Times, They Are A Changing

The Fallout From Last Week

I mentioned that my fiancee was very upset at my newfound passion for crossdressing in public. To say that she was alarmed would be like calling the Grand Canyon a pothole. She went bananas. In her defense, I've known for years that she doesn't handle change very well, especially when it's thrust upon her, so I can't judge her too harshly for wigging out.

This past Saturday (August 4th), the fiancee and I took a road trip to Algoma, a nice little town on the shore of Lake Michigan. We like to do this every so often. She loves the local winery and I'm partial to the brewery tap room next door to it. We both love the smoked salmon at the seafood shop down the street. I was wearing normal "male" clothes and sandals. My toes were out for the whole world to see...

The ride to Algoma was extremely tense. I though several times about breaking up with my sweet woman, just to distance myself from her intolerance. She couldn't stand thinking that someone she knows might see me in public wearing a dress or skirt. She's terrified that someone will see my pretty pink toenails and what they'll imply about her because of it. She is very much controlled by the opinions of people who, quite honestly, have no influence over either of our lives.

We went back and forth, each stating their case calmly. When it was said and done, she had a better understanding of why I feel the need to do these unusual things and I had a better perspective on why it frightened her so. Neither of us fully grasp the reasoning behind the other's position, but we both now have a little insight into the other's perceptions.

When we arrived at the seafood place, I jumped out of the car and ran in to use the restroom. Damn you, Starbucks! When I emerged, she was already inside the shop perusing the selection. She didn't say a word about my toes, though I know she was concerned about them. We made our purchase there and went back to the car. There were people in the parking lot in plain view of my shameful pink piggies, but nobody said a word. 

We drove to the winery and I walked in with her for a bit. Sometimes I'll indulge in a tasting, but not on this occasion. I told her I was going next door for a pint or two of the local vanilla porter (yum!), then did exactly that. The only seat in the tap room was at a small table against the wall, where everyone entering or leaving walked right past me. I enjoyed 2 pints of beer before the fiancee (let's call her Larissa -- can't keep calling her "my fiancee" forever) texted me that she was back in the car and ready to move on. 

We drove to the beach and got out of the car. I offered to cover my feet up for the walk along the jetty, but Larissa put on her brave face and said, "no, leave them as they are." I was shocked, to say the least, but happy to oblige. We spent about an hour walking along the jetty, talking, taking pictures and enjoying the occasional thrill of water splashing up over the jetty and spraying us (the sea was angry that day, my friends). Several people passed us in one direction or another, and guess what...nobody said a word. People rarely do. Every once in a while I'll get, "I like the color on your toes" or "what a pretty skirt," but nothing negative.

On the ride home, Larissa proposed a solution that could work for both of us. For my end, I agree to keep my public outings outside a 30-mile radius of our hometown. For her end, she agrees that my home is my castle, and any way the King decides to dress himself in his castle is acceptable to the Queen. It all sounds pretty nifty in theory, with both of us making concessions to come to a mutually acceptable solution. The problem is, the Queen has never seen His Majesty in a skirt. So Larissa proposes another solution -- one day very soon, when we're both at home in our castle, I will change into whatever Royal skirt I choose, and she will intentionally see it. Only then can she be sure that our previous agreement is something she can live with.

Fast forward 2 days. I finish work at 7pm and head home. Larissa is cutting vegetables and sorting them into sandwich bags to take to work with her. I ask if today is "the day" that she wants to "see it." My little trooper agrees, and off I go to the bedroom to choose the perfect outfit. The perfect outfit, as it turns out, is a black Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt, ultra-sheer nude pantyhose and the first skirt I can get my hands on. I'm choosy like that. The skirt was a cute cream skater skirt with beige diagonal stripes.

When I walked back out into the kitchen, Larissa had her back to me. I stood next to her with my back to the counter and waited. After a few seconds, she stepped back and took a long look at the lower half of my outfit. To her great credit, she didn't wig out. She didn't gag and she didn't make any awful faces. She simply stated, "that's not so bad," then returned to cutting her veggies. This represents the absolute best case scenario in my mind. I know she's uncomfortable with it, but it didn't shock her, so I think it's something she can come to terms with over time.

I spent maybe another 15 minutes in my skirt before I knew she was ready for the experiment to be finished for the night. I slipped off my skirt, peeled off my pantyhose and put on my standard house-lounging basketball shorts. All in all, I think it went pretty well.

The unexpected benefit of this whole evolution is that Larissa now knows that I participate in online forums specifically for crossdressers, and that I'm interested in meeting like-minded people in the local area to share my affinity for all things feminine. I even mentioned an outing later this month in Green Bay, where a group of CDs will go shopping after hours (with the shop owner's permission, of course), then on to a drag show that evening. I would very much like to participate, and she doesn't seem to have a problem with it.

So the times, they are a changing, boys and girls. I think we're finally on the right track.