So there I was at one of my favorite watering holes the other day when one of my coworkers asked me a question that floored me. I was sipping (read gulping) my favorite rum drink when my coworker turned to me and asked why do I always check out women's legs. I was floored. I turned to him and said that some men are breast men and some men are leg men. I'm the latter. This should have ended the dicussion. We continued drinking and he turned to me eventually and said, are you sure it's not something more. I said nope, trying to look innocent as I squirmed in my Hanes pantyhose. He said that I didn't check out mens' legs. I just laughed. He said that he'd hate to wear pantyhose because he doesn't like to shave his legs. I just continued to drink and not answer. He eventually dropped it, but not before saying that he thought it was strange that I never talked about sex or things that arouse me. I stopped drinking and stared at him, wondering really what I should do. Should I engage him by going down this road, especially since I knew where it would be going. I've been aching to let it all out anyway, so why not in a crowded bar to a coworker that I have respect for. Let's put this into perspective, somewhere, somehow, I've slipped up and have given something away. I already realize this. This is not normal bar talk and he waited until I had three or four drinks in me before beginning to talk about this. So, where do I take this? In the end, I just smiled and said thanks for sharing and let it go. Probably the smarter option. The next day, though, something happened that really bowled me over. One of our more talkative secretaries was at her desk and asked to speak to me as I walked by. She began ranting about how her supervisor makes her wear pantyhose everyday and she has to keep a fan under the desk just to keep cool. She complained that she has to keep extra pairs in one of her drawers and it takes up too much room. I just smiled and nodded sympathetically when it seemed appropriate. She told me that I was so lucky that I didn't have to wear pantyhose. I just smiled, because it's true, I don't have to, I want to. Anyway, it's obvious that I've been made, at least, that's my current thinking.

I would like to start by saying, I'm sorry for not writing in a long while. I know I have regular readers who are interested in the rest of the story, and there is still so much to tell. However, I had to take a hiatus. The emotional toll of pouring that venom from my soul was more costly than I imagined. Life, also got in the way, and I found myself burning a candle on ends that don't even exist. Less important things had to take a backseat, and I'm sorry to say, this was one of them. However, I'm back and will continue the story by trying to put in a couple of entries at least once a week. On a more personal note, I want to say how grateful I am to all the people who reached out to me to ask if I was okay. It was incredible! I did not know I had such a fanbase!

I realize that throughout my life I've had tons of negative reinforcement. However, I know that I'm my own worst enemy at this point. I'm so damn tired of diving for cover when I hear a knock at the door. I know that global acceptance is not going to happen, but at this stage in my life, why do I care what other's think? I am what and who I am. My therapy sessions were never about me getting cured from dressing and to eventually swear off pantyhose. They were always about me making peace with it so I could live with myself. I love wearing patterned pantyhose and tights but am completely fearful of someone noticing. I have several pairs of lacy trouser socks and love them to death, but I don't dare wear them because I know someone would notice. I buy mainly very low key pantyhose and tights when all the while I want to buy the sexy patterned hosiery. Trouble is, it's a damn shame to hide that type of hosiery under pants. If I buy something like that I will want to show them off. Isn't that the whole point?! As I write these BLOG entries I hope that I'm finally making the peace that I desire. I get so trapped in the persona I show to the outside world, but I'll admit that I'm not able to consistently keep that persona going. I just don't want to do it anymore. It's way more work than I care to do anymore. The phrase "It is what it is" keeps resonating with me. I wonder what this is going to do to my Exile rules. Maybe I should relax some of them. Maybe I should reconsider some of them:

* I don't go to Hooters restaurants.
I would be mortified if anyone caught me looking at the waitresses hose.
[Addendum] This is increasingly seeming like such a stupid rule. I'll not be humiliating the women there by looking at their pantyhose legs. What harm does going there do? I might even meet other men whom I could start a friendship with over a common interest.

* I don't surf for porn on the web.
Pantyhose related porn sites are abhorrent to me. Women being paid to wear pantyhose and tear them is just not right. Regular porn sites hold little or no interest for me.
[Addendum] This rule is still a good idea. Porn sites are just not what interests me.

* When going to restaurants, I try and sit in a place where my view is obstructed of other patrons, just in case any of the women are wearing hosiery.
[Addendum] This is probably still a good idea.

* On occasions when those around me bring up the subject of pantyhose, I remain stoic and quiet and try to look as uninterested as possible.
[Addendum] Maybe I should start having fun with this instead of mentally running for the cemetery.

* I don't keep close friends, ever.
[Addendum] Maybe I should start seeking friends with a similar interest.

* I don't talk about this to anyone at anytime.
[Addendum] Maybe I should be more open with this. Maybe I should tell my family. My whole life has been centered around making sure they don't find out. How would my life change if they knew?

* I buy all of my hose off the net so I can order what I want in the privacy of my own cocoon.
[Addendum] I still like doing this, but I so badly miss going to Lane Bryant and Fashion Bug. Maybe I should go back.

* When we go to department stores, I avoid, at all costs, the hosiery departments. If I get too close, I can't help myself, I'll start shopping for hosiery. I'll start checking colors, sizes, styles, and textures. I want, so intensely, to go through them and pick out what I like the most.
[Addendum] This seems so silly now. Even if I did start checking out the colors and styles, why is that a problem? Am I hurting anyone by doing this? Or, am I hurting myself by not indulging in something that makes me happy.

* I avoid anywhere that men are wearing pantyhose, basically any drag clubs. I know me, I'll start asking them questions about how they started wearing pantyhose and why they chose the types they are wearing.
[Addendum] Are questions so bad? If someone reacts badly to the question, isn't that more of a reflection on their dysfunction? I don't know.

* When someone does direct a question directly to me about pantyhose, and it's happens on occasion, I first act shocked and then very carefully answer the question with the least amount of interest possible.
[Addendum] I think it's going to be just fine if I drop the act.

Has my healing began? Or, does it begin once I start implementing these revisions? My later life has all been about measure and control. The only visitor I've ever tolerated on a personal level has been KL. She's scared of me being hurt more by my family if they find out. It's a valid concern, however, they really have such a little part in my life that I don't see how they could ever harm me again. I'll admit, to no small degree, that I'm scared of dying without people knowing who I really am. When do I draw a line in the sand and lay my cards on the table. Is that the path to healing?

Everybody in that household knew I was infatuated with pantyhose. No one talked about in front of me, no one acknowledged it in any way, but they knew. When my sister began dating a guy with a driver's license she became a ghost around that house. I hated the way she kept her pantyhose. She allowed them to get huge runs in them and then would fix the runs with pink nail polish. My mom had quit bringing home community pantyhose several years ago. That meant I had to be very careful. Going anywhere near my mom's sickened me, so I knew I would go without for a very long time. One day I was up in the attic and I stumbled across some of my older sister's clothes from her stay in college. I also found a very beautiful blue dress with white polka dots on it. I knew from the sizing that the dress was my mom's from a long time ago. I couldn't resist. The dress was so gorgeous! I took several pairs of pantyhose from my older sister's stored clothes, a slip, several pairs of panties, and a bra and took them downstairs to my room. I stood in front of a mirror and checked the dress out. I loved the way the dress looked on me, however, I immediately noticed that I had these horrid hairy legs sticking out from under the dress. That had to go. For now, I carefully folded everything up and placed them into a grocery bag that I found in a utility closet. I knew I couldn't hide them in my room or closets. I hunted around and finally hid them in a linen closet that I knew no one ever went in. The linen closet didn't have towels in it, it was full of old things that no one had looked at in years. Every day I came home and checked the bag. I taped it shut a certain way so that I would know if someone tampered with it. On the following Saturday I found myself all alone. My sister was out with her new boyfriend and my mom was at work and dad was at work. I was all alone. I took out the clothes from the linen closet and very carefully laid them out. They smelled musty from being stored so long in the attic, so I hand washed everything. I threw them in the dryer. As they were drying I took one of my sister's razors (not the brightest thing I've done ) and shaved my legs. I shredded them . When I got the bleeding to stop I took the clothes from the dryer and laid them out on my bed. I put on the pantyhose first, then bra and panties, and then the slip. My older sister's clothes were a little smaller than I was so the fit was pretty tight. I didn't care. I felt so good and free. I put on the dress, which was big on me, but again, I didn't care. It was so beautiful! Oh god, I remember so well how I felt that first time I completely crossdressed. I felt so free. I could feel the slip clinging to the pantyhose and the way the dress complimented my figure. I stood there staring into the mirror admiring how I looked as a woman. I knew I had several hours before anyone would be home so I went into the living room and watched tv. I started feeling so comfortable in my new clothes that I started becoming less and less aware that I was dressed in women's clothes. Time passed quickly, eventually I heard a car in the driveway and heard a knock at the door. I walked to the door ready to open it when I passed in front of a mirror and remembered that I was in women's clothes. I started shaking and ran back into my room. I sat there shaking violently. I couldn't allow myself to become complacent. No matter how much I liked the way it felt. I couldn't allow anyone to find out. I took the clothes off and folded them very carefully and placed them back into the bag, sealed it, and re-hid the bag. I went and answered the door but the person was gone and the car was no longer in the driveway. I knew at the time that what I did was wrong. I vowed to never dress again, yeah right. Eventually everyone came home. My sister went ballistic when she found her razor. Apparently, my leg hair is far more dense than hers and I'd dulled the razor and left some leg hair in the tub. Even though my sister debased the hell out of me for shaving my legs, my mom was strangely quiet. My dad didn't say anything to me about it.

One day while I was in the kitchen my Dad came up behind me and asked me the strangest thing. He asked me if we did things together. I didn't know how to take this at the time. He barely acknowledged my existence, what did he mean do we do things together. He cleared his throat and asked it again. At the time, I didn't realize what was going on, and I was so damn paranoid that I didn't trust anyone. I said sure, all the time, in my best most sarcastic tone. He said that he bought a model of the Goodyear blimp that had light up parts and wanted to know if I would help him construct it. . Was this a test? Was this more bullshit from another family member? No, it wasn't. He was being honest. The night I helped him clear some room on the dining room table and we got started. I was trying to gauge if this was a trick or not, but no. It seemed genuine. Over the next several nights dad and I met to work on the model. We talked and laughed and I felt like we were finally making a connection. We were getting close to finishing the model when one night my mom's mood swung into exorcist mode. Dad and I were sitting and talking about how the model should work and the best plan for getting the lighted parts together, when from nowhere, mom snuck up on us and bashed the model with the handle of a broom. Dad and I flew backwards out of the way and mom kept bringing the broom handle down repeatedly until there was nothing left of the model but shattered pieces. I crawled to a corner to try and get out of the way. I sat there shaking and staring at my mom who'd gone completely insane. Dad had backed up several feet and was watching in complete amazement and horror. After mom had destroyed the model completely, she turned to my dad and with complete venom in her voice told him that if he wanted to build a model he should not use up the kitchen table. She pointed the broom handle at me and told me to go to hell. I ran from the room. My mom went ballistic several more times that night on dad. I'm ashamed to say I hid in my room scared to death.