A Road Less Traveled - Part 2

By Michelle

Before telling my girlfriend, of course, I was dressing secretly at home fearing her sudden return, but eventually I took the courage and went to a “closed” meeting of our sisterhood. This was a step up again and I was very nervous. 

What was I scared of? I guess I was worried that somebody I knew would see me there. Although the obvious reply is that I would also see them, therefore, we’d both be in the same situation. Anyway, I got there, changed in the room allocated for doing so and went to meet the others. I found it a little uncomfortable and to be honest, a bit of a let-down. 

My immediate reaction was to leave (can you imagine that after all the build-up?), but I stuck it out and stayed for most of the evening. In those days, those meetings were the only meeting anywhere closer than London (a two-hour drive each way for me). So despite it being very low key and only held monthly (and not at all in December), I became a regular, gradually meeting friends there.

The next stage were “closed” weekends away, although on my first visit, I only went for the Saturday, coming home in the late afternoon. It was during these events that I left the hotel and for the first time walked out in the general public, first under the cover of darkness and then in broad daylight. What a site I must have been – although I have always not gone too over the top, my skirt was probably a bit too short and my wig was of a poor quality. However, once I was out I walked around for three hours and although I’m sure I was, I was not aware of being read. I walked back into the hotel elated and wanted to tell everyone about it. But that isn’t so easy because everyone else also wanted to talk about their adventures of the day.

These weekends (and they became full weekends as I got there on Friday evening and stayed until Sunday morning) became regulars for me and I became more confident and I hope more presentable. I had various steps up and little victories. The first one I really remember was when a man held a door open for me and smiled sweetly (a man’s never smiled at me in that way when I’ve been in male mode). A second was when I went with my wife and another man held a door for us and said “there you are, ladies” – priceless! 

On another day I went with my wife for a girls’ day out clothes shopping and we also went into a pub for lunch. I had never done this before and as always, I was very nervous. I followed my wife into a crowded bar where she was told there were tables available in the next room. Before I knew it she had disappeared into this room leaving me to follow her to a dining area with about 20 tables most of which were full. My heart was in my mouth as I expected everyone to stop and look at me in astonishment. When they didn’t my heartbeat went down to a steady “incredibly fast” and I gathered myself as a waitress, without a hesitation, took us to a table. We had a wonderful spot and I remember looking out at the winter sun as swans swam in the river that flowed past the window. Life just didn’t get better than this. What a long way from guiltily dressing in my mother’s bedroom some 35 years earlier.

In more recent years, I regularly go  out shopping on my own and rarely get a second glance (although I usually half expect the world is going to stop and I take a big breath inwards when I get out of my car). If necessary, I even start conversations with others. A few years ago I was walking around the shops when a woman came up to me to ask me directions and she did not hesitate for a second as my none too feminine voice replied. In fact, we continued in a normal conversation as she asked further questions. I have been asked for directions on more than one occasion when en femme.

Considering how little I spend of my life out en femme, this is a high proportion of the time compared with when I am in male mode. It seems that not only do men not ask for directions, they do not get asked for them much either! I guess it’s because a woman you don’t know is very unlikely to give you trouble – a man may be an unknown quantity when approached in this way. 

One thing that I do enjoy, although this again can be a very nerve-racking place to be, are conversations that women have whilst waiting in the ladies for a cubicle to become free, and afterwards, whilst waiting for a wash basin or a mirror. If a man spoke to another in this way in the gents room, he may get some funny looks and would definitely be assumed to have the “gay” gene! Often the conversations are on the same subject – how there is such a queue for the women whilst the men don’t have to wait? Partly because they often don’t wash their hands, I would suggest (ugh!)

More recently, I have gone up to another level again and go to a pub on Saturday evenings to enjoy a drink and a dance to the DJ. Admittedly, it is a partly gay pub and there are other sisters there, but it is very liberating to be able to dance without feeling a little inhibited as I might if in male mode. Once again, women start conversations with you, sometimes because they have obviously read you, but occasionally they haven’t, or at least are prepared to treat you as another woman. 

On one occasion, I was speaking to a woman whilst her friend (who incidentally was in a wonderful Audrey Hepburn Breakfast at Tiffany’s style LBD) was being chatted up a by a male. The first woman was watching this with a look of contempt for him, leant closer to me and whispered, “That bloke’s a w*****.” I don’t approve of this language, but if ever a situation made me feel accepted by womankind, it was this. Insulting a man by a woman who is expecting my agreement – I thoroughly enjoyable moment. It’s a situation like that, though, that also helps me partly understand some of the difficulties women can experience with men “on the pull” on a Saturday evening. When the two women left later, we hugged and passed compliments to each other.

Being out in a pub on a Saturday night is always a “heart in my mouth” moment as I first enter the door to the bar and there have been occasions when I’ve been a little concerned by someone’s behaviour. Generally though, these nights have been great fun and despite being a very shy person, I have spoken to many women in a “girls together” way, which has been uplifting. 

As others have said here, in recent times there does seem to be a gradual increase in acceptance of us and provided we are reasonably convincing and don’t dress inappropriately, we will minimise the risks involved.

Apart from the experiences I have described, I’ve also attended balls, been taken out to lunch by a male friend (both on my “bucket list”) and even attempted karaoke (see photo) – well we all make mistakes! Although there are still things I haven’t done en femme such as travelling on public transport, going to a wedding or on a night out with a group of RGs/GGs (and who knows if I ever will), the adventures I have had have been wonderful. 

Like so many others, I started on my journey en femme too late, but now being in my mid-50s, I am aware of my mortality and aim to make up for lost time. I advise you to do the same – but always be sensitive of not imposing your "hobby" too much on others, which is a difficult path to keep to.

Femulators in the United Kingdom, circa 1975.

Wearing Alice + Olivia.

A Road Less Traveled - Part 1

By Michelle

After reading Paula’s mid-January account of her few days away, it brought to mind how I have also journeyed further and further into the feminine world over time.

My earliest recollections are putting on my mum’s apron and lipstick in a bungalow we moved from just before my 6^th birthday (so I must have been young) and being excited when seeing my then comedy heroes Morcambe and Wise femulating in wigs, makeup, evening dresses and matching long gloves (when I must have been a similar age). 

In the former instance my mother saw the lipstick and took me immediately to the bathroom and washed it off, making it quite clear that this was not the thing for me to do. 

As I grew, my mother’s clothes and shoes went from being too big, to being the right size (for an all too brief period) to being too small. I never got the chance to leave the house dressed whilst of school age and took some stupid risks when dressing upstairs whilst my parents were downstairs, always telling myself I could change quickly enough if I heard them coming (of course, that was completely unrealistic – had they decided to come upstairs, I would have no time to revert to my male self).

My first venture out en femme was when I was about 17 or 18 when my parents had gone out and under the cover of darkness I drove my car around the block and back into the garage.  A great thrill, but then I admonished myself for being so foolhardy and never did anything like that again while I lived at home, limiting myself to dressing within our four walls. 

Eventually my luck ran out when my parents went out to buy something from the shops. Assuming they would be gone for at least half an hour I dressed and was in my mother’s bedroom when I heard somebody coming up the stairs. I tried to run back to my room, but as I passed the top of the stairs I saw it was my mother, who had returned early as the shop had been shut, and she saw me. 

For those of you that have suffered this, you may have experienced the embarrassment I endured as I went downstairs later to talk to my parents – my worst nightmare had been realized. My parents, however, despite always previously showing complete disgust for any man who “dressed up as a woman” on television, were surprisingly supportive. I had feared they might disown me, but they didn’t. My dad said if I had those feelings again, I should go for a walk until they went away (my dad was very British – and I love him for it) and my mum offered me psychiatric help. 

Now you may feel these are rather negative reactions and I guess they are, but my parents experienced the war and the austerity of the post-war period and basically came from a very much less permissive era. They were also very introverted and shy and this was an experience that was new to them (as far as I’m aware). They were trying to help as best they could.

Partly as a result of the shock of being discovered by my parents that day and then meeting my first girlfriend a few weeks later, my desire to dress disappeared completely and I didn’t do so for 18 months! That was until I went to stay with her for a long weekend whilst she was at college. She had to work one morning and while she was out I noticed some gorgeous shoes on the floor of her bedroom – well that was that! 

Before I knew it I was dressed again, this time not in the rather boring clothes that my mother had, but in fashionable flowing skirts, flowery blouses and a full range of makeup – bought by a female of my own age. This was a much more exciting experience. I was hooked once again.

My girlfriend was not aware of my other self when three years later we were married. It was 7 years after that when I told her of my crossdressing. There followed a difficult time as she came to terms with the situation, but gradually she accepted the full me. Although given the choice, she would rather I stopped, she accompanies me on my outings whenever it is convenient for her to do so and generally is very positive about them.

Part 2 of Michelle's "A Road Less Traveled" will be here tomorrow.

Femulators in the United Kingdom, circa 1970.

Wearing Alice + Olivia.