Going Straight

By Gina V

When I stopped working for the man and embarked on the road less-travelled, it was not exactly coincidental that it took me to a provincial city that happened to have the largest and best-known gay scene in the country. As they say, “where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” so I deduced there would be a fairly active transvestite one within it. And my intuition proved me correct. So once I had broken the ice,* I filled my (3-inch) boots accordingly.

However, if taking a diversion into Straightsville was ever going to be an option, I knew that would always be a much tougher task. For unlike the gay scene, there would be no quarter given and experiencing such a trip without being subjected to ridicule (or worse) depended on being 100% convincing in every way. 

Plus, unlike others in my position (like Stana, for example), despite being informed on numerous occasions that I could pass when dressed, my chronic low self- esteem told me otherwise. Not to mention the fear of experiencing a similar fate to the soldier who goes AWOL by disguising himself as a woman in the film The Triple Echo! Therefore, my few steps into that world were taken very gingerly.

My first experience was going out with my landlord (who was in “mufti”) one afternoon in his car to visit a trans chum of his. With that in mind, I wore a much shorter wig and far less makeup than usual (in the hope of looking more like my sister than Joan Collins) plus a sober grey skirt suit to try and blend in with the scenery. 

But, as if being out in Straightsville in broad daylight for the first time wasn’t scary enough, he insisted on stopping on the way to visit an off license in one of the roughest parts of town – leaving me on my own in the car, where suddenly the windows seemed to get a lot larger. Despite making sure the doors were locked, I was petrified that a gang of youths would come around the corner any second, immediately twig what I was and then smash the windows to drag me out onto the street for a good kicking! But we made it back home with said friend being another who complimented me on my convincingness.

My second (and final) daytime exposure was when I wanted to get a new wig from a salon in the city center and my landlord (who was again driving in mufti) advised me that I would only really know if one suited me if I were dressed for the occasion. So again, I tried to present myself as best I could (perhaps, my hemline could have been a bit lower in retrospect!) in order to merge in seamlessly with the many shoppers and others going about their business. Even so, the walk of a few hundred yards from car park to shop was an ordeal of fire, with me half-expecting a lynch mob to give chase at any moment. However, we arrived at the salon without incident and I wore my new purchase as we made our way back to the car (again, without anyone seemingly being phased).

As a result of that, one thing I learned that can head suspicious straights off at the pass is to step out in the company of a man. Especially one that is straight (or at least straight-acting/looking). I was once out on the local gay scene with an admirer and we queued to get into a club on a night transvestites were admitted free of charge, while everyone else had to pay. And when it came to my turn, the doorman informed me it would cost me two quid!** As such, when my companion walked me through the city center afterwards, it was no surprise that no one batted an eyelid at what they saw as an ordinary couple heading home after a night on the town.

So on the odd occasion out and about in Straightsville, I have managed to get away with it visually. However, the voice is the enemy of the convincing crossdresser! Although I can sing a lot higher than most men (and in a more-than-passable female tone to boot), sadly, I know that I need to work on my femme speaking voice. And as such, I envy my American cousins for their casual drawl allied to relative-freedom to express themselves emotionally, which means they are more likely to succeed in that regard than stiff upper-lipped Limeys. So until now, that has been a good reason why my sorties into Straightsville have been few and far between.

However, as one whose trans persona is becoming ever more apparent, maybe the time has come to try and overcome that hurdle in order that my public appearances are no longer restricted to gay zones? As they say: Watch this space…

* On my first night out on said scene, someone told me I looked like Monica Lewinsky!
** I now wish I had just paid up rather than protested – ha ha

Wearing Boston Proper

Brian Deacon femulating in the 1972 UK film The Triple Echo.