TimelessSongsinger

I stood near naked at the bedroom dresser, my cock plump in sheer panties, the kind I always wore—with full knowledge of my wife. The one thing Pam didn’t know about was the syringes and the vial of female hormones I had tucked away in the recesses of my sock drawer. Since I was the one who did the laundry I knew that secret would be safe, but it wouldn’t be forever. How do you tell your wife you want to be called Elisabeth, and not Randy any more? “She” instead of “he” and so on? How do you tell your wife you want to be a woman? For the last three months, ever since I realized that crossdressing was merely the obvious part of my gender issue, I’d given myself estrogen injections. I Knew I had to confess it to my wife before she noticed my breasts starting to swell up. A few times before I had mentioned the topic of transition to her as a hypothetical, but I’d been evasive when she angrily demanded to know if I was going to do it. “Tonight,” I said to myself, aloud. “I’ll tell her