Experienced the disdain of her highness tonight. I saw a 7-way adjustable bra on a tv ad while watching with SO, and asked her how it could adjust seven ways, and she asked me, what, do you want one? I smiled and nodded and said uh, yeth! She asked me when I first remember dressing, and I said 11 or 12. She asked me, why I do not know, did you dress up in your mom’s underwear? I said, yes. She said, Ewwwh; Isn’t that kind of incestuous? I said, no, it was what I had available to me. I did not ever think of it in incestuous terms.
I had a curiosity about mom’s underthings as standalone objects, so to speak, and I was unabashed about looking in her dresser drawer one day as a shy, young boy. I never fantasized about my mother, but I did dress up in her underwear when I was alone. I loved the silken feeling on my bare body, and I loved to don one of her bras, and stuff it with tube socks to simulate breasts.
I remember being fascinated by her lipstick as a pre-schooler. She used to give me a little tiny tube to toy with when we were in church, and I was being too ‘busy’. I would wind it out, and back in again, and it was usually red, although I think she also had pink. Avon, a friend. I even dressed up in mom’s clothes, one day, and . . . well, let’s just say that one of my siblings saw me as an “out” transvestite on at least one occasion at around age, maybe 15? C’est la vie. SO and I never discussed any of this before we wed, I thought it was all behind me from that point forward. It emerged only after a few years of marriage, at first in small ways. But a gradual emergence throughout my marriage, 18 years now.
The psychology that created this, perhaps it was physiology, or even chemistry . . . life is so interesting, to me.