Paula Goes Abroad – Part 2

By Paula Gaikowski

 

My friend Jenny Turner invited to me join her for dinner if I ever came to England for a visit. After my first outing, I couldn’t wait until Wednesday evening. I worked all day and normally I would be dead tired. In fact, I was but as soon as I started getting dressed and putting on my makeup, I was wide awake and excited as a bride on her wedding day.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself when I remember how hidden and buried Paula was. I never thought in a millions years that I could experience the world as a woman, but here I was going out for dinner in my classic Jones New York suit on the Thames River in the English countryside. A spritz of Channel and I was off like a prom dress, out the door and down the elevator.

With my mind racing in anticipation, I was caught off-guard when the door opened and a middle-aged gentlemen in a business suit stood there. I saw his eyes quickly look me over before he smiled and I smiled back. He motioned with his hand “After you Miss.” That was the first time that I had ever been checked out. I’m sure cisgender woman tire of this objectification, but to me it felt very validating.

Across the plaza I went and saw Jenny’s black Honda parking in front of the hotel. Jenny and I have been flickr friends for awhile and know each other well. We both felt very comfortable with each other as soon as we met and had an immediate rapport.

Jenny has known she was transgender since she was a child and has been expressing her feminine side since then. She has been married to a wonderful accepting women for many years, has three wonderful daughters and served her Queen and country as a member of the Royal Marines for 27 years.

I often find it ironic that so many of us follow careers that are perceived as macho. Nevertheless, she is quite the lady and has an internal ladylike presence that signals a feminine aura and confidence. She wore a pretty flowered dress and I teased her with my feigned resentment about her girlish size 7 shoes. She had on the cutest sassy Mary Jane’s.

What was especially wonderful about this evening is that I forgot I was transgender and found myself out with another woman like myself as we talked about family, careers and hopes for the future.

We navigated an overcrowded parking lot bustling with commuters, stood in line at the parking ticket machine, strolled the shoreline of the Thames, took pictures, and greeted others, all with a unique and magnificent mundaneness.

Dinner was served under a covered porch a few feet from the water’s edge. The waiters and waitresses were polite and attentive.

A few tables away a group of rough-looking men were eating drinking and laughing raucously. I am always wary of be read while in public so I always watch out of the corner of my eye for signs and whispers or sideway glances. These fellows were totally unaware that we were transgender women. It’s nice to be perceived as one perceives one’s self to be.

After dinner, we drove to a scenic old church along the Thames and took some wonderful pictures. Jenny was an ideal hostess and guide as we drove through the English countryside pointing out landmark prep schools, cricket clubs, and Tudor villages with thatched roofs that seemingly came to life out a storybook. England is a beautiful land, rich in history, culture and customs that gave much to our world.

So many of my business colleagues cynically wait out their time off in the hotel bar and complain about the inconvenience of business travel. Thanks to this fabulous English lady, I not only saw the beauty of the English side, I got to experience it as something and someone special: a woman!

 

 

 

Wearing Warehouse (dress), Massimo Dutti (necklace), Kew (belt),
New Look (bangles), Marks & Spencer (bag) and Russell and Bromley.

 

 

 

Young contestant in an unidentified womanless beauty pageant

Paula Goes Abroad – Part 1

By Paula Gaikowski

I have been to the United Kingdom before and always was inhibited about going out en femme.

Those of you who know me and have read about my adventures understand that I’ve overcome that initial trepidation of going out in public as a woman. However I was reluctant to doing so in an unfamiliar country.

After receiving assurances from my dear sister Jenny Turner that the UK was safe and a most pleasant place to go out en femme. It was probably years ahead in acceptance of transgender people.

With all that taken into account I accepted an invitation to dinner with Jenny. I’ll have to admit I also could not resist the thought of using the witty title “Going (A)broad.”

I arrived in the UK early morning with no problem. Some have asked about customs, and bringing in clothes, makeup, breast forms and wigs. There were no problems and nor would there ever be since half of all the suitcases had women’s accessories like mine. Besides its 2014, not 1914 and being transgender is not a crime. In fact, it’s kind of cool.

I took a quick nap and when I woke couldn’t resist the idea of a shopping trip en femme. Three cheers for the cool English weather as I wore a long print skirt and dark blazer.

In an effort to weigh my surroundings, I decided to walk two blocks to The Oracle shopping center in downtown Reading. I’ve always felt comfortable in shopping malls and this was no exception. However I first had to navigate the cobblestones streets of this charming English city, passing by bus stops busy with people and sidewalk cafés filled with afternoon patrons.

By the time I got to the mall, my butterflies had flown away and I had slipped comfortably into my natural role as a woman. I did need new eyeliner so I made my way over to MAC and spent some time being treated magnificently by two young and beautiful makeup artists. I received an excellent lesson on applying eye liner.

These two young cuties seemed inquisitive and happy by the diversion I provided on this quiet afternoon. I asked them if they had many other transgender customers and they typically had a few each week. Not all were dressed and “not all look as good as you” (blush).

Thank you girls.

I enjoyed hearing the story about one of their customers who they guided through transition. “It was beautiful to see a person come alive, for them to finally be as nature intended.”

I think I started to tear up a bit when she said this. It was cathartic and liberating to share my trans story with them. They were surprised and didn’t realize that when I was their age, transition wasn’t an option.

Transgender people have become part of the landscape with the younger generation. Thankfully this generation has options. In a way I’m sad I missed having those choices, but I’m glad I am here to see them and also benefit from them.

Encouraged by their support I decided to stop at the market to buy groceries for my small apartment. I made my way to Sainsbury’s, grabbed a trolley (that’s a shopping cart, my American sisters) and proceeded to shop my way around the store asking for help twice looking for coffee filters and yogurt.

I checked out and walked home several blocks with groceries and purse blending into the crowd with other women. The groceries started getting heavy, the purse became bothersome, the wind messed up my hair, the pantyhose and bra were beginning to overheat, and those cute pumps were pinching my aching feet. I thought to myself “Why does our society subject woman to such an absurd standard of fashion and beauty! How impractical this all is!”

I was experiencing to a small degree what it was like to be a working woman. There wasn’t any glamour, allure or mystique to this. Would I want to do this every day? Is this who I really was?

Right about then I turned the corner and passed a government building that was emptying out for the day. A few women leaving work joined in behind me. Like me, they were loaded down with purses and bags and they looked tired. The walkway snaked through a cavernous section of office buildings; as we passed each one, more women joined in as we headed toward the train station. There I was in the middle of it all – I was one of them. A wonderful feeling of compatibility, assimilation, integration, solidarity, and togetherness came over me.

Would I want to do this every day? Is this who I really was?

Yes.

 

 

 

 

 

Actor Clark Gregg femulating in the 1998 film The Adventures of Sebastian Cole.

Humor in a Femulator Vein

This is a movie prop from the 2003 film Down With Love depicting Mad cover boy Alfred E. Neuman femulating actress Renée Zellweger, who plays the part of a book author named Barbara Novak in the film. The film takes place in the early 1960s, thus, the 1963 cover date.

Coincidentally, the prop cover above was glued to a real issue of Mad (number 80), which has a back cover (displayed below) depicting a member of the Mad staff femulating a “Lady Clinic” model.

 

 

 

Not David Bowie.

 

 

 

Three muxes

Happy Independence Day!

The Journey Home

By Michelle

The conclusion of Michelle’s Royal Ascot outing en femme.

We joined the throng of people leaving the event and moved through the Grandstand, while I held my hat firmly on my head, a now regular event as a sudden draft blew through the now open doors as we headed for the exit. Before we left, I got some more photos at the racecourse and then we looked for the footpath back to the train. This was easier said than done as the crowds were being directed to a particular crossing in the road, but eventually we found the way back to the footpath.

As I mentioned before, this is a relatively short walk which caused no problems this morning, but now to my horror, I found that the return journey was downhill all the way as far as I could see – not the easiest thing to tackle after being on 4-inch heels all day and walking for a good part of it. In fact, this was the most difficult thing I had to do all day. Add to that the surface was uneven. Help!

Taking very small steps, I walked as fast as I dared, which was not very fast. Everyone was overtaking me and my friend was always a few steps ahead. I think I can boast a little here; despite my inability to walk at more than a snail’s pace, I had no muscle ache in the following days after wearing these shoes all day and only the most insignificant of blisters (well done Graceland shoes and charity shops and me!)

Eventually the train station came into view and after checking which train we were to get on, we waited in the crowd until we were let onto the platform. We then walked onto the waiting train and managed to get a seat immediately. I felt there was one person who was watching me closely, but she soon lost interest. I must develop the art of looking at the person and smiling in these situations, as I understand this usually results in them looking away. The group of lads who were quite noisy took no notice of me at all, however.

What a day! Perfect in so many ways. If I’d been asked did I want to go again the next day, my answer would have been “where do I sign?”

To go to Ascot had always been a dream of mine (as I suspect it is for many of us), but I never really thought it was within my capabilities. This year a number of things happened which made it all more possible; some of these factors may not be there next year.

Added to that, I have heard of a number of people who have become seriously ill or even worse recently – some of a similar age to me. My thoughts were if this happened to me in the next few months making such outings impossible (and who knows if it will?) it would be a dreadful thing to think I could have gone to Ascot this year, but decided I could do it at some other time. I guessed it would be highly unlikely I would think “I wish I hadn’t gone to Ascot.” So I went. I might still regret it, but I have gotten to an age where sometimes you have to take a risk, otherwise the chance will pass you by.

As you may know if you saw my article last year that the idea that Ascot was possible was sown after reading regular Ascot-goer Carolyn’s article on Femulate, so my thanks must go to her and I hope if she went this year, she enjoyed it as much as I did. I’m not sure if I’ll go again, but if a good opportunity arises I would say “Yes!”

Also, I’m especially grateful to my friend who offered to accompany me on the big day and was great company throughout it. If he had dropped out at the last moment, would I still have gone? The answer is probably “yes,” but it would have been a lot more difficult.

When I returned I wanted to tell the world about the experience and show my  photos; fortunately there aretwo people who I could. Firstly my wife, who asked about it and a work colleague who couldn’t wait to see them and again asked me all about the day and said she was so chuffed for me

A week later, the thoughts on my big day are that at times, it was stressful beforehand, but I would now be feeling very deflated if I hadn’t taken the plunge. If you are thinking of doing the same, you’d better plan it well and most of all, make sure you are confident and will “pass” for the most part. Otherwise, as the drink flows there could be some direct and perhaps unpleasant comments.

Having said that I experienced nothing of the sort and I exchanged many smiles with people who were also having a great time. I like my sport, but really cannot see myself ever following horse racing seriously, so this is unlikely to be a regular outing. As regards being en femme, however, there is not a better event. Not only do you get the chance to overdress (in fact, it is a requirement of entry), but you can move around freely and anonymously in a big crowd. Add to that, you are under a big hat and dressed to the nines, as is every woman – perfect!

As I look through the photos once again, I realize I enjoyed every high-heeled, posh-frocked and big-hatted moment of it!

 

 

 

Wearing Bebe.

 

 

 

Playboy bunny femulators at Baltimore Pride

4 Reasons President Obama's New Trans Rights Policy Is a Big Deal

By protecting transgender federal employees, the president makes a powerful statement of equality

Earlier today, Parker Marie Molloy wrote the following on RollingStone.com:

At the White House Pride reception on June 30th, President Barack Obama expressed his intent to issue an executive order that would extend employment protections to federal employees on the basis of gender identity – making it illegal for federal agencies to discriminate against transgender and gender non-conforming individuals. This follows a 2009 executive order that extended these same protections to employees on the basis of their sexual orientation. This is big news for trans individuals, both current and aspiring federal employees.

Here are four reasons why.

At the Races

By Michelle

Michelle continues recounting her day at Royal Ascot.

The journey seemed to take forever; road work, traffic delays and desperately looking for a rest area where I could change and apply my makeup meant arrival at my destination town late. And then I couldn’t find the train station.

After a few minutes, I saw directions and arrived to see my friend waiting. He didn’t spot me at first, but as I drove up next to him, he recognized me and came over suggesting that I could park on a nearby road, which I did – a free parking space only 500 feet from the station – almost perfect.

I had about 10 minutes to tidy up the car and sort myself out before the train came. I didn’t think this was possible, but a swift turnaround and I experienced a wonderful feeling of freedom as we walked onto the platform in time for the train.

Having said that, there was another train 30 minutes later and in hindsight, I should have waited for it and given myself more time before leaving the car. I was feeling a little rushed and in addition, my partner for the day had not commented on how I looked even after all the effort I had made (apart from eventually a “nice ensemble” comment, after I had said he looked smart). Oh well, such is the woman’s world.

There were others similarly dressed for Ascot at the station. This was the last point I could have chickened out had I suddenly lost all confidence. I didn’t, of course, and as the train approached and stopped, we boarded and the doors closed behind us. There was now no going back.

“Next stop Ascot,“ said the announcer; we would soon be there. The train was crowded, but we had a choice of seats. This was my first time on public transport en femme and so far not a second glance from anyone – wonderful.

After the train stopped, we made our way onto the station platform. It was crowded and I felt exposed, especially since there was a group of young women ahead of us who obviously noticed me and seemed to be asking “is she?” or “isn’t she?” I’m 6’5” tall in my heels and maybe there were discussing my height. Whichever it was, it was no big issue, but not a good start.

There was a 10 minute walk to the racecourse (they say 7 minutes, but not in my shoes!) where we picked up the tickets and entered the turnstile to the racecourse . The Grandstand is a magnificent site and seems to go on forever. With the colors of the crowd, the lawns and the well-kept environs, on a sunny day, the whole scene was breathtaking (as I hope you can see from the photos).

I am always amazed at how few people take any notice of me and this was certainly the case on this day; just a few second glances. After a nervous start, I felt perfectly at home. We surveyed the areas where we could go (as we had Grandstand tickets that was pretty much everywhere except the very exclusive Royal Enclosure). We decided to go into the Grandstand itself to pick a decent spot for when the racing started and carry on to the grass area in front of the Grandstand where the benches are situated, whereupon we sat on one to survey the scene providing an opportunity for more photos on the glorious lawns in front of the Grandstand, as you can see. 

I texted a friend to see if she had any good betting tips, but to no avail, so we were on our own. At this point, my friend admitted he knew next to nothing about horse racing and although that was more than me, it was not a great comfort. However, he did explain when he was a young boy he watched a race on the television with his brother-in-law and went “through the card” merely by choosing the jockeys he’d heard of. Had he put a small bet on each, he would have won many hundreds of pounds. Now this was looking better!

We wandered off to get some lunch in a café and enjoyed what was one of the best burgers we’d had (albeit the most expensive). Ah, this was the life, I could become a “lady who lunches.” Anyway, we finished our meal and both needed to go to the public conveniences.

My friend disappeared not realizing how long it takes me to “visit the ladies.” Without going into too much detail, there are many things that have to be accessed and then carefully put back into place when I’ve finished and that’s before replenishing makeup, checking hair and (with it being Royal Ascot) my hat. The toilets themselves were the best Portaloos I’d been in with ample mirrors and no queues.

I eventually rejoined my friend as the Royal Procession was about to go past. We caught that and then went up more stairs to go to the parade ring where we surveyed the horses before the first race. We didn’t know what we were looking at but my friend had heard one of the jockeys being interviewed and put £5 on him at 5-4.

We returned to the grass, which was now packed (how quickly these people arrived) to watch the race and were pleased to see our horse come in first. So I’m betting on the next race again using the system of betting on a jockey I’d heard of. I chose Frankie Dettori’s mount and went to place my bet. As I reached the front of the queue, the bookmaker said, “Yes, Madam?”

Yes Madam? I’d been “Madamed” and I almost forgot what I was there to do, but quickly regained my composure and said “£5 on number 8, please.” He took my money, gave me my betting slip, and I floated towards my viewing position. Whether I won or not was now of secondary importance as we looked for a space in the packed Grandstand. However, I did win and at 5-1!

My friend betted on the other races and won on four out of six attempts. Me, I chanced my arm once more and lost, but was still £20 up on the day. Wow! My friend, was over £30 up on the day. If I go again, I’m inviting him along.

Before the last race I took my betting slip to collect my winnings and I was “Madamed” again as I handed over my slip to receive my winnings. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture of this momentous moment. As the last race finished, we had to decide on when to leave and as neither of us are have a great voice, we forwent the community singing and headed for the train station.

Michelle’s Day at Royal Ascot concludes here tomorrow.

 

 

 

Wearing Badgley Mischka.

 

 

 

Femulator appearing in the 1968 documentary film The Queen.

The Build Up

By Michelle

UK Femulate reader Michelle recounts her day en femme at Royal Ascot.

The story so far…

The idea was hatched at the British Grand Prix last summer, when I explained to my friend (and one of the three people who “knew about me”), that I had an ambition to go to Ascot. I didn’t want to go in a group because I would feel too conspicuous.

That was when he offered to go with me if I wanted him to – well, there’s an offer I couldn’t refuse. He even suggested a “dry run,, so we met up for lunch October. When he saw me en femme “in the flesh” for the first time, happily, he coped well. Now read on…

The first barriers on the road to Royal Ascot had been overcome, but others awaited. How could I tell my wife?

She is wonderfully accepting and often joins me on nights (and days) out. This was different, however, and when I first told her of my plans, she was less than enthusiastic. Mainly, I think, because she thought I was taking a big risk. I didn’t want to go if she was really against it, but the first response from her didn’t actually say that.

Time went by and I found it very difficult to raise the subject again – and it was stressful not knowing. Eventually I broached the subject again a few weeks before I was due to go and again she was non-committal, but asked me the date and said because there was a meeting at work on that day, she couldn’t come (and I had no alternative day I could do it). I took that to mean “I wish you weren’t going,” but not “I’m stopping you going.”

Before deciding whether or not to go ahead and buy the tickets, I had to get back to my friend to check whether he was still free. At first, he wasn’t sure, but after an agonizing few days, he got back to me to say that he was. Great – I’ll get the tickets.

I was surprisingly nervous when calling the box office to buy the tickets. I suppose this was the point where it was obvious that I was going, yet my wife still didn’t know at that point. Anyway, the payment was made and £130 was debited from our account. I texted my friend, “Excellent” was his response. This was good news as I was concerned he had lost his original enthusiasm for the visit.

This was a continuing theme during the few weeks leading up to “the big day” as texts and e-mails to him always took days to get a reply (this is not his usual style). I have since learned that was “slightly nervous” beforehand and this was obviously an issue. We had a conversation on the day before the big meet up, however, and decided we would not attempt to go to the racecourse by car, but meet at a train station and continue on public transport.

I haven’t said what I decided to wear. Well, the photos show you, but there were many alternatives, so I hope you like my choice. The shoes were a last minute thing. I didn’t have many that fitted me well enough for a whole day (or indeed fitted the Royal Ascot bill). Just over a week before I was due to go, I had to go and pick up a car full of items for someone and on the way, I stopped for a coffee at a nice little town we know.

As I sat looking out over my drink, I noticed a charity shop on the other side of the road. I thought it may be worth a visit before I continued on my way. I walked in and soon saw it was, as there was a whole range of UK size 9 high-heeled shoes (this was meant to be).

Nobody knew me in this town, so without embarrassment, I tried on the most likely pair and they fitted well. Now I did have a problem; as I said I had a whole car full of “stuff” to pick up and possibly nowhere to hide the shoes. Should I buy the shoes and take the risk? I could only get one pair; I certainly couldn’t hide any more than that. £4.50 for a pair of unused, fashionable, 4-inch stilettos and in the right size, too? Yes, I should take the risk!

I bought the shoes and when I got back to the car, I hid them next to the spare tire, even though big heels are not the easiest things to fit into confined spaces (perhaps you may know this already). When I arrived at my destination, loading the car was done under close supervision from me and there was hardly an inch to spare – any more to put in and we well have considered using the spare wheel section of the boot. Phew!

I now had to hope we didn’t have a puncture on the journey home, as there would have been explaining to do to my passenger. Anyway, no punctures and once back home, I transferred the shoes safely to my bedroom.

The dress has nice memories for me – a purchase from Marks and Spencer’s Per Una range and the first item of clothing I ever bought whilst en femme; it seemed right for Ascot. The makeup was very much a rushed in the car affair because on that morning I was running late and it looked that way. I wish I could have gone back and started again, but “that’s life.”

Three days before the big day, my wife had got a readout on our bank account and saw the £130 withdrawal. I said it was for Ascot. She was satisfied with that and said no more. I really didn’t want to force the situation on her and waited for her to ask further questions, which she didn’t, so no more was said. However, as she went to work on Tuesday, she asked what I was doing that day. I said “Going to Ascot” to which she asked “Is it today? Have a good day. The weather looks good.”

Well, there you are. Months of anguish finished off with “Have a good day.”

She left for work and I shaved, loaded up the car (double-checking that I had everything) and left for a day at Royal Ascot!

Michelle’s Day at Royal Ascot continues here tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Circa 1970 femulating.

Look what I found

I wanted a white top to go with my white shorts. Perusing the DressBarn website, I saw a crochet lace top that I liked, so during my lunch hour, I visited the nearby DressBarn to check out the top in person.

They had a rack full of the tops including a few in white and in my size (so I thought). After examining the top, I was happy with my choice and went to the cash register to get rung up.

The sales rep complimented me on my choice and as she began ringing me up, she asked, "What is the phone number of the person you are buying this for?"

The sales rep was one I had not dealt with before and since I was in boy mode, I assume she thought that I was buying the top for a regular customer (and by giving her the customer's phone number, the customer would get credit for the sale and rack up points).

I replied, "The top is for me."

And then I added, "Maybe I should try it on to see if it fits."

It looked big enough, but I've been burnt by that assumption before, so I headed to the dressing room. Good thing I did because it was too tight around my boobs.

The sales rep found the next size up and it fit fine. I paid for my purchase and was on my way.

Getting back to my boobs. I think they are getting bigger!

During the past six months or so, I thought that my boobs looked bigger when I looked at myself in the mirror, but I assumed it was just wishful thinking.

However, now that the warm weather has finally settled in around here, I often wear just a T-shirt without a blouse over the tee. As a result, I noticed that my boobs are filling out my tees more than they ever had in the past.

I have always had boobs (due to a hormone imbalance and/or Gynecomastia), but not to this extent.

If this keeps up, I will have to start wearing bras in both boy and girl modes --- not because I want to, but because I need to (not that there is anything wrong with that).

 

 

 

Wearing Madeleine.

 

 

 

U2’s Adam Clayton femulates for the 1992 music video for “One.”

Lack of Slack

 

 

 

Wearing BCBGMAXAZRIA.

 

 

 

Monika Cathrine, a femulator from Norway