Guys and Their Gowns

Wearing Johnny Was

Robert Reed (right) femulating in television’s The Brady Bunch Variety Hour.

Close Calls

I have had a few close calls in my life.

Home alone, fully-dressed in my parents’ bedroom wearing my mother’s clothing including bra, girdle, nylons, high heels and a pretty dress, I heard the garage door under the bedroom opening indicating that I was no longer home alone. I hurried upstairs to my bedroom, changed into boy clothes and managed to present as a male to my mother and sister, who arrived home from grocery shopping. I then hid Mom’s clothing until I was home alone again when I returned the clothing to their proper place. 

Mom never mentioned the missing clothing – I guess she really didn’t miss it or she knew where it was, but did not say anything. And there is more to that story... when I hurried upstairs, I left her high heels on my parent’s bed and I had to come up with a lame excuse as to why the heels were out. My excuse was that I was drawing a picture and needed the heels to accurately draw the shoes in my picture. She seemed to have bought my story or did she?

Another time home alone fully dressed and the doorbell rang. I snuck a look outside and it was my uncle. He persisted and rang the doorbell a few times, but finally gave up and drove away.

Yet, another time, I was shopping en femme in Macy’s and spotted my company’s receptionist walking down the aisle towards me. I ducked down another aisle and managed to avoid encountering her.

In a comment here last week, Diana recalled another close call that I had at a support group meeting... of all places! Before the meeting, a group of us were chatting out on the stoop at the entrance to the meeting hall, which was next to the hall’s driveway.  

A car pulled into the driveway and it displayed a license plate with a ham radio callsign. I recognized the callsign – it belonged to a ham I spoke with on the air occasionally and had met in person a few times.

I panicked! I decided to hide, so I hurried inside and camped out in the ladies’ room. 

While I was thinking about what to do, I wondered if he recognized my car parked on the street and wanted to see what I was up to? But it was unlikely that he would be cruising this neck of the woods. Then it occurred to me that maybe he was one of us. He would not be the first (or last) crossdressing ham I encountered, so I exited the restroom and greeted a new trans sister to our support group.

Had a close call? I’m sure Femulate readers would love to read about yours, so pass it along in the Comments below.

Wearing Boston Proper

Lance Barber femulating on television’s Young Sheldon.
Thanks to Tami and Zoe for alerting Femulate about this femulation.

Sub-Dressing

Wearing Venus

Dennis Karuri

My Wighistory

I bought my first wig at Frederick’s of Hollywood. As you can imagine, I was very nervous and I wanted to do my business as fast as possible to minimize my exposure to civilians. So I bought the first wig that the young saleswoman showed me – a long wavy dark brown confection that I wore a few times and hated it.

I bought my second wig at a downtown wig store and I had made up my mind that I would not get a blonde wig because I was of the opinion that all the transvestites wore blonde wigs!

On this occasion, I was double-teamed by two young saleswomen who convinced me to buy a blonde wig because they thought the blonde wig was definitely me! Who was I to argue with professionals, so I bought the blonde pageboy wig that I wore a few times and hated it.

I bought my third wig at a wig store in a strip mall and I wanted to go red because when I was young, my hair was red, so I assumed I was a natural redhead. The mature saleswoman did not try to change my mind and I went home a satisfied customer.

I stuck with red/auburn wigs for a long time. When I occasionally strayed, I always went back to red.

My "perfect" wig

Circa 2005, my support group had a night out at a wig store and I volunteered to be hostess.
This was the same strip mall wig store where I bought my first red wig. The only difference was that now the saleswoman was the daughter of the previous saleswoman/owner.

So I performed my hostess duties and after all the girls had a chance to try on and buy wigs, the saleswoman said it was my turn. I had not planned to buy a new wig, but the saleswoman did not have to twist my arm. So I sat in the hot seat while the saleswoman fetched the wig that she said was perfect for me.

She returned with a blonde wig. In my mind, I was determined not to buy a blonde wig, but after she put it on my head and I got a look at myself in the mirror, I agreed: it was perfect for me.

Since then, I have stuck with blonde wigs. When I occasionally strayed, I always went back to blonde.

And so it goes.

Wearing Bebe

Neil Morrissey femulating in British television's 1999 movie Hunting Venus.
Click here to view the series on YouTube.
Thanks to Caty for alerting Femulate about this femulation.

Never a crossdressing borrower or lender be

Wearing Cynthia Rowley

Femulating in Paris in the 1960s.

Stuff: Blending In

By J.J. Atwell

To blend or not to blend?

Yes, that is the question. Do you dress to blend in or to stand out? I typically dress to blend in. But first, I guess we need to define just what it means to “blend in.” So, let’s answer one more question.

Who are we blending in to?

That should be obvious. We are dressing like GGs would dress for a particular venue. Let’s look around and see what they typically wear. That varies according to many things including the location and the time of day, as well as the season. It’s a lot of work blending in. 

A CD would look a bit out of place wearing a fancy dress when all the GGs are wearing jeans and a sweater. So, perhaps without intending, the CD would be dressing to stand out. 

How do you dress?

You could probably tell from the pictures accompanying my Stuff posts, I try to dress to blend in. I do that because I’m most comfortable when I’m not attracting attention. It’s a personal thing. I’m basically an introvert no matter how I’m dressed. 

But there is another consideration – the company I’m keeping. It’s axiomatic that the ability of a group of CDs to “pass” depends on the least passable member. Once people notice one, they will take a closer look at the rest of the group. I try not to be that CD. Yes, it’s a lot of pressure, but it’s also a lot of fun. There is so much Stuff to consider when you go out en femme. 

At this point, I’m sure people are wondering how a CD might fit in with a group of GGs. Would the CD stand out as much? Again, I think that depends on how well the CD blends in with the GGs. But I think the odds are better for the CD not to attract attention in that situation. I’d love to hear about your experience and perhaps Stana can find space to publish them.

I’ll be back

I’ll be back with more Stuff in the next installment. 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, so let me know what you would like to read about.

Wearing Bebe

Femulating at the 1960 National Variety Artists Halloween Ball in New York City.

Close Encounters of the Neighborly Kind

Tuesday’s post about Paula’s en femme run-in with a neighbor got me thinking about my close encounters with neighbors.

Our first house was a crossdresser’s nightmare! It was less than 50 feet away from our neighbor’s house. Our driveway ran along the property line between houses and our garage was under our house, so when leaving to go out, I would have to back out of the garage and then proceed forward on the driveway for about 100 feet to the street, all in full view of the neighbors if they happened to be looking out a window, roaming the yard between houses or sitting out on their deck, which faced our house.

As a result, coming and going en femme was an adventure. Before leaving, I would have to check to see if all was clear before opening the garage door and making a quick getaway. Coming home was less problematical because I usually returned after dark.

One time, I checked and all was clear, but by the time I got into my car and backed out of the garage, my neighbor had come outside and was standing on her deck. I avoided looking at her, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was watching me. I was so flustered that I pulled out onto the street without checking for traffic. Imagine if I had a car accident in front of my house while en femme! My neighbor never mentioned the incident.

Our second house is a crossdresser’s dream! The property across the street is hundreds of acres of reservoir property – undeveloped woodland that will probably remain so forever. My nearest neighbor’s house is over 250 feet away and my property is so treed in that there is no worry about my comings and goings en femme. In fact, I have walked down our 120-foot driveway en femme on a number of occasions to fetch the mail without a care.

However, our house is on a dead end off of another dead end, so there is only one way in and out of the neighborhood. As a result, I am likely to cross paths with neighbors when I am driving en femme. And the roads are narrow, so people don’t drive fast making it easier to see who is driving in the opposite direction. 

Over the years, I had a few motor vehicle close encounters and in one case, I am sure a woman driver I encountered believed that she saw something was amiss because when I was walking the dogs a few days later, I encountered her walking her dog and while we were chatting, she commented, “I see you're wearing pantyhose.”

I looked down at my feet trying to figure out why she said that and I saw my feet in a pair of men’s socks that were colored light beige. So I looked at her as if she had lobsters crawling out of her ears and said, “No, I'm wearing beige socks.” 

Now why would anyone mention my choice of hosiery unless they were trying to affirm what they thought they saw days earlier? From a distance, it may have looked like I was wearing pantyhose, so she may have thought she now had proof that she saw something amiss (or a Miss) during our earlier motor vehicle encounter.

These encounters with neighbors used to bother me, but now I don’t care who knows if I am wearing socks or pantyhose. In fact, one of my neighbors always waves when I drive by if he is often outside doing yard work. (He probably recognizes my Subaru – I’ve been driving the same car for 17 years – so he is actually waving at the car no matter who is driving – boy or girl.)

And so it goes.

Wearing Madeleine

Mr. Johnny Brown, professional femulator, circa 1960

Gainfully Employed

 

Wearing Paige

Noah Galvin femulating in the 2023 film Theater Camp.

Finding Myself in Beantown: A Woman's Story

By Paula Gaikowski

Dust settles over a cluster of lakeside cottages, their peeling paint a testament to a long winter’s slumber. Memorial Day beckons and with it, a surge of life. Families, laden with memories and anticipation unlock these weathered doors. The annual ritual unfolds – barbecues sizzle, laughter echoes across the water and stories of the past year weave through the crisp air. Yet, a shadow of unease lingers for me. A chance encounter last winter, with a neighbor from this very community still sends shivers. This reunion promises joy, shared meals and the warmth of reconnection, but beneath the surface, a thread of apprehension awaits its unraveling.

Every month or so, it’s the same. Skirt on, pantyhose, heels clicking, wig, makeup painting a picture of the woman I’ve always known myself to be. Then it’s off to Boston for my therapy session with Dr. D, who's been a rock for over ten years.

Dr. D’s office is in the heart of Boston’s busy medical center (photo above was taken by Dr. D in his office). The walk through the campus is a small victory. Here, in the city, I can just be myself and it feels good. With each confident stride through Boston’s bustling streets, a wave of joy washes over me – the city feels electric. I finally get to fully experience the world as the woman I am. But today, that feeling gets shaken up.

In the waiting room, I bump into Kathy, a familiar face from our summer stomping grounds in Maine. Generations of our families have vacationed there, practically living on top of each other. Panic hits. No one here knows about this side of me. These are all tough guys – military, police – and I can practically feel their expectations hanging in the air.

Kathy asks about parking and before I knew it, the truth spilled out. I tell her about the years of therapy, the secret I’ve been carrying. The shock on her face is a mirror to my own fear. But then, something amazing happens. The shock melts away and she seems to get it. She promises to keep my secret, even compliments my outfit and acknowledges the truth I've held close for so long.

Now, as I think about the upcoming summer, a knot forms in my stomach. Will rumors fly at barbecues and on lazy afternoons spent reminiscing? The unknown is scary, but something even stronger pushes back.

This is who I am. The years of hiding, the constant excuses – they don't matter anymore. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the woman I feel inside. It’s beautiful and it deserves to be seen, not hidden.

This isn’t a coming-out story in the grand sense, but a story about finding myself. It’s about having the guts to be who you are, even when the future is blurry. And maybe, just maybe, my story will touch someone else on a similar path, letting them know they’re not alone.

Wearing Madeleine

Filippo Timi femulating in the 2020 Italian film Fairytale (Favola).

No Picnic

Tony sat on the edge of his bed cupping his breasts in his hands thinking back to the Shirts vs. Skins touch football game at the family’s Memorial Day picnic. Tony remembered being very embarrassed when he ended up on the Skins team and everyone saw his breasts bouncing up and down the field.

During the game, Uncle Terry remarked, “Someone needs a bra.”

Tony’s Dad was Uncle Terry’s kid brother and he always listened to his older brother. So returning home after the picnic, Tony’s Dad asked Tony’s Mom to take Tony to Macy’s to buy a bra.

The next day, Tony’s Mom picked him up after school and drove to Macy’s. As they entered Macy’s lingerie department, a sales associate named Jamie greeted Tony and his Mom .

“What can I do for you today?” Jamie asked.

“My son needs to get fitted for a bra,” Tony’s Mom replied

“I’ll need to take your son’s measurements, so please follow me to the dressing room,” said Jamie.

Tony followed Jamie to an empty stall in the dressing room, then Jamie told Tony to take off his top. 

Tony did as he was told, Jamie took his measurements and then told Tony to wait while he found some bras for Tony to try on.

Jamie returned with an armful of bras and by process of elimination, Tony was fitted with a bra.

Five weeks later at the Independence Day family picnic, Tony ended up on the Skins team again, but was not embarrassed because he wore his bra throughout the game – just like his uncles, cousins and Dad, who were also on the Skins team.

(FYI, the first two paragraphs of this story are true and actually happened to me. The rest is my fiction.)

Wearing Bella Dahl

Anne Firth (right) in the 1944 British film Bell-Bottom George.