I have had the desire to dress in female clothing as long as I can remember. Early in our twenty-five-year marriage, I told Ingrid of my interest in female attire. She went along with my cross-dressing several times as a joke, but refused any further participation. Try as I might, I could not persuade my wife to take part in my diversion. My cross-dressing was limited to times when my wife was away or I was alone in the house. After all these years, a most surprising turn of events occurred some nine months ago.

Following a late breakfast one Sunday morning, we got into one of our cross-dressing arguments. Then, to my amazement, my wife suddenly agreed to help me dress for the day, but only on the condition that she be in complete control of the program. To say the least, I could not believe what was happening.

With great excitement, I immediately agreed to her condition. My wife took me to the bedroom and ordered me to strip in preparation for my female grooming. As I eagerly complied, she left the room and returned shortly with a bed sheet, scissors and her electric razor. Spreading the sheet on the floor in front of our full-length mirror and saying that it would serve as a drop cloth, she ordered me to stand in the middle of it. Stating that the female body should be hairless, she proceeded to go to work with the razor with a business-like approach.

Starting with my legs, she rhythmically worked the razor until my legs were stripped clean all the way to my crotch. Next to be denuded were my underarms, arms, back and buns. Following the shaving of my chest, she methodically maneuvered the razor down over my stomach. As she reached for the scissors in order to start on my hairy manhood, I voiced a protest. She angrily reminded me of the condition I had agreed to at the start. Fearing she would stop the game completely, I said no more and stood helpless as the scissors and razor made quick work of my thick patch, leaving my manly jewels fully exposed.

Ingrid turned me around so I could admire her handiwork 1n the mirror as she started to rub my now hairless body with some of her perfumed body lotion. Finishing the rubdown, she stood back and said she just had to have a picture of her “plucked chicken.” Getting our instant camera, she had me pose for several shots. Next, putting me in one of her sexy negligees, she took me to her vanity and gave me false fingernails. Then she painted them, and my toenails, with a fiery red polish.

Next, my wife ordered me to the bathroom, where I was to shave as closely as possible. When I returned to the bedroom, I saw that she had laid out on the bed a complete feminine outfit, which had obviously been purchased for this occasion.

Ingrid ordered me to start dressing. First to go on over my shaved legs were sheer support pantyhose with “sandal” feet to show off my brilliant red toenails. Then I squeezed into a flesh-colored panty girdle with a padded fanny, followed by a matching padded bra. This was topped off by a matching full slip. The smooth feeling of the pantyhose, girdle, bra and silky slip against my naked skin was almost more than I could stand. Then came a stunning pair of ankle strap sandals with four-inch heels.

At this point, Ingrid did a complete make-over job on my face, including the plucking and shaping of my eyebrows and the application of false eyelashes and bright-red lipstick. A beautiful shoulder-length blonde wig was next. Then came an exquisite blue silk dress with deep slits in the slides, and, to complete the outfit, earrings, a necklace and bracelets. After some three hours of preparation, I had been transformed into a sexy, desirable woman!

I must admit that I was impressed with my reflection in the mirror. I am tall, almost six feet, and slim, with rather a small waist and shoulders for a man. The four-inch heels accentuated my long legs, which could be glimpsed through the slits in the sides of the dress, while the padded girdle and bra added just the right curves. My wife seemed very pleased with the results. So pleased, in fact, that she wanted to record her creation by taking some more pictures.

Getting the camera again, she took shots indoors and then we went outside for pictures around the patio and pool. My wife, still in her robe from breakfast, excused herself to get cleaned up and dressed. As she went into the house, her parting remark was that it was going to be a challenge to look as sharp as I did.

I remained on the patio, admiring my reflection in the sliding glass doors and savoring the feel of the feminine garments against my body as I practiced walking on my heels. My wife returned looking very becoming. We went in and played some gin for a while and then sat and talked over a few drinks. I was feeling very relaxed by now and having a great time, especially since my wife was participating so sincerely.

As the time for dinner approached, my wife said she didn’t feel like cooking. She went and got her purse, and one for me, and announced that we were going out for dinner. I was very apprehensive, because I had never before dared to go out in public “dressed up.” My wife was considerate enough to select a spot with dim lights and booths, and everything went off without a hitch. What a thrill to go out in public dressed as a female!

For the next several weeks, nothing was said about that magnificent Sunday. I didn’t press for a repeat, hoping that my wife would take the lead, but I was reaching the limit of my self-control.

Returning from a three-day business trip, I was picked up at the airport by my wife, who said she had a big surprise for me when we got home. When I heard this, my pulse quickened. I was certain that this was going to be a “dress-up” day, but all Ingrid would say was that the moment we got home, I was to strip, shower, shave then meet her in our bedroom. When’ I hurried, nude, into the bed room, I found, to my surprise, my wife still fully dressed and the absence of any clothes laid out for a “dress-up” day. I began to wonder whether I had guessed wrong. Sensing that her manner had changed from that of the sexy playmate in the car to that of the cold, authoritative commander, it was with some reservation that I asked her about the surprise.

Her answer was truly an unbelievably big surprise. She said that she had finally decided, after all these years, to accept my transvestism. Not only had she decided to accept my cross-dressing, but she was personally going to see to it that I had every opportunity to appear and perform as a female. And to make it easier for me to satisfy my great desire to impersonate a female. and to ensure that I was dressed as a woman as often as possible, all my masculine furnishings (underwear, socks, shirts, pj’s, etc.) had been disposed of .In their place was a complete selection.  of women’s lingerie (panties, bras, slips, garter belts, girdles, stockings, pantyhose, gowns, etc.).

In my closet I would find a complete wardrobe of skirts, blouses, dresses, wigs and high-heeled shoes. All my masculine outer clothing (suits, shirts, ties, trousers, shoes, etc.) had been locked in the closet in the guest room. Each business day, she would lay out a suit, shirt, tie and shoes, under which I would be required to wear pantyhose, bra and girdle. Each day after work, I would have to turn these male garments in to her. When not at work, I would be required to wear a complete feminine outfit at all times, including makeup, wig and heels. I would have to keep my body clean-shaven. My toenails were to be painted at all times and my fingernails painted on weekends.

Also, I would be assigned various household duties to go along with my new role. In addition, I would satisfy her sexual needs as another female would and not use my male equipment.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, yet the idea of taking my transvestism to this next, exciting plateau was incredibly appealing. I couldn’t believe that after all these years, my fondest desire was being fulfilled.

Over the next couple of weeks, my wife thought of additional feminizing actions and chores. As an example, she decided that I should have my ears pierced, so I had to sit quietly while my wife performed this ritual. She increased my schedule of feminine duties to where I was responsible for all of the housecleaning, laundry, ironing, cooking and dishwashing. My only relief from meal preparation and dishes was for us to eat out, which, of course, meant my going out dressed in women’s clothes. As a result of my wife’s expert instruction, I became very proficient in the art of makeup and feminine grooming. I also became quite comfortable in my new clothes and grew more accustomed to the three-and four-inch heels I was required to wear.

As time went by, I discovered that my wife and I, after all these years, were enjoying a new, closer relationship as two women. We were developing common feminine interests and doing things together as never before. She was a new person, happy in her authoritarian role and overjoyed at being free of all household duties. Our life together was getting better and better with each passing day.

So here we are nine months later. I have just retired, and we are preparing for the move to our new home. As I no longer have to go to the office, I look forward to spending each and every day of my retirement as a woman, attending to all the household chores and catering to all of my wife’s needs. It’s taken a long time, but I finally have the life I always wanted. I’m so happy.