1. Careless mistake.

 

I threw my keys on the worktop and filled the kettle with enough water for a cup of coffee. Thankfully, I had gotten home with 10 minutes to spare. Jayne, my wife, was due soon after 9 o'clock, provided she managed to get away from the hospital when her shift ended. It was unlikely because her department was extremely short staffed.

I walked through to the bedroom, slipped out of my work suit and hung it up in the wardrobe. I had a few minutes to make the place look as though I had been in all evening. I pulled a pair of jeans on and walked back to the lounge, where I turned the TV on.

After throwing a couple of magazines on the sofa, I hurried around the kitchen. I took a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread out, ready to make a sandwich. I was just pouring the water into a coffee mug when I heard the key in the front door.

"Ken, I'm home," Jayne shouted, just before slamming the door.

She entered the kitchen and placed her bag on the worktop.

"Hi, babe. You got away early ..." I kissed her on the cheek and helped her with her coat.

"There was a lull in admissions, which is a rare treat on a cold night like this. Just making coffee?"

"Yes, the kettle has just boiled. I'm glad you're home. I'm bored to tears."

"What have you been watching?"

"Rolling news. The usual political crap."

Jayne's expression changed as she studied my face. "What's that?" She wiped her finger along my lower lip and then examined it.

"Lipstick! What the hell is lipstick doing on your lower lip?"

I turned away to hide my embarrassment. "It can't be, let me take a look," I hurried out of the kitchen and ducked into the bathroom.

The bright halogen lights highlighted an unmistakable line of pink lipstick on the right-hand side of my lower lip. It belonged to Suzy, a 19 year-old work colleague, who wanted to go for a drink with me after work. After visiting the pub, we got carried away in the car on the way back to her place. She guided my hand down her pants, while she tossed me off, but that was as far as we went.

Working together with clients, in the same sales team, meant that we spent a lot of time together in and out of the office. I knew I was taking a big risk with Jayne, because she had a suspicious and aggressive nature, but I had become careless. Her mind was usually on her work though, when she came home, so I was unlucky she spotted the lipstick. I wasn't afraid of her, I just liked to avoid riling her if I could help it.

She was standing in the doorway staring daggers at me.

"Well?"

"I was messing around with your make-up..."

"What? You were touching my stuff?"

"I'm sorry Jayne. It was just an experiment." She always left her make-up scattered over the dressing table, so I doubted if she's be able to tell if I was telling the truth or lying.

She backed away into the hall, so I quickly wiped away the evidence with a face flannel and hurried after her. Our large ground floor flat - well, Jayne's flat, had two bedrooms, one small and a larger one that we used. I discovered her examining the clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

She turned as I approached. "What else have you been up to?"

"Nothing. I told you I was bored."

She spotted her pink satin nighty, hanging over the back of the chair she used at the dressing table. The matching panties were laying on the seat. She slept in the set, so must have discarded the items there in the morning. She walked over to them and held the top to her nose. Then she examined the briefs.

"You've been wearing these. I can smell your odour."

I had never put her make-up on, but had worn some of her lingerie in the past, just to see what it felt like. I found the practice a fantastic aphrodisiac and always had a powerful orgasm after masturbating. She also had some lovely bras and nighties that fitted me, but as luck would have it, I hadn't touched the one she was referring to.

I spread my hands in surprise. "No, I swear I haven't, babe. Besides they wouldn't fit me."

"Nonsense, it's loose on me. And don't 'babe' me. I'm fucking angry you've been putting my make-up on and dressing in my clothes without asking first. Married couples shouldn't have any secrets!"

'My god, what on earth have I started?' I tried to look chastened. "I'm so sorry, darling. I promise, it won't happen again."

"No need to be sorry, Ken. You are who you are, but you should have told me."

"No, seriously. It was a one-off thing. You know me, I like women. I love you."

"You forget that I'm a doctor. I see the result of regressed feelings all the time. Suicide, self-harming, depression. This discovery explains your loss of libido and disinterest in bed."

I stared at her disbelievingly. She was the one who was too tired for sex after working late most nights. It was one of the reasons I gave in to Suzy who had badgered me for weeks. If the girl wasn't flashing her knickers, she was leaning over my desk, letting her tits hang out.

Jayne was 32, seven years older than me and I was beginning to think her sex drive was on the wane. For, every time I had sex with her, I masturbated half a dozen times, often while holding or wearing her undies.

The age difference was hardly noticeable, because she was such a fit and attractive woman, but I had noticed her getting bossier and more confrontational lately. I usually put up a fight, but I had never seen her quite so angry before.

"Babe, I am interested..."

"Don't babe me. I'm fucking fed up with your whining. I can't live with a guy who's in denial of his sexuality. I need certainty in my life, so you can sleep in the spare room tonight and pack your bags in the morning. I want you out by lunchtime."

"Jayne, aren't you overreacting? A minute ago you said you understood about such things."

"Things? You mean transvestites and transsexuals. I know much more about them than you can possibly imagine. I hate secrets and deception and that's why I'm asking you to leave."

We had had serious arguments before, over things like money and her relatives, but I was in unchartered waters. It was bewildering. On the one hand, I couldn't deny that I was cross-dressing after telling her I had worn her clothes; and I couldn't tell her that I'd been fondling and fingering a teenager from the office. I was flummoxed and utterly miserable.

I threw my hands in the air. "I've got nowhere to go, Jayne. Be reasonable. Every marriage has its ups and downs."

"I'm not discussing this any further. I have no wish to live with a deceitful man. Move your stuff now, while I make myself some food." She marched off, leaving me standing in the middle of the bedroom.

I went to the wardrobe and began to sort through my clothes. The truth was that most of the space in the wardrobe was taken by Jayne's clothes. I had about a quarter of the space.

Jayne had a bossy personality and was unlikely to change her mind, unless I came up with a good excuse, or story. While I transferred my clothes, I thought furiously about the situation. I knew absolutely nothing about the transvestite/transgender world, so couldn't even discuss the subject with my knowledgeable partner.

I assumed that crossdressing was a normal practice for a lot of men, because female clothing was designed to turn men on. To have it close to the skin was therefore a perfectly normal thing to do, or was it? I had often wondered what I would look like completely dressed as a woman, but I would never admit such thoughts to anyone.

I tried to look at it from Jayne's point of view and accepted that it must be a shock to suddenly discover your partner wearing woman's clothes. I had made a huge mistake lying to her, but what else could I have done?