The Tranny's story by Nicola
 
  As a transvestite form an early age, I was used to keeping certain activities secret. That's the way things had always been, be one of the lads, don't let anything slip, and in this I succeeded. Where I did make mistakes was in my home life, I could not bring myself to tell my girlfriend about my feminine side, this was my secret and my fear. My girlfriend had even once said that I, "was the most masculine person she knew," in my behaviour not my physical form!

  But one afternoon it all went wrong when my now pregnant girlfriend came home early and caught me dressed. What could I say? We spoke very little about it and I told my girlfriend just enough to calm her nerves and fears.

  We never talked about it again for thirteen years, now married with a teenage daughter and more accepting about myself and who and what I was. It was the internet that brought it home to me that I was not alone, I always knew there were others like me, but the number of TVs astounded me.

  It was hard to tell my wife all my secrets, even though she had known about me for the last thirteen years; she didn't know all the details. All the childhood memories and all those hopes and fears; it took me two days to tell her all the things on my mind and little things kept coming into my head for weeks afterwards.

  As time went on we started going out to TG friendly pubs and clubs in London, Leeds, Nottingham, Manchester and Sheffield. We made quite a few new friends, who took us to other pubs and clubs and we became regulars going out every weekend here and there.

  Whilst driving along one night on our way to Les Femmes in Sheffield we talked about telling our daughter about me being a transvestite. Was she old or wise enough to understand? She was thirteen at the time and we wondered if she would accept the fact that her dad wore women's clothes. In the end we decided not to tell her, as this was not the right time, if there ever was going to be a right time?

  We still went out on a regular basis, but we had to hide everything from our daughter. We are a close family, who share things with each other, so it was hard not to tell the truth, (don't get me wrong, I had become very good at not telling the truth over the years!)

  About a year later we had the same discussion again about telling our daughter, but this time we decided that we should tell her. So now it was just a matter of timing, we didn't want to tell her and upset any schooling or exams that were coming up. It was either tell her now or wait until after her exams were over, which could be a few years and then college, university?

  One night whilst I was busy doing something on the computer my daughter and wife were chatting in the other room. Then they went upstairs and a little while later my wife came down and said she had told her. I had thought we were going to do it together but my wife had decided it would be better coming from her. I asked what my daughter had said? My wife said she was crying but she was OK, she just needed a little time alone, obviously I felt awful.

  About five minutes later, my daughter came downstairs and gave me a big hug. With tears in her eyes she told me she loved me and she was sorry for calling me 'a girl', (something she did for a little bit of fun when I was acting camp around the house). It seamed as though she was OK with it and had taken it in her stride, as we thought she would. She must have had a million questions in her head, but now was not the right time to ask them.

  As the days and weeks past she wanted to know more and more, as I knew she would! I told her about my past and my childhood, how it had been difficult to keep things hidden and that I didn't want to hide it from her but I didn't want to hurt her by telling her.

  The last couple of years she has been great with things, she has matured beyond her years, I just hope we did not take her childhood away from her by telling her. I have become the target for many jokes around the house regarding make-up, perfume and shoes and regularly get called 'Imelda' after Imelda Marcos, the woman with all the shoes, though I don't think I have that many!
 
Nicola
 
Copyright 2005 Rose's Repartee Magazine