There’s a certain thrill that comes with crossdressing—a mix of pleasure, expression, escape, and sometimes... danger.

Not real danger, but the risk of being seen, being caught, or recognised. For many of us, that risk is part of the adrenaline, part of the excitement.

Looking back, some of my earliest memories of dressing are laced with that very feeling.

As a child, I would sneak into my mum’s wardrobe when no one was around, trying on clothes that stirred something deep inside me. More than once, I nearly got caught—rummaging would turn to panic at the sound of a key in the door. I wonder now, all these years later, did my mum know? Did she ever suspect? Maybe she turned a blind eye. Maybe she thought it was a phase. Maybe she knew more than she let on.

In my teens, the urge didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger—and so did the risks. I remember trying on other women’s things: a friend’s mother’s stockings or heels left near the front door.

I’d act casual on the outside, but my heart would be thumping like a drum. It wasn’t just about the feel of the clothing anymore—it was about being seen. Or almost seen.

In my twenties, I had my own space. But that didn’t stop the thrill. I’d dress at home, knowing someone could knock at the door—or worse, walk right in. There were moments where I’d stay dressed just minutes before my wife was due home, dashing to change when I heard her key in the lock. She didn’t know about Davina then. But even with the fear, I sometimes wanted to be caught. Not to shock or upset her—but because being hidden was exhausting.

Things changed over time. My wife now knows. And I’ve gone further than I ever imagined. Full makeup, wigs, outfits.

Davina in her element. Yet, the thrill still lingers.

Once, I was upstairs fully dressed—heels, perfume, hair done—when my mum popped round unannounced to collect something. She didn’t come up. She just called out from the hallway. But if she had walked up those stairs, she’d have seen Davina in all her glory. I remember holding my breath, frozen in place, listening to her footsteps. My heart was racing with fear... and a little bit of excitement too.

Another moment sticks with me—being away with work, staying in a hotel, dressed fully as Davina. Confident, composed. I stepped into a lift to head out and passed two colleagues from work. They didn’t recognise me. I kept walking, heels clicking, chest tight, face calm. Later that evening, I returned to the hotel, walked across a mezzanine overlooking the bar—they were right there. Again, nothing. I was invisible to them, but the rush was unforgettable.

Why does it feel so exciting to almost be caught? Maybe it’s validation—that someone could see Davina and not immediately point or laugh.

Maybe it’s the liberation of getting away with something taboo. Maybe it’s just part of the journey: pushing boundaries, gaining confidence, and testing how much of ourselves we’re ready to reveal.

Whatever it is, those moments have become part of my story and that of many others. Not just the fear, but the electricity of being seen, even if only almost.

And sometimes, I wonder... what if someone had walked in?

Davina