Hi all,
Thanks for all the input!
(Carolynn: yes, terribly familiar!)
Well, Day 5 ended at 1:00 am this morning. Simply put: IT WAS THE MOST AWESOME DAY OF MY LIFE! (yes, I'm shouting for joy, here!
)
I got up early yesterday morning (at around 6:00, same time as Marie) in order to get ready. But then, of course, I got sidetracked by forum issues. Heh, no matter. I figured, "to heck with shaving my body--it's smooth enough; I'll just pay close attention to my face). Having shaving cream on my face while I'm wearing panties and a bra is still a strange sight to me; even my own brain wants to think something's amiss (our bathroom mirror is huge and has much to reflect--it's basically a wall mirror sitting above the sink counter).
Anyway, I shaved, showered, and dressed. I was running late so quickly slipped on a pair of pantyhose and I just threw on slacks and a blouse. A quick touch of makeup, open-toed sandals with a 1" heel (I know that sandals and pantyhose are a poor mix but--call me vain--I love admiring my toes
), a short vinyl jacket, and I was out the door.
You know, now that I've been about a little more frequently "in full regalia" these past few days, I cannot imagine why I was so nervous when I just dressed partly androgynously / partly
en femme like I was on this morning. Still, I'll admit my heart was triphammering like mad. Wow! My first appointment with a hairdresser to get a feminine hairstyle! On the way there, I noticed that I'd forgotten the damn camera! Oh well, too late to go back.
The appointment went super well. I was there, sitting in that chair for a good forty minutes. Rita's assistant--an older lady--sat nearby and commented occasionally. Rita herself was very volubile and forthcoming. She took the time to explain to me what she was doing every step of the way so that I could (in theory, at least
) reproduce the results at home. Basically, all she did was trim the ends all over, gave the hair on each side of my face a feathered forward cut, gave me a side part so I could style my hair over my high and wide forehead, sent the hair at the top of my head sideways in order to camouflage the patch of thin hair up there, and then blow dried, styled, and puffed everything up. A final touch: a touch of Final Net. While I was in that chair, her next customer came in--a woman about my age. At first, this woman sat in the waiting area over by the window but she soon moved up to the vacant chair next to mine in order to get a better look at the transformation Rita was putting my hair through. I guess she was intrigued. She certainly smiled a lot whenever I glanced her way.
Rita explained to me how to wash my hair (no more than three times a week; one pass with the shampoo, not two; a good conditioner, not that 2-in-1 crap), what I needed to take care of my hair--hair clips, a good blow dryer, a round short-bristled brush with a metal hub (for the hub's heat transfer properties in volumizing hair), a teasing comb (long bristles interspersed with short "micro-barbed" ones), a bottle of Final Net--and, finally, how to blow dry my hair. She was very impressed with the hair I have at the back of my head, saying that it's long and fairly thick and that there's certainly a lot of material to work with. However, she did make me promise two things: one, that I'd let the hair on each side of my face grow so that she'd have something
there to work with, and, two, that I'd not let more than three months go by between each of my appointments with her. I readily agreed.
We also spoke of T-blockers and hormones and the effect these have on hair growth. In her (admittedly limited) experience, these substances will slow hair loss but won't prevent it (and certainly won't make the hair grow back). I asked her about this in a very, uh, hypothetical way.
I'll need to look into that from better sources. She did mention hair transplants (to "narrow" and "lower" my forehead). She also gave me the names and addresses of a few women who specialize in "co-ordinating" partial wigs and more or less permanent hair extensions with a person's own hair (and these shops are all in my old neighbourhood, to boot!).
Anyway, I had a blast. And I suspect that Rita had fun, too. I paid her, thanked her, and, as I left the shop with my new do--with a final smile from Rita's next customer--I came face to face with another woman and held the door open for her. As she passed me by, she said in soft, gentle tone, "thank you Ma'am." I was floored, giddy, and exhuberant all at once. For the first time in my life, someone had called me "Ma'am"! I wanted to shout it out to the world. I walked into the cold sunshine, feeling on top of the world.
I went to that large drugstore I spoke of a couple of days ago (it's almost right across from Rita's shop) to buy the "beauty implements" Rita had suggested and then went back home, walking on air in the freezing wind ("My hair! My hair!).
By now, it was almost 10:45. I spent a few minutes in the bathroom, before the mirror, admiring my new hairstyle. I loved it. I'd told Rita that a member of the crossdressing forum I belong to suggested I find a way to make my hair frame my face the same way my wig did. Rita had agreed and she'd done her best with what she had to work with. And it worked, I think. Now, I'll never look at a woman the same way when she pushes her hair up with upturned palms; I now know that she's not necessarily being coquettish--she's just placing her hair. I found myself doing this very same gesture before the mirror as well as gently flicking my fingertips upward through my hair in order to give it volume. It felt awesome.
Next, I really did have to go buy some groceries. I'd been remiss in that regard over the past couple of days. Of course, I planned to go fully
en femme. So I changed: cream-coloured pantyhose (in which I inserted thin foam pads along my hips and across the lower part of my
derrière); an all-in-one front-zippered beige girdle (and I made the shoulder straps tight so that I could more easily pull my own breasts into the cups--and oh! what a feeling that is!); a black nylon calf-length "slip dress" with a pleated skirt; a charcoal-coloured, sparkly, long-sleeved, thin, dressy pullover top (made from a more or less sheer material that I cannot, for the life of me, identify), and dressy shoes with a 2" heel. Finally, makeup and a spritz of perfume (
J'Adore by Dior) behind the knees and in the crook of the elbow, and I was done. Now, I know what you're all thinking: "CJ! This is how you dress just to go buy some potatoes and a quart of milk?" Well, no. But I think what happened is that I had already subconsciously decided that the day would look like what it eventually turned out to be. Read on.
I put on my coat, stuffed my purse (no novel this time!), and, with a final preen before the mirror, headed for the door. As I passed the kitchen, I noticed the camera sitting there, on the table. Stroke of genius: I decided to take it with me and stop by Rita's shop on the way to the supermarket--they're on the same block--to see if she'd be alright with my having a photo of the both of us taken. She was. And we did. (Pic on the gallery) Thanking her again, I left.
Again, I never made it to the supermarket (
). Across from the supermarket, there's a taxi stand. Not believing I was actually doing this, I walked down to the stand (on a corner of one of the busiest intersections in the neighbourhood) and got in a cab. I told the driver to drop me off downtown in one of of the busiest, most trendy areas of the city ("The Main," for those of you familiar with Montreal).
Sitting there, in the back of the cab, trying to tune out the driver's more or less mindless drivel ("We're all gonna die, you know? They're going to blow up atomic bombs in the middle of the earth and everybody's gonna die..."), I was having an intense conversation with myself in my own head:
"Daniel, what you're doing is crazy. It's the middle of the afternoon. Broad daylight. Sunshine. Throngs of people. Weirdos residing on the Main. Teens. Guys in suits. Squeegee punks. What are you doing? Go back, go back!" "No! I can do this!" "But you have no experience!" "I don't care! I need to get that experience." "You'll be read in a second!" "Shut up! I don't care!" "Daniel, it's not safe; don't do it!" "Yes, it is safe, dammit! This is Montreal: tolerant, open, diverse. Plus, my office is just three blocks north and I know my colleague Patricia is working this afternoon. In fact, I'll be dropping in on her; she's been wanting to meet 'Chrisitina' for a long, long time now." "You'll be sooooooorryyyy..." "No! I won't!" And I wasn't. Boy, was I ever not!
The driver dropped me off on the Main. I walked north, up the hill, towards the office. I--Christina Joseph--was now part of the crowd. I walked, proud, my head held high, my gaze unaverted, even though I was melting inside. The click of my heels on the sidewalk drowned out the sounds of the heavy traffic. In fact, all I could hear for those first few minutes were the sounds of my breathing whooshing through my own skull and that damnably (and thrillingly) loud click-click-clicking of my heels. I have to say, here: boots are a better idea in winter.
I got to the trendier part of the Main. Here, the crowds thickened. Yes, I was read by quite a few people. I merely silently recited my mantra: "I don't care. I don't care. I don't care..."
After walking for half an hour or so, I doubled back, took a different street, and headed to the office. I phoned beforehand just to make sure that Patricia wasn't with a client. There was no answer. That, in itself, is not unusual, so I pressed on. Well, I got to the office only to find it vacant. She wasn't there. I phoned head office and the admin assistant told me Patricia was in a special meeting with another team of colleagues. I was alone. That sucked. Big time. I was so looking forward to her finally meeting me for real. Well, I made a few phone calls. Carole, as it turns out, would have an hour or two of freedom between her last appointment and the client activity she was moderating later in the evening. She was thrilled that I was out and about--right smack dab in the middle of downtown, no less!--and she told me she'd phone me later on.
I took the opportunity to grab a few (disappointingly) solo shots with the camera while I was there. (Pix on the gallery) I then had a bite to eat. Finally, I left the office. It was already 4:00 pm, getting pretty dark by now. I went to the busiest coffee shop on the main, not a block east of the office, to sip a cup of Joe and read the paper. The place was packed, mostly with students who had their noses glued to their laptop screens. But all along the back bench (the length of the wall) sat the usual bunch of old Greek and Italian lechers (and I swear I'd forgotten about these guys--if I'd remembered in time, I wouldn't have gone in, I think). I got my coffee, sat, and read the paper, while all around me the world bustled. Laughter, muted conversations, coffee beans going through the grinder at regular intervals, feet shuffling to and fro not a yard from where I sat--it all made sense. It all seemed perfectly right, perfectly natural, perfectly
ordinary, to be here now. I slowly gazed about the place through the smoky air. Nobody was really paying attention to me. And those that were were smiling and nodding slighly (in encouragement? flirting? in admiration before my courage? in lust? I don't know but I do know that I have no illusions about my ability--or inability--to pass). This moment felt so good, so incredibly good... I wanted it to last the rest of my life.
Around 5:00, Carole phoned. She came to meet me there and was super happy to finally "meet" me in public (her first time--she's seen me more or less dressed at home). Much later, as she was driving me home, she told me that that "first meeting" made her feel a whole bunch of different things simultaneously. Gladness; affection for me; surprise at my stylishness; puzzlement as to how she should interact with me even though she knows I'm still, well, the "me" she's always known; finally (and I found this hilarious), she said she just felt like looking at me and looking again and looking some more. "Well, why didn't you?" I asked her, adding that, of course, "I wouldn't have minded. No, not at all!" She told me she didn't want to embarrass me. Heh, "embarrass" me. I told her that, by that point in the course of my day, I was far, far past being embarrassed. I was having the time of my life!
Carole went to get herself a sandwich and we chatted for several minutes more while she ate. She had to go take some clients bowling at 7:00. I was sorry to see this end (except maybe for the lechers over there consistently staring my way under cover of their bushy eyebrows). I made a decision then and there to not let it end. I told Carole that I'd go with her and she could drop me off close to the bowling alley (but not too close--inadvertently meeting clients as 'Christina' would not do, no, not at all!
) so I could go do some window shopping on the Plaza. (The bowling alley is in my old neighbourhood and the outdoor shopping plaza close by is very familiar to me.) "An even better idea," I told her, "why don't you drop me off at my old haunt? the restaurant where I used to hang out? It's also pretty close by." (Some of the old-timers on the forum may remember my Halloween "woman-in-red" stint at this restaurant, my wanting to meet an apparent T-gal who occasionally ate there, too, and my being told by the new owner--Mr. Jimmy--that he'd rather I not go there "dressed" and his later reversing his decision once he got to know me better... well, he was going to "get to know me" even better in the next hour or so.
)
Carole dropped me off at the restaurant, telling me she'd pick me up around 9:00 or thereabouts. I walked in. Regulars were there and, after having had a good-natured laugh at my expense, they told me how glad they were to see me again. Some whistled.
Mr. Jimmy was much more tentative but, after a few minutes of "catching up" chit-chat, he started warming up to this "new" me. I had a pizza while chatting with the regulars. The usual suspects "cruised" me (all in good, innocent fun, they claimed... yeah, okay
); it felt strange. I want a
woman to cruise me, damnit!
Around 8:30, I left, bidding everyone adieu. Mr. Jimmy made me promise that I'd come back soon. I told him I'd try. I headed, belatedly, to the Plaza for that window shopping. Most of the stores were closed, so the street was pretty much deserted. I suddenly felt lonely. Most of the shops on the Plaza are clothing boutiques, mostly shoe shops, wedding shops, lingerie boutiques, and the odd thrift shop. It felt very peculiar to be able to stand there (albeit in the cold) and peer into the windows at the displays and not feel totally, well, "exposed," as I do when I do the same thing in boy mode. For the briefest time, I was just another woman looking in a shop window at a dress or a pair of shoes she likes. I felt such a pang of longing, it almost hurt. Longing for what? I don't know. Maybe, that I lived in a different universe.
Walking south--the cold, cold wind now at my back--I slowly made my way down to a well-known 24-hour deli for a coffee. On the way, I phoned Carole in order to let her know where I now was heading (actually, this deli is even closer to the bowling alley than Mr. Jimmy's restaurant). The sound of my heels clicking on the sidewalk again seemed loud to me. But that's just because the street was so quiet. For a time, anyway. The sound of laughter--very drunken laughter--many voices--all male--soon came to me. There was a group of drunken and, by the sounds of it, very rowdy, men walking a ways behind me. Suddenly, images of my own bad experience from so many years ago, all came flooding back with a vengeance. I could also hear myself arguing with myself in the back of that cab, earlier in the day:
"You'll be sooooooorryyyy..." As the voices got closer, my heart started pounding. I was trying to make out what they were talking and laughing and joking about. Was it me? I couldn't tell, it was all so slurred. I didn't turn back; I didn't pick up the pace. I knew the deli was just half a block further. Before I made it to the deli, though, the rowdy bunch got close enough for me to see that they were actually on the other side of the street (a covered outdoor plaza wreaks havoc on acoustics, I guess). They walked on ahead of me, gesticulating like madmen. They paid me absolutely no attention to me. How do you spell relief? In my case: W-A-L-K O-N, P-E-O-P-L-E, W-A-L-K O-N! They were already at the corner by the time I did enter the deli.
The place had no more than six or seven customers in it (including a family of four). I went to the back, near the family's table, and ordered a coffee from the waitress (who seemed very curt and unnecessarily brisk to me). After a few minutes, the family left. As the waitress came to clean their table, I started chatting with her in my friendliest demeanour. First, I complimented her on the colour of her hair and told her that I'd tried to get my own hair just that shade but was never successful (which was true). Well, that seemed to have done it; she came over and stood by my table, chatting away. As it turns out, she was very friendly, just a little unsure of what to make of me. Within minutes, we were on a first name basis. "My name's Christina, by the way, pleased to meet you," I said, smiling. "My name's Diane, pleased to meet you, Christina." We chatted a few minutes more, until Carole came walking in. Diane left us to go tend to her stuff and Carole and I chatted for quite a while. We left the restaurant around 10:00 and headed to my place.
Once there, we pulled Marie out of her brain-dead television slump and had her join us in the kitchen for a spell. Marie was totally impressed with Rita's handiwork. She loved it. She loved that I wasn't dressed too garishly, either. Kudos to me, she said.
I gave her a basic rundown of the day (and apologized profusely for leaving her a bit of sloppy home to come to--remember, when I'd left earlier in the day, I had every intention of merely stopping for groceries and coming back, an hour later at the most). Well, she was fine with it; she's happy that I'm starting to "find" myself, at long last. All three of us chatted for another half hour and then Marie went to bed. Shortly thereafter, Carole left.
I was alone. I was with my self. And I was blissed out. This had been a good day. A good day, indeed.
Now, did I learn anything further today? Yes, I did. For one thing--and this is a nod to Carolynn's kinesthetics--I discovered that feminine movement and posture will come so much more easily to me if I just stop trying to force it. At some point, in the coffee shop on the Main, Carole, sitting across from me, put on a big grin and said, "Are you trying to imitate me?" "Huh? I've got no clue what you're talking about." "Look at the way you're holding your cigarette," she said. "Arm up in the air, hand drawn back, fingers curled palmward. Like me!" she said, moving her own arm around as proof. Throughout the evening, at those times we were together, she'd repeatedly (and gleefully) point out to me what she thought was feminine about my mannerisms and behaviour. Apparently (well, no, not apparently--I
know I did this a number of times), I'd glance at my reflection whenever it was handy and place my hair by fluffing it up a bit with my hands. "You're such a girl!" she'd say and laugh. In her car, on the way home, I even flipped down the visor and used the lighted mirror to touch up my lipstick. I did this completely unaware that I was even doing it. Carole pointed it out to me.
Another thing I discovered: you can read about how to walk in high heels all you want but there's nothing like actually doing so--for an extended length of time and not while "just standing around"--to teach you how to do it properly ("properly" meaning, without being self-conscious about it). I spent most this week (and all day yesterday) wearing and walking in heels. What, at first, was a little awkward, came to feel completely easy at the end of the day. I was even complimented by a couple of the regulars at Mr. Jimmy's restaurant concerning my ability to walk in heels. "How'd you learn that?" they asked. "Practice," I told them. There's just no other way.
Now, did I learn anything more
significant, so far? Yes, I think I did. I'm much, much more comfortable being related to as a woman than I am as a man. Of course, I sort of already knew this,
n'est-ce pas? Still, this implies nothing about the future direction of my life. There are more, many more, options than merely being either a crossdresser or a transsexual. I'll be exploring some of those options with my therapist (first meeting tomorrow at 8:00 am and, yes, I'm going
en femme).
Carole is helping me plan further feminization. She really believes that I have to "keep at it," to persevere. She's says it's uncool to let my body hair grow back and then have to go through the entire rigmarole all over again. "Shave you body!" she insists. "Every second day, at the very least." She'll also be on my back (unmercifully, she says) for me to let my fingernails and my hair grow longer. And the clothes, well, the clothes are another thing. She's been helping me sort through my extensive wardrobe, discarding things she believes don't suit me (because they're either too small, too large, or just plain loud and inappropriate). Of course, Marie and Carole get dibs on the discards, the little imps!
Carole says she'll also be giving me a hand in weeding out clothes that are plainly boy mode stuff. She says there's always a way to wear women's clothes and not too obviously look like you are if there's an absolute need to be in boy mode. Also, she insists that underdressing become a part of my "getting ready in the morning routine." I won't argue with her as it's already part of it, anyway. Well, sort of. I do it only half-heartedly. And this is her main point: this kind of "half-heartedness" has got to go. Heh, she'll make a woman out of me yet!
She's a treasure, that one. A good friend, indeed! I don't know what I'd do without her in my life. I really don't.
I'm taking a break today (cleaning, writing on the forum, and making supper for Marie--that's about it). But I plan something special for next week. I think quite a few people will be surprised. Details to come.
Anyway, the long-winded Canadian strikes again.
Thanks for reading (well, those of you that have read this far, that is). I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did in writing this--for me as well as for the entire forum--record-breaking post (four hours in the making).
Be well, all of you. I'll keep you posted.
Love,
CJ
Sorry if I gave you the impression that I was suggesting the use of hormones as a way to cut back on shaving. I really wasn't. It was just a tounge in cheek recognition of a (to me) beneficial side effect of hormones, not the reason. I take the hormones (a patch--under Dr.s direction) for the sense of peace and direction I now have after over 60 years of turmoil and increasing depression to the point of dysfunctionality. I really care little about physical alteration from them, though that would be nice too, its just that now I can see living the remainder of my life with some hope for a peaceful future, far superior to the "tragic accident" I was doing a lot more than just considering. Hormones are kinda scary, but if you do find that they are in your future, embrace them as a correction to something that was wrong with you, like any other medicine to take care of a chronic illness. Like any medicine, they are not for the merely curious or a cd that decides he wants to grow his own. For one thing, they may not work as desired, and for the other, the other side effects may make for tense relationships, and as you know, they CAN result in blood clots and sudden death. So no, they are not for self prescription or casual consumption as a very few have considered them.
What happens that I have trouble with is that I have a lifetime of nearly habitual responses and body movements, the kinesthetics and vocal responses to social situations, that I have to un-learn, and that's what's hard and can trip you up and affect how others relate to you and vice versa. I often tried closet crossdressing as a means to cope, and that does not provide the feedback that RLE can do so that you can unlearn and dispense with those responses. That's why for many the behavioral changes do not occur until RLE, and for some it only takes 6 mos. and for others 2 years to be integrated. I have often felt like a rider in another's body watching the things he does, and going "Why did you do that?" or "That was a dumb joke", or "that was incredibly insensitive and boorish, just shut up!!"-- if you can imagine the embarrassment of seeing behavior you wish wasn't happening coming from the body-you, but you also know that using those expected male responses meant a form of bonding with other males and survival. It also meant that the mind-I correctly interpreted female responses to some of that crap, (especially 
) I am so glad to be a woman, because I have always thought how hard it must be for men to try to live up to those expectations. I probably would get bashed by some feminists for saying this, but in my experience, I think my life has been easier as a woman than if I had been born a man. (I am, of course, talking about living my life in a mainly secular, Western industrialized country as a woman.) I could go into the whys and therefores later. (Daughter is waiting to jump in my seat to go online!)
Proud Military Family - Navy, Army, Coast Guard, National Guard