Wifes sort out tomorrow.. maybe yesterday the time you read this.. or the day before

It's on my mind and I have time so here's another whilst on my mind.

My Wife’s Dress Sort-Out hasn't happened yet but already I'm weirdly jealous.

Tomorrow my wife is getting all her dresses down for a proper try-on and sort-out session.

Summer dresses, occasion dresses, “haven’t worn this in years” dresses, dresses she’ll probably decide no longer fit, no longer suit her or no longer interest her.

For most husbands this probably sounds painfully boring. I'd happily see her parade each dress with heels and a bit of makeup on .. Her not me the kids would look at me strange in makeup and heels as my wife parades her dresses for me.. haha.

For me, it creates a strange mix of excitement, frustration and jealousy.

Jealousy of freedom.

My wife can openly try on dresses for hours if she wants to. She can experiment with outfits, change her mind, decide what suits her, what doesn’t, what stays and what goes.

No secrecy. No planning. No stress. No worrying about whether somebody will come home early.

And I’ll be standing there thinking: “You have absolutely no idea how lucky you are.”.. in this regard anyway.

Opportunities like that are incredibly rare for me.

I live everyday life as a normal bloke. Jeans, shorts, sporty t-shirts, joggers.

Work stress. Responsibility. Routine.

The usual male existence where you’re expected to just get on with things quietly.

Men are just expected to function. Be dependable. Handle pressure. Work hard. Cope.

People rarely think men need emotional care, reassurance, softness, affection or escape.

But I do.

And that’s where Davina exists to give me an escape.

For me, dressing isn’t just “putting on women’s clothes.” It’s an entire mental state.

In fact, some of the best parts happen before the first dress even goes on.

The anticipation.

Knowing I’ll have uninterrupted time.

Shaving smooth the night before. Looking forward to makeup, lingerie, hosiery, dresses, heels and the full transformation.

The moment that really matters is seeing myself fully transformed in the mirror.

That point where I stop feeling like “a man wearing clothes” and start feeling like Davina.. Do I really feel like Davina or is it the stress dissipation and I no longer feel the man I am.

That feeling is hard to explain to people who don’t understand it.

I feel attractive. Sexy. Relaxed. Escaped.

And escape is probably the most important word there.

Because work stress and everyday life can leave me highly strung mentally.

Davina becomes a release valve from responsibility and pressure.

The whole experience slows my brain down.

Makeup becomes calming. Choosing dresses becomes immersive. Wearing stockings, tights and heels creates a feeling of glamour and femininity that feels completely separate from work stress, work politics, duties and normal life.

If I get enough uninterrupted time, the feeling lasts for hours afterwards.

It’s almost like emotional decompression. But if the experience gets cut short, it feels frustrating because the mental switch-off never fully happens.

That’s partly why tomorrow’s dress sort-out makes me jealous.

My wife can casually throw on dresses without much emotional investment.

For her, they’re often just clothes. Practicality wins most of the time. Jeans, leggings, casual tops. Comfortable everyday life. Which is perfectly understandable because she lives with the opportunity for femininity every day.

But because femininity is occasional for me, I see it differently.

I see the glamour in it.

I notice the dresses, the tights, the lingerie, the heels, the makeup, the effort, the presentation.

Incidentally chatting on Tv Chix this is some of the reasons admirers give for admiring T-Girls they admire the effort and how we present trying to be ultra feminine and I don't understand why women wouldn't want to always be ultra feminine as I would if I was a woman.

I probably romanticise it because it’s rare.

When something only exists in occasional hidden moments, it becomes emotionally charged.

So while she’s sorting clothes thinking: “This can go to charity,”

I’m internally thinking: “That dress deserves better than the charity bag.” .. "Mine"

In reality, tomorrow’s sort-out will probably increase my own collection, damn I may have worn some of the dresses more than she has.

Any crossdresser reading this knows exactly how that works.

A dress headed for disposal suddenly gets “rescued” because you immediately start imagining how it would look with black tights and ankle boots in autumn or paired with a certain wig and makeup look.

But underneath the humour there’s something more personal going on.

What I’m really jealous of is not just the dresses.

It’s the openness.

The freedom to express femininity without secrecy.

The freedom to enjoy presentation casually.

The freedom to feel glamorous whenever you want to rather than waiting months for an empty house and a rare uninterrupted Saturday. It's been 6 months since I had my 13 hours home alone to try on my dresses - I was exhausted trying on dresses tweaking makeup and documenting with photos..

Tomorrow my wife will probably see a practical wardrobe clear-out.

I’ll probably see an entire world I wish I could visit more often.

Davina