The story of Marsha
Posted: Tue Feb 05, 2013 5:45 pm
As I have been reading the stories of the many sisters, I have been drawn to take some time and consider mine, which is not something I have approached in the past.
Marsha was brought into existence on 18 June 1968. Not from any epiphany that I had, but from a name that my father called me when he felt I was acting like a sissy. I remember the day, because they were leaving for Palm Springs, and my sister had slammed a chair into my knee (To this day I swear on purpose) as you could probably imagine it hurt, and being a youngster, I cried. Dad loped me upside the head, and started calling me Marsha ( A dirivitive of my birth name. Some years later, I discovered that Marsha means “of Mars” the God of War, a fitting name for a Sissy).
Dad was a military man, and we moved to Europe shortly after their trip, and that is when I start having memories of a desire to dress in clothes not normally associated with male attire. Dad, being military, was deployed quite often for extended periods of time, anywhere from 4 to 9 mos or longer, at which time, it was my mother, sister and myself at home. When Dad would come home, he took the assumed male position (remember this was the late 60’s and early 70’s) as leader of the house. So after mos of being raised by my mother, (much more lenient than Dad) we had Atilla the Hun come home. All I saw my father as was a mean guy ( glad to say things have changed over the years, and I am very close to my father. No matter what anyone says about raising children, there are no experts, you do the best you can, and hope the breaks go their way) enough of that.
I started about the age of 7 or 8 putting on my mothers slips (I liked the half ones, the rubbed up against more of the legs). I was aware thing weren’t exactly run of the mill with me, when we used to look at the Sears and Roebuck catalog (old internet for you youngsters) all my friends were looking just at the boobs ( sorry if this is not exceptable) I was wondering what the bra would feel like to wear. (obviously eventually I found out).
As there was nothing eventful until I was 13, I will start there. By then we were back in the states, I stayed with my grandfather and grandmother quite a bit then, as I previously mentioned Dad didn’t seem to be too fond of me, and I wasn’t really fond of him. During one of those stays with my g’parents, a family member left he bikini drying outside my bedroom door. I don’t know why, but I had to try it on, and when I did, a calmness and comfort settled on me. ( I imagine that sounds strange, but I really don’t know how to describe how I felt). During the next few years I started my 1st collection of my sister and moms bra and undies, and started to experience guilt. (Christian upbringing) Several times I purged swearing to never do it again, only to find myself, when I needed Marsha, letting her come to the surface.
It was about this time, that I felt I needed to find answers, and at that time, there was no counseling, so I had to find an answer that works, but maintains my Christian foundation. I took several years, calling on Marsha when I needed her ( or at least that is what I thought I was doing). During this time I got married, had 3 children (whom I adore) 1 boy and 2 girls. My youngest is 5 yrs younger than the older 2, and when she was in 8th, my wife took off to be young again, leaving me with an 8th grade daughter. Sorry girls, raising a daughter through high school is better left to the GG’s, although I am happy to say she is in college, and realitively normal.
While it was her and myself living her, I found Marsha, not being looked for, but offering advice in my head ( no not crazy stuff) just things that would help a grieving little girl with heart break, that a Dad wouldn’t really know what to say.
So my conclusion is that in my, there is a cross, and an arrow, and the circle is the soul. There is neither without the soul. 80% of the time, I walk down the road, I am walking as both. (those who see me, won’t remember who or what walked by in 5 minutes) 20 % of the time, Marsha or the Arrow (my given name) take the lead.
I thought when I discovered this truth, I would win the internal war, but I discovered I only found out where the battlefield is. I have so much to learn to support my theories (please understand, these are theories on myself, not any others) and allow my life to be fuller with Marsha and the arrow work together.
I look at myself sexually as male, because I have never met a man, that I would want to pursue an intimate relationship, not that there is not one out there.
I hope you do not mind my ramblings, and if I repeated myself, Sorry watching Camelot with Richard Harris while typing.
May all your lives be blessed and your tears only those of happiness
With an open heart
Marsha
Marsha was brought into existence on 18 June 1968. Not from any epiphany that I had, but from a name that my father called me when he felt I was acting like a sissy. I remember the day, because they were leaving for Palm Springs, and my sister had slammed a chair into my knee (To this day I swear on purpose) as you could probably imagine it hurt, and being a youngster, I cried. Dad loped me upside the head, and started calling me Marsha ( A dirivitive of my birth name. Some years later, I discovered that Marsha means “of Mars” the God of War, a fitting name for a Sissy).
Dad was a military man, and we moved to Europe shortly after their trip, and that is when I start having memories of a desire to dress in clothes not normally associated with male attire. Dad, being military, was deployed quite often for extended periods of time, anywhere from 4 to 9 mos or longer, at which time, it was my mother, sister and myself at home. When Dad would come home, he took the assumed male position (remember this was the late 60’s and early 70’s) as leader of the house. So after mos of being raised by my mother, (much more lenient than Dad) we had Atilla the Hun come home. All I saw my father as was a mean guy ( glad to say things have changed over the years, and I am very close to my father. No matter what anyone says about raising children, there are no experts, you do the best you can, and hope the breaks go their way) enough of that.
I started about the age of 7 or 8 putting on my mothers slips (I liked the half ones, the rubbed up against more of the legs). I was aware thing weren’t exactly run of the mill with me, when we used to look at the Sears and Roebuck catalog (old internet for you youngsters) all my friends were looking just at the boobs ( sorry if this is not exceptable) I was wondering what the bra would feel like to wear. (obviously eventually I found out).
As there was nothing eventful until I was 13, I will start there. By then we were back in the states, I stayed with my grandfather and grandmother quite a bit then, as I previously mentioned Dad didn’t seem to be too fond of me, and I wasn’t really fond of him. During one of those stays with my g’parents, a family member left he bikini drying outside my bedroom door. I don’t know why, but I had to try it on, and when I did, a calmness and comfort settled on me. ( I imagine that sounds strange, but I really don’t know how to describe how I felt). During the next few years I started my 1st collection of my sister and moms bra and undies, and started to experience guilt. (Christian upbringing) Several times I purged swearing to never do it again, only to find myself, when I needed Marsha, letting her come to the surface.
It was about this time, that I felt I needed to find answers, and at that time, there was no counseling, so I had to find an answer that works, but maintains my Christian foundation. I took several years, calling on Marsha when I needed her ( or at least that is what I thought I was doing). During this time I got married, had 3 children (whom I adore) 1 boy and 2 girls. My youngest is 5 yrs younger than the older 2, and when she was in 8th, my wife took off to be young again, leaving me with an 8th grade daughter. Sorry girls, raising a daughter through high school is better left to the GG’s, although I am happy to say she is in college, and realitively normal.
While it was her and myself living her, I found Marsha, not being looked for, but offering advice in my head ( no not crazy stuff) just things that would help a grieving little girl with heart break, that a Dad wouldn’t really know what to say.
So my conclusion is that in my, there is a cross, and an arrow, and the circle is the soul. There is neither without the soul. 80% of the time, I walk down the road, I am walking as both. (those who see me, won’t remember who or what walked by in 5 minutes) 20 % of the time, Marsha or the Arrow (my given name) take the lead.
I thought when I discovered this truth, I would win the internal war, but I discovered I only found out where the battlefield is. I have so much to learn to support my theories (please understand, these are theories on myself, not any others) and allow my life to be fuller with Marsha and the arrow work together.
I look at myself sexually as male, because I have never met a man, that I would want to pursue an intimate relationship, not that there is not one out there.
I hope you do not mind my ramblings, and if I repeated myself, Sorry watching Camelot with Richard Harris while typing.
May all your lives be blessed and your tears only those of happiness
With an open heart
Marsha
