The Bad Years
Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 12:43 pm
In high school, I envied the girls and their clothes and wished I could be them. But I had to settle for being in the band and getting punched by football players on a fairly regular basis. The cheerleaders, however, became my friends and confided in me about their boyfriends.
In college, I envied the girls and their clothes and wished I could be them. In four years, I learned how to write and I learned the meaning of the word "longing." The women I met? Once again, I was their friend instead of their pursuer.
For nearly four decades, through three failed marriages, I dreamed of being, longed to be and wished to be a woman.
There were times, like in Navy boot camp, that my dreams were all that kept me alive. Surrounded by the worst kind of masculinity, I closed my eyes and imagined myself as a pretty girl to get through the pain.
After I got out of the Navy, I had to content myself with sneaking around and wearing clothes belonging to my mother, her sister, my girlfriends, lovers and wives for a few precious hours, now and then.
(To this day, the sound of the front door opening or a car door slamming shut makes me tense up, remembering the times I had to quickly get out of the woman's clothing and into my own.)
Kathryn
http://kdcleve.blogspot.com/
In college, I envied the girls and their clothes and wished I could be them. In four years, I learned how to write and I learned the meaning of the word "longing." The women I met? Once again, I was their friend instead of their pursuer.
For nearly four decades, through three failed marriages, I dreamed of being, longed to be and wished to be a woman.
There were times, like in Navy boot camp, that my dreams were all that kept me alive. Surrounded by the worst kind of masculinity, I closed my eyes and imagined myself as a pretty girl to get through the pain.
After I got out of the Navy, I had to content myself with sneaking around and wearing clothes belonging to my mother, her sister, my girlfriends, lovers and wives for a few precious hours, now and then.
(To this day, the sound of the front door opening or a car door slamming shut makes me tense up, remembering the times I had to quickly get out of the woman's clothing and into my own.)
Kathryn
http://kdcleve.blogspot.com/