Many people have requested a bio and until now I have purposely not placed one on my website. My feelings were that my site was for enjoying the good things about being a transgender and the sharing of pictures in nice clothes and sexy stockings and pantyhose. I'm also a private person who doesn't open up easily. However, since many are interested in my life, I have decided to place a short bio on the site and since I'm not a good writer I hope it provides enough information to get a sense of who I am.

I grew up in New York City in what was termed the "projects". It was basically a community with eight buildings, eight stories high and eight families per floor. It was a tough place to live because most people had little money and you learned to be tough mentally as well as physically. If you didn't know how to fight or defend yourself , you would be the target for abuse or much worse. This is another story all together, but will say I did more than okay physically or had the necessary connections to avoid trouble.

My parents both worked and I was a "latch key" kid, meaning that when school was over I would go home and be alone unsupervised until my parents returned from work. I guess this is how my crossdressing started. My belief is that if it didn't start then, it would have started anyway.

My first memories go back to the age of ten and who knows if there were any earlier experiences that may be related. When I would get home from school I would go into my mom's bedroom and look in her drawers. When I discovered her lingerie drawer, I had started putting on her stockings and remembering how great they felt. Nice, smooth, shiny, a scent of perfume and they looked nice. Of course no hair on my body at ten. Then it progressed to hooking the stockings up to a girdle. Now the girdle also felt great. It had that satiny feel to it and the way it would feel so tight against my body. Having a lot of time on my hands when school was over or vacations, I further explored by wearing her dresses and putting on her shoes.

Keep in mind that at the age of ten, I knew very little about sex other than a few Playboys and for those old enough to remember, National Geographic. The only girls I remember liking at his time was my next door neighbor, Lorraine, her sitter Joanne who was my baby sitter a few years earlier and Roberta a classmate who had a very cute face and was always nice to me.

When I dressed in my mom's clothes it had nothing to do with sex, I just felt good in her clothes. I know if I went to a shrink and he/she questioned me in detail, I would be sure that they would say something about the mom/clothes relationship. Also, my household wasn't the greatest place to live. My father wasn't the most pleasant person in the world. He pretty much came home from work and would drink. This in effect would lead to brawls in the house between my mom and dad and would spill over to the kids in the house. I remember terrible incidents where my father would hit my mother and at times my mom would sometimes get the guts to hit him back and there were many of times when both would resort to pulling a knife out of the utensil drawer and they threaten each other. What a great place to live.

Back to my story. This went on for years and my next vivid memory was my sixth grade teacher Ms. Cohen. She was good looking and would wear short dresses and nice high heels and of course beige stockings. When I went to school you had the same teacher for the whole day/year and I'll tell you I would have it no other way. My assigned seat was to the right of her desk and front row, which proved to be the best seat in the house. Many times a day when she would address the class and would sit on her desk facing us. This was the best part of each day. She would cross her legs and I would get to see the full length over her leg from high heels to a little past the stocking top and garter clip. She had nice legs and would always dream of rubbing them and feeling the top of her stocking top. Imagine having a teacher like this for ten months. When school ended that year I was very disappointed. Though I never saw her again I still can vividly recall what she looks like to this day.

When I was around 12 my parents would send me to do errands, like going to the bakery on Sundays for a loaf a rye bread and buns, and the newspaper each morning. Around that time my mom would also send me to a local neighbor store to buy milk, bread and stockings for her to wear to work. I don't why, but I wasn't embarrassed about buying them. She would always have me buy size 10 ½ beige. The store had a large display of boxes that had three pair in each of the boxes and they would look and pull down the beige box with size 10 ½ and nicely wrap them up. In time I got smart and would include my own money and started to ask for two pairs. Believe me the money was hard to come by. My dad would know almost to the penny what I needed to pay at the store and my own money was from returning bottles and cans to store for refunds. I also knew that what ever I bought for my mom I would eventually be wearing . This continued for about 3 years until we moved to a new neighborhood.

Many things were happening around the age of 12. I remember my older brother had a girlfriend that was very pretty and would usually wear dresses. Many times I'd come home and catch him and his girlfriend on the couching making out. From time to time I also catch him sitting next to her with his hand up her skirt feeling her legs and beige stockings. She was very pretty and I wished I were feeling her legs too.

What a great period to grow up. However, soon pantyhose came and stockings were no longer being worn. What a shame. The good news was that mini skirts and hot pants were now in and I was going starting to go to junior high school for grades 7-8. I remember the girls being different from grammar school girls. The girls were now wearing makeup and had more confidence in their looks and were wearing mini skirts.

I learned very quickly that looking at the girl's legs was something that took planning. Basically what I'd do and many of boys would do is when the bell rang to move on to another class you would plan to leave the classroom right after the pretty girls that wore dresses. This would put you in prime position to have a good view up to the girl's butt on the staircases. I'm not sure if most girls knew what was going on or maybe they did. In particular, I remember I had a crush on one girl. Her name was Leila, she was tall and was a mix of Latin and Irish. She had a great pair of long legs. We knew each other and would talk occasionally and had many of the same classes. She always wore white panties, I know because I use to sit a few rows ahead of her and if I looked back at her I'd usually get a good glimpse between her legs. Her white panties against her bronzed legs looked great.

Around the age of fourteen I stopped wearing my mom's clothes, she stopped working. By now I had been wearing stockings for four years and really hooked. Of course I wasn't going to say hey mom buy me some stockings/pantyhose. I found a way to get them. Also, I was getting a bit turned off about wearing my mom's things. When you are small it's one thing, but when your male hormones kick in, mom is not the sexy imagine you want to have.

As a young kid living in a bad neighborhood I learned to be a petty thief. If it wasn't nailed down it was mine. I would go into local stores and lift soda, cake, cookies, baseball cards, pens, pads, etc. Actually most of this activity was done in the fall and winter months. I would rip the lining in my coat to be used as a storage place for whatever I'd take. Never got caught. So now I was into taking pantyhose. I'd walk down the aisle once or twice and decide what to take and then use the coat to take the pantyhose. I couldn't do this with the stockings, they were always behind the counter.

Now I was wearing them and hiding them from my parents. I was kind of stupid when it came to hiding things. I would hide the pantyhose under my mattress never thinking that my mom would eventually change the sheets, flip the mattress or change the room around every once in awhile. My mom use to find the pantyhose and throw them out without ever saying a word. She probably thought they belonged to a girlfriend.

As time went on I started to think that something was wrong with me. Here I was a good athlete, a guy that never has trouble getting girlfriends and still wearing pantyhose and always dreaming about the next time and what it would be like to wear a dress, shoes, etc. Around the age of sixteen, I purged all my stuff for the first time.

At seventeen I got my first car. As usual I had a girlfriend and at least one-day each weekend we would windup at the parking lot down at the beach. It was then that I first had the courage to ask to wear her pantyhose. She thought it unusual but thought that it was more out of curiosity than anything else. I too felt it was only curiosity, at that time. I didn't really know much about what a transvestite or a crossdresser was and didn't really label myself that way. So every once in awhile I'd ask if I could wear pantyhose while fooling around.

Skip forwarding ahead, I eventually got married and had kids. During the period when my kids were growing up I would buy clothes, purge clothes, buy clothes again. Very confusing time period were I would want to stop doing this and then get excited about doing it again the next day. To be honest, I can honestly say since I was ten to this day almost every night I dream about being dressed. So my emotions about dressing was always a roller coaster, plus the fact that I was always hiding and covering my tracks. Not the way a person should live. Looking back I should have been up front about the whole thing, but I guess that since I was always in the state of confusion that I didn't truly believe this was something that would continue. It also had to do with being naïve about what was going on. Hindsight is a great tool now that I'm older and wiser.

Eventually like many others there comes a point where you learn to accept yourself. That happened about seven years ago. My thoughts now are that I was given one life and why should I lead the life others want me to lead. Life is short and I don't want to look back when I'm old and say I wish I had done this and done that. At least I know that I am true to myself and I can accept myself because I believe that this is the life I was intended to have.

So I started to go out. And the rest is left for another time. So much for a short story.