![\"Crossdresser](\"https:\/\/sissy-welt.de\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/Crossdresser-Geschichte-Teil-2.jpg\")
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I had firmly resolved to be more relaxed this time.<\/p>\n
Really.<\/p>\n
After the first date with Tom, I thought the worst part was over. I had gone out as Lea. I had sat in a cafe. I had talked to a strange man, laughed, drunk cappuccino, and hadn't fallen off my chair from nervousness. Actually, I should have been proud. I was too. A little.<\/p>\n
But when his message came this afternoon, there wasn't much of that much-advertised serenity left.<\/p>\n
\u201eInterested in round 2 tonight? A walk, a light dinner, no pressure.\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\n No pressure.<\/p>\n I don't know why people write things like that. Of course, that immediately creates pressure. No offense, but my brain turns it into an Olympic sport. What will I wear? What does he expect? Is dinner more romantic than coffee? Is this more of a date than a first date? Will he look at me like last time? Will it be awkward if I don't know what to do with my hands?<\/p>\n And the biggest question: Should I dare to go out as Lea again?<\/strong><\/p>\n The answer was actually clear.<\/p>\n Yes.<\/p>\n But it took my body about three hours to believe it.<\/p>\n I had just been to the gym, because I thought sports would calm me down. It only half-worked. While running on the treadmill, I stared at the numbers the entire time and still thought about Tom. 3.1 miles. 3.7 miles. Heart rate 148. My mind was completely on his smile. Very effective.<\/p>\n After showering, I stood in front of the mirror again. This time, there was less panic than the first time, but something else instead: anticipation. On the first date, I had mostly been afraid of being seen. Today, I wanted to be seen. Not by everyone, not loudly, not like a show. But by him.<\/p>\n From Tom.<\/p>\n I chose an outfit that was a bit more confident than the first time. A black skirt, not too short, but more feminine than the dress from last time. With it, a soft, light-colored sweater that softened my athletic shoulders a bit. Black tights, and the white sneakers again, because I'm just not myself without sneakers. The denim jacket stayed home this time. Instead, I took a short black jacket.<\/p>\n For makeup, I was bolder. A thin eyeliner, some mascara, lightly glossy lips. Not overdone. I didn't want to look like I was in disguise. I wanted to look like Lea on an evening when she perhaps believed a little bit more that she was allowed to be beautiful.<\/p>\n This is a strange sentence.<\/p>\n Being beautiful is allowed.<\/strong><\/p>\n As if beauty were a permission that one must first earn.<\/p>\n I've believed exactly that for a long time. That others are allowed to be beautiful. Women. Brave people. People who walk through the city without flinching. But me? Leon, athletic, fit, mostly in control, always somehow driven by performance? I thought I was allowed to be strong. Practical. Disciplined. Reliable.<\/p>\n But beautiful?<\/p>\n Soft?<\/p>\n Desirable?<\/p>\n For a long time, it felt like a room whose door I stood before, without a key.<\/p>\n Tonight I had the feeling Tom wouldn't open the door. That would be too much power for another person. But he had shown me that I might have a key in my pocket myself.<\/p>\n I took the bus into the city. This time, not quite so tense. I sat by the window, legs neatly side-by-side, bag on my lap, and saw my reflection in the dark windowpane. I recognized myself. That was new. The first time, I had observed myself more, as if Lea were a character I was playing. Today, she felt closer to me.<\/p>\n Tom waited in front of a small Italian restaurant on a side street. Not fancy-fancy, more cozy. Warm light, small tables, a few plants by the entrance. He wore a dark gray sweater and looked like he had made an effort without it seeming strained.<\/p>\n When he saw me, he smiled immediately.<\/p>\n This smile did something to me. It wasn't just friendly. It was recognizing. As if he were saying: There you are.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201eLea,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n That name again.<\/p>\n So self-evident.<\/p>\n \u201eHi,\u201c I said, stopping in front of him.<\/p>\n His gaze briefly swept over my outfit, then back to my face. No staring. No scanning. Just genuine notice.<\/p>\n \u201eYou look great,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n I almost waved it away reflexively. Instead, I forced myself to just accept it.<\/p>\n \u201eThank you,\u201c I said. \u201eI wasn't nervous at all.\u201c<\/p>\n He laughed. \u201eThat sounds very plausible.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eI am known for my inner peace.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eOf course. It practically shines out of you.\u201c<\/p>\n I had to grin. And with that, the first difficult moment was already over.<\/p>\n We went inside, and I realized it was easier for me to walk through the room this time. Not easy. But easier. A couple by the window glanced up, the server smiled, glasses clinked somewhere. The world wasn't ending. Crazy how often you have to learn that.<\/p>\n Tom had reserved a table in a corner. A small candle stood on it, next to it a narrow vase with a sprig of rosemary. It smelled of pizza, garlic, and warm bread. Actually, it was precisely the kind of scent that should make one immediately less dramatic.<\/p>\n We sat down.<\/p>\n \u201eI wasn't sure if a restaurant was too much,\u201c Tom said. \u201eBut I thought after coffee, it's okay to escalate.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eVery brave.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eI grow with my tasks.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eAnd what if I only order a salad?\u201c<\/p>\n He put a hand to his chest as if I had hurt him. \u201eThen I'll have to rethink my entire understanding of human nature.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eDon't worry,\u201c I said. \u201eI'm here after training. I could adopt a whole lasagna.\u201c<\/p>\n Tom laughed. \u201eGood. Then something will come of us after all.\u201c<\/p>\n With us.<\/p>\n It was just said in passing. A joke. But of course, my heart took it far too seriously and immediately began to craft future scenarios from it. Tom and Lea at the Italian restaurant. Tom and Lea on a walk. Tom and Lea perhaps on a couch sometime, without Lea having to disappear afterward.<\/p>\n I pushed the thought away before it became too big.<\/p>\n We ordered. He had pasta with mushrooms, I actually had lasagna. With that, water, and for him, later a glass of red wine. I stuck with water because I didn't want to borrow courage from alcohol today. I wanted to know that I was really there.<\/p>\n The conversation started light. Sports, food, bad dating experiences. Tom told me about a guy in his social circle who treated every date like a job interview. I told him about my first attempts at walking in high heels, and how after ten minutes I looked like an injured flamingo.<\/p>\n \u201eAre you wearing sneakers today because of that?\u201c he asked.<\/p>\n \u201eI wear sneakers because I need to be able to make an elegant escape at any moment.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eWillingness to flee again.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eContinuity is important.\u201c<\/p>\n He smiled. \u201eOr you could just stay.\u201c<\/p>\n The sentence was quiet. Not difficult. But it remained lying between us.<\/p>\n I looked at him. \u201eMaybe.\u201c<\/p>\n Our food arrived, and for a few minutes, we were just two people eating piping hot lasagna and pasta, trying to look attractive doing it. Which is impossible. Nobody looks elegant with cheese strings. It's a law of nature.<\/p>\n And precisely because of that, it became more normal.<\/p>\n Tom asked at some point, \u201eMay I ask how many men you've met as Lea so far?\u201c<\/p>\n I set the fork down for a moment. The question wasn't bad, but it made me awake.<\/p>\n \u201eYou're the first one I've really met,\u201c I said honestly. \u201eLike, a proper date.\u201c<\/p>\n He looked surprised. \u201eReally?\u201c<\/p>\n I nodded. \u201eI've written. With some. Some were nice. Some became unpleasant very quickly. Some didn't really want to get to know me, but just this idea of me.\u201c<\/p>\n Tom nodded slowly. \u201eUnfortunately, I believe that immediately.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eIt's strange,\u201c I said. \u201eSometimes on dating apps you feel simultaneously desired and invisible. Men write to you, but often not as if you're a person with a daily life, anxieties, humor, and favorite foods. More like a mystery they want to try out briefly.\u201c<\/p>\n I hadn't planned on saying that. It just came out.<\/p>\n Tom was silent for a moment.<\/p>\n \u201eI don't want you to feel that way about me,\u201c he said then.<\/p>\n My gaze went to the candle on the table. The flame moved slightly.<\/p>\n \u201eI don't do that yet.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eGood.\u201c<\/p>\n Only this one word. But it was warm.<\/p>\n After eating, we went for a walk. The air was cool, and I was glad I had my jacket. The city looked like it had rained, even though it wasn't raining. Lights reflected everywhere on the pavement. Tom walked beside me, not too close, not too far away. I realized I wanted him closer. At the same time, that very desire made me nervous.<\/p>\n We stopped in front of a small bookstore. In the display window were novels, calendars, notebooks, and a few kitschy postcards. One card showed two drawn figures under an umbrella, and next to it read: \u201eSometimes a small moment is enough.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eToo cheesy?\u201c Tom asked.<\/p>\n I looked at the map. \u201eActually, yes.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eBut?\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eBut unfortunately, sweet.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eYou like kitsch.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eI am complex.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eOf course.\u201c<\/p>\n We laughed. Then we kept walking, and suddenly his hand brushed mine. Very briefly. Probably by accident. Or maybe not. I pretended not to notice. Maybe he did too. Three steps later, it happened again.<\/p>\n I glanced at him briefly this time.<\/p>\n He didn't smile smugly. He looked more questioning.<\/p>\n I could have waited. I could have pretended nothing happened. Instead, I gathered all my courage and moved my hand a little closer.<\/p>\n Our fingers touched.<\/p>\n Tom didn't immediately hang on. He gave me a moment. Then he carefully took my hand.<\/p>\n Just because.<\/p>\n In the middle of the street.<\/p>\n I think I forgot to breathe for a few seconds.<\/p>\n His hand was warm. Bigger than mine. Calm. Not clinging, not possessive. Just there. And I held it.<\/p>\n We walked on hand in hand.<\/p>\n It felt like something huge, although it was probably nothing to the world. A man and a femininely dressed person on an evening walk. Maybe some people looked. Maybe not. But this time, I didn't let go.<\/p>\n \u201eIs that okay?\u201c Tom asked quietly.<\/p>\n \u201eYes,\u201c I said. \u201eVery.\u201c<\/p>\n I heard myself how soft my voice sounded.<\/p>\n He stopped at the next corner. It was quieter there. A small side street, warm windows, music from a bar somewhere. He turned to me.<\/p>\n \u201eI find you really interesting, Lea,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n My heart briefly constricted.<\/p>\n \u201eInteresting sounds dangerous, like an exhibition.\u201c<\/p>\n He shook his head slightly. \u201eNo. I don't mean it like that. I mean: I like how you talk. How you're honest, even when you're nervous. I like that you play sports and still judge romantic postcards like they're a moral problem.\u201c<\/p>\n I had to laugh. \u201eThey are too.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eAnd I like how you come across as Lea. Not perfect, not faked. Real.\u201c<\/p>\n That hit me harder than I expected.<\/p>\n Really.<\/p>\n This word.<\/p>\n I was so often afraid that Lea would seem like just a mask to others. Like a role. Like a costume. Yet, she sometimes feels more real to me than many things I've shown on the outside for years.<\/p>\n \u201eThank you,\u201c I said quietly.<\/p>\n Tom looked at me for a moment. \u201eMay I hug you?\u201c<\/p>\n I nodded.<\/p>\n He put his arms around me. Not too tight. I stood stiffly at first, because my body apparently had to analyze closeness like a complicated document. Then I slowly relaxed. My forehead came almost to his shoulder, and I felt his sweater against my cheek. He smelled clean, warm, a bit like wood or perfume.<\/p>\n It wasn't a big, dramatic hug.<\/p>\n But for me, it was huge.<\/p>\n Because I wasn't Leon, who secretly carried Lea in his mind.<\/p>\n I was Lea.<\/p>\n On a street.<\/p>\n In the arms of a man who asked before he touched me.<\/p>\n As we parted, he remained close. Not so close that it was uncomfortable. But close enough that the moment suddenly got that little electric tension.<\/p>\n I looked at his lips.<\/p>\n Just very briefly.<\/p>\n Of course, he noticed it.<\/p>\n \u201eI'd like to kiss you,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n My stomach did a little flip.<\/p>\n There was that possibility again. That point where an evening can take on a new color.<\/p>\n I could have said yes. I almost did.<\/p>\n But something in me needed a moment longer. Not out of rejection. More because I didn\u2019t want to rush through this evening. I wanted to experience it, not devour it.<\/p>\n So I said honestly, \u201eI don't think so, not quite yet. But... I want you to ask again. Maybe not today. But soon.\u201c<\/p>\n Tom didn't smile, disappointed. He seemed rather touched.<\/p>\n \u201eThat's the most beautiful rejection I've ever received.\u201c<\/p>\n I chuckled softly. \u201eI'm working on my timing.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eI'm asking again.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eGood.\u201c<\/p>\n Then he took my hand again.<\/p>\n And that was almost more beautiful than a kiss.<\/p>\n Later, he took me to the bus stop. The bus was supposed to arrive in seven minutes. Seven minutes is both nothing and everything when you're standing next to someone who nearly kissed you.<\/p>\n \u201eWas Part 2 okay?\u201c he asked.<\/p>\n \u201eBetter than okay.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eGood. Then may I hope for Part 3?\u201c<\/p>\n I pretended to seriously consider it. \u201eDepends on your date planning.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eOh, now pressure is being built up.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eOf course. I have standards.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eI will try my best.\u201c<\/p>\n The bus arrived, as usual, at the least romantic moment.<\/p>\n Before I got in, Tom squeezed my hand. \u201eWrite me again when you get home.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eI'll do it.\u201c<\/p>\n \u201eGood night, Lea.\u201c<\/p>\n There it was again. My name. Soft, quiet, matter-of-fact.<\/p>\n On the bus, I sat by the window and looked at my hand, as if it could still show that he had held it. Of course, it couldn't. But I felt it. In my fingers. In my arm. In my whole body, somehow.<\/p>\n At home, I first took off my sneakers. Then I stood in front of the mirror, still in my skirt, tights, sweater, and makeup. I looked tired. Happily tired. My lipstick had faded a bit, my hair was no longer perfectly in place, and my cheeks were flushed from the cool air.<\/p>\n