The Freedom and Time to be the Woman Inside

By April Daynes

My name is April Daynes. I am a 70 year old lifelong cross-dresser who lives in Norfolk in the UK. I'm married and my wife knows I cross-dress but she wants absolutely nothing to do with it and refuses to discuss the matter. We live an otherwise happy existence but, quite obviously, all my feminine activities are limited to the few occasions when I have the freedom and time to be the woman inside. I'm 5'11" tall, weigh around 150 pounds, am reasonably slim (dress size UK 12-14) and I'm told I have long, sexy legs. I have chubby 'teenage-girl' breasts that give me a small bust when cradled in a 36B bra. Quite simply, I adore being as glamourous and feminine as I can.

Looking back, it all began at a very young age when my mother took me shopping in Norwich. We often went to a department Store called Frank Price (now long gone) and I always had to walk through the girls' department to get to the schoolboy section. I adored seeing the gorgeous frilly dresses and pretty panties as I walked past and never fully understood why. I remember that I would later lie in bed late at night fantasising that I had been locked in the store inadvertently and was able to discard all my boy's clothes and dress fully as a girl. As I got a little older, and as an only child, I was always fairly confident and independent and my parents, who enjoyed a very active social life, often left me alone in the house at weekends, sometimes overnight. As a slim teenager I slipped easily into many of the mother's dresses and, even at 14 and 15, wold sometimes take a walk out after dark dressed as a girl. Being the sixties, my bushy wavy hair was quite long and I would often wash it, put it in my mother's rollers and then dry it before furiously back-combing it into the lovely bouffant-style popular with girls at the time. I had fairly soft, delicate skin and with a bit of mum's make-up I felt quite confident as a girl. I only ever had one major scare when I once heard my mother talking to one of our neighbours who was a lonely, nosey spinster and spent much time at her bedroom window watching the street. She asked my mother who that young lady was that she saw leaving our house the previous Saturday night but, luckily for me. my mother dismissed the question and said that she must have been quite mistaken. My mother died four years ago and I'll never know whether she was aware of my feminine side. In those early teenage years I recall reading newspaper articles about transgender women like April Ashley and Christine Jorgenson (something of a novelty at the time) and I remember becoming seriously aroused by the pictures of these gorgeous creatures with coiffured hair, impeccable make-up and wearing wonderfully feminine dresses. From that time on I knew that I was very different to the other boys and I was so unsure of where it would all lead me.