A boy lured by pantyhose
And garments that cling when they close
Rifles closets for dresses
And imagines long tresses
And hope he is not one of “those”
As a teen, with a pretty girlfriend
I arranged some new means to an end
When sometimes at playtime
Whats her's, I could make mine
Harmless fun, not a problem to mend.
Yes, blue clothes are less fun than pink
Soon sex and cross dressing are linked
Surely not something permanent
I’ll not grow old that bent
I'll contend I’ve a temporary kink.
These thoughts never quite go away
Watching women at work and at play
Their wardrobes are sexy
O, my longings perplex me
And I work hard to keep them at bay.
This work, done and always in vain
Doesn’t stick, do the trick, and it’s plain
That odd cross dressing sessions
Serve to fuel my obsessions
And to wallet are somewhat of a drain
Then 30, the surprise of my life
A meeting, a courtship, a wife
Love consuming, explosive and true
With the power to urges, undo
And to carve from me as with a knife
Our home, my laundry, her kitchen
Nice division of labor, no bitchin’
Filmy things though, they serve as a taunt
To try on, to feel, and to want
Then return, to my marriage, to pitch in.
Loving couples have so much to share
Secrets too, wrongly kept from truths glare
When we played (once or twice), with my feelings growing
with her limits found, with her fuse close to blowing
I said, I’m a Stallion, no Mare.
More a leopard though - unchanging spots
So stealthy, and not yet been caught
While En Femme, here and there, and so thrilled
To be “out” with fond wishes fulfilled
Briefly “hot”, then concealing in “not”.
I see now that I’ve built a cage
When I truly require a stage
For myself to uncover
And to share with my lover
What I do know, and should, by this age
This phase has now lasted a year.
So much learned, fine new friends, but I fear
That real fabric is tearing
In my life, and its wearing
Not sharing, and not being clear,
About this big part of my being
Without which I am not fully me-ing
In fairness, it's past time to engage
With my wife, with her anger and rage
Which may move her, and rightly, to fleeing
But dammit I do lack the nerve
I take a deep breath, then I swerve
From disclosing this truth
That’s been true since my youth
That I sought not, but want to conserve
Busy friends and cross dressers in blog land
With precious few moments now on hand
You've spent some, with these stanzas of verse
Just one left, so for better or worse
I must ask: how did you make your own stand?
Yes, your comments I seek in conclusion
So to read and to lessen confusion
Thoughts that help this cross dresser,
Help my Missus, god bless her,
And perhaps save the odd bruise or contusion.
With abject apologies to anyone who living or in the great beyond who has an actual talent for poetry.
Happy weekend - Petra