Here is another contribution by a real woman married to a husband who enjoys dressing in little girl and baby clothes. Both Lynne and Marianne point out that cruel humiliation is not really something that the female enjoys, which to me just goes to show what extraordinarily wonderful and kindly people women are. 

Miss Susan McDonald asked me to write something on life with a transgenerational crossdresser. I considered carefully before agreeing to her request. There is very little written from the partner's perspective, except for the somewhat lurid and ludicrous tales one finds in fantasy fiction.  Dominant women certainly exist, and I have little doubt that, in certain instances, their domination leads them to find submissive men - or more likely, it is the submissive men who find them. Having embraced each others' lifestyles, they settle down to enjoy - if that is the appropriate term - a life of pain and humiliation. Let me make it clear, I think the woman inflicting the pain is ever more humiliated than the man upon whom she inflicts it. To my mind, strong women do not physically, or even emotionally, beat other people into submission. Anyone who derives pleasure from this exercise is seriously psychologically damaged.

But I am racing ahead! I finally determined that I would write about my relationship with 'Elizabeth' (names have been changed) in order to put the factual perspective, as a welcome change from the fictional.  My intention is to be informative; my hope is that it might actually help couples in similar situations better come to terms with relationships involving a transgenerational partner. I should add that I have shown this  to 'Elizabeth' and he is happy

In 1992, I had been going out with Graham for some time. We had a good relationship, he was (and is) very kind, considerate and caring.  Marriage, however, was never a subject he liked. I put it down to a male reluctance to commit himself.  But towards the end of 1992, Graham had become noticeably more moody.  He seemed so unhappy.  I was certain something was wrong and concluded that he wanted to end our relationship, but was having difficulty in saying it (as sometimes happens in relationships!) In fact, I felt sure that he was having an affair.  I wanted him to tell me what was wrong and, at the same time, dreaded what he might say.

He is the type of person who loves Christmas, and if was to be our last one together I wanted it to be very good. On Christmas morning, we opened our presents. His gifts, as usual, were generous but even more importantly they were very thoughtful. He had clearly listened to all the subtle, and not so subtle, hints that I had dropped.

All of that just made me determined that, Christmas or not, I was going to find out what was wrong, even though I was sure I would regret it once told.

It was 11.15 on Christmas morning when, after some determined encouragement from me, Graham began to tell me in emotional terms something about the duality of personality.  I can't really recall what he said, but I followed enough of it to know that he seemed to be saying that he had a strong feminine side that he felt driven to express.

I was in a state of very mixed emotions. I know now, looking back, that I only quarter understood what he had said.  But before we could discuss it we had visitors.   I wasn't sure whether I wanted to laugh, cry, or scream, but we both had to resume the guise of Yuletide happiness for our visitors.  In fact, I managed to almost put the whole thing out of my mind for the next several hours.  I know now that I didn't want to think about it, it was Christmas, who needs that kind of bombshell? Further, a million mad possibilities and fears ran riot in my mind. Better to shut them out until we could find a chance to talk.

We did talk that night. Perhaps after thinking that Graham wanted to end it, I was relieved, at least initially.  But over the next few days, I was less certain of my reaction.  I tried to imagine Graham dressed as a woman.  What I saw was, in my mind, not flattering, but grotesque.  I began to wish that I've had not been told, or that I had been more cautious in my reaction.  However, Graham had taken my response so positively that he was convinced that everything would be okay.  For him, there was relief and elation, for me there was uncertainty and fear.

I will fast forward now, and simply say that the next few months were wonderful from a relationship perspective.  Graham dressed as a woman and looked remarkably good once make up was applied, and the right clothes and wigs acquired.  We even had the cliched occurrence of me having to borrow tights and make up from my partner every now and again.   So the entire process was actually  not a very traumatic one.  Graham was happy, and his mood swings had gone.  I adjusted to having a partner who had a desire for skirts and high heels, and who liked to be called Elizabeth.

As part of coming to terms with the crossdressing, I had thought about going to talk with someone professionally, but I was disinclined to do so. If we could work it out on our own, that would be better and I remained convinced that was the right choice.  Let me put it like this: as we both saw it, if we couldn't talk about something as important as this to each other, then we had a failed relationship.

Some months later while watching television, we saw a French Maid prance sexually across the screen. Graham admitted that he would love a French Maid's dress. I knew enough to know that what he was actually saying was that he would love to be dressed and act as the French Maid on television had done.

I wasn't even slightly fazed by this statement, and told him to ahead and obtain such an outfit. Within a week, he was standing in front of me dressed as the frilliest French Maid imaginable.  Very short black dress, white apron, cap with ribbons, full petticoats, suspenders, garters, knickers with lots of lace and trimmings, stockings and heels that I couldn't have walked in.  I knew he was looking for approval.  Even if he hadn't looked great, I would have said he did.  I knew how easily his feelings could be hurt.  But the truth is that he did good.  I was totally taken aback.  What's more as he moved (he did the dusting and vacuuming dressed), I could see that he was actually able to move with verve and confidence.  He was so natural.  Everything about his appearance and actions, including asking to be called Betty rather than Elizabeth, indicated clearly that he had been thinking for a very long time about being a frilly maid.
 
That should have prepared me for what was coming next but it didn't...

As I said previously, I had quickly become aware that Graham liked to dress in frilly underclothes. In a sense, Graham's love of petticoats and frilly accessories was far removed from that of modern women, who prefer (for the most part) less fussy underwear.  Still it made him happy, I could see no harm in it, and life continued.

One night, Graham started telling me how happy he was that his dressing was not an issue between us. He talked at length about how he had tried to rationalise his love for female clothes.  It was a conversation we had had many times before. But this time Graham told me that he felt that he had missed out greatly on not been able to dress as a girl when young.  He felt that Elizabeth had no real history.  She had never been a baby girl, schoolgirl, teenager etc. She had no past of her own to draw on.  He said that he wanted to give her an identity that was distinctly her own.  I had little idea what he meant, but I knew Graham well enough to know that these were not idle comments.  He had something in mind and it came as something of a surprise rather than a shock.

He told me he wanted to dress as a baby girl, and also as a little girl, and experience what he had missed out on.  He asked me to think about it, and then we went to bed.  I knew that Graham would want me to raise the subject again: if I didn't, he wouldn't. I knew too that he hoped that I would raise it, and that I would be positive. It was always his approach to put the ball in my court. If I didn't like the idea, I was free to say it. There would be no problem. Maybe that's why our relationship is still intact. I never felt under any pressure to say 'Yes' or 'No' to any ideas.  Indeed, I knew that if my answer was 'No' that there was no requirement on me to give any reasons.  But I did know that a positive answer would make Graham very happy.

I thought about it for the next two days.  I wasn't really sure what it involved. Graham being a baby girl: would that mean soothers, baby clothes, baby talk etc?  How far would it extend, would it go as far as nappies, plastic pants etc.  Seeing your husband dressed as a French Maid is one thing, visualising him dressed as a baby girl in cute baby pink, playing with dollies, is quite another.  Or so I thought initially!! But the more I thought about it, the more I was willing to at least give it a try (albeit with reservations).  My reservations were based not so much on Graham, but on me, and my role in this scenario.

What would I be expected to do???  If Graham was a 15 month old baby, then I would be his mummy.  But what did that entail?  I knew how to look after a real 15 month old baby girl, but this was rather different.

When we talked, Graham was delighted by my reaction (and I think a little surprised).  He told me that there were stories on the web about such situations, but added that they could easily give the wrong idea because they involved forced babyfication, and generally had significant sexual connotations.  What he wanted was to become a 15 month old baby girl in as many respects as possible.

We agreed to try it, see if it worked, and if it didn't, it didn't.  Graham told me then what would be needed. As he told me, I couldn't help but notice his real enthusiasm: it seemed that this was so important to him.  I can remember him listing all the paraphernalia required: baby shoes, baby socks, nappies, nappy pins, nappy cream, baby talc, baby vest, petticoats, hair with ribbons and bows, short baby dress, bottle, soothers, changing bag, changing mat, frilly plastic pants, bibs, night dress, dolls, toy blocks etc.  When I later looked at the list, I realised that it must be the list that any mother with a baby girl would have to address.  It was certainly thorough, even though Graham pointed out that ideally we should have a high chair, playpen and cot, but those things could be left for another time.

Graham told me that he would arrange to get all the items to save me any embarrassment. I certainly wouldn't have known where to get the dress, nappies etc. but I did want to participate, so I agreed to purchase all the items that could readily be obtained in a shop.  It was, for me, a unique experience when I found myself, a few days later, buying nappy cream, soothers and a baby bottle amongst other things.  My only sticky moment was when I was buying the changing mat, and the shop assistant asked, 'What age is your baby?' 'She is fifteen months', I replied. Then she said something so natural, 'They are so cute at that age, I bet you have great fun with her'.  I smiled; if only she knew.  The other thing that I bought (which wasn't on my list) was a doll for Elizabeth to play with.  That was meant as a surprise, something that would assure Graham that I was happy with the situation.

It took about two weeks for all the clothes to be acquired.  In that time, we must have discussed the idea every night, and from every conceivable angle.  I could see that Graham was constantly trying to establish whether I was more or less keen on the idea.  To be honest, even though I didn't show it to him, my attitude varied considerably. From the positive to the negative.   One minute I would see the amusing side of it, and how we could each have some fun. The next moment, I just didn't want to know.  A voice inside my head would say, 'You have already done enough.  You don't need this hassle. This is crazy'. In fact, they were the least negative of the negatives!!!

But, I kept my doubts to myself and, on balance, convinced myself that we could try it for one night, and if it was as bad as my negative images suggested, I would simply walk away from it.  In thinking all of this there was one crucially important fact, and that was that Graham would accept my decision. I think that I would never have been even willing to contemplate this matter if I had thought that I was under any pressure.

And so to the night in question which I will describe in a little detail: what we had agreed was that Graham would go into the spare room and undress.  I would then enter and dress Baby Betty.  We had agreed that the role play would last two hours, 7 to 9pm.  In my mind, the approach I adopted was that Graham was a baby girl.  I dressed her as I would a baby.  She was given a doll to hold, and I put a soother in her mouth while she was being prepared.  I then creamed and talced her before heavily diapering her.  I then slipped a pair of the frilliest plastic pants over her nappy. Next I had her sit up and put on her vest and shoes. All the time I talked with her as if she was a baby, and she gurgled back.  Looking back I did it without thinking too much about what I was doing. If I had stopped to reflect, the spell would have been broken.  But as it was, I was determined to dress Baby Betty.  The final touches were her dress and petticoats. It was only as I fixed them that I realised how short her dress was (very much baby length), and how padded her bottom was (again very babylike).  A real conjuring illusion had been created; there was no trace of Graham, instead there was a baby girl, albeit a rather large one in terms of physical dimensions.

When dressed, I helped her walk to the mirror telling her what a lovely little girl she was. I could see from her look that she was surprised herself.  I fixed her ribbons in her hair.  Then I took her into the front room where I simply plonked her on a blanket on the floor and gave her her dolls and blocks.  And there she played, just like any other baby girl, while I watched television and kept an eye on her.  Later, I gave her a bottle sitting her on my lap and making sure she wore her pretty bib.

Throughout the time, I talked with her and treated her as a baby. She crawled around in the way that babies do, and I stopped her from reaching for anything or crawling out of the room. The two hours went quickly and it was soon time to change her before putting her to bed. Babies don't argue, that's one good thing about them.

After 15 minutes Graham returned. We briefly discussed what happened and then went out for a drink.  I think we both knew that it had gone okay but that there was much we could work on IF we were to do it again.  We have done it again, many times. It's still fun but we work on making it better and fresh.

Graham also dresses as a 6 year old girl, that's a different story in some ways, but in other ways it all comes down to this, which is my own personal conclusion:

People are free to do what they wish, once they don't involve anyone outside.  What we do, we do in private and between ourselves.  There is no pain, no humiliation, no force of any type.  There is nothing seedy or guilt-inducing about it.  It is an aspect of my husband that I accept. Our relationship is not based on Graham's dressing, but it is nonetheless a part of life that we both accept and share.

It is ultimately a personal decision for every couple to make.  The only definitive advice I can give is that it must be discussed.  Trying to suppress or hide issues like this can never work.  Relationships are a two way affair. Each side must be open minded, at least to the idea of real discussion.  After that, the choice is theirs.

Marianne.