Well hello there. I'm Morgan/Morgana (it varies). I'm gender fluid, assigned male at birth. I'm 53 years old, married (happily), and very comfortable with myself for the most parts. I still occasionally have moments of "what the hell am I doing!" feelings, but they are getting less frequent. In some ways I'm a late bloomer, in others, not so much. So sit back, get comfy and if you want to read the story, here it is. Many many years ago, back when I was about 14 or so, I got very curious about women's clothes. (There's a reason that's kind of a cliche; I'd imagine a lot of people like me started that way.) So, as you might imagine, I satisfied my curiosity by rummaging in my mom's unmentionables drawers when I was home alone. My mom was fairly practical in her choices of clothes and such, but she did have some very pretty items by which I was fascinated. I did, of course, eventually try them on. I know; you're shocked. I really enjoyed the feelings I got while wearing them, not just the arousal (who are we kidding; I was 14, damn near everything aroused me!) but the sensual feelings I got as well. I truly enjoyed being pretty! Of course, I was also dealing with full-blown puberty, including body hair, facial hair, etc., so there were a lot of conflicts going on in my mind. Over time, I grew to really enjoy the times when I could (as I called it to myself) play dress up. Fast forward a few years to when I was 17. As one might again imagine, such things could not continue going well forever. For some reason or another, my father came home early from work, just in time to find me sitting in my room, at my desk, doing my homework, dressed in my mom's clothes. If you suspect it didn't go well, you would be correct. I found out two very important things that day: I was not too old to be spanked. Panties are very poor protection against a leather belt. That was the one and only time my father was ever violent with me over this particular topic. He never told my mother, preferring instead to hold that threat over my head as he labored to "make a man of the sissy faggot" he felt I was. For the next three years or so, he would periodically ridicule me whenever no one was around to hear it. He repeatedly went though my dresser and closet until I finally moved out on my own at 18. The sense of shame I felt was, to put it mildly, horrible. When I moved out, I felt liberated, and bought myself a few small articles of clothing; nothing big, I was on a tight budget. The first time I dressed up in my own place, I almost threw up. I felt so... incredibly dirty (and not in a fun way), that I nearly threw the clothes away right then. I eventually did, at the urging of... well let's just say it was a figure of religious significance in my life. By the time I was 20, I had stopped dressing altogether, and pretty much buried it for just over 30 years. I'll zip right ahead past my first marriage, which ended when she cheated on my with a fairly significant number of men (I wasn't completely innocent in it, I had no idea how to be married and did a fairly poor job of it myself). My second marriage, which was not without some problems, but was much better than the first, ended when my wife died. During that second marriage, we were both polyamorous, and for a time, had a wonderful third partner living with us. After that, I then married my current wife. I tried to explain polyamory to her before we married, and we both thought she had a good understanding of it. Several years later, when I began seeing someone, she found it was somewhat harder to deal with than she had thought. We worked through the issues (with the help of a pair of wonderful counselors who were poly friendly), and stayed together. About 15 months ago, I began experiencing same-sex erotic desires. Up until that point, I hadn't ever experimented with same-sex encounters, but it had been a (very) occasional fantasy. I talked to my wife about it and she was ok with me doing some careful experimentation. She left for a couple of weeks to visit family up north (it was a planned trip, not a result of my experimentation), and I started looking around trying to figure out what to do next. Being somewhat clueless about how to meet guys, I went to a gay bar. It was a nice place, with very nice people. Eventually, a very pretty girl offered to buy me a drink. It struck me as odd that, there I was, in a gay/lesbian bar, and a girl wanted to buy me a drink. (I mentioned I was rather clueless, right?) But hey, I went with it, and did find out fairly quickly that she was a cross-dresser. We were both attracted to each other and eventually, she invited me home with her. I shan't go into the delightfully memorable details; just use your imaginations. One thing that she DID do was put panties and stockings on me. It took a fair bit to convince me to do so, but once I did, all those wonderful feelings of old came back. Now, don't misunderstand; I didn't miraculously "get my lost memories back" or some such like you see in movies. I never forgot any of it, it just wasn't something I thought of at all, until that happened. Of course, once the night was over and I was back home, along with all the old feelings came a boatload of guilt and shame. It was, shall we say, a difficult couple of days. I eventually did go and buy some new clothes and found out that the guilt wasn't enough to keep me from enjoying my freedom. When my wife came back, I came out to her. I waited till she returned because this was not something one does in an email or even on the phone. I did it very shortly after she came back because this is not something one can hide successfully from one's spouse, and I knew that even if I did try to hide it, it would be a disaster when it ultimately came out. Honesty had served us very well in dealing with polyamory, and I felt it would be the best thing to do now. She was very taken aback by it all, but she did slowly come to realize that she was ok with it. (I make it sound like it was easy for us both; it wasn't. She did a great deal of soul-searching and went back to talk to her therapist again. She also suggested that I talk to my therapist about all this also, which I did. My doctor helped me deal with a lot of the guilt and helped me learn ways to accept who I am.) So here I am. Most of the time, I'm perfectly content to be male. I don't consider myself trans, but I do have the need to occasionally actively experience my feminine side. I do consider myself gender fluid (in that the gender as which I identify varies), and pansexual (for myself, I am attracted to a person... I don't say gender doesn't matter, but it's only one facet of the whole person. If I find someone attractive, it's because of their whole being.) So that's my story, and I'm stickin to it, folks. I hope this is a place where I can be comfortable, and just as important, a place where I can help others too. I like meeting new people, making friends, and having good conversations. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. The worst that'll happen is I may decline to answer. Take care, all, Morgan :smilewave
