This part took place almost immediately after the JL incident. My mom worked as the head maid at a Holiday Inn. As such, she would often bring home things left in rooms. One day she brought home a Playboy magazine. My sister saw it and immediately gave it to me. She then ran out of my bedroom and watched from the door as I looked through the magazine. I didn't realize she was there. I looked through the magazine, however, it didn't do anything for me. I didn't understand why guys were always talking about this. I closed the magazine and started watching television. My sister came into the room calling me a weirdo for not immediately masturbating to the magazine. I became very uncomfortable and left the room. Later I found the magazine sitting on my dresser. I put it into a pile of magazines and left it at that. One day, a neighbor kid, named PH, came over wanting to know if I wanted to go out and drink some beer with him and some other neighborhood kids (yes, I was early in my teens, but this is a backwards state that I'm from). I refused and my mom made me invite him in. I took him into my room and, I have no idea how he found it, he went for the Playboy like he knew where the thing was. He asked if I had any more and I said no. My ever helpful sister came into the room carrying several other porn magazines. WTF!!! When she left, PH turned to the side, pulled out his penis, and began masturbating to the magazine. I was horrified. He asked me to join in, but I couldn't move. It wasn't like I knew this kid all that well. I'd had very little to almost no contact with him. He began showing up almost everyday to get his porn fix in. He kept telling me how strange I was for not ever looking at the magazines. One day, he brought over a ton of them. As he did his "thing", I would try and stay otherwise occupied by reading, writing, or watching television. It was unbelievably uncomfortable for me. He would sometimes try and talk to me or get me to "touch" him, but that wasn't happening. One day, he finally convinced me to masturbate at the same time that he did. It didn't work for me, though. I just didn't understand the magazines. All the girls looked like they were the same girl. I didn't understand their clothing choices. I didn't understand why they didn't wear pantyhose. Why did they only seem to wear stockings, which I found to be obnoxious. I gave up. When I couldn't do it, he howled with laughter. I remember his taunts and accusations quite clearly. This had to stop. My personal space was being invaded by someone I didn't even like and it had to stop. PH had to go the hell away. He was only coming over for one reason. So, that reason had to no longer exist. One day, I took every single last magazine and burned them. I burned the Playboys, Penthouses, Hustlers, and every other piece of trash he brought into my presence. He never came over again after that. I would see him from time to time, but I learned to steer clear of where he went. Throughout this whole thing I have no doubt that my sister got all kinds of perverse pleasure out of what went on.

I'm just toying around with what my response to my sister's letter should be. It's many years overdue and I'm in a better space now to actually address the letter. So here goes.

Some years ago you sent me a letter apologizing for all the things you did to me while we were growing up. It was a painfully brief letter, but I suppose from your perspective you were just trying to let me know that you identified that you had wronged me in some way and was wanting some measure of closure. I don't know what your thought process was, but I can tell you that the letter rocked my world. I carried the letter for years in my wallet. I carried and read the letter until it completely disintegrated from overuse. I never answered the letter because there was no way for me to let you know the hell my life was while I was growing up and what role you played in that. Let me cut to the chase and stop dancing around the truth. I wear women's clothes, and have a special affinity for wearing pantyhose. It is what it is. You knew this while growing up and you could have reached out to me. You went a different path. That decision has had enormous impact on my life. I suppose that is what partially generated your letter. My life is different now. I still wear pantyhose and I still wear women's clothes. At home, I don't wear men's clothes at all. I can tell you that KL did something that no one in my life ever did. She accepted me. She loved me. Her acceptance of me has made me so incredibly dedicated to her. Through it all, I've never hated you. I just never understood why you didn't accept me and love me. Why couldn't anyone in this damn family have done that? Acceptance and understanding was all I ever wanted. I've spent most of my life diving out of view when I hear knocks on the door, or avoiding visiting people since I can't wear what I'm comfortable with while visiting, and doing whatever I could to avoid the truth. I'm tired, so very tired of hiding. Like I said, it is what it is. I appreciate what it must have took to write that letter. I'm sure you didn't know how I was going to react. In closing, I forgive you. I really do.

I went awhile without going to therapy after Dr S. Soon, we moved to Virginia. We both started new jobs and I once again realized I needed help. I sought out someone else that would meet my criteria for a therapist. They needed to be female, have some interest in gender studies, and be willing to see me after normal working hours. This last criteria made it difficult for me to find someone. I interviewed a couple of potential therapists, but was totally unimpressed. I refused to tell them why I was there, except that I had some gender identity issues and some family issues that I needed to work out. All seemed willing to work with me, but they all gave me a "Dr S" vibe and ended up rejecting them all. I didn't want to start with someone who had there own agenda. Looking at the books they kept on there shelves helped me a lot. After several months of battling depression and rejecting therapist after therapist I met KFF. This would be very early in 99. She was a licensed social worker that told me her interest was in dealing with female issues. We talked awhile and I was ready to reject her thinking that she would not be interested in my issues. She did not want me to leave her office without at least letting her know why I was there. So, for the third time in my life, I openly admitted to being a crossdresser to another living soul. I stated to her that I wore pantyhose daily and I admitted to having a severe fetish for them that was obsessive. I told her that I had giant Jupiter sized issues with my family that would most likely bore her to tears. I told her that I had bouts of depression that sank me at times to the very brink of suicide. I told her that through it all, KL, my wife of many years, had stood by me with both love and support that I didn't feel I deserved. KFF told me that she really wanted to be my therapist . We talked awhile and I told her about Dr S and how I wasn't going down that road again. I was mixed up enough without throwing shit on top that didn't need to be there. So, we began. She was quite different from Dr S. Almost from day one, KFF wanted me to start taking anti-depressants. I refused, thinking that I could handle it better on my own. We talked sometimes about pantyhose, but KFF felt that I was putting too much emphasis on them and would route those conversations to the crossdressing aspect. I very quickly began to avoid talking about pantyhose. Instead we talked about my family, my religious beliefs, and about crossdressing in general. She started asking me to dress in front of her. I refused. She asked me to bring in Lane Bryant catalogs so I could show her what type of clothes I liked. I really wanted to do this, but felt that I'd better not. She sometimes would bring them in and I eventually started going through them with her. I would tell her things like I knew I would never look as good as the models, or what I liked and didn't like about articles of clothes. She kept commenting on how feminine my thinking was. She told me that the way I thought was just like women do. She said that when I let myself go she could tell I was uniquely feminine in the way I thought, the way I moved, and the way I spoke. She felt that I was expending an enormous amount of energy every day to make sure that no one ever realized I had such a strong feminine side to my personality. We talked at length about my family and my youth and how it served to shape who I was. We talked at great length about my peace of mind and what it would take to obtain it. I'd been having a crisis of faith for many, many years and during this time I rejected the standard Judeo Christian beliefs and turned to Zen. At this point KFF finally convinced me to start taking Prozac. In many ways my life changed at that point. While I still had/have issues with dressing and pantyhose, I didn't have the heavy weight of depression hanging over me to deal with as well. I found out I could focus like I never was able to before. For the first time since I'd know KL, I really could see her and how hard she worked to keep us together. I could really appreciate her for all that she did and dealt with. KFF wanted me to meet others like me, but I was still uncomfortable about it. Also, in the small town in which we lived, there were no crossdressing clubs. There was a bar that catered to homosexuals, both female and male. She suggested I go there just to see that there are different people with issues living their lives everyday. I refused. I still didn't anything to do with me. KFF requested that we meet there for some of our meetings. I thought it over and finally agreed. It was a bar with homosexuals and heterosexuals in it. What can I say, it was a small town. However, what blew me away was I noticed a man sitting in a corner dressed in men's clothes, but very obviously wearing black pantyhose. IN PUBLIC!! With no fear!!! WTF !!!!!!!! KFF and I talked about it and she pointed out that it happens all the time. That while it's a big deal to many people, the majority don't care. We came back several times and I wore pantyhose as well without tights and socks. I felt nervous and very scared, but it was freeing. Oh shit, was it ever freeing. . I finally got to the point that KL and I wanted to move to a bigger town. So her and I started looking at a town several hours away. I would have to stop seeing KFF. We talked a long while about it and finally came to the conclusion that the removal of the depression was a great start to me beginning a healing. KFF knew that I was limiting my family's access to me and would keep it that way. It was hard to leave KFF. On my final day she wore pantyhose, something she hated to do, which meant a lot to me, and we talked about my next steps. In mid 2004, I stopped going to KFF and moved to another town. As of this writing, I've not gone back to therapy. I have looked for someone, but was not able to find someone I felt compatible with.

I don't wear supermarket pantyhose anymore. They have a very low Lycra/Spandex content so they don't fit very well. They also don't have a nice shine to them.

For many years I wore Sheer Caress Silky Sheer from JCPenney. I loved the regular panty style of these pantyhose. JCPenney discontinued the regular panty style several years ago. I tried the control top but found them way too confining.

At one point, I tried the Comfilon and WoMan brands of unisex pantyhose, but was very disappointed in the color selections and the low lycra/spandex content. The men style of pantyhose seemed to be put together totally half-assed.

I went through many pairs of pantyhose trying to find a pair that I really liked. I loved Hanes Silk Reflections, but thought they were way too expensive.

For a short time I settled on Legacy Legwear from QVC, but they couldn't keep any one style in stock for very long. I couldn't seem to buy the same style over and over.

After searching around I found One Hanes Place where I can pick up Silk Reflections pretty cheap. They are not always as silky as ones you might buy at the store, but they are my favorite.

So it was mid 96 and KL and I had been married for nine years. It had been a rollercoaster ride with me slipping in and out of depression. One night, while drinking, I told her I needed help. I told her I was going to seek therapy. KL had a huge stigma about therapy and tried to talk me out of it at first, but I insisted. I began looking for a therapist and finally found Dr S. I thought she was perfect, she specialized in gender studies, would see me after normal business hours, and was a woman. I didn't think I could talk to a man about these issues. Dr S was the first person, other than KL, that I openly admitted to wearing women's clothes. I explained to her that I had an affinity for pantyhose. She decided to accept me as a patient. For the first time, I had to openly talk about these issues that I'm writing about. Before hand, I'd kept everything locked away. I told KL about some of it, I would just leave out the details. Allow her to draw her own conclusions. Dr S would not allow me to do that. We talked in depth about everything. After going to her every week for several months, it soon became apparent that she had an agenda. She slowly began asking how many males I'd had sex with in my life. She asked how much I enjoyed the experience with JL. These sessions did not go well at all. Finally, she announced that I would be cured as soon as slept with a man. She said that I was putting too much focus on pantyhose. She tried to convince me that my fetish for pantyhose was really masking my homosexual tendencies. She urged me to begin masturbating to pictures of men and tried to convince me to buy a subscription to Playgirl. When I refused she said I would never be "cured" until I gave in to my hidden desires. She started bringing in female related pornagraphy and encouraging me to take them into the bathroom and embrace my desires. I cut my sessions down from every week to once a month. She tried to convince me to increase it back to every week and I refused. After careful coaxing by her over a short period of time, I eventually increased my sessions to twice a month. She went off in another direction. She became convinced that my crossdressing was the basis of a suppressed second identity. That my pantyhose fetish was my second identity trying to impose it's will on my conscience state. I gave my crossdressing self a feminine name and Dr S said this was proof that I had a split personality. I tried to convince her that I took a feminine name so I could order clothes with some level of anonymity. She said I was in denial. She spent many sessions trying to get me to speak with my second personalities voice. When I refused to cooperate, she eventually dropped that as an idea. She eventually became convinced that I needed to meet other crossdressers. She put me in touch with a local group of tranvestites and transsexuals and I went to a meeting. KL and I arrived at the groups meeting and everybody was staring at me. Here is how uncomfortable I was, knowing I was going to a group the would openly embrace me as a man in women's clothes, I couldn't do it. I wore my regular work clothes. I didn't even wear pantyhose or tights to that meeting. I just couldn't be associated with them. As they talked about their lives I realized I didn't belong. These people wanted to physically be women. They dated men and sometimes even dressed to make fun of women. We even met a couple of women who'd had been transformed into men. I wanted to run away and hide in the cemetery back where I grew up. KL seemed to be genuinely interested in what they had to say. After the meeting I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I didn't hate my male self, I just like wearing pantyhose and women's clothes. I actually liked women. I was very attracted to them. Dr S tried to convince to continue going but I refused. Again, I cut my sessions down to once a month. Our conversations became very regulated. If she stepped into areas I didn't want to discuss, that was the end of the session. Eventually, in late 98 I stopped going completely. I felt like it was going no where and I felt more screwed up now that when I started. On my last session with Dr S, she stated that she knew that as soon as I started sleeping with men I would feel much better and the need to dress would disappear. As I write this I keep thinking why did I stay so long. I'm not sure. I know I felt I must be getting something out of it. I think, even though I'd never admit it at the time, the talks about dressing and pantyhose were helpful.