Bath Time

By Paula Gaikowski

The capstone to my trip was to come on Wednesday when a meeting that was scheduled was canceled. This left me with a free day.

I debated with myself; I wasn’t up for a day in London all dolled up. That meant going drab, however, there was another choice: the city of Bath was an hour train ride away. A delightful town with Roman Baths, a Medieval Abby and cobblestone streets filled with cute shops. The answer was obvious: it was Bath time!

Since my feet were blistered from walking in my new heels all weekend, I wore my riding boots with my new Pendleton jacket and skirt. Tights and stocking have lessened in popularity back in the US but here in the UK black tights and hose are de rigueur. One of the many reasons I love the UK.

My train journey was uneventful other than the fact that I noticed women tend to sit with women, and on my busy train I had several women sit next and around me during the journey.

At the train station I bought a map and made my way toward Bath Abby and Roman Baths. I stopped for lunch in a traditional English pub and had fish and chips, of course. After lunch I was wandering around trying to get my bearings when I was approached by a hawker for the hop-on-hop-off bus tours around the city. Cute and friendly, I could not resist buying a ticket. I had always enjoyed tours like these and especially the chance to meet others when you travel alone.

Seating myself demurely out of the way towards the back of the bus, I was ready for my tour of Bath. I decided that I want to see the Roman Baths, Bath Abbey and also visit the Jane Austen Center. About two stops later, a couple of American women about my age got onto the bus. As the bus rocked and swayed thru the narrow and twisting streets of this historical city, we all tried to gauge our whereabouts by way of our maps.

One of the ladies leaned over and asked, “Excuse me do you know what stop or where the Jane Austen Center is?”

Hearing her familiar accent, I knew right off she was from my home state of New Jersey. I responded with equal exasperation, holding the map upside down for comic relief. Soon Sharon, Janet and I were huddled in conference over a map.

Looking up for a second, I saw a young woman in a Victorian costume standing outside the Jane Austen Center.

“There, there, there!” I pointed and soon the three of us were off the bus and walking toward the museum. I learned that Janet and Sharon were from the same area of New Jersey that I had grown up in. They were both divorced, one recent and one not so recent and worked at an arts and cultural center at one of the state universities. They had come to the UK for a conference down the road in Oxford, had the afternoon off and decided to visit Bath.

I had a great time touring the Jane Austen Center. I had always enjoyed the movies watching Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park with my wife. I love the clothes and the romanticism of it all. I’ve even read the book Pride and Prejudice.

As I pointed out earlier, I felt that my innate femininity was coming to the surface. I was feeling emotions that I had concealed and masked for so many years. It was fun to enjoy the exhibits and costumes with other women. I realized that it wasn’t bad to be feminine.

I rode the bus with Sharon and Janet for several more stops. Along the way, I learned our paths had crossed many times growing in New Jersey. We had attended some of the same concerts, night clubs and Jersey Shores haunts.

As we chatted, anytime I spoke about an event that involved an ex-girl or my wife, I would substitute boyfriend or husband. “Oh I had a boyfriend who worked there one summer.” It was surprisingly validating to say that and it made me smile.

The last two stops were Bath Abby, which dates back to the 1100s and then the Roman Baths. Historically fascinating, I enjoyed them both. I parted ways with my two new girlfriends at the Abbey.

I’m not sure what they thought of me. Although they accepted me as one of the girls, after any amount of time with me, it has to be clear that I’m not your average gal. They both were well-educated and come from a progressive environment, so I suspect that I was not the first transgender person they met. Their kindness and friendship did wonderful things for my self-esteem and self-image. It would have been a remarkable afternoon to visit Bath even drab. They helped make it even more special.

I was happy to be back on the train and resting my weary feet after a week of high heels and boots. I put on my iPod and was soon lulled into dreaminess by the English countryside and the rhythm of the train. It had been an incredible and memorable week and as I reflected over the events of the last few days, the theme from Disney’s Frozen came on my iPod. I never really listen closely to the words, but now after a week as Paula, they rang true to heart as no song has ever done before:

Couldn't keep it in Heaven knows I tried Don't let them in, don't let them see Be the good girl you always had to be Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know Well now they know Let it go, let it go Can't hold it back anymore Let it go, let it go

 

 

 

Wearing Rachel Zoe.

 

Relay for Life womanless beauty pageant contestant in Oneonta, Alabama (2012).

Bond Girls

By Paula Gaikowski

I had a great night’s sleep and woke up refreshed and cheerful. I made coffee and turned on the BBC to check the weather and news.

One thing I noticed about myself as I woke up that morning: I was still in girl mode. Waking up after yesterday adventures, wearing feminine PJ’s with my French manicure, I felt so feminine and womanly. In the past I always gave myself an assignment to walk this way, hold my hands a certain way or sit as a lady. In other words, act more feminine. This morning I wasn’t acting feminine, I was feminine.

I could have easily worn jeans and a T-shirt and stuffed my hands into my pockets to hide my nails. In fact in the past, I probably would have. But today it just felt natural to reach for a dress. I love getting ready, makeup, foundation, dress, jewelry, hair, a splash of Channel --- what a confirming ritual. Off I went onto the streets of Reading.

I wanted to go to church, but found I was late, so I went by the church as it was letting out. I sat on a bench, enjoyed being part of the Sunday crowd and enjoyed the beautiful grounds and history of this beautiful structure.

If you have been paying attention and you are a regular reader of my articles, you’ll know there is one place I haven’t stopped by yet. That’s right, sisters M·A·C. The day before the M·A·C store had been so busy I could not get in. When I went by this Sunday morning, it was empty.

I asked the makeup artist about matching a lip pencil to the lipstick that I had brought with me. She found two shades. I asked if she could try them on me. “SURE!” was her response. We sat down in front of the mirror and she began to create a cupid’s bow.

I explained to her that I had trouble making a cupid’s bow.

She chirped back, “Well I’ve been doing this since I was 12 years old!”

We both had a great laugh when I smiled and said, “So have I!”

I went on to tell her that when I was a child, I had tried my Mom’s makeup and my sister’s clothes and that I always wanted to be a woman and now I was doing my best to fulfill that dream. I explained to her my plan was to spend as much time as possible that week as a woman.

She was so positive and reaffirming, “You look so good; go out there and enjoy the day.”

She asked me all kinds of questions about America and said it was her dream to live there someday.

Well I thought, “We both have the same dream --- you want to live in America as a woman and so do I!”

We both chuckled at the paradox and its truth. A few minutes later at the check-out I said, “Good-bye and good luck with your dream!”

A big smile flashed across her face as she said, “You, too, you, too!”

I shopped my way thru Debenhams and House of Frazer, Zara and a whirlwind of other stores. Then I stopped at Marks and Spencer and bought some fresh fruit. Finally around 2 PM, I made my way back to the apartment to rest a spell before meeting up with Jenny for dinner and a concert.

I made my way to the front of the hotel to meet Jenny at 4 PM.

She was right on time and in order for Jenny to use the car park at my hotel, I needed to advise the front desk. Being in the apartment section of the hotel, my phone wasn’t part of the switchboard. I tried numerous ways to contact them over the phone with no success. I really didn’t want to out myself to them, but if need be, I would.

A few years ago when I first started to go out as a woman, one of my biggest fears was forgetting my key and having to go up to the front desk to get another. Nowadays, it doesn’t bother me at all; to tell the truth, I kind of like doing it. I chalk it up to self-acceptance.

Thinking there would be one lone clerk on duty was not the case. There were about five employees huddled around the desk when I walked in. I got better service and attention then when I was drab. They even offered to drive the car around. What was lovely is nobody reacted in anyway other than me being a woman nicely dressed for the theater.

Jenny and I made our way over to a riverside park to take a few photos. It was fun taking a bunch of photos and not having to use a self-timer. It was then back to the hotel and an adjacent restaurant for a charming Italian dinner. The same restaurant I dined in the night before and was Ma’amed, but I noticed tonight when the check came they slipped up on the pronouns and used “Sir.” Being properly gendered is so important to me, so I hope it was because of the name on the credit card.

We had about a 20-minute walk (in heels) to the theater. Appearing was the London Concert Orchestra performing a program of James Bond theme songs. We had a pleasant stroll through the pedestrian mall of the Reading shopping district. It was Sunday evening and the crowds were thinning as we made our way along with other ladies and couples to the concert.

We bought our tickets at the box office and had a pleasant conversation with two women our age about the performance and our nails. We found ourselves a table and enjoyed a glass of wine while waiting. Jenny works as a professional musician and as she was reading the program for the evening, her eyes opened wide when she saw the name of a colleague! I would have fun during the concert teasing Jenny about being seen. I have to get my digs in somehow --- I still can’t get over the fact she wears a size 7 shoe!

The concert was fantastic and having a professional musician there to explain all the subtleties of the program was wonderful. Going to a concert was on my bucket list of things to do as a woman and made me feel very good about myself and how far I had traveled on the Good Ship Lollipop.

Walking back thru the deserted streets of Reading at 10 PM made me realize what it feels like to be vulnerable as a woman. Wearing high heels, hose, a dress and carrying a purse doesn’t allow one quick movement. Walking past bus stops and doorways filled with nefarious looking characters chilled me inside.

As much as I love dressing glamorously, it makes one question the illogical dress and uniforms that society and our culture assigns women. Nervetheless, I’ve waited too long to wear my bra to turn around and burn it in protest. I respect and admire women and that’s why I want to be one. That whole experience makes me identify even more with them.

Monday morning came early. My feet still ached from walking all weekend in heels, my nails were a wreck from the glue, and there were traces of eye liner left on my eyes. I felt great!

It was a bit surreal as I went through my day in a daze. I was tired and when I got back to the room, I showered, then shaved and laid on the couch for awhile.

Soon rested and hungry I hesitated only slightly when deciding what to wear. Opportunities like this week don’t come along too often for me and makeup and dressing was no longer the ordeal they had once had been for me. It was now a pleasurable routine that could be accomplished in less than an hour.

Luck was with me and I found a pair of Lee Press-on Nails in a seldom used section of my purse.

I spent the next two nights like this --- coming home, showering, resting, dressing and then out for a stroll through the local shops with dinner at Miller and Carters Steakhouse. They had great food and treated me like such a lady. The waitstaff was very professional and attentive and the second night there, I was greeted back with, “Good Evening, Ms. Gaikowski.”

 

 

 

Wearing Alexia Admor.

 

 

 

Womanless beauty pageant contestant in Hattiesburg, Mississippi (2014).

­­­­­T Time in England

By Paula Gaikowski

I typically am a little sad this time of year when so many of my sisters are meeting each other and enjoying Fantasia Fair out on Cape Cod. However this year, although I didn’t attend, I had a great time while I was a broad (I’m sorry couldn’t resist the pun). It’s a shame my sense of humor never evolved past the 2nd grade.

I was lucky enough to find myself traveling to the UK for business last month and had such a great time there last spring when I went out several times as Paula that I decided to give it another go as the Brits say.

I kept my clothes packed in a separate garment bag on the bottom of my suitcase. I had no trouble whatsoever with customs while traveling with wig, makeup, breast forms and women’s clothes. I brought along a new wool Pendleton suit that I found in a thrift store for the remarkable price of $10. I truly couldn’t wait to get out as Paula; my last time out was in June and I just needed to get my girl on.

My plane landed at 6:30 AM London time and I was in my hotel by 9 AM. I took a two-hour nap and when I woke up, jumped into the shower. When I went to the closet to get dressed I had my choice, Dockers and a cotton Henley or Black Liz Claiborne slacks paired with a Pendleton wool blazer. So I thought about it for about 1/1000th of a second and then pulled out the slacks and blazer. It just felt so right, sisters; why wait until tomorrow as I had planned. It just seemed so right this way.

There was one little kink (pun intended) in my plan, the Lee press-on nails that Stana recommends and which I always use, were nowhere to be found before leaving home. Instead, I bought the glue-on type. I had packed only one box and needed them for Sunday evening when Jenny and I planned dinner and a concert. The French manicure looks fabulous and the glue-on nails looked great as a finishing touch. Little did I know I just painted myself into a corner and would be forced to spend the whole weekend as a woman?

I didn’t have any adventures planned for the day, just a list of errands that needed to be run in preparation for my week ahead. My first stop was the supermarket (Sainsbury’s) to buy some groceries for the week. I navigated the aisles of the grocery store like a veteran housewife would. Stopping to ask for the location of the yogurt and being assisted with a smile.

Back to the apartment and unload the bags. Fix my hair and makeup and out the door riding the elevator down with another couple. This time I was off to the train station to buy my tickets for my daily commute. My heart sank when the woman behind the glass finished our pleasant transaction with a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”

I had ridden into the train station on a pink cloud, and now I stood there stunned feeling foolish. She handed me the tickets and I chirped out a thank you. Shaken I decided to push forward and take a trial ride to my office on the train. I was a bit unnerved as I approached the turnstile where one inserts their ticket.

To my dread the ticket was rejected and the gate didn’t open. Here came a railroad official, I’m sure to arrest me for a multitude of imagined offenses. However, when he approached he asked for my ticket “Ma’ am.” Yes, he said “Ma’am” and then after he reset the gate, he bid me well with a “G’day Madam.” Off I went with faith restored in my womanhood.

It was fun sitting on the train shoulder-to-shoulder with other travelers and being perceived as a woman. Using the reflection of the window to check the reaction of others sitting near me, I notice nothing. Noses buried in books, bored looks, and the iPod stare.

Arriving at my stop after a short ride and changing platforms, I rode back with the same uneventful excitement.

Arriving back I realized that I hadn’t eaten in over 20 hours. I stopped at a delightful sidewalk cafe and was greeted once again with a Ma’am by the hostesses and then again by the waitress. Wow, that was four feminine pronouns in a row, one more and I get a free set of steak knives!

Riding the crest of this pronoun wave, I ordered some pasta and a glass of wine, then another glass of wine. I felt wonderful as I watched crowds of people moving to and from the train station. Seeing so many fashionable women and knowing I was finally one of them was a joy.

By now my feet were killing me, so I went back to my apartment to freshen up. I checked email, called home and did some general housekeeping. Usually at this point in my outings, I would shower and change back into boy mode, then go out and have dinner. However, I realized that my nails were glued on and if I took them off, I wouldn’t have a pair for my outing the next day with Jenny.

I was between a rock and hard place here and felt kind of trap. I drummed my nails on table and realized if I was going to eat dinner that night, it was going to be as girl. Oh well… a good problem to have!

I went over to the mall and bought some black hose for the next day and then perused the dresses at Debenhams. Finally I made my way over to a local Italian restaurant and had pleasant dinner along with a few glasses of wine. Finally exhausted and weary, I headed back to the apartment, showered and undressed.

Coming out of the shower I put on the satin PJ’s my wife had bought me for Christmas a few years ago and replayed the days events as I slipped into a peaceful sleep.

 

 

 

Wearing Julia Jordan.

 

 

 

Paula, a British professional femulator, circa 1930.

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.