The first time I met Davina - A wifes perspective

knew the day would come.He told me he’d be working from home dressed as Davina, and I’d accepted that. Still, even with all the conversations, the understanding, the reading and processing… nothing really prepares you for seeing your husband—in full makeup, a dress, heels, and a wig—for the first time.

That lunchtime, I popped home to make us both a sandwich. I called upstairs casually, like any other day. “Do you want a sandwich?” He said yes, and I left it on the top step, heart quietly racing. I was curious, unsure. I didn’t feel ready, but something in me wanted to see. Really see.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.“Thanks for the sandwich. How about a nice cup of tea?”

I smiled. That was him, still cheeky, still thoughtful—no matter what he was wearing. So, I made the tea. And this time, instead of leaving it on the stairs, I took a breath and walked across the landing. And I opened the door.

And there she was.

As close a AI could get me that day but the wig was longer

Davina. My husband… and not my husband. Wearing one of my dresses—a short grey floral one. Legs I was instantly jealous of. Stockings, heels, makeup done with more care than I’ve ever managed on a weekday. Long blonde hair (that wig I bought him forever ago). And yes, full breasts under that dress. I was stunned—but not in the way I expected.

He got up and instinctively hugged me, then pulled back like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

“You look nice,” I said. Because he did. “You’ve done your makeup well.”He asked if he looked like I imagined.I told him, “Honestly, I expected more of a drag queen look… but you look like a woman.”

We both laughed awkwardly. I pointed out it was my dress, and then—because I couldn’t not say it—“Look at your legs. They’re better than mine.” I meant it, too.

The wig had seen better days. “We need to get you a better wig,” I added. And then, the moment that still makes me laugh: “It’s weird hugging you with breasts.”“They’re just rice in tights,” he grinned.

Then I had to go back to work. I don’t remember much of the afternoon—I was distracted, processing, trying to place all my emotions. But I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t angry. I was… intrigued. Impressed. Maybe a little overwhelmed. But proud too. He’d trusted me to see this part of him. And I’d seen it—and I was okay.

That evening, we sat down together and browsed for a new wig. One that suited her better. We made plans for our first “girls’ night in.” It felt like the beginning of something… not the end.

Meeting Davina was emotional. A little surreal. But above all else, it was intimate. Honest. Brave. And as strange as it may sound—I felt closer to my husband for it.

Because behind the heels and the lipstick, he’s still mine. Just with a little more sparkle.

— A loving wife