Getting Caught…Another Perspective
A while ago, Emma posted her musings about getting caught. Today, I thought I would add my own perspective to the conversation – and attempt to explore the emotions that surround the topic.
I very clearly remember the first time I got caught. I didn’t get caught red–handed, wearing my mother’s clothes, but make no mistake I did get caught.
At the time, I was a student in junior high. During my early childhood my mother was a stay-at-home mom. But shortly before I entered Junior High she returned to full time work. My dad would often pick me off from school, drop me off at home, and then head back to his office. This meant that when I got home from school, I often returned to an empty house. From 3pm until 5pm I had free reign of our 1600 square foot house – and all the treasures that were held within.
At least once a week I would come home, drop my stuff off in my room and make a beeline for my mother’s closet. I had watched my mom get ready for the day so many times. I knew what to do. I opened the underwear drawer and selected a bra and a pair of panties. I began to shake with excitement and nervousness as I pulled the panties up between my legs and carefully tucked my bits back between my legs. Then I would don on the bra, carefully stuffing two pairs of socks to create makeshift breasts. This same drawer held the holy grail (at least in my 12 year old eyes): pantyhose. I went to my mom’s closet and found a dress. For the shoes it was to my sisters room since we were a similar size and she was busy with extra curricular activities that would meet after school.
I would lounge around the house for a half hour. Some days I would spend up to an hour sitting around the house doing everyday things: homework, watching tv, or playing my guitar. It was wonderful. It made me feel good. I always ended my playtime before my parents returned from work. I would carefully undress and return everything to their proper place. Putting each article of clothing back exactly how I had found them. I was careful. It was scientific. Some days I cut it too close and barely made it by the time my parents opened the door. I was never caught red handed with my hand in the cookie jar – but I did get caught.
Even though my mom has probably long since forgotten the event, the day my mom confronted me is one that is burned into my mind. To her it was a child getting into things he wasn’t supposed to. To me – it was expressing my deepest and perhaps darkest desires.
One afternoon my mom looked me in the face and asked, “Have you been in my underwear drawer?” I lied, “No.” Flatly denying everything. I shook my head. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about – “ Part of me was terrified of the implications if my mom found out about my clandestine adventures, but another part of me wanted her to find out. I actually found myself conflicted. Part of me wanted to admit my secret, but the other wanted to keep it secret and safe. My fear was stronger than the desire to be caught and so I denied it.
I am almost certain at that moment she knew the truth. Even if she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself, she knew that I had been where I didn’t belong. I had been nosing around her drawers – and trying on her clothes.
I’ve tried to figure why part of me wanted to get caught since that day and to be honest I’m still trying to dissect those emotions. Maybe it was because I was just so tired of hiding. Living a lie and maintaining two existences can be very taxing. I wanted to be able to be open and proud about who I am and not be ashamed of my crossdressing. If I was exposed – and my story was told – I wouldn’t have to keep living that lie. My parents might have been shocked, sad, and maybe even angry to learn of their son’s exploits but at least there would be no more secrets. Maybe, just maybe, they would end up being supportive of my habit and allow me to indulge in crossdressing with their full knowledge. Even if they were not supportive – at least it would be out in the open. I would finally be able to talk to somebody about it.
Eventually I did come out to my parents about my crossdressing. The weight that was lifted was amazing.. And since I’m much older and have my own clothes now – I can dress up whenever I like. No longer to I have to be afraid about being caught.
Have you ever been caught? How did you feel about if you did? If you were never caught, how did you feel about the prospect of getting caught?
Photo Credit: WayTooCrowded