Closet Opened Ch. 01

It seems months ago now when I came out of the closet to my wife, Tricia. "I'm a crossdresser." That one three word sentence alone set off events I couldn't have possibly foreseen. If I am being honest, everything from "Get Out!" to "I want a divorce!" was expected. Rather than the obvious and perhaps usual reactions, my story goes in a completely different direction. If you're me, I'd argue my marriage improved. Go figure.

However, that night was torturous. Did I bring it upon myself? Yes. Could I have kept my secret and continued to live a life unknown to my wife? Of course, but at an expense. That was why I sat there and endured every expression of shock and horror, every question, and every elevated voice as neutrally as possible. All emotions came out of her, sometimes simultaneously if you can imagine, spraying as if from a fire hydrant. I was frightened but tried desperately to keep my calm. Let her vent. Absolutely within her right after all. Shock, horror, anger, fear... you can imagine the rest. At times her questions came rapid fire. I made a promise to myself to answer every one truthfully and fully.

"How long have you been doing this?" Long before we met.

"Where do you do this?" At home when she is away, when I travel for work, and sometimes wearing panties when we go out with friends.

"Are you gay?" No, bisexual.

"Have you acted on this?" A long pause... yes.

"With who? Anyone I know? Are you going to say something?" Yes, no and yes. I meet men online and they come to my hotel rooms.

"So you've cheated on me." Yes and no. I explain the only way I know how in the simplest of terms. When you need an electrician you call an electrician but for pipes you call a plumber.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" I mean have never been with another woman since we met. Only men. I do not desire any other woman than her. I appreciate the feminine form, she knew that, but all women were verboten. My Deutsch slipping out. She was not amused.

She paused. I can see she's wrapping her head around the electrician-plumber statement.

"Do you use protection? Did you give me a disease?" Most of the time protection is used, required even, but guys that bring recent test results with proof they are clean don't have to use protection. I explained I do get tested from time to time just to be sure and never contracted a disease of any sort.

"So you've been fucked in the ass?" Yes.

"And they've cum in you?" Yes.

"And you enjoy this?" I nodded trying to keep my face neutral.

"Why are you telling me now?" Simply tired of hiding and lying. I know I should have told her long ago when we were dating but I was so, pardon the pun, head over heels in love with her I didn't want to jeopardize our budding relationship. I even quit for a long time tossing my wardrobe in a dumpster.

"How many have there been?" I keep a diary of all encounters. There have been a lot.

"Show me."

I logged in to an anonymous account online and brought up the list. After scrolling through pages and pages of names, dates, email and other contact information, nicknames, links to folders containing pictures, what kinks they liked and did to me she was horrified. She scanned it for the next hour in silence reading through all of it. She was beyond horrified.

"There has to be hundreds." I knew in fact exactly how many men had had me over the years. It was just over thirteen hundred and that doesn't count men who had me more than one night. That stretched to well over two thousand other visits over two decades of decadence.

"Do you wearing my clothes?" No, I have my own.

"Show me."

I led her to the basement. In the back corner buried under a lot of other stuff were three large tubs. I pulled them all out and took the lids off. She stared in amazement. Heels, lingerie, dresses, prosthetic breasts, bras, panties, dildos, lube, costume jewelery, makeup, perfumes and everything else to make myself into an appealing, sexy tramp for men to do all they ever wanted.

She backed away quietly and went up the stairs crying. I heard a door slam shut. I slept on the couch that night. And for the next two nights giving her all the space she needed. I pretty much lived in the finished basement. I timed my comings and goings, meals and such around her schedule. When she wanted to talk to me, she knew where to find me. I wasn't going to interfere with her processing it all.