Not the Best

Wearing Boston Proper

Logan Henderson femulating on television’s Big Time Rush.

All dressed up with a place to go

I was a closeted crossdresser during my teens, twenties and thirties. I escaped the closet a half dozen times for Halloween events, enjoyed being out among the civilians and was back in the closet on November 1.

I’m not sure whether my spouse got tired of me dressing pretty just to hang around the house or if she thought I needed more support than she could give me – probably a little bit of both – and she suggested I find a support group.

So I dialed up Compuserve, navigated to Genderline and at 110 baud, asked if anyone was aware of a support group in my neck of the woods. A day or two passed and someone answered my question suggesting that I check out a relatively new support group, Connecticut Outreach Society (COS).

I got in touch with Denise, the COS contact person, and she told me all about the organization and invited me to attend its next meeting, which I did.

At the COS Meeting House during COS’s heyday

When I attended that first COS meeting, I considered that my real first time out en femme (discounting my Halloween excursions). I recall being very nervous and sweating profusely at the meeting, so much so that I left the meeting early determined that I would never come back.

But, I came back and became very active in COS. I edited their monthly newsletter and annual membership directory for a number of years, organized their annual banquet three years in a row, staffed their telephone help line for a stint and participated in their outreach program.

I enjoyed outreach a lot because it allowed me to go out and hopefully demonstrate to the civilian population that transpeople are not freaks, but are just like them. And I enjoyed editing the newsletter because it gave me an outlet to be a little creative in a feminine way. But the main reason I was active in COS is because COS helped me become a better transperson. If not for COS, I would not be me. 

COS was organized in the late 1980’s and met twice a month (on second Saturdays and fourth Wednesdays) in West Hartford, Connecticut. 

I joined in 1989 and was an active member through the late 2010’s. During those two decades, I saw hundreds of people join COS and attend meetings. 

During its heyday, meetings typically drew 15 to 25 attendees. Most meetings had a speaker or purveyor of feminine goods (wigs, makeup, clothing, etc.)  

In addition to the West Hartford meetings, COS had remote events, for example, visits to hair/beauty/nail salons, Dress Barn, wig stores, etc. and dinners at up-scale restaurants. COS’s annul banquet at local hotels typically drew 50 to 100 attendees. 

Sadly Connecticut Outreach Society is no more. Diana informed me that COS is folding its tent due to a lack of attendees. 

It is not the first to disappear. The Internet has been killing off support groups and transgender conventions for years and the pandemic just accelerated the slaughter. I feel badly about COS’s demise, but it served its purpose when it was needed. It was a place to go when you were all dressed up. 

And so it goes.

Wearing Bebe

John Ritter femulating on television’s Love Boat.

Two Weeks ’Til Halloween

 

Wearing Boston Proper

Yet another modern couple: Binh An and Phuong Nag

Stuff 14

By J.J. Atwell

Hello again

Yes, there is more stuff. I’m happy you continue to find this column thought provoking. Let’s think today about Transvaal.

Transvaal?

Yes, Transvaal. A geographic area of South Africa. Go ahead, consult your atlas. Or Google. I’ll wait.    

How is Transvaal relevant?

Well, it really isn’t relevant to us as crossdressers. I’m only mentioning it as a lead into my early days searching for information about crossdressing. Or, as it was more commonly labeled back then, transvestism. 

Before the Internet, you went to a library to find knowledge in books. Libraries had huge card catalogs that you used to find books about any subject. One section of the card catalog was an alphabetical listing by subject matter.  

But there was a problem; the card catalog was right next to the desk where that stern librarian sat. So I tried to disguise my search by looking for something close in spelling. By chance, Transvaal was right before transvestism in the catalog. To keep my search hidden, I’d make believe I was looking up Transvaal and then casually check the following cards.  

I think I learned as much about Transvaal (not much) as transvestism back then. Unfortunately, the world didn’t have a lot of books about transvestism and what there was didn’t really help me understand why I wanted to crossdress.  

Thank goodness we now have easy and more full access to information about crossdressing. Sources like Stana’s site and several others. There are also great sites for exchanging experiences and getting opinions. Two I follow are crossdresserheaven.com and crossdressers.com. Take a look!  

I’ll be back

I doubt that many aspiring crossdressers are researching Transvaal these days, but maybe we should just to spread the love around. 

As before, comments are welcome either here on the blog or by email to Jenn6nov at-sign gmail dot com. JJ is always looking for more stuff!

Wearing Manolo Blahnik shoes

Max Baer Jr. femulating on television’s The Beverly Hillbillies.

Walk a Mile in His Shoes

 

Wearing Boston Proper

The girls of Pink Pistols

Wow!

Lynn Jones of Yet Another Transgender Blog fame sent me a link all about Australian singer Troye Sivan’s new song, “One Of Your Girls” and accompanying video. The song, about a boy who has a crush on another boy and offers to be one of the other boy’s girls, is provocative enough, but the accompanying video is absolutely amazing – the femulation of the year in my opinion. 

Below are screen captures from the video and you can see the video yourself by clicking here.

And so it goes.

Business World

By Paula Gaikowski

My earliest memories take me back to kindergarten, a time when boys and girls were neatly separated. I recall being drawn to the girls’ side with an almost magnetic force. The desire to belong, to dress and act like them, consumed my young heart. Yet, even in those tender years, the world made it abundantly clear that such desires were not just unconventional – they were deemed unacceptable.

Thus began my lifelong dance with repression – a relentless effort to suppress my feminine self and conform to the societal expectations of masculinity. It wasn't all gloom and doom, but I always sensed that I was out of step with my male peers. I adapted, doing my best to fit the mold of what society deemed appropriate.

In the year 1975, at the age of 16, I found myself grappling with thoughts about my future. The idea of joining the military to fund the gender transformation I yearned for seemed like a viable solution. Looking back, it’s amazing how such thoughts consumed the mind of a 16-year-old boy. It’s a testament to the depth of my struggle with gender identity.

My stint in the Air Force passed, but the dream of saving enough money for my desired transformation didn’t materialize. “Look everyone, I’m in the military and successful; everything is normal.”

Upon my separation, I was faced with the uncertainty of life beyond the military, unsure of where my path would lead. I took to drinking with friends and pursuing hunting and fishing in the outdoors. “See everyone, I’m manly?”

However, a turning point in my journey arrived when I ventured into the world of business. There, amidst the hustle and bustle of corporate life, I encountered a sea of women – elegant, stylish and undeniably feminine. This was a stark departure from my military experience, where masculinity dominated. The contrast was striking.

In the office, the women donned dresses, pantyhose, makeup and high heels, radiating an unapologetic femininity. Their presence mesmerized me, awakening a profound desire to embody that same grace and charm.

One specific day, following the receipt of my first paycheck, I made a key decision. With determination, I headed to the Willowbrook Mall and scanned racks of dresses, selecting one that mirrored the outfit of a particular colleague. Pantyhose, a brassiere and panties followed. When I returned home and donned these items, the reflection in the mirror didnt quite align with the image in my mind. Disheartened, I purged my newly acquired wardrobe, discarding it in panic and with hopelessness.

Yet, deep within, I clung to an unwavering belief that I couldn’t abandon my quest for self-discovery. I knew that someday, when I gazed into the mirror, I would see the beautiful woman I had always felt I was meant to be staring back at me. Deep down I knew my journey wasn’t over and my resolve remained steadfast.

Wearing Bebe

 

Girls’ Night Out in Washington, D.C.

Thursday Toon

 

Wearing Ann Taylor

Lena