Life Of A Crossdresser With Wife - Part 4

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Eventually, we both cried ourselves out and talked our way through the rest of the night. We both apologized for the things we did and the things we didn’t. We talked about things that were silly and things that we're serious, but we never talked about my desire to dress in women’s clothes. As the sun came up I knew that we were both committed to making this marriage work and that neither of us had the foggiest idea of how to do it.

Kathy broke our embrace and said she was going to try to get a little sleep. On her way out the kitchen, I blurted "If you want, I’ll promise I’ll never dress again." I don’t know if I could have backed that up, but I meant it.

"I don’t want that, honey," And she went upstairs to bed.

I puttered around the kitchen for a while, cleaning up and then stepped out on the porch with a bottle of chilled Chardonnay and a handful of Miles Davis CDs. I know it was 7am, but I figure that since I hadn’t been to bed the rule against drinking before noon didn’t apply. As I sipped the wine and listened to the muted tones of Davis’ trumpet, the chaos whirling around my mind began to settle into patterns. By the time "All Blues" rolled around (the fourth disc on the changer) I knew what I wanted to do and I allowed myself to fall asleep, the morning sun shining on my face, but not shining any brighter than my smile.

The next Sunday, I slept in a little later than usual so Kathy got up before me. After she went downstairs, I showered and shaved (beard, legs, and pits) and got dressed – panties and chemise under Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and a sea-green polo shirt that L.L. Bean sold only in women’s sizes. I put on boat shoes with no socks and went downstairs, getting ready to appear dressed in women’s clothes in front of Kathy for the first time in months. The only thing was that unless you knew the signature Gloria Vanderbilt stitching on my butt and you looked closely enough to notice that the three buttons on my shirt buttoned the "wrong" way, I don’t think anyone could have noticed.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and popped a couple of English muffins in the toaster and grabbed a part of the paper that Kathy had finished. We made small talk for a while and lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"Do you trust me?" I asked her out of the clear blue sky.

"What? Of course, I do." She looked confused.

"I mean, do you trust me enough to try an experiment, no questions asked?"

"Sure. Yes." She paused. "You know I do."

"OK then, it’s settled." I slammed my coffee cup down on the table like a judge pounding a gavel. "Let’s go."

"Where?"

"You’ll see," and I swept the dishes into the sink, threw the papers into the trash (no recycling for this impulsive fool!) grabbed the car keys, and held the door open for Kathy. "After you, my sweet."

Kathy reached for her purse and I knocked it away. "You won’t need that," I said smartly.

"I’m not going anywhere looking like this," and I could see her point. She was dressed in a very faded, formerly white Cape Cod sweatshirt, faded navy sweatpants, and grayish Keds, but that’s what she always wore on Sunday mornings so I guess I didn’t notice.

"You look just fine dear," I lied.

"And I haven’t even brushed my hair!"

"You can do that in the car. Let’s go."

She huffed and began to sit down. "You said you trusted me…"

Having played the trump card, she glowered at me (but I did detect a hint of a smile) and stomped out to the car.

There are four malls in our area. One is anchored by a supermarket on the southern edge of town and has a liquor store, dry cleaner, and a couple of specialty stores. Another is across the street from a Walmart and has a couple of discount stores, a hardware store, a drug store, and a bank. I hardly ever went to those two. The other two malls are on opposite corners of the intersection of the interstate and the turnpike on the eastern edge of town. Those were the big malls. That’s the direction we headed.

We stopped first at the large, enclosed mall. As we headed from the car to the mall, I slid my hand across her back. "Oh good," I said. "You’re not wearing a bra."

The look she gave me could have penetrated a two by four at four hundred paces. I just giggled silently.

Our first stop was at Under It All, a store that specialized in foundation garments, swimwear, lingerie, and so on. As we entered, the owner, Loretta, spotted me and waved from across the counter. "Hi Mark, is this Kathy?"

"Yes Loretta and she’s all yours. I don’t think she’s had a properly fitting bra since before we married." Kathy’s face flushed deeply, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or from being furious at me. "Once you figure out her sized right, I think she’ll need several," I said to Loretta as if Kathy wasn’t even there. "A couple with smooth cups for T-shirts, a couple of really pretty ones and some for every day. I’ll look out here for some other things."

With that, Loretta took Kathy firmly by the elbow and led her to the dressing rooms and I turned to other pursuits. While Loretta and Kathy were occupied, I picked out a half dozen new panties in colors and with trims that Kathy would never have dreamed of picking out for herself. I also picked up a pair of girdles, one long leg and one a regular panty-girdle. I frequently wear a girdle and Kathy and I are only two sizes apart, but my problem is the waist and her problems are tummy and thighs. Finally, I added two darling camisoles, one in ivory and one in white.

It took a while, but eventually, Kathy emerged from the dressing room with an armload of bras and one set of tags (which meant she was wearing one of her selections). As we were waiting for Linda (one of Loretta’s assistants) to ring up the sale ($285.45, by the way – outrageous!), Kathy whispered in my ear "You were right, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to kill you anyway." Then she saw Linda folding the girdles and placing them in the bag. I could almost feel the heat from her glare.

Our next stop was my favorite clothing store, Laura Brown’s. Catherine, the manager, wasn’t working on Sunday but Carmen, the assistant manager was. We greeted each other and I tried to introduce Kathy to Carmen but Kathy was remaining sullenly silent.

I explained to Carmen that Kathy’s employer had a dress code that stipulated navy and white and that Kathy’s wardrobe thus consisted of a bunch of boring straight-line knee-length navy skirts with simple white blouses and maybe a navy vest or two for "variety." I wanted to get her a couple of outfits that were more stylish and professional, along with a couple of things for the weekend and evenings.

Again, Carmen and I talked as if Kathy weren’t even there, and since Kathy refused to do anything but open her eyes wider and wider and she stared at me and blushed, I figured I had no other choice but to keep talking. Carmen steered Kathy around the racks as she talked to me and led us to their career wear section. The first thing she pulled out was a pair of high-waisted, tailored navy pants. She paired this with an ivory rayon blouse with a banded collar and plackets across the breast. After leading Kathy to the dressing cubicle, she picked out a gold chain belt and a matching, collarless jacket to go with the pants.

Kathy was in there a long time and I had to go in after her. I slipped the belt around her waist and put her arms in the jacket (Kathy seemed to be doing a rag-doll imitation) and then almost dragged her out to stand in front of the three-way mirror.

"That looks very sharp on you," Carmen said. "Very sharp."

"I’ve always known you looked beautiful," I whispered in her ear. "I want everybody else to know it too." I kissed her softly on the neck.

Kathy just stared into the mirror, the anger gone but I wasn’t sure what replaced it. After a minute or so, she started twisting her hips a bit and I could swear I saw her eyes moisten.

"I hope you don’t think we’re finished," I said to Carmen, as I gently shoved Kathy back towards her cubicle. We were just beginning.

By the time we left, nearly 90 minutes later, Carmen and I had picked out a long, soft navy skirt (matching the jacket) that was nearly ankle length with a muted floral pattern of whites and greys, a dress made of the same material and a slim cut calf-length navy skirt with slits up the side. That skirt made me glad I picked up a girdle for her, and I was sure that eventually, Kathy would see it the same way. We also chose a soft navy cardigan, three white blouses with varying degrees of detailing, and three pairs of navy pantyhose and three pairs of black, both of a quality far better than the supermarket stuff Kathy usually bought.

The more she tried on, the more Kathy seemed to relax and when she tried the dress on, I could tell that she was working hard at suppressing a smile. The dress was the last "professional" thing she tried. "That’s enough of this," she said. Then she amazed us both by grabbing an ankle-length, multicolored (it looked like a patchwork quilt, almost) broomstick skirt and trying that on. When she came out, she picked out two more in different patterns and then four solid T-shirts in complementary colors.

Finally, as we headed to the counter to pay, she grabbed a pair of khakis and an olive camp shirt and added them to the pile. "These’ll probably fit. I don’t think I need to try them on."

As Carmen was ringing up the sale, Kathy took my hand and gave it a squeeze. That gesture alone convinced me I had done the right thing today (and as the bill came to over $600, I needed a little convincing). Right before the amount showed on the register, Kathy returned my kiss on the neck and I was happier than I’d been in months.

Before we left the mall, we also picked up two pairs of new pumps with 1" heels, one in navy and one black, a pair of strappy black sandals with a low heel, and a similar pair of flat sandals. Better than your grandmother’s sensible shoes, for sure.

As we left the shoe store, I had to make a couple of changes in our itinerary. Instead of looking around in the big mall, I lead Kathy out to the parking lot where we loaded our purchases into the trunk and headed across the street to M’Lord & M’Lady, a hairdressing salon where I’ve been getting my hair cut for years. It’s a unisex salon and I’ve developed a nice relationship with Tamara and Beth-Anne, the two owners. I’d called ahead to tell them what was going on and after the experiences in Laura Brown’s and Under It All, I don’t know what Kathy expected here. This time, though, I’d told Tamara (who was working this Sunday) that all I wanted was to have Kathy’s hair softened a bit – to have her made prettier without making too many permanent changes. After all, it was one thing to change the clothes, it’s quite another to change the hair. While Tamara was getting her prepped and ready, her manicurist, Kim started working on her nails. It took a while, but when she and Tamara were done and Kathy looked in a mirror, we were both immensely pleased at the subtle, but very noticeable differences.

The drive home seemed to be instantaneous. It’s really about 30 minutes and I know we chatted inanely, but it seemed as if we got home 10 seconds after we left the hair salon. We hustled the bundles into the bedroom and Kathy began to put things away.

I went downstairs, made a big Caesar’s salad (with anchovies) and a couple of gin and tonics, and put some Debussy and Ravel in the CD changer. When I went upstairs with the drinks, Kathy was wearing the khakis and camp shirt and the tailored pants hugged every curve of her butt in a most delightful way and I could tell that Kathy loved it as much as I did. I’d never seen her dally in front of a mirror but there she was.

She saw me in the mirror and smiled. "I got a present for you," and she tossed me a couple of things – one of the broomstick skirts and the black T-shirt. Apparently, when she picked them out, one of the skirts and one of the T’s were in my size. I slid out of my jeans and pulled up the skirt (I loved it, by the way – it was perfect for me) and then pulled off my shirt and replaced it with Kathy’s T-shirt. I stepped back so she could admire me.

She smiled and then rushed forward and hugged me with more passion and strength than any time since we’d been married. The ensuing kiss was delicious beyond words.

Eventually, we took our drinks down to the patio, where we watched the sunset as we ate our salads and talked about nothing at all. We eventually made it to the bedroom, but I have to tell you that the next morning, my skirt, her shirt, her bra, and my panties were all found in different rooms.