High Heeled Boots

1991

I'm the brunette, transgender wife. 

My wife’s brother-in-law was in the first Gulf War. When he was coming home, his wife, my wife’s sister, had our niece and nephew stay with us, so that she could have some alone time with her husband.

After several days, my wife's sister and her husband returned to get the kids. After they left, we discovered that my wife's sister had left a pair of boots, a grey, somewhat high heeled pair, at our house. My wife and I commented on the fact that she had left them, tossed them into the closet, and went on about our lives. 

Those boots, for reasons unknown to me then, for lack of a better phrase, called to me. I took them out to look at them multiple times, each time evaluating them for how they looked, would they be comfortable for a person to wear, etc. But that was it. It was a series of inconsequential incidents that seemed to mean nothing.

Summer came on, and my wife, a member of the Army National Guard, began attending annual training. Now, her annual training was a different experience from that of most members of the National Guard. We lived about an hour away from her unit, and she worked at the state headquarters, and so her 2 week training time was spent locally. She came home at night.

About 2 days after her training started, those boots were on my mind for whatever reason. So I took them out again and was evaluating them. Suddenly I realized I was wondering how those boots would feel, on me! Shocked and more than a little horrified at my thought process, I threw them back into the closet. I did my best to ignore the fact they were even in the house.

This worked for a few days. But not for long. I found myself getting them out again. I had no idea if they would fit, but the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the couch, pulling one of those boots on. At that time in my life, I had never considered the fact that I have small feet. I was actually surprised when the boot, though slightly snug, fit decently well. So, I pulled on the other boot. I sat there for a moment, honestly wondering why in the world I had even put them on. But, I figured, since they were on, why not walk around in them?

Walking in heels is a learned art. No one is an immediate natural at it. I’m sure I looked like a drunk moose, walking around our apartment in those boots. But, I quickly got much better at it. Suddenly, I realized that I LIKED wearing them! I heard myself say "What in the world am I doing?". Again, I was shocked at myself, and at what I was thinking. I couldn’t get those boots off fast enough. Back into my wife’s closet they went.

The next day, and the day after, and the day after, those boots wouldn’t leave me alone. Soon, they were out again, and I was walking around again in them. They felt relatively comfortable, and I really started to love how I felt in them. Each time that feeling surfaced, off the boots went. The day after that, as I walked around the apartment, I realized that I wanted to wear those boots outside. Cue the horrified reaction, and the boots went back to their rightful place.

Then came the last day of my wife’s annual training. I sat there, those boots in my hands. I told myself that this was it. The last chance to wear them. But also, that if I put them on, I needed to do it all the way. Either wear them outside or don’t wear them at all.

It was still very early in the morning on a weekend and was grey and foggy out. I dressed, those boots were soon on my feet. I put on my long military dress raincoat, the kind that looks like a trench coat. I put on one of my wife’s fedora style hats. Then, I was standing at the door, my heart pounding, simultaneously terrified that I would be seen and found out, and yet, feeling that for some reason, I really needed to do this. I made my decision, and turned away from the door, and went back to the bedroom to take off the boots.

Then, I turned around again and went to the door. "What if someone sees me?" I wondered. Then, I turned and went back toward the bedroom. This process repeated several times. But then came the time I put my hand on the doorknob. Filled with sudden resolve, I turned the knob and stepped outside our apartment into the fog.

It was an epic fog, right out of an English novel, so that provided me some cover. But, I was an active duty Soldier, and we lived on an Army base. So, being found out could go badly. Despite that, I walked down the sidewalk toward the street. The sound of the boot heels on the pavement seemed shockingly loud, but I suspect now that this was more a result of being nervous than anything else. Quickly, I was at the street. I turned and followed the sidewalk along the street. At first, my steps were tentative, unsure, but as I walked I soon was striding with much more confidence. I soon came to a cross street and turned down it. In the fog, a car came past, and I wanted to find a place to hide, but there were none. Thankfully, they didn’t even slow down. I walked about a quarter of a mile down that road, and then turned around, and walked home.

Finally, I was going up my own walk. As I stepped in the door, I remember feeling surprised that it appeared no one had noticed, and feeling an odd sense of pride. The boots came off with a little bit of regret, and into the closet they went. I don’t remember what happened to those boots. But I do know that I never put them on again.