I replied, “My sister is two years younger than me and I wore her (and my mother's) clothes whenever I was home alone. I had a couple of close calls, but she never caught me.”
Although my sister was younger, she was tall, so lucky for me, most of her clothes fit me. My mother was also tall and even though I had full access to her wardrobe, her wardrobe was more mature, whereas my sister’s wardrobe was youthful and more desirable by a girl my age. Not that I abandoned my mother’s wardrobe; her wide range of foundation garments outshined my sister’s, so when I crossdressed, I usually wore my mother’s bra, girdle and nylons under my sister’s dress.
My sister was messy and she probably never noticed if something was out of place, so as far as I know, she never suspected I was getting into her stuff. On the other hand, my mother was neat and very organized and I assume that clued her in to what I was doing. My mother used very little makeup, whereas my sister had lots, so my sister’s stuff was more attractive to a young girl like me in that regard, too.
Besides my sister’s youthful, circa 1970 wardrobe, she also had a beautiful prom dress that my mother sewed for her. It was the most body-conscious dress she owned and when I wore it with the proper foundation garments, I looked fabulous!
Regarding being caught, I had one close call. Home alone, I was crossdressed when I heard the garage door open. Mom and Sis had returned from shopping much earlier than I expected.
I had some time to switch from girl mode to boy mode because we had a manually operated garage door, which meant that my mother had to get out if the car to open the garage door, walk back to the car, drive the car into the garage, get out of the car, close the garage door, then gather up whatever she had purchased and carry it upstairs (the garage was under the house).
I managed to switch modes and return miladies’ wardrobes to their original state before Mom and Sis climbed upstairs to our living quarters. I was pretty pleased with myself because I had dodged the bullet. But a few minutes later, after Mom entered her bedroom, she asked, “Stanley – why are my shoes out?”
Nuts! I forgot to put her high heels back in her closet!
I had to think fast. Back then, I was drawing a lot – a cartoonist in the making – so my very lame excuse was that I borrowed her shoes because I was drawing shoes and I needed a model.
She bought it and I was very relieved. But years later, I figured out that she knew about my crossdressing and I imagine that the high heel episode was just more evidence of my secret identity.
Mom never confronted me about my crossdressing, although on countless occasions she asked, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
I realize now that she was reaching out to me, but I was a clueless idiot and always said, “No,” which I now very much regret.
On the other hand, my sister was clueless and probably did not suspect anything until she saw me crossdressed for Halloween. Some years later, I came out to her and it did not go well, which surprised me because she is a big supporter of LGBTQ+ people… except for me.
It hurt especially since we were so close. We are still very close, but my crossdressing is the muzzled elephant in the room.
And so it goes.
 |
| Wearing Elágia |
 |
| Femulating guests at Casa Susanna, circa 1962. The lady on the left is Darrell G. Raynor, the author of A Year Among the Girls, the book that revealed to me that I was not alone. |
