I have wanted to wear skimpy women’s clothing since puberty. As an adolescent, I had little opportunity, and when I married I told my wife, but she was unsympathetic. I suppressed the urge, and focused on the good points of our relationship, although I admit our sex life was fairly average.

When my wife and I split up three years ago, I realised I could explore transvestism. I bought some sexy clothes and joined a transvestite dating website, posting a picture of myself in an alluring short silk dress, a blond wig and full makeup. I said I was interested in relationships with other TVs, women and men. My profile attracted interest from TVs and some male admirers.

The messages from male admirers were often explicit and, while I didn’t feel threatened, I felt like the object of unwanted attention for the first time in my life; the hunted rather than the hunter. I had to be firm; I didn’t want to get physical and no, I wasn’t going to give them my phone number.

So far, I’ve met three TVs and got mildly physical with them, although strangely, I don’t feel inclined to take things further. Kissing a man dressed as a woman is still kissing a man, and the whole adventure in transvestism has made me realise that, for me, it is narcissistic – more about me than the other. I am a man who likes the feel of women’s clothes and being feminine; that’s what gives me pleasure. Sadly, this means that my transvestism is always going to be a solitary experience, and like Narcissus, I fear the only relationship I will have, will be with myself.

• Each week, a reader tells us about their sex life. Want to share yours? Email sex@theguardian.com