I put on the dress and my life changed. I cannot now remember exactly how it came about. Kathy had bought the dress second-hand, put it on, and asked me how she looked, so I said very nice. Then somehow she said I should put it on and I did. Perhaps it was a joke, I can't honestly say. It should have been ridiculous, a middle-aged man in a dress, but it wasn't. It was wonderful.

I had been sitting there, a bit of a slob, in a vest and jeans. I dropped the jeans and put on the dress. Suddenly I knew. Kathy looked at me and she knew. It was suddenly right and I knew what and who I was. That is the middle of the story of how I became a happily married cross-dressing husband. All because of that dress and that moment. I must make it clear that the dress was the second best thing that happened to me in my life, the very best being of course Kathy, the wonderful woman I later made my second wife.

+ - + - + - + - + - +

So here is the start of the story during my first marriage to Jean. Now let me say that Jean was great, and the divorce was all my fault, well mostly, though in a sense she caused it, and the divorce would have been not so bad if it had not been for the lawyers.

I had better admit my considerable faults. I was, probably like most human beings, rather insecure. I suspected that I wasn't quite good enough at my job, human relationships and coping with the complexities of the world. It also seemed to me that there was a general pattern of everyone ripping you off in financial dealings. As a man, I dealt with this by acting as I supposed a man should, and as I thought others were. I was inconsiderate, drank more than I really wanted, said things that I shouldn't and didn't really believe, and took part in activities like parties that I didn't really enjoy. Most of all I treated women like a sexist pig, with all the jovial "It's only a bit of fun. Don't get your knickers in a twist, dear!" sort of things. Maybe it was also a bit of a reaction to the fact that I was not very tall, and had a sort of inverse superman figure: narrow shoulders and quite wide hips. Which is why the dress fitted, of course. Yes, as a man I felt a bit inferior, but as a woman I was quite good.

Nevertheless, Jean married me and put up with me. She was, and still is, a sexy woman, and liked sexy underwear, which I enjoyed seeing her in. She was dressed in a particularly titillating outfit as she gave me a handjob, and made the remark which began it all. She said that she had a friend whose husband would not let her give him a handjob, which the friend really liked doing. Jean also commented how lucky she was to have such a nice big cock to wank and how sorry she was for her friend.

I will shorten the story to say that the pair of them tricked me. I was somehow persuaded, against what little better judgment I possessed, to let the friend give me a handjob. The friend was gorgeous and the handjob was great. What was even better is she did it again occasionally. Yes, my wife allowed me to be tossed off several times with another attractive woman. So what is my complaint?

It turns out that she was giving handjobs to the friend's husband. It was some sort of dare amongst a group of wives to swap husbands in this way, each thinking the other was refusing manual delights. In retrospect, it seems hard to think that I would have believed it. The group had something called the Handjob Club in which they reported their successes in this way.

When I found out, I was of course livid. However I had taken things a little further, supposing that a bit of fun with one woman meant I was more generally allowed. I ended up screwing around. (Again in hindsight, I think I was acting a bit in the way I thought men should rather than what I actually wanted.) So it ended in divorce.

When the other husband found out he just laughed, apparently. They are still married and share handjobs with several other couples. If I had known what was involved in divorce, I would have done the same, or at least separated without involving lawyers. That was the thing. Giving Jean the lion's share of our goods and suitable pension rights was fine. We both had good jobs, and no children, so maintenance was not an issue. But the lawyer's fees were. Both fought the issue to assign blame, and the fees were immense, wiping out much of our savings.

That was when I met Kathy, who deserves credit for putting up with me knowing what had gone before. With the stress of the divorce I lost my job and was only able to get a much lower paying one. Moving in with Kathy stretched our meagre incomes. Nevertheless, she bought second-hand clothes.

She was pleased with the dress, which was green, sleeveless with a high neck and a pleated knee-length skirt. We are actually of similar size, so it fitted me OK, apart from the bust of course. I put it on and had a sudden realisation. I wanted to be a woman. In exactly what sense we only discovered later, but that was it. I wasn't really a sexist bastard - perhaps it was an overreaction to what I really wanted, which was to wear a pretty dress and act more like a woman.

We didn't say anything, but somehow Kathy understood immediately. She went off and quickly returned with some of her clothes. A bra and padding completed the top, and I happily accepted some frilly knickers. She also had a lipstick, which I realised I also wanted. She combed my hair and we looked in the mirror. It is amazing that we had no discussion, it just seemed so obvious to both of us. Then she got my shaver, and told me to shave before she put on the rest.

A bit of powder and some eyeliner. In a corner of my mind I thought I probably looked ridiculous, but the main portion admired me, and there was an overwhelming sense of relief and feeling "at last!"

She asked if I wanted tights, and I thought I did. She normally takes hers off when she comes home, but for the rest of the evening I wore them along with everything else, sitting on the sofa watching TV. She never asked me why - in fact we did not discuss it at all that night, it just happened.

At bedtime, Kathy removed my makeup, put on her usual pyjamas, and offered me a lovely pink frilly nightdress. I was so pleased when I put it on. She kissed me and said how glad she was that it made me happy. I had a contented night's sleep lying beside her, and woke refreshed.

At work (as a man) I was cheerful and efficient, and came home with eager anticipation.

She told me to shave and shower, then put makeup on me. She gave me tights and a matching pink set of bra, panties and waist slip, a skirt and blouse. Then we had dinner, and talked about our days if nothing had changed. (Although I probably paid more attention to her and less to myself than in the past.)

That evening we looked through her clothes and began my long education in their technical aspects. We sorted out those I could wear immediately and discussed what might be bought in future. She said she could make some alterations to improve the fit. Surprisingly, I turned out to have some preferences and a degree of taste. Each night that week I wore a different outfit, and she tried variations on the makeup, and I cuddled up with her in my pink nightie.

On Saturday we began to discuss the matter. I normally drank beer, but this time it seemed right for us to have a glass of wine together. Kathy was also more smartly dressed than she would normally be at this time, which was generally slacks and a top, with just lipstick. She had a dress, tights and makeup as did I, in my case in the dress which started it all.

"So, you like being a woman." I had to agree that I did.

"How far do you think you want to go? Breast implants and gender reassignment surgery? Because there's no way we can afford that." I said I didn't know, but that would be a long time in the future if I did. For now, I was happy in the clothes and makeup.

"What about sex? Do you fantasize about men? Should we find you a boyfriend to fuck you?" Bless her! It was "we". I said that it had never occurred to me, which was true. I thought, but did not say, that perhaps these feelings might develop, now that I had the idea.

I realised how wonderful she was and how much I loved her, and said "Will you marry me?"

She was startled. "Er, as a man or a woman? That's allowed today."

I said "As a man who likes dressing up as a woman, but who doesn't know what the future will hold, but loves you. Would you still love me if I did those other things?"

"Yes!" she said. "I will marry you and I will still love you if you have your cock cut off and get fucked by men."

We kissed and hugged and cried in our female outfits. Then they started to come off, and still half-dressed we made love. "I think I'll keep my cock for now," I said. "That's the best news today," she answered.