My sexy soldier wanted to be a woman
Rachel's hunky boyfriend Ian was hiding something
Thursday 14th June 2007
It was hard not to be smug, but God he was handsome. Easily the best-looking man at the party.
'You've got yourself a winner there,' whispered my mate, Abigail, 35, as she checked out my new fella, Ian Hamilton, 40. Yes, I had to admit, I did.
Ian was a real man's man. From the tip of his shaved head to his size 9 feet, Ian had witnessed things that would make most grown men run a mile. As a captain in the Parachute Regiment, he was a highly decorated officer serving with the super tough in Afghanistan, Iraq and Bosnia. We'd been together for three months and I couldn't believe my luck.
'Do you know, when he did his SAS training he had to go on the run for a week while being pursued by 150 soldiers, dogs and helicopters?' I boasted to Abigail.
I could have gone on for hours, but suddenly I noticed Ian looking uncomfortable. He was standing with his back to the wall, looking miserable. I sidled over.
'Do you want to go?' I whispered.
He nodded.
'I'm sorry, but I can't stand in the middle of a busy room,' he explained, back at his flat.
'Why?' I frowned.
'You can't turn your back to an enemy,' he said.
That night, as I lay in his strong arms, I thought about his strange behaviour. Heaven knows what was going on in his head. I knew he was seeing a counsellor. So tough, yet so vulnerable.
The next morning, Ian went off to his army base and left me in his flat. Bad idea. Before I knew it, curiosity had got the better of me and I had a little peek in his chest of drawers.
Suddenly, I spotted something black and silky in there.
'Sexy undies,' I gasped.
Damn. I'd ruined the surprise. But as I took a closer look at them, I realised they couldn't possibly be for me. I was a size 12 and these pants were at least a 16 and they'd been washed and worn.
I sat back on the bed, in a daze. Could they belong to an ex? When Ian popped home that lunchtime, I was still sitting there.
'You've been looking through my things,' he snapped.
Speechless, I pointed towards the knickers. He sighed.
'I can't explain it. They just make me feel more comfortable,' he said.
'They're yours?' I screeched.
'I just like the feel of them on my skin,' he said.
Staring at Ian, I was desperate for him to say it was all a joke. But he didn't.
'It all started when I was 10,' he said shakily. 'Someone I trusted abused me.'
I froze in shock.
'I was so ashamed,' he went on.
My discovery may have been shocking but he deserved my sympathy, not judgement.
'How awful,' I replied, gently.
'I think it's part of the reason why I don't feel comfortable in a man's body,' he said. 'Wearing women's clothes helps me to escape.'
We talked for two hours and at the end we both lay down on the bed, exhausted. There was so much to take in, my head was spinning. So much for the horrors of war. That wasn't what was plaguing Ian.
There and then I made a decision.
'We can work through this together,' I said.
'Thank you,' Ian sighed.
I could do this, I was certain. But the next day I saw something that made my jaw hit the floor. Instead of his usual black boxers, he pulled on a pair of white cotton knickers.
'Just off to work,' he smiled.
His thigh muscles strained against the white cotton. I said nothing. Ian was the perfect boyfriend in every way. This underwear thing was just a quirk. Our sex life was as lively as ever. He certainly wasn't gay.
A month later, Ian was watching me put on my make-up one morning.
'Will you show me how to do that?' he asked.
'You're kidding?' I spluttered.
Knickers were one thing, but this? He shook his head shyly. He looked so vulnerable and suddenly I thought about his abuse. How could I say no? Before long he was laughing as
I smudged kohl around his eyes.
A month later, I came home to find him crying his eyes out.
'What's the matter?' I panicked.
'I've been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder and signed off from work,' he sobbed.
Ian loved his job. This would devastate him.
'Maybe the break will help?' I said.
Trying to be so macho in an army environment can't have been easy. But if I thought the break would cure him, I was wrong. Having time on his hands just gave Ian more room to experiment. And experiment he did.
One evening I came home to find him grinning from ear to ear.
'Look at this,' he said, shoving a shoe box towards me.
I opened the box and pulled out a pair of cream stilettos.
'What do you think?' he asked.
Anger surged through me. I wanted to yell at him, tell him I hated them. Instead…
'They're nice,' I whispered.
Then a week later we were getting ready for a night out when Ian started pulling on his new shoes.
'I'll wear these tonight,' Ian said.
'Really?' I mumbled.
He'd worn his heels in private, but now he was going public! Standing 6ft 1in in his heels, jeans and a leather jacket, I knew people would stare. My face burned as we walked into our local pub. It didn't take long for the whispers to start.
'Why are you wearing women's shoes?' a girl giggled.
'Why can't men wear heels?' Ian snapped back.
Was this the same man who had outrun dogs and helicopters?
Now there was no stopping him. He wore his heels and make-up to the supermarket. We even went shopping in Evans.
'They do bigger sizes,' Ian explained excitedly, as we drove there.
Ian had a ball and got the shop assistants eating out of the palm of his hand.
'You look great in orange,' one gushed enthusiastically.
'Do you think?' he laughed.
And me? The more Ian came out of his shell, the more I shrank back into mine. What sort of woman was I becoming? It was all well and good being sensitive to Ian's needs, but I wanted a boyfriend, not a girlfriend.
And that's when it hit me. Ian didn't want me as future wife, I was a companion, someone to lend him make-up and go shopping with. When we got home I erupted.
'Why can't you be normal?' I screamed.
Ian looked up, startled.
'Because this is who I am,' he said sadly. 'If there was a pill to cure these feelings, I'd take it.'
We both knew it was over.
I didn't move out straight away and a week later Ian had a confession.
'My counsellor reckons I'm transsexual,' he said. 'I'm going to live as a woman.'
This was the man I'd seen myself marrying. And he wanted to be a 'she'. Heartbroken didn't even cover it.
But instead of walking out, I hugged him while he cried like a baby in my arms. And that should have been the end of the story. But instead of moving out, we sat and talked.
'You don't have to move out,' he said. 'We still get on well.'
I thought about it. It made sense. I needed somewhere to live. Besides, it might actually be
fun having 'her' as a flatmate.
Now, several months on, me and Jan, as Ian is now known, are like sisters. We even argue about borrowing each other's clothes. She's currently in the process of taking female hormones in preparation for her gender reassignment surgery.
And me? I'm hoping to meet a very understanding man who can accept my unusual situation.
Because one thing's for certain. Jan is here to stay.
Check out Simon's experience of cross dressing too!