I stare at my plate, my kappa-maki still unmoving."Sorry Ken-chan. I'll make it up to you."I hardly hear the words, dimly registering my own mouth saying the words, "No big deal," as my vision blurs. I want to scream, to shout, to tell you why you can't do this to me. But all I can do is let glistening tears drop onto the small sculptures of raw fish and rice in front of me. You reach out to touch my shoulder, my name on your lips, concerned. I knock your hand away hurriedly, getting up and running out before either of us can even say another word.Outside on the streets it is still sunny, one of those bright days where all you see are happy couples holding hands and eating ice cream. I wish it was raining. I want pouring rain and jagged thunder and freezing winds to echo how my heart feels. At the same time I feel stupid, I've never said anything, and I've sure as hell never claimed you as mine. So why do I feel cheated? I walk home, ignoring the sunshine and the laughter, holding my. I have been crossdressing for as long as I can remember, from sneaking a pair of my sisters panties, to even sneaking into the gardens of my parents neighbours and pinching underwear from washing lines. In my late teens when I found girls (and sex) I purged any clothing that I had and managed to put the ’urge’ behind me. I settled down got married etc. etc. Unfortunately for me (or not?) my wife like to wear very sexy underwear, stockings and very revealing outfits which meant there were a lot of these ‘things’ around the house. It started small, again, when on a day off I would be doing some washing and find myself holding the knickers against myself, then wearing them until before long I was back to a full ensemble masturbating furiously.My wife soon found out what I was doing and, instead of disowning me like I thought she would, she said she understood and would help me out. Before long I had a drawer full of my own clothing and even a couple of pairs of 5 inch stiletto heels, one.
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