Femulation and Other Matters: Second Edition

By Velma

Editor’s Note: There has been some confusion recently when a few readers thought that a guest post was written by me, not a guest writer. So I am including this note here to inform my readers that this post was written by a guest writer (Velma), not me – Stana

Friday, December 19, 2019

While my wife and I are having a totally awful Friday lunch in a small town in North Carolina, my cell rings. I have been dreading this call for days now. It is my urologist calling.

“Mr, ‘Smith,’ this is your urologist. Sorry to tell you the results from your biopsy is that you have prostate cancer – and it is a particularly virulent strain.”

Yeah, give a patient bad news on a Friday just before the doctor goes on extended holiday vacation. Gives you much more time to worry and stew about everything before making medical decisions.

Now this crappy tasting meal turns into ashes inside my mouth. I cannot eat another bite. Now, I have to tell my wife. I pay the check for a lousy, inedible meal, wanting to just leave without confronting the cook/proprietor on the lack of quality. Hell, given the state of the place and the meal, the lady needs the money more than I do.

The ride back to civilization is quiet, but my mind is abuzz. Is this how I die? Soon? What do I do with my clothes? (My wardrobe is at my own house, as my wife and I got married late in life, and she also has her own place and then, we have a place.) Who finds my ‘stuff’ after I am dead? Who gets to clean up my ‘stuff’? I feel embarrassed for the future me.

The following weeks call for a CT scan and a bone scan. Both results are good – nothing has spread beyond the prostate.

A not so leisurely two weeks pass, complete with plenty of worry. Now comes the consultation on another Friday.

Friday, January 10, 2020

The doctor presents the results of the biopsy and genetic analysis and discusses the treatment options. The choices are two surgeries and two radiation treatments. None are particularly pretty or easy or quick. I will spare you the gory details.

The drive back home about 75 miles and I am mad at myself over this whole matter. One never knows what is going to catch up to you. I stop at our favorite sushi carryout for the nights dinner. We have sushi and Chardonnay and later, after the meal, talk.

I tell my wife of the situation as well as the options. Most of the options have almost the same statistical ‘risk of re-occurrence’ and premature unnatural death.

In my self-anger and frustration, along with the alcohol, I blurt out the truth.

If I am gonna die in the next 5 or 10 years, then I am damn well gonna be happy.

I am surprised that you never have questioned why I have such good taste in picking out dresses for you while I am shopping at the Value Village. You had never questioned as to why a man would be going through the dress section in a thrift store. Well, the answer is that I was also shopping for dresses for myself!

You never questioned why we are getting Paula Young wig catalogs addressed to me! The fact is I am a crossdresser! I got my start in college when a couple of girlfriends would dress me up for Halloween. They tried to humiliate me, but I loved it! Hell, I own more bras than you do. I own dresses and wigs and bras and falsies and shoes and makeup and the rest of the whole kit and it is all stored at my house.

Our friend Joyce at the thrift store sold me one of my first wigs years ago. Joyce has seen me fully dressed and she was amazed at my looks and fashion skills. I further explained, once a month on the second Saturday of the month, I used to go to the union hall retirees meetings, but now I attend a support group for crossdressers, fully clothed as a woman.

When I return home from one of those meetings, I am calm and sensitive and emotionally centered. I feel you have somehow noticed. The crossdresser community call this calm and happiness “the pink fog.”

The honest truth is that if I was 40 years younger, I would perhaps live my life as a woman. I could never have done this during the 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, etc. “They” would have thrown a net over me and dropped me off in a padded cell! But now if I am to be checking out early, as I am retired, away from corporate America, I am going to do as I damn well please.

Tomorrow is Saturday’s crossdresser support group meeting and I am going to my house and get dressed and attend the meeting. And if you agree, I will return fully dressed as a woman.

No! I don’t want to see you dressed like that!

The next morning, (Saturday) things are chilly to say the least. My wife says she is going to call her sister. I recommend she call Joyce (from the thrift store) instead as she is nearby. And my wife’s sister once looked quite upset as she she groused over dinner “that she got waited on by a transvestite at the local Ulta store. I thought to myself, “Hell, sister in-law, that ain’t nothing!”

On my way to the support group, I stop by Joyce’s store to check in on what is going on. Fortunately, my wife does call Joyce. I do relate this incident to my group. One member asks how my wife is at this time. “Chilly,” I reply.

My wife called Joyce and she talked her down from doing anything rash,and reminded her that her husband loves her and she should rely on that fact. Apparently, through the last night's Chardonnay, my wife had mistakenly remembered my comment about “living as a woman 40 years hence” to doing so now at this time. Joyce apparently clarified that point to her. The following week started quietly as this matter was unspoken.

Five days later, Wednesday morning, something changed. We are both retired and I generally sleep in late and was still in bed and my wife woke me with the news that she changed her mind and the thought of me dressed up was hot. That I could dress up in any clothing I decide to choose!

She asked me if I had any of my woman’s clothes in the house and I replied, “No.”

Then, she asked if any of her clothes would fit me, and I said, “No, that would not work.” She is size 8, I am size 18/20. I explained that the next day I could drive to my house 45 miles away and I would comply with her wishes.

Later that day, I ordered flowers for Joyce and enclosed a card that read, “Thank you for saving my marriage.”

On Saturday, I drove to my house and got dressed en femme. I wanted this outfit to really look good! I dressed in a two-piece cream and gold colored knee-length knit suit, bright blonde wig and my prescription lens “gurl” glasses, full makeup, hose, black kitten heels, and black, double-breasted knee-length leather coat. The full kit. I also packed a bag with another two outfits and my full makeup/earring bag.

Upon arrival to our little town, I drop by Joyce’s store just before closing time. She approved of the outfit and my look. On the way home, I stopped at our favorite sushi place and picked up my carryout order. The staff had no clue that I was their regular customer.

I arrived at our home right after sunset. My wife was seated in the living room watching the tube as I enter the room and ask, “What ya think?”

My looks positively stunned her. She said I looked great! Now, she realized that my skills in choosing woman’s clothing also covered my own. The cat, however, takes one look at the strange lady and runs out of the room. I bribe the cat back into friendship with the insides of a tuna roll. The cat now knows the strange lady’is just me. Dinner this time went much smoother. My wife is quite happy over me being dressed pretty.

The next day, Sunday, I recommended that we go out for lunch, while I was dressed. Wife excitably agreed.

I had packed another outfit, this time the outfit was the one I described in the Monday, January 27, 2020 Femulate. I deliberately omitted the fact in that article that my wife was in the truck except I did hint at that fact in one of Velmas’ replies to a comment. After fueling at Speedway, we ended up at the local Zaxbys for lunch. My wife is totally relaxed and confident with the new me, as if I was her old girlfriend.

I am writing this letter, on Thursday, five days later, at our home. My wife and I are both dressed in black knit sweater dresses.We just finished visiting our favorite sushi place and my wife is as happy as I am. She loves me to hug her, close and tight, girl-to-gurl style. Yum!

There are times when I wear my breast forms 24 hours a day for days at a time. I feel not whole and unbalanced when I am not wearing them. My wife loves the breast forms and now calls me “Her lesbian husband!” I am good with this!

We now go shopping for makeup, retail clothing (wife took me to buy panties!). I help her do her makeup. She loves that! In a joking manner, I mention that maybe I need a job at Ulta, just to upset my sister in-law. Things are going better than I have ever expected.

As for the disease, I visited a new urologist this week on the advice of a member in our CD/TG support group as this doctor. was TG-friendly. I visited the doctor and presented myself dressed as female and mentioned that I was referred by one of their patients. I was treated by the staff and the doctor with respect and he spent an entire hour discussing possible treatment options, along with any conflicts with any possible gender reassignment possibilities (there are many). I fired the former urologist.

Where did the depression go?

I am 66-years-old. I have had symptoms of depression since before age 6. In the bad old days of the 50’s and 60’s, psychiatrists claimed that children did not get depression, (yeah, sure). You were simply blamed as having bad character or no will power.

My major goal in life was to find a way to not feel like a piece of xxxx. That goal was never met. Apparently, a major component of my lifelong depression was a gender dysphoria. The only real issue is that it took 66 years to discover the existence, as well as a cure for it.

For the first time in a long time, my brain is a non-depressed happy. My wife is happy with me as well as my femulation.

Today, my wife and I go have an early dinner, both dressed in black dresses and heels and despite this being a small conservative town in North Carolina, we have received no negative waves. Afterward, we go to Aldi for a few groceries – the cashier, a regular acquaintance, has not seen me en femme, but she approves of what she sees!

In three days, I will be cooking Valentine's dinner of rack of lamb grilled over mesquite wood, served with a meat glace over a bed of wild rice, along with a Cabernet Sauvignon,with multiple desserts of chocolate.

I instinctively smile and laugh, never felt better or more free, in spite of the damned cancer.

Wearing NewYork & Company

Alex Newell femulating in a 2009 episode of television’s Glee