Some mornings...

There are mornings when something simple — the sight of my wife getting dressed for work — hits me harder than I expect.

Today was one of them.

She looked gorgeous in a black-and-white dotty dress, black tights, heeled boots, and makeup.

Feminine in that natural way women can be, especially when they’ve had years of practice making themselves look and feel amazing.

She was afraid she may be showing cleavage.. Flaunt it I say.

And as always, watching her stirred something inside me.

Not envy of her — but envy of her freedom.

She can wake up every morning, choose a dress or a skirt, slip into tights, brush her hair, do her makeup, and step into her day fully expressing who she is.

Meanwhile, I sit beside her, quietly longing for the chance to do the same.

Because on mornings like this, I don’t just admire her femininity.

I feel inspired by it.

Connected to it.

Drawn to it.

So today, working from home, I mirrored her look a dotty dress — lingerie, tights, heels, makeup.

And God, it felt good. There was this strange, beautiful symmetry between us. She at her depot, me at home… both dressed in ways that made us feel confident and polished. It made me think about how incredible we’d look side by side, both in dresses again — something we haven’t shared for years.

And that’s when a deeper realisation surfaced.

It’s not just about the clothes. It’s about the ritual I’m missing.

Because what I long for isn’t just wearing dresses, tights, heels, or makeup.

It’s the everyday intimacy of getting ready together in an imagined world where none of this matters where anyone can present any way without any judgement.

I imagine a morning where we wake up and move through the routine as a team.

No secrecy. No timing things around empty houses. No quick-change panic. Just… normality.

She showers first, then I step in. I shave properly, not rushed, not hiding — because that’s simply part of the morning routine on days I want to present feminine.

And then the heart of the fantasy:

a double dressing table, a double mirror, and the two of us side by side.

Her makeup next to mine. Mine more organised of course..

Her brushes next to my brushes.

Two of us getting ready in our own ways — one by nature, one by expression.

We’d chat the way women do:

“Your eyeliner looks great today.”

“That shade of lipstick really suits you.”

“I love your dress — very you.”

She’d slip into her tights; I’d pull mine up.

She’d zip up her dress; I’d smooth mine over my hips as she does my zip..

She’d step into her boots; I’d buckle my heels.

A moment where Davina isn’t hidden away, squeezed into brief pockets of time, but allowed to exist openly beside the person I love most.

It’s a longing for connection, not transformation. A connection we're currently missing as for whatever reason Esme has decided not to respond fully and interact with me when I bring up my alter ego and Crossdressing.

I don’t want to transition.

I don’t want to replace my male life.

I just want the freedom to express the femininity that feels so deeply a hidden part of me — and to share it with her in a way that feels intimate, honest, and everyday.

Maybe it will never happen exactly like that.

Maybe it will, one day, in some small form.

But these moments — like seeing her look stunning this morning — remind me how much I adore femininity, in her and in myself. And how deeply I wish we could share just a little more of it together.

Because the truth is simple:

I don’t just enjoy presenting as Davina.

I long to share that side of me with my wife, openly, gently, side by side maybe not visibly but to be able to talk about Davina and Crossdreasing more openly again.

Davina