Boxes and labels

I made some people uncomfortable today. I also surprised someone and was surprised by someone.

A friend had loaned me some vintage outfits. I had worn them one night while I was in Arizona a few weeks ago. One of the dresses is blue on the bottom and white on top. The style is from around the 40’s but the dress is from the 60’s. Of all the outfits that was the one piece I fell in love with. So I wore it today.

I have been told that the dress really looks good on me. And it is very feminine. I walked into the office in the dress and high heel black pumps. Everyone looked up. Then many of the men in the office looked away trying to avoid seeing me. Some of the women gave me disapproving glances.

I do want to point out that the dress by itself is not very sexy. I covers almost everything but the ankles, forearms, and a small triangle at the throat. It’s slimming but not form
fitting or clingy. But there is something about it that makes me feel VERY female. I glide across the floor while wearing it. My movements are more graceful.

More than any other outfit I have worn this one breaks through the barrier of trans to woman. My friend put it this way “the dress tears away the walls of the boxes people have created to explain you. Wearing it you are a woman, not trans, or crossdresser, or thing, a WOMAN.”

I always accepted that the people I work with just take for granted that I come in ‘looking’ like a woman everyday. They see me as the guy they work with in a skirt no matter if I happen to pass or not. They only get glimpses of me expressing my true femininity. By creating this box for me they don’t have to think about the logical conclusion of my transition. The box helps them avoid feelings that they might not be able to deal with otherwise.

Today I walked out of the box and forced them to face those feelings. The men had to come to terms with uncomfortable feelings of finding me attractive. Something that borders on homophobia for some. The women who gave me those withering stares saw me not as a curiosity any more but a threat. The old “he just thinks he’s a woman and we will humor him” thoughts were replaced with “OMG he does girl better than we do!”. I talked to a couple of close friends today and these are generalized statements based on what they told me.

As for me, I felt wonderful! We had a vendor rep show up this morning bringing bagels and coffee for the office. He had only met me once a year ago as my old self. He is really a great guy and we talk often on the phone. He had no idea who he was going to meet this morning.

I was logging into my computer when I heard a deep voice say “Hey where’s my buddy (insert birth name here)?” A dozen fingers pointed at me. I stood up and shook his hand. No shocked look, just a big smile on his face. “You look terrific!”, he said. “Everything working out for you? You happy?” I nodded. He looked at me with an expression I usually only see on other trans people. It is an expression that says I understand and accept you no matter what. He said “I am happy for you”. I could feel the tears welling up. I realized my coworkers were unnaturally quiet as they looked on. Then he broke into one of his great stories and I broke out laughing. If it wouldn’t have seemed so awkward I would have hugged him right then and there. This terrific gentle bear of a man chose not to label me as a freak, or tranny, or whatever. His label for me is friend.

Later on, another friend from work asked me out to lunch. We went with a girl from another department who’s birthday we were going to celebrate. After we got seated at the restaurant, the waiter asked what he could get for us ladies. ‘Us ladies’. That felt good.

Afterwards I started thinking about the boxes we put ourselves and others in. Also the labels we stick on people. We do this to make sense of the world. But sometimes the boxes and labels get in the way. I have transwomen friends that demand to be called mom by their kids. I have gotten strange looks when I say I’m ok with my kids calling me dad even after transition. In a documentary I recently saw there was an interview with the famous SRS surgeon Marci Bowers. I was shocked to hear her say that she thought that two other transwomen were undermining all that transwomen have fought for because they allowed their kids to call them dad. Wow. Jenny Boylan’s children call her ‘Maddy’ mommy+daddy which I happen to think is very clever. I wonder sometimes about why the labels mom
and dad are so important to trans people. To me our reality is being transgender. It’s not necessarily our kids’ reality. Those two labels are more important to them and how they can comfortably relate to their parents. Why force them into using labels that feel awkward or uncomfortable? Is it because we as trans people need those labels as validation of our decision to transition? (being trans is not a choice, transition is, regardless of the reason behind it). Plus we label ourselves as transgender. But under that label are boxes: crossdresser, Bigender, gender queer, intersex, transvestite, transexual, etc.

I propose that trans stands for transcendence. We transcend society’s notion of the gender binary. We transcend the idea of boxes and labels and stereotypes that attempt to classify us trans people. As Betty Crow said about being labelled ‘trans’: “It would be even better if people thought of me as a person and we can go from there.”

As a person, I love that idea.

-Rachel

An important anniversary

One year ago today I made a call. A simple call, a few minutes knocked off my monthly cell allotment. I had no real idea how this call was going to go. I also didn’t know how it would change my whole future.

We only met once. Potential employer to potential employee. I can only remember it was a nice lunch and even better conversation. Things eventually fell through but somehow we had made an impression on each other. Too bad the two people that met that day were just shadows.

To tell the truth I’m not sure what drove me to look her up. I had called the person who actually introduced us so long ago and found out she had a website. Lucky for me there was an e-mail address and a phone number. Here is where my memory gets a little blurry. How many days it took to build up enough courage to make that call I don’t recall. Did I e-mail first? Maybe, maybe not. I do know that I got up from my desk at work and took a walk outside.

I do remember the clear blue sky and a pleasant breeze. My fingers shook as I dialed the number. As I heard the dial tone one thought flashed through my mind; “don’t pick up, please don’t pick up.” A voice more musical than I remember said hello.

Pleasantries aside I got down to the real reason I called. “Becky?” I said, “I’m a crossdresser.” More blurriness. I vaguely remember talking about dressing for the first time. Then Becky asked, “how did you feel?”

I paused for only a second. “It felt right. I felt whole”. I took a breath.

“Dear, your not a crossdresser, your a transexual.” Her musical voice just sealed my fate. One word. The word. Transexual. I felt me knees give way. More music; “Do you know the difference between a crossdresser and a transexual?” I shook my head, a useless gesture.

“No”. My voice was weak.

A cheerful reply “Three to five years!” a little laugh.

I started to cry. I know I denied it. I denied it with my entire soul. She was wrong. So very wrong. I was a crossdresser, no more no less. That alone was causing strain in my marriage. Transexual? That doomed my marriage, my family, my life. Somehow I excused myself from the call.

Damn her! She didn’t know me. How could she say that? I cried more. I went back inside and sat at my desk in shock.

Three to five years. It took three months. Three months to come to terms with the fact that I wanted to be a woman. In five months I walked out into the sunlight for the first time as my true self.

Two people once met as strangers. Not just to each other,but to themselves. Now we know each other as who we really are. Becky is my big sister. She scared me to death one year ago. Now I realize she saved my life by opening my eyes and my heart.

My life did not end. My marriage did not end. In fact my life has just begun.

Thank you sis. Happy anniversary!
I love you.
Hugs,
-Rachel

Farewell 2011, and don’t come back

Well I’m back. It’s been a stressful month and things are getting better.

We bought a new place and just signed the escrow papers. Not much longer until move-in day. Which I am
sooo looking forward to. Here’s why: diminished upper body strength, stress related crankiness, hormone related crankiness, and sore boobs. Do I need to go on? On the bright side ‘Hell House’ as we affectionately call the large beautiful home we rent will soon be a smudge on our past. The place is killing us figuratively and physically. Plus it’s been the site of the most horrendous fights and emotional battles that my marriage has ever faced. This place combined with my coming out has left a bad taste in our mouths (that and the black mold). On to not so bigger but much better and hopefully more sane things.

Oh, and Happy New Year!

A recap if I may. As of 2:30 am January 2012 it has been one year since I told my wife I was a crossdresser. Almost two weeks shy of telling the woman who is now one of my best friends that I was trans. Then I hung up on her because she told me I was a transexual. Nine months have passed since I accepted the fact that I am transexual (thank you Becky, I won’t hang up this time). I have started my 6 month of being myself at work. 4th month of t-blockers. Two sessions of electrolysis. Third week or so since I noticed boobs where my once manly (not really) chest used to be. And now one day after I pretty much outed myself to the entire rest of my extended family and possibly my dad through a dumb (Freudian) mistake on Facebook. Thank you Mr Zuckerberg.

And I told myself and my wife that I was going to go slow. “Sulu, ahead warp factor five!” ok, bad Star Trek joke. (By the way I have met George Takei on three separate occasions and William Shatner twice. Yes, I am a geek girl.) All kidding aside I went from crossdresser, to transexual,to going out en femme, passing a great deal of the time, to working as a woman, and starting mild HRT in less than a year. I have nearly gone from guy to girl overnight. All the while I was jealous of the women in my support group starting HRT and beginning their year of full time before surgery. Many of them struggling with their presentation and mannerisms. Look out here comes Rachel making it all look so easy. Get her in a skirt and move out of the way!

I am still amazed that my kids haven’t said anything about their weird looking dad with the shaggy long hair and pierced ears. I forgot, throw in wearing ballet flats around the house. And the one time my youngest caught me leaving for work on casual Friday in a coral pink girls v-neck tshirt and girls jeans. (He was really sick that day so he must have thought he was hallucinating.) Or the time I sat on the couch with the kids playing video games while barefoot wearing electric blue sparkly nail polish on my toes. I could go on.

Then there is my wife who watched me try on a few clothes in the early months. Then joined in playing dressup one night. She tried on all my heels and was embarrassed that I could walk in them better than she could. On another night opening the bedroom door to see ‘some woman’ in a peach blouse and black miniskirt sitting on our bed. She ran downstairs in tears. Cooking together while the kids were over at a friends house. Me in a black cocktail dress, strappy heels and for the first time my breast forms. We laughed and had fun, but it was ‘safe’ I still had my mustache and guy haircut. Her finding a picture on my computer of me the first time I went out en femme. Screaming at me that I looked like some drag queen and hating my friends for going along with it. The monumental argument that scared our kids and caused us to sleep in separate rooms bathed in tears and hoarse from screaming. Almost two weeks of silence when each of us thought the other would just leave. The tear filled night when we began to talk again. The same night I said I wanted to become a woman and would not live my life and end up being buried as a man. And she still held my hands while we fell asleep exhausted and emotionally drained.

To the place we are now. A kind of stalemate with enough give and take to keep us together. A place where she can see that the person in front of her might not look exactly like her husband but inside is what made her fall in love so long ago. This strange person that is no longer angry and depressed. Who can still make her laugh and smile. A bizarre androgynous creature that understands her more than any man could. A being caught between genders who loves her more than anything or anyone in this world.

And here I am. A man who lost himself to become a crazed 14 year old girl going through a puberty he was denied. A man who had to realize that he was becoming a girl even he didn’t like. A person who tried to recapture the essence of what made him whole. The struggle to integrate who he was into who she was becoming. Accepting transition as a process of discovery and growth. To shedding off useless fears and forging her own path. And to still be able to find himself inside herself when she had too. A woman who became normal by not being ‘normal’. A husband, father, wife, and mother all rolled into one. An anomaly. A boy who grew up knowing he was a boy. Who became a grown man that people liked and respected. A man who married an amazing woman. His soulmate who bore him three incredible children. A man who thought he was comfortable being a man; ignorant of all the signs to the contrary. And, when things got so bad he finally realized he was a she all along. That simple thought nearly destroyed him/her. A simple thought ‘changing your gender’ that saved them both. Not without heartbreak and suffering. But there was also joy and happiness. To this moment. Another beginning to another end. Not the beginning of her because of the end of him. Both together as one being, a woman who knows what it is like being a man. A woman given the chance few ever get or ever take. A chance to live one’s life more completely than most. To experience life from both sides.

Love, life and happiness to all of you
-Rachel

The grass is always greener…

Being transgender has been an amazing experience. I have come in contact with people I would never have met otherwise. As a MTF transexual most of the trans people I run into are MTFs. However I feel privileged to have met a few FTMs. They are incredible men that are more manly than I ever was. The chemical that I try to expunge from my body does fantastic things for them. Testosterone is their miracle drug, like estrogen would be for me.

We do share something. We want what the other has (or had). In a recent reply to a reply i made on a friends blog we were discussing jeans and slacks. Marie made a comment in her blog about girl jeans and how much better they fit. But she also mentioned that the pockets are almost useless. In turn I pointed out the lack of pockets in most women’s dress slacks (I love women’s slacks by the way.) Tracy an FTM, chimed in too. He likes all the room he has in the pockets of guy jeans for all his stuff. This exchange made me think. The things that we took for granted being men or women are the things that mean so much to a trans person in transition.

The first FTM I ever met really opened my eyes. We met just as I was starting transition and for him just a while after transition. We sat in my car after support group and talked for over an hour. I had mentioned bathroom rights and he spoke about his fear of using the men’s room. I wondered about that since I would never have know he was once a woman. He passed so completely that I felt less male just being around him. And I realized that he must have felt the same about me. I made him feel less manly because of what’s between my legs. If it was possible I would have traded the part of me that he desires with that part of him I desire. If it were only so simple.

At that moment we shared something so deep and yet so sad. Sitting next to each other were two people born in the wrong bodies. What a cruel joke life played on us. How much better off we would have been had we had each other’s body? I do know one thing, we may not have become as strong as we are now. Being trans brings out a strength of character that might have remained dormant otherwise. I am proud to be a part of a new family. It is a family born of shared sorrow, shared courage and shared experience. We understand each other better than most cisgender people understand each other. We have the unique opportunity to live as both genders. We can see life from both sides. Even if one of those sides wasn’t the greenest.

An odd twist

There are a few women that I work with who seemed uncomfortable when I started presenting as female. I got this look like “how dare you pretend to be a woman”.

Then there were the little snippets of gossip that got back to me. “He’s embarrassing himself and the rest of us by playing dressup”. “He’s just doing this for the attention.” Our vendors/customers/coworkers are all going to be freaked out because of him”.

Well for one I am serious about this and now they know it. It’s been almost 2 months and except for my anniversary I have been very consistent in my presentation. Second, I did this for my own well being not for attention (although the attention I get now is welcome because it’s genuine). Third, I have had numerous face to face meetings with out vendors. Some of whom knew me as my guy self. Except for a few surprised looks, they have treated me with respect. I have also been introduced to customers as a woman; just like every other woman in the sales department. They do not look at me like I am some freak.

Now two months later I have started to notice new things. I heard from one friend that people thought I was dressing too nice. They wanted me to dress more casual instead of business like. Well the women in the office seem to be stepping up. I’ve seen more dresses and skirts this month than in the entire 4+ years I have been there. One of my girl friends from work told me at lunch one day that I am making some of the women feel less feminine. I have noticed more eyeliner, mascara, lipstick and styled hair around the office (on the women). How did the guy who was playing dressup become a threat to womanhood?

Need a new therapist

I have to get off my butt and call about a new therapist. I couldn’t continue with my old therapist because it was getting too expensive. My insurance will cover my therapy now but I only have one referral to a gender therapist. I thought I reached a point where I could get along without therapy. Not so. There are issues I still need to work through. I believed I reached a good point of equilibrium in my transition. Half my time as a woman and the other half as a guy, what more could I ask for.

Well there are a couple of things. Doubt being one. Kinda strange coming from someone that shows up for work in a skirt and heels. I don’t doubt that I feel amazing as a woman. I feel doubt about my motivation and direction. I could do all this as just a publicly out crossdresser. I had a thought that I could be using being a transexual as an excuse for my public crossdressing. However my dysphoria comes and goes, only not as intense. But it’s still there.

Second is my body image. I’m changing again now that the spiro is really starting to effect me. My wife and kids have mentioned that I look sick. My face is thinning out and my skin is looking different. It’s also drying out. I lost more weight. At 5′ 6″ and 134 lbs I am really thin but i still hate my shape. I am getting close to a size 6 but without breasts an hips. My wife actually asked if I was taking more than just spiro. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell her I was taking estrogen, but I’m not. The desire to take hormones is getting stronger. So is my love for my wife and family. I can’t balance out the changes I would get with estrogen with the changes they would cause with my family. I don’t think they could cope right now with the physical and emotional changes I would go through. On top of all this I have been thinking more and more about SRS. I can still live with my guy parts but the idea of having a vagina is becoming even more enticing. The idea of becoming a complete woman is slowly overpowering me.

I have my moments when I get tired of fighting and I want it all to just end; either way. If my brain told me tomorrow it was a mistake and I’m just a guy I would be cool with it. That would definitely simplify my life. On the other hand if my brain just said screw it all, I’m going to transition completely, I would. That’s what I have more trouble with. I can’t just say screw it. I just started rebuilding my relationship with my daughter. My boys still think of me as their cool dad. And the most important thing right now is my wife’s attitude. She still doesn’t like me changing but she does show me that she still loves me. Our relationship has changed. It’s not the same as it used to be. She has her moments but they aren’t as bad or as lasting. However we are still together. I want that to last as long as possible. I couldn’t make it through transition without her.

My wedding anniversary

This is my reason for dressing up in a business suit. It’s the 21st anniversary of my marriage to my true love. This might sound corny but it is true. My wife is my soulmate. For some reason we were fated to meet, get married, and raise a family. I won’t say that our marriage has been perfect, it hasn’t. But we never gave up. My wife and I never thought about it. At least not until this year.

20 years in today’s society is almost a miracle. When you stop and think about it that’s a pretty long time. Twenty years is definitely a timespan worth celebrating. However I would rather celebrate the last one. To me it’s one of the most important years of our lives together.

When I came out at the start of 2011 I thought I was just a crossdresser. My wife tried to understand it, even accept it. She still felt betrayed that I kept that from her even if I had just recently started to have those feelings. It was almost as if I knew from the start and lied to her for 20 years. Actually I had lied. I lied to myself. I had done this for over 20 years.

I dressed a bit here and there in the house. Always with the kids gone or asleep. A few times with my wife around. It was fun. But it wasn’t satisfying. I was unhappy with my body. I started to hate myself because I could wear the clothes but I didn’t look like a woman. That’s when things changed drastically. I started exercising, losing weight, and grooming different. I nearly shaved my whole body. At this point my wife began to see there was alot more to this than just wanting to wear women’s clothes. My therapist also started to focus our sessions in another direction. She started asking about transition and transsexualism. Two topics i had read about and feared. I knew if I was a transexual all bets were off. My marriage would end. I would lose my wife and kids. My life would change dramatically and not for the better. (now most transexuals will tell you yes it will be better. Well not the way I was looking at it). I started to accept the fact that deep down inside I wanted to be a woman. My therapist called it naturally transitioning. Without hormones or surgery I was becoming a female. My looks and mannerisms were changing and I wasn’t forcing myself to adopt these changes. They just happened. I came to the hardest decision of my life, I told my wife I wanted to become a woman.

Three months was all it took to go from having a fetish for panties, to dressing in women’s clothes, to wanting to be a woman. Three months passed in the blink of an eye. I spent 47 long years ignoring hints both subtle and glaringly obvious that I was trans. I only learned the term transgender in those three months. For my wife it was 3 months of torture. She had to sit back and watch while her husband, the man she adored through thick and thin, fade away. My wife had no control, no say in what was occurring. We had a huge fight. Even our kids were scared.

Divorce was not a word in our vocabulary but it had become one that night. She asked when I wanted her to leave. I asked if she would be better off if I was dead. We argued, screamed and cried. But we didn’t leave. I still don’t know why.

Everyone around me who knew about me said my marriage was doomed. Some still do. My trans sisters and brothers tell me I am prolonging the inevitable. There is a small group of friends that know how stubborn I am. They see something in me. A something that forces me to take a tremendously difficult journey. On my journey my wife is still with me. It is a journey filled with compromise and self sacrifice. Strange. Those words are used by most transexuals to describe their lives before transition. They are words that I am not supposed to use. They represent road blocks to transition, to becoming my true self. I want to ask why I can’t just be me. Why can’t I be a goofy looking guy, a father to my kids, a husband to my wife, a wife to my wife, a beautiful and confident woman in the world. Trans people would say I am denying myself happiness. Why can’t I transition my own way. It’s like my only choice is hormones and surgery to be happy.

The simple truth is that I want to be happy. If I can be a woman and still have my wife and kids why is that bad. “But you need a vagina to be a woman” Really? I know more than a few people that feel that way to the core of their being. Their dysphoria is so strong that that was their only choice. Life with a penis would mean suffering beyond measure to them. I understand that. There are times I have felt that way. But for me looking down and seeing guy parts does not disgust me. So I can’t wear a bikini. I’m 47 and I don’t know if I’d want to be seen in a bikini even with a vagina. My need is that I be accepted as a woman. If I go dress shopping I want to be treated like any other woman in that store. I want to have conversations with women as a woman. Ok, as a crossdresser I could do that anyways. But I am a transexual, I want to take hormones and I want breasts. I have a female mind that is
missing the chemical interactions that estrogen will bring. I don’t want to just feel feminine I want to feel female.

I also don’t plan on using up all my savings to get SRS. I look at it this way I get a vagina and my kids are homeless. Someone actually told
me my kids would understand because I would finally be happy being the real me. Why should they suffer so that I don’t have to? Is it fair? Maybe not. I couldn’t live with myself as a parent knowing what I did to my kids.

Somehow this all comes back to my wife. She knows I dress at work. She caught me leaving half dressed the other day. She looked shocked but she didn’t scream or cry. When I got home she treated me like her husband. I’m not going to say she doesn’t have her moments. She has mentioned my mustache a few times. She would love to have me grow it back. But she knows its not coming back. There are times that I can tell she is staring at me trying to find some trace of the old me. I think she sees more than she expects too. Maybe that’s why we lasted another year. She still sees the husband behind the woman. Hopefully that’s enough to get us by for another year.

So I felt I had to wear a suit and tie to take my wife out on our anniversary. It wasn’t the horrible ordeal I thought it would be. My wife and I talked and laughed together. There was no anger or sadness or dysphoria. Just the love and friendship that 21 years together can create. That and hope.

Doubt

Well I did fear so I guess doubt isn’t to far off base. Actually I have been following a YouTube discussion about doubt between Translabyrinth, Brin Convenient, and Sydney Tinker. It’s made me think about my own situation.

When I started to crossdress it was fun and a little naughty. It was great walking around everywhere with a secret under my normal clothes. I never stopped to think if I was doing something wrong or deviant. Even my wife put up with it. (I do have to say she thought the thongs were a bit overboard). It wasn’t until I had my fill of panties and nylons that I began to feel that something was not right. I felt that I was going too far. I wanted more, but more what? For me wearing women’s underwear just became natural. I put them on when I got dressed every morning. Like other women.

It was the ‘like other women’ that started to cause the problem. Was I wearing the clothes because I secretly wanted to be a woman? Or was it just because they were damned comfortable? A bit of both at that stage. The dysphoria and anxiety kicked into high gear. At the time I didn’t even know what gender dysphoria was. All I knew was my life sucked. I felt wrong. I felt like a failure. I felt sick. So many things just built up that they nearly exploded. I needed to find out for myself why I felt the need to wear a skirt. (skirts seemed like one of the most feminine pieces of clothing to
me at that time)

I went into over a dozen stores looking for one. Not having the guts to try one on I did the next best thing. The “I am buying this for my wife, can I return it if it doesn’t fit?” excuse. At the door to every one of those stores I asked myself, why am
I doing this? Why am I compelled to do this? I was disgusted with myself but I couldn’t stop. I did try. Two days later I would be outside of Ross or Marshal’s with the same questions going through my head.

I concluded that I was mentally I’ll. I’d finally gone off into insanity land. I was a sexual deviant. I was going to end up destroying myself and my family. I bought the skirt. It was hidden for a while in the trunk of my car. I could not bring myself to try it on.

One dreary Saturday afternoon while the house was empty I put it on. Then took it off just as fast. I’ll throw it away. I can bury it in the bottom of the trash can. No one would know. A week later I screwed up enough courage to buy a pair of
high heels. I hid both items and did not try them together. Nope I just waited until the family went to sleep
while I stayed up playing World of Warcraft. Then I would practice walking in my heels. Well this lead
to purchasing a garter belt and sexy seamed nylons.

Finally I officially became one of those sick guys who wear women’s underwear. The kind of guy that other guys make fun of. I told myself to end this NOW! Three weeks later, just after christmas, I had to drive my dad back to his home in Arizona. I was going to prove to myself once and for all this was the last time ever. I drove the almost five hours back to my house wearing my skirt, garters, hose and heels. This time it was different. This time it felt right. It felt normal. Then I knew I was screwed.

But that is all history. However the doubt isn’t. I sat at my work desk last week and I thought what if this is all some grand mistake? What if I am not really trans? Am I doing this to fulfill some elaborate sexual fetish? I walked outside to get some air. I stood in public in a skirt and blouse with full makeup. I caught my reflection in one of the mirrored windows of the building next to mine. Staring back at me was the woman I had once told myself never existed. When I present as Rachel I present as my true self. I don’t necessarily have to wear women’s clothes to feel that way now.(I know this because my wife sees it everyday) It helps. It makes me feel complete. I can blend into society as a woman. Yet I can still be my old self when needed. Because I jump back and forth I have doubted whether or not I am a transexual. I have been asked why I just don’t go full time since I am obviously more female than male at this point (I don’t mean physically). This leads to being told that I should just commit to transitioning. “You should be on estrogen by now” they say. I’m not for many reasons. Doubt is one of those reasons. Fear is another. For now I am comfortable. The doubt is not as strong. I can be the me I want to be. Not the me others expect me to be.

I would like to reiterate that I was not unhappy being a guy for most of my life. I never felt wrong or ‘trapped in a male body’. I just had this nagging feeling that there was more to me. I accept the fact that to be whole I had to allow a very strong female part of myself to emerge. I prefer being female now. But I can be both male or female. I don’t care anymore that there are still people that don’t get it. I could care less that people are confused when I come to work as a woman and go home as a man. That’s MY compromise. MY solution. MY happiness. My truth. And I don’t doubt that.

Girl talk: Nylons

I enjoy wearing nylons. I guess it’s a lingering crossdresser thing. I have been told by a few genetic women that I’m nuts. (actually pantyhose are good for holding nuts in place). They, including my wife, tell me nylons are hot, uncomfortable and a pain to keep nice longer than an hour. I say no.

I can’t begin to describe the feeling of a breeze on freshly shaved legs in nylons. Ooh la la. My legs are pretty nice bare but in nylons they are hot. Even the women I work with think they look terrific in silky smooth hose.

Pantyhose are great for shaping up the tummy. Control tops work wonderful if your not interested in eating more than a lettuce leaf or breathing for that matter. Thigh highs are my weapon of choice for everyday. Especially if you are pre-op and end up in a gas station restroom. You don’t have to pull them down to go. Plus you can always use the urinal in an emergency. Gas station bathrooms can be icky.

The ultimate hose are classic nylons or silk hose. Hose and garter belts are super sexy. No crossdresser worth their stilettos doesn’t have at least one pair hidden in the back of their sock drawer. Luxurious and sexy they are, practical not so much. The clips on garters are an exercise in frustration. Plus good hose can be expensive, silk outrageous. One run will leave you in sobbing like your dog just died.

When I started crossdressing my nylons would last for months. I took care of them like they were made of angel’s wings. They would dissolve long before I could get a single run in them. Now that I am spending half my time as a woman I go through pantyhose and thigh highs like beer in a frat house. I can open a new pair and look at them wrong and they get runs. Not the little “oh well I can get by today” kind, the “my entire foot went through the side of the leg” kind. And they always happen while getting dressed for work. Never during or after, right before. It’s like they are mocking me.

It is funny that the more I become a woman the more I am starting to hate nylons too. However, that is all forgotten when a little breeze comes along and that amazing tingle starts again.

Sexy, single, and trans

Wow two posts in one day, a new record! I thought this deserved it’s own posting even though it is part or my trip to see my dad.

My dad is almost settled into the assisted living facility. While he is there I have been staying at his home. The place will have to be sold eventually so I have been cleaning it up. Luckily for me I have been able to be more myself. I brought whatever casual clothes I had plus I hit Target in town for some workout clothes and tees. For the most part I have been living as a single woman the last week. I can say with all certainty that if it came to it I could live this way after transition. The only drawback has been that I have to present as my dad’s son when I visit him. At an average of 112 degrees every day I would rather be in a maxi dress or one of my skirts and a cami instead of cargo shorts and t shirts. Plus my aunt and uncle on my mom’s side live here as well. They have seen fit to invite me to dinner every night. Since they don’t know it means more boy less girl for me.

Still I have made a little time for myself. The other night I came home from dinner and got glamorous. I tried a more exotic look with my makeup. Once my eyes were looking very sexy, I got out my wig and a black sheath dress that is slit up the side. Capping off the outfit were my black stiletto pumps and my mom’s pearls; which I had found when cleaning. I lit almost a dozen tea candles to add a romantic mood. Then I opened a bottle of red wine which I drank out if one of my parent’s crystal flutes. A little Katy Perry and Lady Gaga pumping on the stereo made for a perfect evening.

I got a bit buzzed on the wine and started dancing around the living room. It was pure heaven. I did end up getting a little drunk though. Being drunk, tired, and alone was not a good combination.

Before I burned the place down I put out the candles and went to take off my makeup. Instead, I spent a tipsy hour talking to myself with the best girl voice I’ve been able to do. Most likely it was the wine talking. I practiced a bunch of expressions in the mirror. Some of which where a bit flirty and sexy. It was a good thing for me that I stayed home. I might have gotten myself in a bit of trouble had I gone to one of the bars in town. Instead I stopped prancing in front if the mirror and crashed in bed.

I paid for it a bit this morning having a slight hangover. But, I still have a half bottle of wine left and 2 more days to go. The candles will come out again and so will Rachel in all her glory. I’m not going to waste another romantic evening before going home.