Early days

[Suzanne]

The next morning, Julia stirred slowly into life as she woke up with a naughty smile. “Mm-mmm, come here, you little devil,” she murmured, “Did I dream that or did we.. you know.. last night?”

Putting my arm around her, I said, “I plead guilty as charged, ma’am..!” It was perfect lying there with her in the morning. I didn’t want to move.

Eventually though, we got up and had a gentle start to Sunday morning. After a spot of breakfast, I went up to Julia’s bathroom first and after a close shave, I did my own make-up which didn’t look too bad. I put my wig on and brushed it out a little.. and then changed into the waist clincher and open girdle I’d worn the day before. I had a cream long sleeved blouse that still had the tags on so after removing those, I slipped it on. Then I stepped into the straight black skirt I liked so much and put on a pair of low heeled patent ballerinas. After fastening some gold earrings on and a necklace, I gave myself a spritz of perfume and went downstairs. I stopped in front of the hall mirror and checked myself over.. yes, everything looked good. I went into the kitchen and told Julia that I was ready.

“You’re speeding up with your grooming,” she said, “Your hair just needs a flick.. I’ll bring the brush down when I’ve finished.”

I asked her if there was anything I could do.. She asked me if I fancied doing a spot of ironing..

I told her, “Nothing would please me more..” and I meant it.

She showed me where the ironing board and the iron was and pointed at a basket with some creased clothes in it that she’d brought in from the washing line.

“Will you be OK with those?” she asked.

“No problem.. I’ll enjoy it more as I’m dressed.. I’ll be finished by the time you come down.”

I set the board up and plugged the iron in and sorted through the clothes. I recognised a few of her blouses that she wore to work. I felt 200% feminine as I stated ironing her things.. especially as they were her things. I loved the sound of my heels on her kitchen floor and the rustle of my skirt.. To me, it couldn’t get any better than this.. I folded everything neatly as I went and I was just finishing one of her cotton blouses when I heard her footsteps coming downstairs.

She put her hand on my bottom and said, “I could get used to this!”

I replied, “And so could I!”

She put her hand on my arm.. “Unfortunately, out time together is nearly up for now.. I had a letter this morning from my husband’s shipping company saying that I should expect him on Thursday.. I think we’ll have to think about clearing that back bedroom of yours out – you know, moving all your things back to your flat.. just until he goes back to sea.”

“How long is he normally home for before he goes back?” I asked.

“There’s no fixed time – it could be anytime up to a month..”

My face must have fallen at this because she continued, “Hey, we’ll still see each other at work and we can still have lunch out together..”

/this is as far as I've got.. no more I'm afraid.

[Requal Jo]

Thank you for the wonderful story of your life Suzanne.

[Suzanne]

Glad you enjoyed it RJ..
I've started writing up a much later part of my life when I got as far as taking the dreaded hormones..
And this time, I'm writing it up as it actually happened.. with no composites. I'll be posting it soonish.
It's a good therapy too for me in a way..
Suzanne

[Suzanne]

I posted a condensed version (above) of my early days as a transvestite that were a composite of many experiences that I’d had over the years. I’d pulled them all together and in the interests of brevity, I told the tale using Julia as the central figure who helped me. 99% of what I’d written did happen as described – but over a longer period of time and with different people. (Julia was a real person and fitted my description of her.) Anyway, read on.. this all took place about 10-12 years ago.

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If I fast-forward my life about 40+years from my earlier reminiscences, I’ll describe how I came to edge closer and closer to the divide that separates the sexes. It all seemed to come to a head at the same time as my dear wife was diagnosed with cancer. As can be imagined, her illness threw a very large rock in my emotional pond and it caused us both a great deal of distress. Maybe it also served as a timely reminder to me that I finally needed to act to address the ever-present feelings of femininity that I’d felt since I was around 6 years old.

I don’t know if my wife’s illness was connected in any way to the internal pressure I was feeling but, as time went on, I’d been finding it increasingly hard to keep such a core part of me under lock and key inside my head.

At around that time, I clearly remember one evening when I was driving home from work when I saw an elegant lady walking along the pavement in the fading light. She was dressed exactly as I would have liked to have been dressed if I’d been female – swing coat, straight skirt and classic office shoes - and, as that thought crossed my mind, I suddenly experienced an unstoppable wave of emotion boiling up inside me. I had to pull the car over and stop. I sat there in the gloom crying my eyes out over what was never to be. Although I had been reasonably successful in my life, I had a big yawning blank in the ‘elegance’ box. Elegance was, and still is, a key part of women’s lives that I envied them greatly for - more than I can put into words.

I think this was the tipping point that made me decide that I had to seek serious professional help. Over the years I’d visited psychotherapists, counsellors, psychiatrists, psychologists etc etc, always with the aim of enabling me to ‘cure’ myself of this mental burden that had grown too heavy to carry. Needless to say, not one of them ever talked about a ‘cure’ as a serious possibility. Without exception, they advised me that if the mind does not match the body it inhabits, then the only way forward is to change the body to suit the mind. Medical science is not yet able to change the mind.

I decided to go and see my doctor to ask him to refer me to a specialist consultant who dealt with these gender identity issues. I was past caring what my doctor may or may not have thought of me but I needn’t have worried as he seemed to take it all in his stride. He gave me an appointment to see a psychiatrist in a nearby town.

I had about 4 hour-long sessions with a male psychiatrist and I surprised myself at how I was able to express my innermost feelings to him. I wouldn’t have thought it possible but it was probably a function of how desperate I was feeling. I think it’s a rare man that can understand, and empathise with, what draws people like us to the world of women.

At the end of it, he agreed with my own diagnosis that I was transsexual and he offered me a range of options. One was to refer me to the Gender Identity Clinic at the Charing Cross Hospital in London to speak to the specialist team there. This seemed like a step too far at that time for me, especially as my wife was, and still is, unaware of my problem.

There was a second option that I can’t now recall but it was another one that I discounted more or less straight away.

The third option I was presented with was to start a course of low dosage female hormones (ethinyl estradiol). He said these were the same strength (50mcg) as those that were commonly prescribed for menopausal women and in answer to my immediate question - there would be no physical side effects. As much as I’d have liked – if I’m being absolutely honest - to have some side effects, such as breasts for example, in the context of my marriage this would have been clearly a non-starter. He said that the tablets would “calm me down”. I had to take a liver function test prior to starting the course of hormone treatment. Once I had a satisfactory test result, he gave me a prescription for a month’s supply of the hormone pills. I handed the prescription in at a large dispensing chemists in town and returned ½hr later to collect them. I’d had far worse nerves buying items of female clothing. This time? No problem. I was simply collecting medicine that had been prescribed for me.

I sat in the car and placed one of the little white tablets in my mouth and swallowed it with a gulp of water. It’s strange how something so insignificant can have such a powerful effect on our lives. I remember looking at women as they walked past and thinking that I shared something in common with them now. I felt part of the ‘sisterhood’ – even though I’d only been a member of the club for 5 minutes!

As the days and weeks progressed, I felt as if my skin was becoming thinner but, looking back, I’m not sure now if this wasn’t merely wishful thinking. I felt myself becoming withdrawn and slightly depressed as time went on. I think this was as a result of guilt due to the fact I’d been hiding something major from my wife. I had to return to the psychiatrist each month to report on how I was doing and also for him to write me a repeat prescription. When I told him that I was feeling depressed, he suggested that I double the dose. This seemed counter-intuitive to me and so after taking them for 4 months, I decided to stop. I told the psychiatrist and asked him for his advice. He suggested that I would benefit from stress counselling.

This was something new to me - I hadn’t previously been aware that there was such a thing. Yellow Pages came to the rescue and I made contact with Diane, a lady hypnotherapist, who had a practice in the area and who sounded suitable.

I had 6 hour-long sessions with her and I liked her immensely – and we got on well. I’d been dressing at home without my wife’s knowledge for years but I always found myself wanting more. The truth is I wanted to be “out there” as a woman. After about the third session, she told me that she’d been treating a ‘pre-op’ transsexual who was now ‘post-op’ and she asked me if I would like to meet her for a chat. My first instinctive reaction was to say no.. but as I was leaving her practice, I went back in and said I would like to meet her if that could be arranged. I wanted to put all my fears behind me and really to explore this aspect of me as best I could – and if that meant talking to a transsexual, then so be it. It sounds as though I’m anti-transsexuals – even though I’m one myself. I’m not – but I can’t explain it.

/more to follow..

[Suzanne]

The events in this post, and the one above, happened exactly as written. No factual distortions of time and place at all.
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The following week, I turned up at the appointed time and was introduced to a woman in her mid-thirties. I could have walked past her in the street without too much of a second glance even though she was starkly dressed all in black with very pale make-up – without wishing to be unkind, there was more than a hint of the Addams Family about her. She’d had her surgery in Belgium and was happy with the result.

One thing that emerged from our chat was that we were all different. Putting us all in the ‘transsexual’ box is just the first step.. we are as diverse a group as the ‘straight’ community. She told me that she’d been gay as a man.. and so her perspective on the topic was different to mine. Yes, we are all transsexuals or transvestites but there are the same number of sub-divisions within those groupings as for the general community. I have to say that I didn’t really relate to her as we appeared to have little in common apart from our mutual wish to be female.

At the end of our 6th and final session Diane said that she wasn’t supposed to offer advice but she was going to make an exception in my case. She asked me if I’d ever been outside dressed? At that time I hadn’t - to which she replied – and I remember her words exactly – “Well, in that case all this will remain a fantasy.” That struck home with me. I told her that one of the things that was holding me back was my height, as I’m over 6ft tall. She reminded me that there were more tall women ‘out there’ than ever before and that she didn’t think my height would debar me from making a success of being a woman, given the right outfit. She said, “Why don’t you go for it? But if you are going to go for it – do it properly.. Give yourself a chance.”

Coming from a woman, these words of hers resonated with me. I thought if she was of the opinion that I could make a passable woman, then maybe all was not lost. I felt that she saw me as a woman and that was immensely cheering.

I thought about her final words over the next few days and I made the decision that I would build up a proper female wardrobe and try stepping out in the real world. I had a full head of steam up and had conveniently ignored my wife’s needs and what on earth she would think if she were to find out. The drive to achieve femininity – once it’s unshackled - knows and accepts no limits. I remember feeling at that time that I just had to explore further this side of me as best I could. While the prize always appears tantalisingly close, the reality is that no matter how well you tweak your feminine presentation, the ability to appear female through and through and to suspend belief that you are male is one of the harder things in life to achieve.

From reading women’s pages in newspapers and women’s magazines I recalled some words of wisdom that, in building an outfit, you must start with the right foundation. This meant bras with breast forms - as previously I’d been putting rolled-up socks in my bras. The results were never inspiring and I thought that if I was going to go for an appearance that was as good as I could possibly make it, then the socks would have to go.

I consulted Yellow Pages again looking for a shop nearby that catered for the needs of post-mastectomy women. Having found one that was reasonably close by, I decided to telephone the shop, explain what I was about and ask if they would consider helping me. Easier said than done – as I’m sure some of you can confirm. I thought long and hard about what I was going to say, took a deep breath and then dialled the number.

A pleasant sounding lady answered the phone and I said that I had a difficult and embarrassing problem and that I’d understand completely if she didn’t feel able to help me. I explained that I’d been diagnosed as transsexual and that I was going to try to present as a woman to the very best of my ability. To do that, I had to build up a convincing wardrobe of clothes. I said that I needed to find a bra and suitable breast forms. I asked her if she could help me. She didn’t seem fazed by my request – in fact, she was very supportive, and we made an appointment for a few days ahead. I think once women realise that you genuinely feel that you’re one of them and that you’re serious about wanting to look like a proper woman, many of the barriers come down.

The day dawned when I was going to be fitted for my bra and breast forms. After lunch I drove over to the small market town and found the shop without too much difficulty. It was located above a travel agents (it was discreet, with no passers-by gawking in the window wondering what I was up to).

I made my way upstairs and entered the shop. No turning back now. I forced myself to be calm. There were two ladies there who greeted me. I later found out that the older lady was the mother-in-law of the other lady, whom I’ll call Shirley.

There was an outer shop with a low coffee table with a few chairs. I was motioned to sit myself down and after one of them put a cup of tea in front of me, I was asked what my story was.

I explained that for as long as I could remember I’d felt as though I should have been a girl. For years, I’d been in denial without realising it.. I’d bought clothes and thrown them away with monotonous regularity. If I ever wished to put a label on who/what I was, I’d say that I always thought of myself as a transvestite. This was because it seemed less serious and less threatening than being a transsexual.. Being a transsexual raised all sorts of uncomfortable questions that I didn’t feel able to answer; whereas my initial self-diagnosis as a transvestite allowed me off the hook with several of those. However, the uncomfortable truth was that I was a transsexual. It wasn’t something I’d chosen or sought out – it had come to me. I’d always felt drawn to the company of women and I enjoyed their friendship. I knew I wasn’t gay though. In fact, sometimes when I thought the world was on my head, and I’d gone to talk to a counsellor or a therapist, they’d sometimes suggest that I get involved with the theatre, or take up flower arranging.. or wear clothes that were a bit more flamboyant than my usual ones.. the idea being that these activities would act as a release for my feminine feelings. The thing is though – with all this ‘light on the loafers’ activity, I’d still be a man.. and that’s what I couldn’t identify with – at all. I’m not some swishing bloke who sits with his legs double-crossed or wears clothes that are too tight and/or too bright. That’s not me. I never wanted to be, nor am I, an effeminate man, fluffing up the cushions and shrieking with laughter. I’m a blokey bloke.. but the unfortunate truth is that there’s a woman inside trying to get out. I told them about my earliest thoughts from school at age 6 or 7 when I first realised I wanted to be a girl. I also told them what Diane, the hypnotherapist lady, had told me. I said to Shirley that after a lifetime of messing about around the edges of it, I wanted to put a 100% feminine look together that was appropriate for someone of my age. I didn’t want to look as though I’d got dressed in the dark.. or that individually, my items of clothing were nice but together? Ugh! No, what I wanted was to put together a look that was coherent.. that would say “outfit”.. An outfit that suited my body shape, my height, my colouring, my age and my style and one that any woman would be pleased to see herself in. Not too much to ask surely Shirley!!☺

Shirley reached up inside a cupboard and found a Style Bible book.. that showed all the styles, colours and lengths for a number of figure types. We looked through it together and I pointed out the styles I liked. Shirley drew my attention to what would suit me and what wouldn’t. It’s impossible to explain the relief at finally being able to express my innermost thoughts – woman to woman.

Finally she said, “Come on, I’ll measure you up and we’ll see what we can do for you..”. Shirley showed me to the fitting room where she ran a tape measure around my chest. She said that she was going to start off with a few bras to see what suited me.. and perhaps more importantly, how they looked on me with breast forms inside. The bras she brought were all ‘pocketed’ – that is, the cup had a pocket to hold the breast form securely in place. She asked me how big a breast form I wanted to go to and, although I was tempted (for a millisecond!) to go for something that would me my bust look like a dead heat in a Zeppelin race, I said that I’d like the size to look completely natural and in proportion.

/more to come.