The author and cartoonist describes his heartfelt sense of freedom when he began to cross-dress openly all the time
I am a man who wears women’s clothes. The first time it happened was in the mid-70s. I’d recently left school and was a couple of months into an art foundation course at Manchester Polytechnic. I found myself on my own for a weekend in the flat I shared with two fellow students. Bored, I started rummaging down the back of the sofa to see what curiosities – or money – I might find. A moment later I pulled out a single stocking, which I immediately put on. Instinctively. Transgressively. It triggered years of guilt, self-disgust and confusion.
So why did I put that stocking on?