A Moment That Will Never Leave You... Wearing Female Clothes For The First Time

There's a momentous and unforgettable day in every trans woman or cross-dresser's life that stands out more than any other - possibly more anything else of significance in their entire femme experience.  I might just be speaking for myself and on behalf of the other trans women that I've chatted to, but I feel sure that this is something that we all have in common.

The thing we share - perhaps with different residual emotions, is the occasion when we finally got to wear some tights or female clothing for the very first time. 

Almost certainly, like me, trans girls will be able to recall every moment of the day with perfect clarity - it's such an enormous landmark in our lives that it'll be there, permanently stamped on our consciousness until our dying day, alongside all of the other extraordinary landmarks that pave our way towards different degrees of femininity.

I think it's fair to say that this is a definable, polarising difference between cross-dressers and trans women on one hand and cis women on the other.  It's very hard to imagine a cis girl being able to recall the exact day she first wore she wore tights or a dress to a party!  Yet I can't imagine that there's a single individual like myself who can't remember the events leading up to, during and after their first experience of trying on female clothing for themselves.

With all of this in mind, I wanted to share my story with you - of how I got the opportunity to pull on some tights / pantyhose for the very first time.  This was my first step into the world of my inner life.

***

It’s a typical weekday evening in my house in 1980.  I am at home, I'm about ten years old and at this point it’s about nine o’clock on a typical weekday evening.  All is quiet, except for the drone of the TV coming from the living room downstairs.  My parents are watching a favourite programme down there together and I’m upstairs in bed, in my room behind a closed door.  My bedroom light was switched off a few minutes before, and I’m lying quietly in the darkened bedroom as I do every evening, waiting for sleep to take hold and for school and the morning routine to greet me in the morning.

Tonight though, I can’t get to sleep and I’m feeling restless and bored.  I go over to the bathroom and take a book with me.  I can turn the light on there without being spotted from downstairs, and my parents know that sometimes I read whilst I’m in there to pass the time.  This might sound a trifle odd, but at that age, an extra few minutes alone n the bathroom really did mean a chance to read for a little longer, and nothing more!

Having let a few moments pass, I decide to go back to bed and try to beat my insomnia and boredom.  It’s only then that the thoughts come together and form the most exciting prospect of my young life...

It’s amazing that I haven’t considered doing this before – but it’s only now, at the age of ten– four years after experiencing the desire and longing to wear tights for the first time that I realise that I could actually make my long- held desire a reality – and right in my own house too, at that very moment.  

My life is about to change – and this is what’s about to change it...

Going back down the darkened hallway to my bedroom I glance into my parents’ bedroom and catch a glimpse of my mother’s clothes lying neatly on their hanger against her mirror ready for the next day.  My train of thought moves on to imagine her the next morning, dressed, as ever, in a longish smart skirt and jacket ready for the office, with her brown or barely black sheer tights beneath as I see her every working day.  Of course, I think - her tights are in her drawer, she keeps them there all bundled together.  I’ve seen them from a distance in her room a dozen times, and not really thought any more of it.  They’re hers after all – clothes for an adult lady.

But then – the connections happen and the amazing possibility presents itself to me for the first time:

Why don’t you go in and have a look at her tights for yourself?  No one will ever notice if you’re quiet and quick!

And, then, a second later, sending a bolt of excitement through me so strong that I feel my face flush and burn, the inevitable thought arrives:

Why don’t you secretly try a pair of your mother’s tights on?  No one will ever know!

The burning continues.  I feel my heart beat and my body begin to swell and pulse.  I’m a child, a boy of only ten years, but still, incredibly, I feel a rush of desire and a thrill to even consider wearing tights myself. 

The sheer audacity of the prospect is intoxicating.  I could have done this before on any quiet night or moment in the house before now, but it’s taken me until this very minute to come to the realisation that I could have my beloved tights – and without any of the previous worries and concerns ever rearing their head or blocking my way.

*****

After all of those years of waiting and hoping in vain that a teacher, a fancy-dress party or a school play would allow me to wear tights without humiliation or without having to ask for myself.  All of those days in primary school looking longingly at the girls’ dark-green legs– wishing that I could borrow some woollen ribbed tights and wear them for just five minutes in secret.  They all come flooding back.

There was even a time when I thought my ship had come in, when a girl in my primary school class had left hers on my table getting changed for PE.  Back in those days, we all changed into our shorts and t-shirts in the classroom without any consideration of childhood embarrassment.  That was simply how it was, although I'm doubtful things are so liberal and innocent today.

For ten minutes I’d been waiting for that second to snatch this pair of rolled up, bottle-green tights and then hold them under my jumper.  The plan was to remove them to the toilets.  I’d never have stolen them, I genuinely had every intention of giving them back but the prospect of having some real tights, just for few minutes and then getting wear them for myself…  Well, it was just too much to hope for. 

Of course, the teacher spotted them before I had my chance and they soon were reunited with their rightful owner, which was probably for the best. 

*****

A little reminder:  I had no sister, no close female friend or female relative my age.  My mother was the only significant female figure in my life at this time and the only source of tights in my life.  My fascination and longing was becoming stronger with each passing year and I’d toyed with the idea of going to the shops myself and trying to buy some; but I was still a young boy without any real financial or practical independence.  In short, I’d mentally explored all the possible avenues for wearing some tights, only to see them all close – until this very sudden moment of revelation on the landing of my family home, in the dark one weekday evening.  I really couldn’t believe that I’d never considered it before, but I genuinely hadn’t.

The only worry now would be carrying it out quietly and inconspicuously, so that my parents wouldn’t hear me, and my mother wouldn’t spot that I’d been into one of her underwear drawers the next day.  God – imagine that having to face that!  I knew I was going to have to be very careful.

*****

Things are still quiet in my family home that evening.  I tiptoe in to the bedroom and sit down on the floor.  My mum keeps her tights in the lowest drawer of her cabinet.  I’ve seen her delving in there time after time putting her laundered tights back in their home; loosely separating them between the black pairs on one side and the beige on the other. 

They’re there now as I silently slip open the drawer - the tights. bundled, just as I’ve envisaged.  

I’ve pulled the drawer open slowly, or, at least as slowly as my excitement will allow me.  The blood is still pumping in my ears and the heat is scorched across my face.  My pre-pubescent body stirs in ways that are both comfortable and disconcerting.  None the less, I am focused on something with a ferocity I may not ever have summoned before.  I’m interested in just one thing – finding a pair of tights to wear as quickly as possible!

My nerves prevent me from burrowing in the drawer.  Instead, I pull out the rolled, ball-like pair from the second layer in the drawer and begin to pull and stretch the legs out.  They’re a dark-beige / light-brown pair of 15 denier tights or pantyhose– just like so many of my mother’s everyday pairs.  To her, they're simply another pair of everyday clothes.  But I don’t really take this in.  At this second, they’re the greatest thing in the entire world and nothing is going to stop me fulfilling my life’s ambition now so long as the house stays calm and quiet and I keep my cool.

*****

I hold them out in front of my face.  The familiar, dark reinforced pantie reveals itself at the top, and then the two legs begin to dangle loosely all the way to the scrunched, shadow-toes at the bottom.  Their recent wash has caused them to contract and I worry that the wrinkles and linear seams will remain in place and ruin the experience for me.

I don’t need to worry.  I sit on the floor and lift my leg.  My pyjamas are off now and my expectation has reached an extraordinary pitch.  I don’t have time or the nerve to wear or find any knickers or panties.  I just want to wear these tights now.

There’s a good deal of light coming into the darkened bedroom from the landing and I have a perfect view of myself in the bedroom mirror.  The stage really is set.  And there, slowly, but surely, I get to experience at last what I’ve been dreaming about every day for the last few years. 

*****

The tights smooth out and cling to me perfectly, despite my small size.  I remember being worried that the fit would be wrong and the adult tights would be too big for me, but the nylon legs slip onto me readily and reveal their magnificent, subtle  dark sheen as they go.  I admire myself in the mirror.  Astonishingly, I am able to see that my legs now look just like a girl’s, and it’s all so, so perfect and everything I’ve hoped for.

This really is one of the highlights of my life.  All these years later I can see myself and recall the emotions of that evening.  Today, every time I pull tights on or embrace my feminine side, I’m back in that room as a small boy.

*****

I don’t really have the time or the nerve to fully enjoy the sensations, but I feel surprised that the tights have certain toughness to their texture that I wasn’t expecting.  My imagination had them as completely, feathery soft and smooth.  But the real tights are a little bit rough – the tight weave of the nylon and the firm stretch of fabric around the whole of lower body and legs feels completely alien.  It’s not disappointing in the slightest – quite the opposite.  God – girls get the chance to do this everyday?  I really have been born under an unlucky star – I need to be able to do this!

Wearing tights really does feel completely different to anything else.  Nothing that I’ve ever had to wear as a boy has felt anything like this.  I am overwhelmed with what I’m experiencing.  So much wish-fulfilment and sensory amplification leaves me numb.  On top of all of this joyous fulfilment, there also lurks the thrill of the taboo, the fear of being caught and the incredible feeling of comfort that has stemmed form this moment.

*****

Time ticks by - it's probably no more tithe two minutes since I even touched the tights for the first time, but I know that I have to take them off.  I try to do this as quickly as I can without making a noise.  They’re soon off and I try to roll them back to their original state.  The nylon scrunches back a little, and so I place them in the drawer just underneath a similar pair, and hope my mother won’t notice any difference in the future.  The drawer is so full (at least 20 pairs rolled up in there, with a couple on new packets in cardboard and cellophane at the side) that I’m sure I’ll get away with it.

The pyjamas go back on.  Then, perhaps no more than ten minutes before I’d left my bedroom, I’m back where I was before.  My mind races.  

There’s the knowledge that I can do it again if I want to.  Not every night, or even every week, but as and when I feel brave enough and the opportunity presents itself.  I can wear anything I want to, provided I borrow it secretly from my mother.

I do repeat the experience the following night after a day at school thinking of nothing else.  This time, it’s black tights and I sit and watch myself in the mirror for ten minutes or so before putting them back.  The novelty doesn’t diminish, but I have to hold myself back, and it’s several months before I dare to go back and do it again.

*****

This was my first experience of this type and I know that there are literally thousands of similar ones out there inside the hearts and minds of so many 'girls' like me.

Perhaps, like in relationships, the need and compulsion to cross-dress or transition is an attempt of some sort to recapture that initial burst of unobtainable ecstasy.  Every subsequent experience needs to replicate that initial 'hit', and I think it's telling that I remember my first time in tights even now as I take a private opportunity to wear some some once again.

If you've a story to tell, please feel free to share it in the comments. below.  I'd love to hear it!