Coming Out

A story of liberation that vividly describes the inherent woman within each cross-dresser. A must read!

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इस कहानी को हिंदी में पढने के लिए यहाँ क्लिक करे

A Special Moment: We are really really proud to present this fascinating story from a very talented Devika Sen who submitted this in response to our First expression challenge. When it comes to self-reflection about being a crossdresser and understanding the inherent duality within us, this is the best story we have on our blog. My other personal favorite story on this subject is ‘The other woman‘ by Ankita Sharma. While The Other Woman was about accepting the circumstances, this story is about liberation, and it vividly expresses the desire to come out. This story really touched me, and I hope it will touch your heart too.

Anupama Trivedi

Years of practice and tutorials finally paved the way for this bold step. I had been mulling over this decision for a long long time, but after being trapped within the confines of your closet for what seems like an eternity, you just don’t come out one day willy-nilly. The lady wanted to make the event an occasion. After the decision was made, the only question left was to who. You need to come out to a person who will accept and cherish you as the woman you are, because coming out to a faceless nameless populace is not romantic, it’s an action taken out of compulsion. I was not coming out because I felt compelled to, I was coming out because I wanted to.

We had never met or seen each other.

I chose him not because I knew him beforehand, I didn’t, but because he interested me night after night with stimulating, sometimes sexy sometimes mundane, discussions. I never showed myself to him, and he never pressed. I had never seen him either. To each other we were texts and smileys in a chat box. When I asked him to meet me he was skeptical, we were habituated with the image we gave the other in our imaginations, and both were wary of tarnishing the image with the actual reality. I half expected him to be an uninteresting brute in person, contrary to the charming young man of my imagination. He wasn’t.

I am not really into men you see, never was. But on the day of my coming out I had to be validated by the love and the raging hormones of a young blooded man. On other days I dress up as a woman, but for this occasion I was decorating myself for a man. The blouse was tailor made. Going to the tailor to get myself measured used to be a very frightening and embarrassing experience at first, but after embracing it, it became one of the most exciting and enthralling parts of dressing up. Every time the measuring chord goes around my chest, arms and breasts, a strange vulnerability creeps all over my body. I give meticulous details of the cut and shape of the blouse to the tailor and get it stitched and restitched until it’s perfect, hugging my soft white chest like a second skin, cutting into the flesh of my arms, but not too much. Wearing the blouse is not just an exercise for me, it’s a ritual. I notice every little movement of the material over my skin as I slowly put it on every time. The blouse that I chose for this particular occasion is probably my favourite full-sleeved one. I didn’t want to put off my date by being too forward the first time. He was to work hard to seduce me and pull my walls down.

Today I was decorating myself for my man. And he will have to work hard to seduce me.

Saying date feels so funny! I liked this person but felt no sexual attraction for him. It is his craving for me that really gets me on! But before meeting him I was not even sure whether he would want me at all! I knew that I looked ravishing, I have been admiring and getting aroused by myself for a long time now. Although it might be a bit arrogant to say I that am irresistible, but the person inside who lusts after this woman would not say anything otherwise.


It is also not surprising that I have become like that. You see I have literally made myself over years. The person that I am today is not something that naturally evolved, it was manufactured through extreme hard work and scrupulous self criticism. I chiseled myself into the perfect woman. However, I was worried if the abnormalities of my lady parts were to put off the man. Of course there was no deception on my part, everything was known to him, but that doesn’t mean that in person it will not create a problem. But, it didn’t.

He was awestruck to see me, maybe he thought I will look shoddy and ugly, nothing more than a curiosity. We all have our premonitions. But some premonitions are meant to be proven wrong. Not only was I more beautiful than he could ever imagine, but I was also more confident in person. He could barely talk without fumbling and swallowing words for the entirety of dinner. I am not sure whether he had decided on acting upon his desires, our desires to be honest, before inviting me in his house post dinner, or whether it was the result of alcohol and the cosy comforts provided by the security of the four walls of the living room.

I chiseled myself into a perfect woman.

The second time it was the bed and not the sofa. He, who shall not be named, was a real gentleman. He worried constantly about what would pleasure me, how I wanted it to happen. I don’t know you see, I wasn’t really into him. He was but a prop, a tool in this elaborate role-play of mine. I wanted him to act on his desires, as it was his desires for the gorgeous, sexy and elegant creature that I have become, which was the source of all my arousal and excitement. In reality, the only romantic relationship I was interested in was that of the duality that existed inside me. The love of the self as a woman. And this relationship reached its zenith every time I pulled on a sari over me, every time I swayed my hips, ever so slowly, in public, every time I bent forwards in front of my vanity to apply lipstick. For the time being my unbelievably sweet date is just giving the physical form to that formless duality.

Not that I don’t cherish him! I cherished every little moment with him. He filled me with unspeakable joy, he was in every sense of the expression, my prince charming, and always will be. The morning after the date, that is today, he showed that his ventures of last night was not a one time alcohol driven thing. He took pictures and pictures of me, and made me breakfast. I was not sure how good I would look, after all it was the dreaded ‘morning after’. But I guess it went fine! Although it took a while to get everything fitted back into place if you know what I mean. I should have been worried about him taking pictures, there was no public evidence of this, but somehow I wasn’t.

z4aHe really wanted to drop me home. I didn’t let him. He was afraid people will see me, I wasn’t. I could have easily taken him to my flat last night in the middle of the night and no one would have noticed. I had taken the decision back then. When I walk today through the road by my apartment, by the shops I buy grocery from, by the aunties I smile at, I want to do so in a pink sari, a well fitted blouse and slightly smeared lipstick. My grand coming out has already happened, now it was time to come out to nameless faceless boring people. Coming out for the time being has taken a new definition, It’s being perceived in the hourglass shape of a woman by every passing eye that falls on me. The laughs and the stares are irrelevant. I was bored of swaying my hips while alone and when dark, it was time the mass saw me the same way I liked to see myself. It was time they started talking about this sexy new girl in town. `cause that’s what really lights my flames!


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