One Person's Journey to Womanhood – Part 7

By Monica M

In my thirties, I had a big purge. It was really the only purge that I did and the nylon wig went to its final resting place. I don't even remember why I purged; I think it was because I was moving.

Another thing that happened about that time was that I got into transcendental meditation. I meditated (I almost said religiously!) regularly and for a number of years, it worked for me. I don't think I crossdressed for about 5 years… what a waste! :)

Like most men, in my twenties and thirties, I was a keen watcher of women. But while most men wanted to get inside their panties, I wanted to get inside their panties in a totally different way! During the meditation days, even that stopped. So, maybe there is a cure! :)

In my late thirties, we moved to a new city and I dropped the meditation and, lo and behold, the old feelings gradually wound their way back into my psyche. As we did not have any kids, I was able to start indulging my hobby a bit more. Internet shopping was just about taking off and things started to change quickly in the wardrobe front. The “trashy tranny” phase was over and a more bohemian style took its place.

We both lived about 20 minutes away from our workplaces and one of the funnier incidents I remember from that time was when I was working from home one day. I decided to try on one of my wife's more formal dresses that she had not worn for a long time. We are similar in size, but not that similar. This was a dress that she had bought for a wedding and never really liked it afterwards. Being bored and wanting a break from my work, I decided to try it on. I was still in my pre makeup days, so all I needed was a shower and some underwear.

I got the dress on no problem, but, as I zipped it up, the zipper got stuck half way. It was right in the middle of my back and I could just barely reach it, so I could not get it up or get it down. I knew I had two choices: either break the zip and suffer the wrath of my dear wife or call her to come home during lunch time and zip me out of the dress and suffer the wrath of my dear wife. I chose to call her. She was not very amused, but saw the funny side of it. We laugh about it now!

In my mid-forties, we moved again. But this time, to a small community. As I was not out nor going out, this was not an issue. I just had to make sure that the neighbors could not see anything through the windows while I was dressed and make sure that I did not answer the door if anybody came.

The first couple of times that anybody did come to the door, I rushed around getting my guy clothes on and making some excuse for why it took me so long to get to the door. One incident I remember is getting to the door, asking them to come in for coffee and as I am closing the door – fortunately while they had their backs to me – noticing that I still had my rings on. I stuffed my hand in my pocket and mumbled something about having to go to the bathroom.

Now I am much wiser, I don't answer the door. However, it can be very nerve-racking listening to people outside your door and ringing your bell while you are inside en femme.

In my late forties, I learned about professional makeovers and was determined to get one. When we went on holiday in 2004, not only did I get a professional makeover… I got two! Each one was done by a different salon. But more about that along with some photos next time.

(Part 6 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appeared here yesterday.)

 

 

 

A femulator in her kitchen.

 

 

 

Wearing Madeleine.