MY MERMAID

I just want ya'll to know, I love my husband and would do anything for him.  I knowingly became a crossdressers wife.  I've done everything he's ever asked of me until..... I began to question my own significance. Am I valued?  More importantly, do they value me?  In both of the worlds we live in?  (the "normal" vs. crossdressing world)  To what extent?  Was I put on earth to only serve him and his desires?   When do I decide for me what's right for me, what satisfies my sexual appetite?   

For me, the crossdressing was and still is 100% about the intimate relationship he and I have with one another.  And the sex!  Kinda like my Boots!  Did I mention sex?
I married him.  This was my second marriage.  The first one was physically and emotionally abusive, old news, I gotta bad picker when it comes to men.  I did the divorce

and set my sights on myself and my kids.    I had self-improving to do if I was gonna develop a better mate picker.  

When I met my crossdresser, I was a drinkin fool.  So much for my picking skills.  See, I thought the place to find my new husband was a bar.  I was a bit of a brawler too, if you will.  But, by george, I knew who I was, where I was goin' and no "man" was gonna tell me I wasn't good enough ever again!  

So.....I have to take a look at why I think and act the way I do.  What makes me who I am?  Whew.  Who knows?  I believe I probably do if I can see past what society tells me I'm seeing.  

I look back on my life, trying to start from some starting point.   I have to look at my childhood.  Look at who I was, how I thought and acted.   There are several points that pop UP to me, one of which, I had these recurring dreams.  The most prominent in my memory goes like this:

I'm running, running, running from something.  I have no idea what it is but I'm afraid, really, more like terrified.  There's a sense of urgency I've never felt in my entire life but I know if I don't get to wherever (whatever) it is, I won't be allowed to live.  I sense that it's more like "able" to live.  Darkness surrounds me but I know there's life around me.  I sense in the spaces around me there are trees and moss, or plants and grass, sometimes watery areas.  Other times it'll be gravel or mud and torrential raining.   One time, blazing heat so, the faster I run, the more aflame my body becomes.  I can see the flames coming off me, each orange colored lick has a sneaky little grin on it with dancing yellow eyes.  I can feel and smell the burning of my flesh .  The next dream it's frost biting cold.  So cold I can barely move my limbs.  Each time a leg or an arm moves, the ice breaks off like breaking up the ice cubes in the freezer tray.  It hurts so badly, I'm crying.  

In the frozen dream, my tears become ice crystals that become solid ice under my feet until I have no sense of direction.  It's like I'm sliding and slipping across the terrain.  In the firey dream, the tears evaporate into tiny rain clouds.  The little clouds gather together and grow in size and shape.  They are the happy, puffy clouds with little, elfy smiles on them.  As I run, I plead with my thoughts, as though they can hear my thoughts, for them to put the flames out.  They dance above me as I race through the darkness, taunting me, egging me on that maybe they'll shed a drop or two to help.  It never happens.  Not even a drop.  Liars, those clouds, I mean. 

I know I'm running through terrain.   I feel it as I go up the incline or down the slope.  Sometimes I fall and roll down a rocky hill, sometimes I'm slipping down, being covered with the terrain.  It's always different yet fearfully the same.  The colors vibrant, bright and etched in my mind.

In my dream,  I run, run, run until the ground beneath me disappears completely, my legs still move, frantically trying to find footing but there isn't any.  I then get the sensation I'm falling, falling, falling.  I begin flailing my arms and legs, writhing my body in the air trying to find solid ground.  Alas, it never comes.  

I usually wake up on the floor.  Other times, I'd be tangled in the bed sheets or the bathroom floor in a semi-fetal position.  Whatever position it was, I always awakened screaming and sobbing at the same time.  I have not a clue the words I'd be screaming.  I'm told nothing understandable.  I do know the depth of the fear behind the sobs.

The dreams date back to approximately the age of four.  They continued until I was 27 when I first had sex with the crossdresser I married.  My terror stopped with that first orgasm.   The dreams continued on for about a year and each time, I'd wake up, struggling, but in his or her arms.  The dreams stopped.  Wow.

I'm also an artist, I draw, I paint, I make music.  I create. As early as the first grade, I'd find my doodles creating this exquisite drawing of, at first glance, would appear to be a person.  

As my pencil flowed under my fingertips, (just as fast as I type), the image would begin to appear to me.  I would always draw the image in pencil but sensed the colors with each stroke.  The drawing had long, flowing locks of blonde hair that wisped up into the air in the back.  In the front, the locks drapped gently over the soft, solid shoulders and carressed the muscular, well-defined bosom.   The areola was a deep brown color, centered perfectly on each breast.  The nipples, a shade darker brown, would appear precisely centered and slightly hard, always pointing skyward.   The piercing blue eyes looked straight through me and into my soul.  Curiously, never directly into my eyes.

In that order, the hair, the shoulders, the breasts and nipples, the oval of the face, the waistline with the navel. Always in that order, my pencil would sketch furiously until I reached the navel.  I would sketch the perfect belly button then.....WHAM!   My fingers abruptly stopped.  There were no facial features.  I would stop, my mind blank and have to think.  I couldn't feel the rest.  I had no imagery what the rest of the creature looked like.  

I remember sitting at my desk, elbows on top, chin in hands, daydreaming of meeting the creature one day. The  feelings it brought up were love, love, love.  I'd looked down at the sketch one day and the lines began to form.  The pencil again, began to work the magic on the page.  The line drew down, ever so softly, to just below the pubic bone.  First one side, then the other.  The two points blended in together curvily, forming a fin of a gigantuous fish tail!  

POP, the daydream bubble bursts and I'm sitting in the classroom again.  This time, looking down at the completed sketch of my dreams.  A beautiful, exotic, exquisite mermaid.  My Mermaid Lover. 

Looking back on my youth, I remember drawing my creature over and over again.  I'll never forget, one time, my sixth grade teacher walked up just as I was finishing the boobs and snatched the sketch right out from under me.  I was so ashamed as she quizzed me on the origins. I had no idea nor had I connected the dreams with the sketching.  I just thought I must be a lesbian.

I knew the mermaid would be sent for me.  I knew I'd be in the tangible presence of this being one day.  It was a feeling.  A stirring within me which had some sort of assignment that went with it.

As I matured, every time I'd have the dream, I'd freely draw the ideaology without any forethought.  It was a child's daydream doodling.  I'd take the sheets I had doodled and hide them away in my books so no one would find them.  The more I drew, the more attached I was to the creature.  

I would make up stories and songs about the chance meeting of the creature.  "Puff the Magic Dragon" sticks out in my mind that I would find her by the sea.  And we'd go frolicking together.    To date, Puff is one of the childhood songs he and I sing together sometimes while walking, or driving, or bathing, or whatever.  The first time he started in with "Puff the magic draaa gon, lives by the sea," my heart skipped several beats.  If I hadn't known before, (which I did), "Puff" just reiterated what I already knew.  I loved him.  I love him.  I love her.  I love them.