On Strike!

I got the idea while listening to the news on the radio, during another grinding commute home from the big city. It seemed a couple in Florida had gotten so sick and tired of their spoiled, neglectful children that they were camping outside their house in beach chairs, refusing to go back to being parents until their brats knuckled under.

Why couldn't I go on strike from being the breadwinner? My lazy wife did nothing but loll around the house all day watching TV, and my teenage daughter cared only about clothes, her social life and her revolting boyfriend. I couldn't recall the last time one of them had a conversation with me that didn't end up with their hands in my pocket. Maybe I could teach them a lesson before they sent me into an early grave. Why couldn't I go on strike from being a man?

There is something about me that you should know: ever since I was a little boy, I have been fascinated by women's clothing. I used to sneak into my sister's room and try on her skirts and dresses when I was home alone, until my legs sprouted hair and my feet outgrew her shoes. For years afterwards, I suppressed my desires, furtively surfing the web for kindred souls who shared my obsession. When my job required me to start traveling out of town, I painstakingly acquired a complete woman's wardrobe, which I would wear in my hotel rooms into the wee hours of the night. Dolled up in a wig, makeup and other feminine paraphernalia, I would lose myself in chat rooms, pretending to be a woman until I exploded into my panties. I concealed all this from my wife, who was too self-absorbed to have a clue. When she lost all interest in sex soon after the birth of our daughter, my computer sessions as a virtual woman became the only outlet for my frustration.

Still, I would never have dared to expose my secret life to my family had it not been for the events that evening. When I finally crawled off the freeway and made it through the door, I was greeted with "You're late" from the wife, who didn't bother to look up from her magazine. She was spread out on the living room sofa, cuddled up next to a bag of Doritos in her bulging stretchpants.