More Femulating Fun

I attended the Avon representatives Christmas party en femme in 2006. There were approximately 75 in attendance and as I expected, I was the only male Avon representative at the party.

I also guessed correctly that I would be one of the best dressed at the party, but what I did not expect was that it was no contest! I was WAY overdressed for the party. Most of the other reps wore slacks or jeans with tops and a minority wore skirts with tops. I was the only rep wearing a dress (see the accompanying photo).

As I arrived at the hotel, I saw how the other reps (on their way to the party) were dressed and I had a lot of trepidation attending the party myself the way I was dressed. I actually considered hightailing it out of there. But, as I contemplated my next move in the lobby of the hotel, my district manager greeted me and urged me to go into the party despite expressing my uneasiness about being overdressed.

I signed in at the registration table, received a gift, a raffle ticket and a name badge. I did not know what name (my real name or my femme name) to put on the badge, so I did not bother wearing it.

After registering, I looked for an empty chair and a friendly face. Everyone looked at me as I walked into the area where everyone was seated. From some of their facial expressions, I felt that they thought I was overdressed, too.

When I found an empty chair, I asked if it was taken and it was not, so I sat down. There were five reps at my table: one older, three about my age and one younger. They were all very pleasant and included me in their conversation.

Everyone I encountered throughout the evening was very friendly, as if I had known them for years. When I rose to get a drink or go to the powder room, I noticed people checking me out. And when I was in line for the buffet, I could not help noticing all the other folks in line checking me out closely. But I never heard a discouraging word and saw a lot of smiles directed at me.

At the end of the evening, I said goodbye to my district manager and she gave me a big hug. As we separated, I said that we had never met in person and I wanted to introduce myself. I said, “I am (my real name).”

She said, “I know.”

Wearing Bebe

Wearing Bebe

Professional femulator Billy “Koro” Halle, circa 1920

A Very Successful Transgender Day of Visibility

Wearing Carla Ruiz

Stanley Holloway femulating in the 1951 British film One Wild Oat.

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.

Someday Funnies: “She’s” Convinced

Wearing Shein

Veit Alex, femulating womenswear model

More Fun en femme

On Friday, I wrote about my Halloween visits to my hair salon and bank. Both visits left a lasting impressions, as I found out when I subsequently visited the salon and bank in boy mode.

Hair Salon Visit

Hair Salon Redux

Thursday, I had an appointment for a haircut at the salon I visited en femme on Tuesday. My hairdresser, Miss K, was off on Tuesday, so after she seated me at her station, she said, “I'm sorry I missed you on Tuesday. The girls said you were beautiful.”

So I immediately retrieved my iPhone and showed her the photo that Miss C took on Tuesday (photo right)

She took my iPhone, examined the photo closely and remarked, “You look like a businesswoman.”

“That’s what I intended.”

“And you do look beautiful!”

“Thank-you.”

Back to the Bank

Later, I went to my bank to withdraw money to buy groceries. 

My teller (Miss K) was the first woman I saw walking into the bank on Halloween. The other two women staffing the bank were not working when I visited the bank en femme. One (Miss C) is the teller I often deal with at the drive-through window. The other (Miss L) is the branch manager, who refinanced my mortgage. So they both know me well as a regular customer.

Miss K handled my withdrawal and then she brought up the topic of Halloween. She said my “costume” was the best she had ever seen. Then she asked me if I had a photo on my iPhone so she could show Miss C.

Of course I did and she called Miss C over to see my photo. Needless to say, she was floored. Then she asked Miss L if she had seen my Halloween costume photo.

Miss L replied, “No, but I heard about it.”

Evidently, my costume was the talk of the bank staff. (I dress to impress!)

I showed Miss L my photo and she was amazed, too.

Wearing Ann Taylor

Professional femulating twin brothers Hilmar and Christian Dubois, circa 1967

Someday Funnies: Prom Dress Distress

Wearing Venus

A psychology study published in 1987 concluded that married couples who had lived together for 25 years began to physically resemble one another as a result of their prolonged cohabitation.

Fun en femme

I love going out among the civilians. I especially enjoy going out among the civilians who know boy me, but not girl me. Their reaction when they realize who is the boy behind the girl is priceless.

After I retired, I had no where to go en femme on Halloween, so I decided to make the rounds of some of my regular haunts and see what transpires.

Hair Salon

I was on the road at 11 AM and made my first stop only 2 miles away at the hair salon where I have been getting my hair cut for over 25 years.

Two years earlier, I was getting my hair cut after Halloween and my hairdresser, Miss D, asked if I did anything for the holiday. So I pulled out my iPhone and showed her my en femme photo. She was floored and could not get over it, so I decided to let her see my femulation in person.

I entered the salon and Miss D greeted me without a glimmer of recognition. I played along and said I wanted to make an appointment with my regular hairdresser, Miss K. Miss D opened the appointment book and found an opening that I could fill, then she asked my name (to enter into the book).

When I told her my boy name, her jaw dropped and the “Oh, my God's” began flowing without interruption. Just then, another hairdresser, Miss C, showed up for work and she was flabbergasted, too.

Miss D had to return to her station to attend to a customer, but Miss C hung back and agreed to take some photos with my iPhone.

Bank

Next stop was my bank, where I usually do my business via the drive-through window. Since I was cashing a check and making a withdrawal, I would have to show my I.D. (my driver’s license) and there might be some confusion considering how I appeared, so I went indoors rather than driving through.

As I entered, I saw three women staffing the bank — I have done business with all three of them for a number of years, usually at the drive-through window and occasionally up front and personal.

I greeted the woman who was seated typing away at a computer in the cubicle just inside the bank entrance. She looked up from the computer and was clueless.

I smiled and said, “Happy Halloween! You may know me better as [insert my male name].”

I believe she heard me, but I think she could not believe her eyes and asked, “Who?”

I had to repeat my name a couple of times before it sank in and she said, “Wow — you look fabulous!”

“Thank-you,” and I proceeded to get into the line waiting for my turn at the teller, who greeted me with a big smile as I queued up. The third woman was staffing the drive-through window and did not seem to recognize me.

When it was my turn, I walked up to the teller, who greeted me so profusely that I knew she knew who I was.

“You look lovely today,” she said.

“You know who I am, don’t you.”

“I recognized you as soon as you walked in.”

There were no other customers in the bank, so my teller called over the other teller and asked her if she recognized me.

The other teller did not have a clue.

My teller tried to clue her in with this hint, “Who has a green car and always uses the drive-through window?”

The other teller was still clueless.

Another clue, “Who has a little friend (my dog) in the passenger seat?”

Still nothing!

My teller finally showed her my driver’s license and the other teller shouted out my male name followed by a series of question marks and exclamation points. She was amazed and gushed over my “disguise.”

I asked my teller if she would take my photo and she said she would love to do it, so I handed her my iPhone and she took a half dozen shots including the one above.

I said my goodbyes and as I passed the cubicle where the first woman was working, she stopped me and went on and on about how convincing I looked.

I mentioned how my wife always said that I would never pass because of my large size.

“Oh, no,” she retorted, “No one would ever guess that you’re not a woman.”

Wearing StyleWe

Piotr Gawron-Jedlikowski femulating C.C. Catch on Polish television’s Twoja Twarz Brzmi Znajomo (Your Face Sounds Familiar). You can view this femulation on YouTube.

Someday Funnies: Men at Work

Wearing Bebe

Circa 1960, dancer and choreographer Sal Angelica poses with professional femulator Howard.

Naturally Brained Woman

Natured or Nurtured?

I have written about the “nature or nurture question” here before, that is, whether we are born transgender (the nature argument) or our upbringing and environment causes us to be transgender (the nurture argument).

I am not a doctor, although I play a nurse on occasion, so I have no professional credentials to support my opinion. But I subscribe to the nature argument because that’s how I see my life playing out so far.

From the get-go, I was a feminine being. The fact that I had a male body did not dissuade me from being feminine, often to my detriment. Male peers derided and bullied me, while I socialized better with females ― not because they considered me dating material, but because I was just like one of the girls.

With regards to the transgender Wachowski sisters, an interesting article “There May Be a Biological Reason the Wachowski Siblings Are Both Transgendered,” supports the nature argument. One point that the article mentions is that the brains of transwomen resemble the brains of cisgender women, while the brains of transmen resemble the brains of cisgender men.

My mother was my role model, so that seems to support the nurture argument, However, was my mother my role model because my father was an absentee parent or because it was normal for a feminine soul to follow in the footsteps of her female parent? (A side note: My sister was viewing some photos she took a few days ago and remarked how very much I resembled my mother in the photos. I was in boy mode in the photos.)

We’ll probably never know for sure what made us trans. Perhaps it is a combination of nature and nurture.

Wearing Venus

Kay, Yvonne, and Julie attending the 1986 Chicago Be-All.

Someday Funnies

Wearing Joie

A flock of femulators from the 1930’s