I just read this story. I had thought I was the only one that had this happen to me. Glad to see it had happened to others as well. I had thought only my Aunts and cousins had thought it was funny to dress me this way and curl my hair in ringlets. They gave a picture of me in this outfit to my wife on our wedding day.You can Imagine how that went over. I think this picture was taken in 1949 or 1950 when I was around 7 or 8 years old. (And NO I WILL NOT show you the darn picture) I did get a hoot out of reading story tho.

I had a similar experience in 1957 when I was nine years old.  My ring bearer outfit consisted of white suspender shorts, a white blouse with large lace-trimmed collar and sleeves, and lace trim down the front.  Finishing this outfit were white kneesocks and white skimmer flats with a bow at the toe.  My outfit coordinated with the flower girl, a couple years younger, although she wore white tights and white mary janes.  I actually began to enjoy the day and kept this outfit on all day even though I had been given the option to change clothes after the wedding itself.

Lovely  true storie  this happened to me at age seven for a wedding it brought back memories and some fond thoughts ..
thank you for sharing and  showing sensitivity in a story..
well done ..
thank you Rone Welles

This account places the focus on a major source of my own gender dysphoria: As a Highly Sensitive Person (as defined by Elaine Aron), I have a strong emotional need to give and receive affection, experience connectedness, and share nurturing (not necessarily sexual) physical contact. In our twisted, wretched society, these "girly" things are ordinarily denied to males (in my generation, at least), except for those who are so fortunate as to find a *single* (and often enough temporary) source in a spouse or girlfriend. We envy the girls not only their sensuous and expressive clothes, hair, (sometimes breasts), etc. (women *look* sexy because they FEEL sexy), but all of the emotional support and closeness that goes along with "adorability." Of course, innocent "sugar and spice and everything's nice" girls would *never* explore each other's sexuality during sleepovers (oh no), while boys are automatically regarded as having natural sexually predatory tendencies (voyeuristic, at the very least), and brainwashed into believing that any desire for close contact or interest in mutual sexual experimentation is a sure sign of homosexuality. Small wonder why, then, that when wearing soft feminine clothes (luv those gauzy soft cotton skirts and blouses from India), I feel I might be a little bit more lovable, huggable, cuddleable and snuggleable, and maybe even adorable, but when "in drab" (what an amazingly descriptive phrase!), I feel ugly and unwantable, suitable perhaps only as a beast of burden or draft animal (perhaps I can be a Shire horse-- those, at least, are beautiful).

Sorry, I'll get off of my soapbox, now...

This story rings true. There is a photograph of me as a pageboy at a wedding. I am scowling at the camera because I know that boys should not enjoy wearing pink satin and I must at all costs not let anyone know what I am really like inside. My first memory of crossdressing and it was in public for all to see and I was only five years old.

Thanks for sharing this.

Where can I get one of those outfits?  Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Love,
Jasmine

Thanks, Tamara! Beautiful, lovely story--thanks so much for taking the time to share it.  What a great experience!