Christmas Eve Surprise

Growing up, my father’s family gathered at his sisters’/my aunts’ home for Christmas Eve dinner. With eight uncles and aunts and their children/my cousins and as time passed, my cousins’ children, it was quite a crowd. 

It was always a fun reunion, but it came to an abrupt end about 20 years ago when my aging aunts threw in the towel. It was more than they could handle as they approached their eighties. 

During the ensuing years, my parents and most of my uncles and aunts died. Meanwhile, many of my cousins moved out of state. There was talk of organizing Christmas Eve reunions, but nothing ever came of it. 

However, in the past few years, my out-of-state cousins moved back to Connecticut and around Thanksgiving, my cousin Jack phoned me wondering if I’d help him organize a Christmas Eve reunion to be held at my surviving aunt’s home – just like the good old days. My aunt would not have to lift a finger; her nieces and nephews would put it all together. So I marked my calendar for a Christmas Eve reunion and did my part. 

Although I was close to most of my cousins, none of them knew about Stana. I had not come out to that side of my family and was hesitant to do so because I was the oldest cousin. By default, my cousins looked up to me and I did not want to ruin their image of me... the oldest and more importantly, male cousin.

Coming out to them was on my to-do list and the reunion would provide an opportunity to come out to them all at once. I considered how well coming out to my co-workers had gone even though they were used to knowing my male side for nearly a quarter century. I thought that maybe my family would be just as accepting: it is just old cousin Stan with a greatly improved fashion sense. I thought about it for a few days and decided to do it if my wife was okay with it. 

After 40 years of marriage to a femulator, my wife had seen it all and my Christmas Eve coming out idea was like water off a duck’s back. She said go for it and now came the hard part: deciding what to wear.

Since no one at the reunion had ever seen me en femme, I could wear anything from my vast wardrobe and it would be new to them. But I wanted to wear something I had never wore out before, so that narrowed the selection to about 20 dresses. Considering the frigid weather forecast for Christmas Eve, that eliminated all my short sleeve and sleeveless dresses, so the pickings got slimmer.

I finally settled on a turquoise three-quarter sleeve peplum dress that I purchased from Avon years ago, but had never worn because it was too tight. Now that I was 30 pounds slimmer, it was a perfect fit. I accessorized with my snakeskin Nine West four-inch high heels pearl jewelry. To top it off, I wore my three-quarter-length lynx fake fur from Lane Bryant. I thought I looked very presentable for my unveiling.

My wife and I got in the Subaru and I drove across town to my aunt’s home. Arriving at my aunt’s, I noticed all the vehicles parked in her driveway and on the street in from of her home. I assumed everyone had already arrived, so I would have a big audience for my grand entrance.

We exited my car and walked the short walk up the handicapped ramp to my aunt’s front door, rang the doorbell and someone opened the door to let us in. My wife entered first with me right behind with a nervous smile pasted on my face.

The front room was crowded with aunts, cousins and their kids and as I entered, I heard my cousin Sandra say, “Holy s**t!” Always the sharpest pencil in the box, Sandra recognized me immediately, but it took awhile for the others to get a clue. If my wife had not accompanied me, I think a few would have never figured me out.

All eyes were on me and I heard a couple of wows from the crowd and my Aunt Candace remarked, “Stanley, you are beautiful!”

Cousin Billy took our coats and one by one, each cousin congratulated me with handshakes and hugs (from the guys) and air kisses and hugs from the women. 

The children of my cousins remained clueless. I might have seen them briefly on Christmas Eve 20 or more years ago, but except for some family resemblance, they were unrecognizable to me. However, they were polite and accepted me as the lady with an unusual female name (Stanley). 

No one asked me if I used a female name and everyone called me Stanley, Stan, Stash or Stashu, the latter two being Polish nicknames for Stanley.

Cousin Sandra apologized for her earlier exclamation. She admitted that she only reacted that way because I was the second coming out she had to deal with that day. With that, she said, “Let me introduce you to Jacqueline.” With that, she waved over a pretty woman who I assumed was a neighbor, who I did not recognize or know. 

“Hi Jacqueline. Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you too, Stana. You probably know me better as your cousin Jack.”

“OMG,” I thought, “My cousin Jack is a crossdresser, too. But how did he know my femme name?”

“I’m a big fan and read your blog everyday,” he remarked, “Your blog helped me come out to the family today.”

Suddenly, I was distracted because my feet felt like they were entangled in something. And they were entangled in something: the skirt of my nightie. So I untangled my feet and fell back to sleep.

Wearing Venus

Eve is reddy for the holidays

Mindy posing in her favorite Christmas dress near the tree.

Accentuate, Accentuate, Accentuate

Mary Jo put on his high heels and then checked himself out in his full-length mirror. In his new skirt suit, he thought he looked more than adequate for his job as weather girl at Channel 6. His mascara accentuated his big green eyes, his lipstick accentuated his pouty lips, his bralette accentuated his boy boobs and his heels accentuated his shapely legs. 

As the the weather girl at Channel 6, accentuating his appearance was more important than knowing which way the wind blows. That is the case with most gainfully-employed boys these days – they are “eye candy.” Whether they worked reception or were weather or traffic girls at a local television station, how they looked was more important than what they knew.

Alice stopped typing. He had to get ready for work and would have to continue writing his online story this evening. 

Alice was the author of the popular “Mary Jo Series” – the adventures of a working boy in a woman’s world – stories which were aimed at young males trying to demonstrate that there were other options for boys besides being brides and housewives. 

His last Mary Jo story, “Mary Jo: Airline Stewardess,” was a big hit and he hoped that his next story, “Mary Jo: Weather Girl,” would be just as successful. But there was no time for that now because he had to go to work.

Alice put on his high heels and then checked himself out in his full-length mirror. In his new skirt suit, he thought he looked more than adequate for his job as receptionist at Channel 6. His mascara accentuated his big green eyes, his lipstick accentuated his pouty lips, his bralette accentuated his boy boobs and his heels accentuated his shapely legs.

And so it goes.

Wearing Elisabetta Franchi

Divine (third from left) femulating in the 1988 film Hairspray.

Breasts or Legs?

In this day and age, it seems absurd that husbands still want wives with big breasts, but they do.

With that in mind, my parents started me on a regimen of hormone supplements as I approached puberty. The purpose of the hormones was to help me achieve a state of pulchritude that would make me more attractive to the opposite sex and eventually snag me a husband.

When I began taking the supplements, I had big expectations. My budding breasts seemed to outgrow my training bra overnight and I was soon sporting a new A-cup bra. However, as all my friends moved up the bra cup alphabet, my breasts refused to grow any larger. I was stuck at an A-cup even after the doctor increased the dosage of my hormones.

As I neared my sweet 16 birthday with nary a date in sight, Mom offered me breast implants as a birthday gift. But I was adamant that no surgeon was going to take a scalpel to my surgically virgin body, so I refused.

Although I lacked bountiful breasts, I had other attractive features including a pair of long shapely to-die-for legs. To show them off, I always wore the shortest skirts and highest heels. On a few occasions, I was sent home from school because my skirts were so short that they revealed other assets.

Nevertheless, I built my wardrobe around mini-skirts and mini-dresses hoping to attract someone who preferred well-turned ankles over well-rounded breasts.

After graduating from high school, I became a receptionist at a high-tech engineering firm where I attracted a design engineer who was an unabashed leg aficionado. We dated for six months, then she asked for my hand in marriage.

We just celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary and she still likes me to show off my legs. (She tells everyone, “He has the best legs in town.”)

As her obedient and dutiful wife, I willingly comply and wear skirts or dresses and high heels throughout my day.

Wearing Zuhair Murad

Femulating at the Chamayavilakku Festival

Saturday Night Lives

Third Saturday of the month, we dine with our friends, Bill and Rosemary Lucas. We take turns, one month at their house and one month at our house.

Last month at our house, Rosemary and my wife Karen discussed how men can be self-involved. As an example, Rosemary went on and on about how Bill spent a lot of time and money on photography.

Not to be outdone, Karen mentioned how I spent a lot of time and money on crossdressing.

I turned beet red with embarrassment. My crossdressing was a family secret. I was incredulous that Karen would let the cat out of the bag, but in the heat of the moment, she wanted to up Rosemary’s complaints about Bill.

“Who would have thought that about Stanley,” commented Rosemary.

“I’m shocked,” said Bill.

“Yes, ‘Stan the Man’ likes to become ‘Pearl the Girl’ about once a week,” added Karen.

“I'd like to meet her,” Bill said with a Cheshire Cat grin.

With a twinkle in her eye, Rosemary suggested, “Maybe Pearl can dine with us next month.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Karen replied.

“I can't wait!” Rosemary exclaimed. I did not say a word and the subject was dropped for other topics that I cannot recall because my head was spinning about what just happened.

On the way home, Karen apologized for telling Bill and Rosemary about Pearl.

“I accept your apology, but why did you go along with Rosie’s idea about Pearl showing up for dinner next month?”

“At first, I thought it would be too embarrassing for you, but Rosie and Bill were so enthusiastic that I thought, why not. Pearl is a beautiful woman and she deserves to go out and be seen.”

“I'll think about it,” was where I left it.

The month passed and I thought it was a dead issue.

Over breakfast on the morning of our next dinner with the Bill and Rosemary, Karen asked, “What is Pearl wearing tonight?”

I didn't see that coming.

“Stan was planning to go to dinner without Pearl tonight,” I replied.

“Rosie and Bill were expecting to see Pearl. In fact, I was expecting to see Pearl, too.”

“But...”

“You are going to disappoint everyone. Why don”t you stop being so self-centered and think about others for a change.”

Karen was angry... very angry. I felt guilty and started reconsidering. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Bill and Rosie already know and it might be fun to get out of the house en femme, as the “girls” say.

I finally relented, “I guess Pearl can make an appearance tonight.”

Karen's anger turned to elation, “Great! I'm so happy that she changed her mind.”

I completed my Saturday chores by mid-afternoon and began transforming myself into Pearl.

I disrobed and applied hair removal cream on my legs, arms, breasts and as far as I could reach on my back. While waiting for the cream to do its job, I applied a shaving gel to my face, neck and armpits, put a fresh blade in my razor and got in the shower.

As the water washed the depilated hair from my body, I shaved. Then I cleansed my whole body, rinsed and stepped out of the shower.

After drying myself, I rubbed moisturizer into my soft skin, then I slipped on a pair of black lace panties (the only kind I will wear) and sat at the vanity to do my makeup.

I used some concealer to hide the faint shadow of my beard, then applied foundation and powder. I did my eyes next. The eyeliner makes them stand out and a deft application of mascara and eyeshadow make them look smoky and mysterious. Some blush and muted lipstick followed.

Pearl is a blond and has a variety of hair styles at her disposal, so I had to decide which coiffure she would wear. I selected a short wispy layered cut with flipped ends and dark roots that add authenticity to the wig. I slipped the wig onto my head, straightened it and finger-styled it.

I removed my undies from the bureau and pulled on a high waist panty girdle, while tucking Willy and his friends out of sight. Next came the matching long line bra and silicone breast forms that went into its cups.

Sitting on the bed, I put my pink-polished toes into a pair of suntan control-top sandalfoot pantyhose and worked the sheer nylon up my legs and over my girdle.

I slipped a black sheath dress over my head being careful not to smudge my makeup on the fabric.

Then I asked my spouse, “Karen, would you please zip up my dress?”

“Yes, honey,” she answered. She stopped combing her hair to assist with my zipper.

“There you go,” she said when she finished zipping me up and closing the clasp just above the zipper.

“Thank-you, sweetheart.”

I completed my look with some tasteful jewelry: a silver watch on my slender wrist, silver heart clip-on earrings and my wedding band and engagement ring. Finally, I added a set of stick-on nails to my fingers.

I straightened out my dress and smoothed the hem, which fell about three inches above my knees, then slipped on a pair of four-inch black patent pumps. A spritz of perfume on my wrists and on the nape of my neck and I stand back to admire the finished product in our full-length mirror. Stan has left the building and Pearl was in his place!

I announced, “I'm ready,” using a feminized version of my voice.

“You certainly are, Miss Pearl! I'm almost ready, too. Can you return the favor?”

Karen had just slipped on her green belted sweater dress and was waiting for me to zip her up.

“Sure thing,” I said and I zipped up her dress.

“Check me out, honey, to make sure I look okay,” she asked.

She spun around with her arms posed akimbo so that I could see any flaws in her ensemble.

“You look perfect,” I said, “I am so lucky to be married to a drop dead gorgeous woman.” 

Then I spun around with my arms posed akimbo so that she could see any flaws in my ensemble.

“Perfect... I am lucky to be married to a drop dead gorgeous woman, too,” she replied.

We air-kissed each other so as not to smudge our makeup, grabbed our purses and walked to the garage.

Karen drove because I had never driven wearing high heels. It was only a half-mile ride to the Lucas home and when we arrived, Karen parked the car on the street and we walked hand-in-hand to the front door.

Karen rang the bell and we soon heard the clicking of high heels approach the door from the inside. The door was opened by a beautiful woman, who I didn't recognize.

Karen said, “Hi, Bill. You look lovely.”

“Thank-you, but Bill’s not here. Please call me ‘Pamela.’ May I assume your beautiful girlfriend is Pearl?”

“You assumed correctly, Pamela.”

I was speechless. Pamela nee Bill looked fantastic. He was wearing a white jacquard mini-dress, off white metallic pantyhose and silver strappy 4-inch sandals. His shoulder-length chestnut hair was up and his makeup was perfect.

“You look fabulous,” I gushed.

“You, too, girlfriend. Let’s take some photos!”

Wearing Charo Ruiz

Arthur Askey femulating in the 1940 British film Charley's Big-Hearted Aunt.

Throwback Thursday: First Holy Communion

(Originally posted on September 2011)

Molly and Desmond were elated that they were able to pull it off.

Their son Clarissa was about to make his first holy communion, but he could not wear a dress to the ceremonies. The archdiocese insisted that boys had to wear blue suits (jackets and trousers) despite the fact that in this day and age, most parents raised their sons to be sissies.

Molly and Desmond pleaded Clarissa’s case to their parish’s pastor, Father Maxine, and to the parish nun who organized the first holy communion, Sister Bernard. There they found sympathy, but not much hope for their cause.

Then there was a miracle!

The archbishop of the diocese retired and Pope Raylene II appointed a woman, Archbishop Rhonda, as the new archbishop.

With this turn of events, Father Maxine and Sister Bernard contacted the archbishop about the dress requirements and in response, she decreed that both boys and girls could wear dresses to their first holy communion ceremonies.

So it came to pass that on the Sunday of Clarissa’s first holy communion, Clarissa shed tears of joy when he paraded down the church aisle with the other sissies wearing adorable first holy communion dresses, while Molly and Desmond proudly looked on wearing his and her skirt suits, (Molly’s in baby blue and Desmond’s in dusty pink); a complete feminine family just as Goddess intended.

Wearing Boston Proper

A Man-to-Man Talk

My 12-year-old son Cameron found me in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes and began complaining, “Daddy, look how Mommy had me dress today!”

I looked up from the sink full of dishes to see how my spouse had outfitted our son. 

A short sleeveless white skater dress adorned his body and white patent Mary-Janes adorned his feet. Nude pantyhose encased his legs and a white purse, slung over his shoulder, completed the outfit. 

His eyes were lightly made up – just a touch of liner and mascara and a smudge of eyeshadow. Pink lip gloss highlighted his lips and he might have had a light touch of blush, too, but I was not sure. Either way, his makeup, as well as his whole presentation was befitting his age.

“What's the matter, Cammi? You look very pretty,” I replied.

“I can't go to school dressed like this,” he whined.

“Why not?’ I asked.

“The other boys will make fun of me,” he replied.

“I don't understand why they would,” was my perplexed retort.

“White – after Labor Day!” was his anxious reply.

“Of course, now I understand,” I replied. “Let's go upstairs, my little fashionista, and dress you properly for the season.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” my son beamed. Then he hurried over to me and gave me a hug. 

I bent over to kiss him on the forehead. As I did, my breasts brushed his face and he remarked, “Oh, Daddy, I can't wait until I'm old enough to wear a bra like you.”

“You know, you're just about old enough to start wearing a training bra.” I remarked. “Maybe Saturday, I will take you shopping and buy you a trainer.”

“That would be awesome!”

Then I patted him on his pantied rear and said, “Let's get going. We have to get you dressed up all over again before the school bus arrives.”

“OK, Daddy,” and with that Cameron ran ahead of me. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he looked back to see me lagging behind.

“Hurry up, Daddy.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can, but I can’t keep up with you in this tight skirt and high heels!”  

Wearing Natori

Gene Hackman dons drag in the 1996 film The Birdcage.

Someone Needs a Bra

Tony sat on the edge of his bed cupping his breasts in his hands thinking back to the Shirts vs. Skins touch football game at the family’s Memorial Day picnic. Tony remembered being very embarrassed when he ended up on the Skins team and everyone saw his breasts bouncing up and down the field.

During the game, Uncle Terry remarked, “Someone needs a bra.”

Tony’s Dad was Uncle Terry’s kid brother and he always listened to his older brother. So returning home after the picnic, Tony’s Dad asked Tony’s Mom to take Tony to Macy’s to buy a bra.

The next day, Tony’s Mom picked him up after school and drove to Macy’s. As they entered Macy’s lingerie department, a sales associate named Jamie greeted Tony and his Mom .

“What can I do for you today?” Jamie asked.

“My son needs to get fitted for a bra,” Tony’s Mom replied

“I’ll need to take your son’s measurements, so please follow me to the dressing room,” said Jamie.

Tony followed Jamie to an empty stall in the dressing room, then Jamie told Tony to take off his top. 

Tony did as he was told, Jamie took his measurements and then told Tony to wait while he found some bras for Tony to try on.

Jamie returned with an armful of bras and by process of elimination, Tony was fitted with a bra.

At the Independence Day family picnic, Tony ended up on the Skins team again, but was not embarrassed because he wore his bra throughout the game – just like his uncles, cousins and Dad, who were also on the Skins team.

Wearing Ann Taylor

Femulating prisoners-of-war in the 1937 film Grand Illusion.

Misfit

Alli Cummings was different than the others.

Other 12-year-olds were giddy about getting their first training bras, but not Alli, who was completely satisfied wearing an undershirt.

Other pre-teens were experimenting with makeup and hairdos trying to look as pretty as possible, but not Alli, who had absolutely no interest in such feminine matters.

Instead of becoming a lady, Alli was becoming a misfit and Alli's parents were worried.

Alli's mom did not have time to deal with Alli. She worked all day and expected her better half to take care of any child-rearing issues.

One evening after dinner, Alli's mom demanded, "You have to do something about Alli!"

Alli's dad deferred, "Yes, dear. I know. I'll have a talk with Alli soon."

The next day, when Alli's dad heard Alli come home from school, he called out from the kitchen, "Alli, I want to speak with you."

"OK, Dad," Alli called back.

Alli shuffled to kitchen worried that something was wrong.

In the kitchen. Alli's dad was wearing his gauzy periwinkle apron and had his shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail so as not to get in the way as he prepared dinner. When he saw Alli, his face brightened and he broke out in a big smile. "Hello, Sweetie."

"Hi, Daddy."

Alli was relieved by the big smile; maybe Alli was not in trouble after all.

"Sit down. We need to talk."

Now Alli was not so sure about being in trouble or not, and sat down on a chair at the kitchen table.

Alli's dad wiped his hands with a towel, then walked over to the table with his high heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. As he sat, he smoothed the skirt of his housedress under him, then crossed his legs at the ankles.

"So, Alli, what are your future plans?"

"What do you mean, Daddy."

"Well, what do you want to be when you grow up? A man or a wo-man?"

Alli was upset by the question. No one wanted to be a man and Alli was surprised that his dad would suggest that Alli would choose such a lowly status in life.

"I want to be a wo-man, of course," Alli replied.

"I'm glad to hear that," Alli's dad responded, "But actions speak louder than words and your actions tell me that you want to be a man, not a wo-man."

"Why do you say that, Daddy?"

"All the boys your age are getting into girly things, but you are still acting like a boy. I was talking with Mrs. Reardon the other day and he was bragging to me about how your best friend Timmi was becoming such a young wo-man. His dad said that Timmi has been wearing a training bra and corset for months and wears skirts and dresses now. And he had his first appointment at the beauty salon just last week."

"I know," Alli replied, "Timmi is so girly now just like Ralphi and Franni."

"Don't you want to be girly, too?"

"I do, but I'm scared."

"What are you scared of?"

"Ralphi said that when a girly boy turns 14, he has to have an operation and they cut off his privates."

"No, no. no. There is no operation. When you turn 14, you will go to the doctor and she shows you how to tuck your privates up between your legs. Then she will fit you with a femulator to keep your privates in place."

"But how will I pee if my privates are tucked up between my legs?"

"You'll have to sit on the toilet to pee and when you are done, you will have to wipe yourself dry with bathroom tissue.... just like a real woman. There's nothing to it!"

"So that's all... there's no operation?"

"No operation at all, Sweetie."

"That's great news, Daddy!"

"Any other questions, Alli? I have to finish getting dinner ready before Mother comes home from work."

"Just one question, Daddy."

"What is it, Alli?"

"How soon can I start becoming a wo-man?"

Alli's dad was so happy to hear Alli's question that he wiped a tear from his eye as he answered, "We can start right after dinner. Mother bought you a training bra and a corset months ago in the hope that you were ready to go girly. I'll show you how to put on the bra and I will help you with your corset. Then I'll show you how to use makeup and if we have time, we can paint your nails and put your hair up in curlers. How does that sound?"

"I can't wait to go girly, Daddy."

"I can't wait for you to go girly, too, Alli.”

Wearing Nine West

Mona femulates Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's 

Saturday Night Lives

By request, I am rerunning this story that I wrote and posted here over a year ago. I hope you enjoy it. Have a nice weekend!

Third Saturday of the month, we dine with our friends, Bill and Rosemary Lucas. We take turns, one month at their house and one month at our house.

Last month at our house, Rosemary and my wife Karen discussed how men can be self-involved. As an example, Rosemary went on and on about how Bill spent a lot of time and money on photography.

Not to be outdone, Karen mentioned how I spent a lot of time and money on crossdressing.

I turned beet red with embarrassment. My crossdressing was a family secret. I was incredulous that Karen would let the cat out of the bag, but in the heat of the moment, she wanted to up Rosemary's complaints about Bill.

"Who would have thought that about Stanley," commented Rosemary.

"I'm shocked," said Bill.

"Yes, 'Stan the Man' likes to become 'Pearl the Girl' about once a week," added Karen.

"I'd like to meet her," Bill said with a Cheshire Cat grin.

With a twinkle in her eye, Rosemary suggested, "Maybe Pearl can dine with us next month."

"I think that can be arranged," Karen replied.

"I can't wait!" Rosemary exclaimed. I did not say a word and the subject was dropped for other topics that I cannot recall because my head was spinning about what just happened.

On the way home, Karen apologized for telling Bill and Rosemary about Pearl.

"I accept your apology, but why did you go along with Rosie's idea about Pearl showing up for dinner next month?"

"At first, I thought it would be too embarrassing for you, but Rosie and Bill were so enthusiastic that I thought, why not. Pearl is a beautiful woman and she deserves to go out and be seen."

"I'll think about it," was where I left it.

The month passed and I thought it was a dead issue.

Over breakfast on the morning of our next dinner with the Bill and Rosemary, Karen asked, "What is Pearl wearing tonight?"

I didn't see that coming.

"Stan was planning to go to dinner without Pearl tonight," I replied.

"Rosie and Bill were expecting to see Pearl. In fact, I was expecting to see Pearl, too."

"But..."

"You are going to disappoint everyone. Why don't you stop being so self-centered and think about others for a change."

Karen was angry... very angry. I felt guilty and started reconsidering. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Bill and Rosie already know and it might be fun to get out of the house en femme, as the "girls" say.

I finally relented, "I guess Pearl can make an appearance tonight."

Karen's anger turned to elation, "Great! I'm so happy that she changed her mind."

I completed my Saturday chores by mid-afternoon and began transforming myself into Pearl.

I disrobed and applied hair removal cream on my legs, arms, breasts and as far as I could reach on my back. While waiting for the cream to do its job, I applied a shaving gel to my face, neck and armpits, put a fresh blade in my razor and got in the shower.

As the water washed the depilated hair from my body, I shaved. Then I cleansed my whole body, rinsed and stepped out of the shower.

After drying myself, I rubbed moisturizer into my soft skin, then I slipped on a pair of black lace panties (the only kind I will wear) and sat at the vanity to do my makeup.

I used some concealer to hide the faint shadow of my beard, then applied foundation and powder. I did my eyes next. The eyeliner makes them stand out and a deft application of mascara and eyeshadow make them look smoky and mysterious. Some blush and muted lipstick followed.

Pearl is a blond and has a variety of hair styles at her disposal, so I had to decide which coiffure she would wear. I selected a short wispy layered cut with flipped ends and dark roots that add authenticity to the wig. I slipped the wig onto my head, straightened it and finger-styled it.

I removed my undies from the bureau and pulled on a high waist panty girdle, while tucking Willy and his friends out of sight. Next came the matching long line bra and silicone breast forms that went into its cups.

Sitting on the bed, I put my pink-polished toes into a pair of suntan control-top sandalfoot pantyhose and worked the sheer nylon up my legs and over my girdle.

I slipped a black sheath dress over my head being careful not to smudge my makeup on the fabric.

Then I asked my spouse, "Karen, would you please zip up my dress?"

"Yes, honey," she answered. She stopped combing her hair to assist with my zipper.

"There you go," she said when she finished zipping me up and closing the clasp just above the zipper.

"Thank-you, sweetheart."

I completed my look with some tasteful jewelry: a silver watch on my slender wrist, silver heart clip-on earrings and my wedding band and engagement ring. Finally, I added a set of stick-on nails to my fingers.

I straightened out my dress and smoothed the hem, which fell about three inches above my knees, then slipped on a pair of 4-inch black patent pumps. A spritz of perfume on my wrists and on the nape of my neck and I stand back to admire the finished product in our full-length mirror. Stan has left the building and Pearl was in his place!

I announced, "I'm ready," using a feminized version of my voice.

"You certainly are, Miss Pearl! I'm almost ready, too. Can you return the favor?"

Karen had just slipped on her green belted sweater dress and was waiting for me to zip her up.

"Sure thing," I said and I zipped up her dress.

"Check me out, honey, to make sure I look okay," she asked.

She spun around with her arms posed akimbo so that I could see any flaws in her ensemble.

"You look perfect," I said, "I am so lucky to be married to a drop dead gorgeous woman." Then I spun around with my arms posed akimbo so that she could see any flaws in my ensemble.

"Perfect... I am lucky to be married to a drop dead gorgeous woman, too," she replied.

We air-kissed each other so as not to smudge our makeup, grabbed our purses and walked to the garage.

Karen drove because I had never driven wearing high heels. It was only a half-mile ride to the Lucas home and when we arrived, Karen parked the car on the street and we walked hand-in-hand to the front door.

Karen rang the bell and we soon heard the clicking of high heels approach the door from the inside. The door was opened by a beautiful woman, who I didn't recognize.

Karen said, "Hi, Bill. You look lovely."

"Thank-you, but Bill's not here. Please call me 'Pamela.' May I assume your beautiful girlfriend is Pearl?"

"You assumed correctly, Pamela."

I was speechless. Pamela nee Bill looked fantastic. He was wearing a white jacquard mini-dress, off white metallic pantyhose, and silver strappy 4-inch sandals. His shoulder-length chestnut hair was up and his makeup was perfect.

"You look fabulous," I gushed.

"You, too, girlfriend. Let's take some photos!"

Wearing JustFab (Source: JustFab)

Chorus boys (center left and right) sort of femulating in the 2017 Emmy Awards television show.

Saturday Night Lives

Third Saturday of the month, we dine with our friends, Bill and Rosemary Lucas. We take turns, one month at their house and one month at our house.

Last month at our house, Rosemary and my wife Karen discussed how men can be self-involved. As an example, Rosemary went on and on about how Bill spent a lot of time and money on photography.

Not to be outdone, Karen mentioned how I spent a lot of time and money crossdressing.

I turned beet red with embarrassment. My crossdressing was a family secret. I was incredulous that Karen would let the cat out of the bag, but in the heat of the moment, she wanted to up Rosemary's complaints about Bill.

"Who would have thought that about Stanley," commented Rosemary.

"I'm shocked," said Bill.

"Yes, 'Stan the Man' likes to become 'Pearl the Girl' about once a week," added Karen.

"I'd like to meet her," Bill said with a Cheshire Cat grin.

With a twinkle in her eye, Rosemary suggested, "Maybe Pearl can dine with us next month."

"I think that can be arranged," Karen replied.

"I can't wait!" Rosemary exclaimed. The subject was dropped for other topics that I cannot recall because my head was spinning about what just happened.

On the way home, Karen apologized for telling Bill and Rosemary about Pearl.

"I accept your apology, but why did you go along with Rosie's idea about Pearl showing up for dinner next month?"

"At first, I thought it would be too embarrassing for you, but Rosie and Bill were so enthusiastic that I thought, why not. Pearl is a beautiful woman and she deserves to go out and be seen."

"I'll think about it," was where I left it.

The month passed and I thought it was a dead issue.

Over breakfast on the morning of our next dinner with the Bill and Rosemary, Karen asked, "What is Pearl wearing tonight?"

I didn't see that coming.

"Stan was planning to go to dinner without Pearl tonight," I replied.

"Rosie and Bill were expecting to see Pearl. In fact, I was expecting to see Pearl, too."

"But..."

"You are going to disappoint everyone. Why don't you stop being so self-centered and think about others for a change."

Karen was angry... very angry and I felt guilty and started reconsidering. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Bill and Rosie already know and it might be fun to get out of the house en femme, as the "girls" say.

I finally relented, "I guess Pearl can make an appearance tonight."

Karen's anger turned to elation, "Great! I'm so happy that she changed her mind."

I completed my Saturday chores by mid-afternoon and began transforming myself into Pearl.

I disrobed and applied hair removal cream on my legs, arms, breasts and as far as I could reach on my back. While waiting for the cream to do its job, I applied a shaving gel to my face, neck and armpits, put a fresh blade in my razor and got in the shower.

As the water washed the depilated hair from my body. I shaved. Then I cleansed my whole body, rinsed and stepped out of the shower.

After drying myself, I rubbed moisturizer into my soft skin, then I slipped on a pair of black lace panties (the only kind I will wear) and sat at the vanity to do my makeup.

I used some concealer to hide the faint shadow of my beard, then applied foundation and powder. I did my eyes next. The eyeliner makes them stand out and a deft application of mascara and eyeshadow make them look smoky and mysterious. Some blush and muted lipstick followed.

Pearl is a blond and has a variety of hair styles at her disposal, so I had to decide which coiffure she would wear. I selected a short wispy layered cut with flipped ends and dark roots that add authenticity to the wig. I slipped the wig onto my head, straightened it and finger-styled it.

I removed my undies from the bureau and pulled on a high waist panty girdle, while tucking Willy and his friends out of sight. Next came the matching long line bra and silicone breast forms that went into its cups.

Sitting on the bed, I put my pink-polished toes into a pair of suntan control-top sandalfoot pantyhose and worked the sheer nylon up my legs and over my girdle.

I slipped a black sheath dress over my head being careful not to smudge my makeup on the fabric.

Then I asked my spouse, "Karen, would you please zip up my dress?"

"Yes, honey," she answered. She stopped combing her hair to assist with my zipper.

"There you go," she said when she finished zipping me up and closing the clasp just above the zipper.

"Thank-you, sweetheart."

I completed my look with some tasteful jewelry: a silver watch on my slender wrist, silver heart clip-on earrings and my wedding band and engagement ring. Finally, I added a set of stick-on nails to my fingers.

I straightened out my dress and smoothed the hem, which fell about three inches above my knees,then slipped on a pair of 4-inch black patent pumps. A spritz of perfume on my wrists and on the nape of my neck, and I stand back to admire the finished product in our full-length mirror. Stan has left the building and Pearl was in his place!

I announced, "I'm ready," using a feminized version of my voice.

"You certainly are, Miss Pearl! I'm almost ready, too. Can you return the favor?"

Karen had just slipped on her green belted sweater dress and was waiting for me to zip her up.

"Sure thing," I said and I zipped up her dress.

"Check me out, honey, to make sure I look okay," she asked.

She spun around with her arms posed akimbo so that I could see any flaws in her ensemble.

"You look perfect," I said, "I am so lucky to be married to a drop, dead gorgeous woman." Then I spun around with my arms posed akimbo so that she could see any flaws in my ensemble.

"Perfect... I am lucky to be married to a drop, dead gorgeous woman, too," she replied.

We air-kissed each other so as not to smudge our makeup, grabbed our purses and walked to the garage.

Although it was only a half-mile ride to the Lucas home, Karen drove because I had never driven wearing high heels. Karen parked the car on the street and we walked hand-in-hand to the front door.

Karen rang the bell and we soon heard the clicking of high heels approach the door from the inside. The door was opened by a beautiful woman, who I didn't recognize.

Karen said, "Hi, Bill. You look lovely."

"Thank-you, but Bill's not here. Please call me 'Pamela.' May I assume your beautiful girlfriend is Pearl?"

"You assumed correctly, Pamela."

I was speechless. Pamela nee Bill looked fantastic. He was wearing a white jacquard mini-dress, off white metallic pantyhose, and silver strappy 4-inch sandals. His shoulder-length chestnut hair was up and his makeup was perfect.

"You look fabulous," I gushed.

"You, too, girlfriend. Let's take some photos!"

Wearing Caroline Constas.

Jerzy Grzechnik on Polish television's Twoja Twarz Brzmi Znajomo (2016).