I've been reading how others began, with mixed emotions, some good, and some bad.
I'm sure this emotional roller-coaster will be familiar to all of you, as I think that we've all gone through it--I only wish that there was more ups than downs.
I wish also that I had the eloquence of some of the other members of this forum, and could express myself better.
My first experiment in CDing was about 3 or 4 years of age--it's hard to be more specific--but the beginnings clearly go back beyond then. It was from about this time that I first remember trying on my mother's underwear, and being aroused by it. I thought it was naughty, exciting, pleasurable, and frightening in a delicious sort of way, but I didn't understand why my penis would grow, apart from 'peter', as it was called in my family. And, yes, one day I was caught by my mother, and smacked hard, which only added to the emotional turmoil I was in.
I don't remember trying on any more undies until about the age of 11 or 12--again my mother's. Again the experience was naughty, exciting, pleasurable and frightening, all at the same time, but by now there was a new dimension--I had learned how to masturbate, and it was good!
About this time my mother started to make me sleep in her bed when my dad was working away from home. She would wear a flimsy see through nightie, and I would be in my flannelette pyjamas. I was aroused on these occasions, but I don't know if it was the nightie--I really fancied it--or my mother that did it, and in any event it made me feel very uncomfortable.
I then took to going out wearing my mother's best panties under my (short) trousers and showing them in public. Eventually I was caught by the police; I was 13 at the time. There was a court case, and I was given probation; it was harrowing.
All of this just added to the guilt and disgust I felt about myself, and there are times when these feelings just flood back to me.
It was 40 years later that I discovered that there was a history of child abuse in my mother's side of the family, and she had been a victim of psychological abuse, at least, though another family member was also abused sexually. It doesn't excuse what she did to me, however, nor can I forgive her for it.
My mid-teens through to my late 20's were spent saving to buy underwear, wearing it, then having a release, feeling guilty about it, and subsequently throwing all my undies away in disgust at myself.
Talk about low self-esteem, huh?
Throughout these years, I told every girl I went out with that I liked to wear undies, and I told them about my desires. I was being honest with them because they had a right to that, and I wanted to be accepted for what I am.
As you might guess, I didn't have many girlfriends, which only added to my lack of self-esteem.
Psychotherapy didn't help.
It wasn't until my mid 30's that I met a wonderful woman, who has accepted me for what I am, and allowed me to be myself. We have been together now for some 25 years, and it is with her help that I've come to realise that I am a decent human-being in my own right. Thanks to her, I like myself, whether I'm fully dressed as a man or a woman, and I enjoy being just what I am.
Forgive me, I've taken up a lot of your time, but please let me share one more thing with you by way of conclusion: even the bleakest of beginnings can have a happy resolution.
May peace be with you, and you live every moment to its fullest.
Caroline.
I just know I hated it to happen.