are crawling around your brain – you’re vile, revolting, evil, nasty.”
She took a breath – but only enough to keep going. “And you’re probably masturbating again. Getting some sort of repellent kick out of rubbing yourself with a pair of panties. They’d better not be mine. But they’d better not belong to anyone else. And if you’ve been buying or stealing them – then …. I can’t think which would be more revolting. And you’re getting out now. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what happens to you. I want you out of the house and as far away as possible before … before I can begin to think what happens next. As far as I’m concerned you’re out of my life. Whatever we may have had together – that was when you used to be a man. Not a pretend-woman prancing about or whatever you’ve been doing in stupid clothes that will never suit you.
Pause for a bigger breath – “And if I ever find any of your ‘stuff’ well it’s going to be sent straight to the solicitor. I’m not having a pervert in my life. God knows, because I certainly don’t, what nasty things you’ve been doing behind my back. Do you slither to your hiding place and grab a pair of panties as soon as I’m out of the house. What a pathetic waste of time and space I now realize you are. Not a man. Not a woman. Not a husband. Not a proper decent human being by any code of behaviour that I can think of.
“I’m sure the Bible says what we’re supposed to do to you and your sort. Probably something like ‘Death by stoning’ or ‘Expulsion’ or at least ‘Cut you off’. Not necessarily cut you off as in castrate – but that’s what I’ll do if I ever find you’ve been doing anything worse. But you’re cut off from everyone decent now. They’re going to have to know what sort of person you are – and they’ll judge me by that too. How could I be married to someone who does such ugly things as you? “
“I know now that you’re not a proper man – and you’ll never be a woman – so what are you – a homosexual, a sissy, what sort of man, eh. Obviously a pervert, that’s simple enough. But what’s been going on in your head while you’ve been pretending to love me over the years. You can’t love me if you want to be a fake-woman. What sort of person could be so two-faced, such a liar.”
............ “But …”
“Don’t you dare interrupt me with your feeble excuses about ‘you had to’, ‘something inside made you do it’ – that’s just excuses for nastiness. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about us. You don’t even care about yourself – ha, pretending to be a woman. Yuk. You’re ugly and rotten to the core. There can’t be any other excuse. I don’t believe in God like some people do – but I do understand Good and Evil. And what you’re doing and what you’ve - all too obviously - been doing is Vile. You’re usually the one that plays with words – but I’ll give you a few extras – appalling, abhorrent, contemptible, vile, nasty, ugly, wrong and all the rest. I have contempt for you. I abhor you. I hate you.”
“I don’t know whether what you’ve done to me counts as abuse in legal terms – but I promise you that I can see now how much I can feel of emotional abuse, psychological abuse, mental abuse and even sexual abuse. You have just by this ghastly pretence abused me and my sex. You have damaged everything we have done together. Thrown it away – like stinking garbage. And for that, you can go and rot too.”
“I feel I need to go and throw out everything that you might have touched. I feel I need to tell every single one of our friends that they have made a mistake in liking you – because you are a shell, a sham covering a depth of ugliness that they would be unable to comprehend. It’s the pretending that has ruined things. I know homosexuals. I know people who have implied that they have, let’s say ‘unusual bedroom behaviours'. But none of them have had a life of lying, pretending, looking like one thing but actually being a cesspool of nastiness underneath and inside. But that’s what you’ve been doing Deep and vile, hidden and corrupt.”
“And what have you been planning to do – you can pretend all you want – but everyone knows that if you are perverted in one thing then you are probably all other sorts of pervert too. Am I going to be accused of hiding and concealing a p**dophile? What other things lurk in your repellent mind. How vile is your heart?”
"I know others may have had the same disgusting surprise I have had – of walking in and finding evidence that there has been another woman in the house – and then the even more revolting realization that the thing in the house was a ‘pretend-woman’ – my husband dressing up in panties and so on. I don’t care about others. I don’t care about you. I care about me. And what you have done has hurt me. Worse than any woman can be hurt. I haven’t been hurt by a real person but by a pretend-woman, a fake."
“I don’t think I care any more. I know I don’t want you in my life or in my house any more. Get out. I’m going to be reasonable enough to let you stay on the premises tonight – but my door will be locked. You will not speak to me, you will not leave messages for me. You will collect anything you want from what is now my bedroom in the next ten minutes. You will then keep out of my way until 8.00 tomorrow morning when you will take your car and leave these premises permanently. You may communicate via email any purely business issues that need to be sorted. I see little point in donating money to solicitors – but I will be talking to our solicitor in the morning. I will give him the choice to work for me or for you. If necessary, I will find another – or else you will."
“This marriage is over. This partnership is over. This relationship is over. All smashed, broken, obliterated. Beyond repair. Beyond ....….. I’m so tired. I can’t think any more. You will not speak to me. You will not try to manipulate me with any grubby attempts at …...... oh, forget it. As I said, you have my bedroom available to you for ten minutes. Then you go to the spare room until you hear me lock my door. Get out of my way and keep out of my sight and get out of my life. You revolt me. Pervert. Thing. Fake. Liar.
In a way, my dilemma has now moved from the internal to the external – previously I knew I loved my wife and yet I loved – needed – wanted to dress up and feel somewhat feminine.
I had thought that I could balance both. That there was no need to make a decision.
Now, the decision had been taken from me. I was no longer impaled on the horns of a dilemma – I was abandoned. Or it felt like that. My own behaviour, my own needs, had caused this to happen.
Now, I did not see what future was left for me. And I could see that any future we might have had was now altered beyond recognition. Whether it was beyond repair – I could not tell. There had been times in the past when others had ‘hurt her dreadfully’ but on some of those occasions it was I that had calmed her down and persuaded her to give them a second chance. Now, it was my turn and I could see no way to be persuasive on my own behalf.
So now we move from ‘Reality’ and ‘echoes of Autobiography’ to ‘What happened Next? and ‘What would you do’.
I am not going to continue this – sorry folks.
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