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We'd always shared the housework, but sincehe had more time available, he took it all over, as he had lastsummer too. Iguessed it was on his "I was a woman for three months" project.Ihoped so, because that would give his new life legitimacy in hisown eyes.When he went in to use his college's library, heshowed the librarians his faculty ID card and then proceeded as ifhe were the person pictured on the card.They never questioned him-- rather, they assumed he was his own somewhat provocative summerresearch assistant, and granted him all of his usual borrowingprivileges.The genial professor was nowhere visiblein the tallish, brassy, flashily dressed blonde.
He ran errands in the neighborhood secure in the knowledge that noone would recognize him.
My crossdressing husband looked wickedly pleased when he showed it to me.
But most mornings he'd awaken zestful, choose an outfit for the day-- casual, sporty, or dressy -- and do things I'd read aboutafterward. When I looked into it, as I did regularly, it became obvious thathe was now actively seeking out womanly experiences and enjoyingthem, diligently doing his research for his book.
At night he watched the young womenin TV sitcoms to see which of their mannerisms he could imitate andmake his own.
He developed the cutest ways of asking questions, orof indicating surprise, as if he too were a sprightly actress. He'd been such a lovely man, and now hewas becoming such a lovely woman!
He needed extra time with his hairdo, and while he fussed I told him little tales from my own girlhood, about different exciting first tries of grown-up things like bras and lipstick, about prepping for dates, things like that, so he could share my girlhood, not having had one of his own.