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Nov 201520

Cache Sex How do they work

frequently asked questions, how to guides

CACHE SEX HOW DO THEY WORK

 

When you were born everything is up inside the abdomen. Now years later, the cavity is still there. In the pictures your have seen the people may have tucked everything back up inside this cavity. Sometimes the opening to the cavity is small and a doctor is required to help drop the tissue down. Mostly the opening to the cavity is large enough to move the tissue up into the cavity without any problem and then if not held in place, the tissue falls back into the normal position. The straps on the cache sex should hold the tissue in place without any problems.

 

This is where a cache sex comes in. Once the tissue is in place, the cache sex holds it in place. Some people use tape and shave the area.



Nov 201520

Learning To Walk Properly

frequently asked questions, how to guides

LEARNING TO WALK PROPERLY

  A graceful walk is actually good posture in motion; the traditional training method is to practice with a book on your head. Now, balancing a book (or anything else) on top of your head forces your body into proper alignment – and that is the foundation of both good posture and an attractive walk! Here’s how your body should shape up when alignment is correct: rib cage vertical, not tilted forward or backward… pelvis straight (if you had a tail, it would hang straight down, not tucked under between your legs!)… knees and feet pointing straight ahead. A plumb line would fall just in front of ankle bone, just behind kneecap, through center of hip joint and middle of waist, shoulder, ear lobe. (If you’d like to check yourself out, you can hang a tape measure down a full-length mirror and see.) When you walk, your footprints should look like this: Feet are turned out just the tiniest bit and placed in almost a straight line – only an inch or two apart. The length of your stride is determined by how tall you are and how long your legs are. (Average stride is about one foot for women.) If you are long-legged and take small strides, your walk may be of the mincing variety… like a goose, it looks silly! Conversely, if you’re petite and have a long stride, you may look like a drill sergeant pompously marching along, and you need to shorten your stride a bit. In doubt about your footprint pattern? Try walking barefoot in wet sand. How your body’s weight is distributed when you stand or walk is vital.   The Mensendieck method of body mechanics advocates training muscles to automatically maintain the “balanced standing position:” Weight is not on heels, but on the “inner margin ball” of the foot, just behind the big toe. Place your feet in a parallel position, tighten buttocks and inner thigh muscles, lower the shoulder blades and stretch the spine, pulling your head back and up (never let your head poke forward like a turtle). There! That’s the balanced standing position, and, once in it, your figure will look its very best! Now, relax a bit (but keep your weight on the inner margin ball of your feet), and start walking slowly. Swing legs from the hip socket (without twitching derriere at every step!) and keep your body aligned: shoulders level, head up and back, shoulder blades lowered, rib cage vertical. With each step, your heel hits the ground first… then weight instantly rolls forward along the outside edge of foot onto the big toe – with which you push off for the next step. This shift of weight is done smoothly, with a continuous, fluid motion. Now that you know what to do, here are some don’ts: Don’t toe in or toe out… shift hips from side to side… take giant strides or tiny baby steps… lead with your head… swing your shoulders… bob up and down. That’s all there is to it! Happy walking… You never looked better! Article kindly published from Karen Ann Taylor's Transgender and Information Library  

Nov 201520

Take a Letter Jenny Part One

short story

TAKE A LETTER JENNY PART ONE

 

John leaned back in his chair and sighed wearily. It had been a long day at the office, even by normal standards, but it was almost over and he was so much looking forward to tonight. He put his hands behind his head and surveyed his 'kingdom'. He smiled at the thought, but in a way, his being manager of the Accounts Department was similar to the role of a benevolent despot. He had been promoted there at a young age, and had initially found it difficult to order people around, but over the months he'd grown to enjoy his position of superiority. It was quite pleasant to occasionally overreact to some small error, just to ensure people knew who was in charge. Of course, the thing that made his role easier was the fact that he had a department full of women. Not that he had any choice in the matter - being surrounded by females all day was not something he particularly enjoyed. All that giggling and silly chatter, and oohing-and-aahing over the new dresses they'd just bought! He looked at each of them through the glass walls of the office. He could see Jan, his secretary, who was leaving the next day as her baby was almost due. "I must get a replacement sorted out," thought John. Then there was the clerical staff. Denise and Elaine had both been with the company for a couple of years. John laughed inwardly at the thought that neither of them knew he'd seduced and bedded the other. Promises of promotion had helped, of course, but they should learn not to be so naive. His eyes rested on Debs, the new girl. Only 19, a figure like heaven and a face to match, with long blonde hair caressing her slight, girlish shoulders. He would have his way with her before the year was out. "Can we go through the report on the new budgeting system, Mr Fielding?" John's thoughts were interrupted by the attractive, if rather formal redhead standing by his desk. Lisa was the Assistant Manager, and the reason he was so looking forward to tonight - after months of persuasion, using every trick and chat-up line he knew, she'd finally agreed to have dinner with him. "Yes, yes, of course, Lisa. But please call me John - I can't stand too much formality with someone so pretty." He thought he detected her wince slightly, but she smiled. "I'm so looking forward to this evening Mr Field... erm, John, but there's been a slight change of plan. I thought we could have dinner at my place - I'd love to cook for you." John was amazed - this was better than he could have hoped for. Dinner at her place, a few quiet drinks, soft music, then... well, who knows? John found her house with no trouble and stood poised before the door. He collected his thoughts before he rang the doorbell - he still hadn't got over the surprise of her agreeing to go out with him. In fact, he'd almost given up trying. He'd assumed that she'd learned of his opposition to her appointment as Assistant Manager, arguing that a man should be doing such an important job and there were enough women in his department already. However, senior management had been impressed enough to overrule John, which caused him some resentment. In the early days, he'd made life very difficult for her, often treating her like a dumb secretary in front of other staff and giving her menial tasks to do. When he realised she wouldn't break, he decided that it would be easier to bed her. He rang the doorbell.

 

The door opened and John almost took a step back. She looked stunning, more like a real woman than she could ever look in those business suits. Her red hair was swept up on top of her head, she wore discreet but effective make-up and her black, figure-hugging dress was delightful. "Don't stand there on the doorstep all night, John. Come on in." He entered the hallway and the door closed behind him... The fog lifted, to be replaced by a throbbing headache which made John wish for unconsciousness again. Suddenly he was aware of a tugging at his wrist and, with his headache temporarily forgotten, he realised that his hands were tied to the edges of the brass bedhead. Not only that, but his feet were tied at the other end of the bed in a similar manner. He raised his head, despite the dull ache in his brain, and also saw that he was completely naked. The panic of being caught in such a vulnerable position caused him to struggle against the rope, but all he succeeded in doing was to tighten the knots still further, so that the pain became almost unbearable. He lay back with a moan of frustration and tried to remember what had happened to lead him into such a bizarre situation. He hadn't had too much to drink - he'd deliberately stayed sober in order to increase his chances of seduction. He remembered the meal well enough - he'd been in top form, complimenting her on her looks and getting into an amiable debate about the superiority of men. He remembered the two of them retiring to the sofa for drinks, the first, fumbled forays into lovemaking, and then... blackness. That was it! His drink had been drugged. He vaguely remembered her laughing softly as he struggled against sleep, and the whispered remark in his ear: "Now we'll see who's the superior sex..." And so here he was - defenceless. He'd made it to her bedroom all right, but not in the way he'd planned. He heard footsteps and looked up. She entered the room wearing a flowing pink satin dressing gown which she immediately allowed to drop to the floor, revealing her beautifully rounded, naked body. John felt a wave of relief - this was merely some strange sex game after all. Then the feeling vanished, to be replaced by a shiver of fear, as a cruel smile of victory played around her lips. Suddenly John understood - this was for real! A surge of renewed confidence came over him as, with her back to him, Lisa rummaged through her wardrobe. "Get these bloody ropes off me right now! There'll be hell to pay at the office if you don't stop being so damned stupid. I'll... AAAARGHHH!" He screamed as the stick came down sharply across his naked thighs. Tears welled in his eyes but she continued to ignore him. He was about to protest again, but the stinging in his thighs convinced him to keep quiet. As Lisa continued to get dressed, he realised that she was preparing for work. He looked through the crack in the curtains and he became aware that it was morning... surely she'd have to let him free to go to work? "Are you going to untie me now? I can't be late for work." He was aware that a note of submission was beginning to enter his voice. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about work" she said, "I'll pretend that you phoned me to say that you're too sick to come in today. That will leave you with plenty of time to think about your future." She sat on the edge of the bed and waved a handful of Polaroids in front of him. "These should convince you that, unless you do what I say, I can destroy your reputation at work. Either you obey my orders or these get circulated to our senior management." She showed him a series of photographs and he blanched. While he had been unconscious, she had dressed him completely in 'little girl' clothes. He stared in fascination at his shaved body dressed in the bonnet, pink blousette, short flared skirt that exposed the frilly panties underneath, frilled white socks, and to complete the humiliation, a large pink dummy in his mouth. Worse still, the photographs had been shot in such a way as to make him look like he was totally awake and enjoying himself!

 

"But why are you doing this?" he pleaded. "Simple. You've made my life hell since I joined the department, and your pathetic attempts to seduce me made me hate you even more. Now's my chance for revenge. All I have to do is show these photographs at the office and you'll never be able to work there again." John panicked. "No, please don't show these photographs to anybody!!! I'll do anything, honest, I will!" She seemed to reconsider. "Anything, you say? Well I won't show them just yet. I'm going to leave you here like this and I'll come home at lunchtime. Meanwhile, you'll have plenty of time to think just what you're prepared to do to stop me from ruining your career. The only thing that will satisfy me is if you make up for all the humiliation and frustration you've put me through these last few months. And there's only one way you can do that - you can be my maid for the weekend." With that she got up and left, before John had had time to realise what she was asking him to do. John spent the rest of the morning thinking about what Lisa had said. Part of him refused to accept that any woman could possibly want a man to act as her maid, but the care and attention to which she had gone in order to trap him like this, plus the obvious hatred she'd shown towards him had been enough to convince him that it was all for real. Then, too, there was the painful reminder of the stick cutting down across his legs. John decided to go along with the whole thing, at least until he could somehow get those photographs. By the time Lisa returned from work, the agony of the ropes cutting into him made John desperate for release. He looked at her with pleading eyes as she walked into the bedroom, but she seemed to discount his presence completely. Again she sorted through her wardrobe, but this time John knew she was selecting the garments for him. He didn't dare to look. Finally, she spoke. "I'm going to untie you now, but you'd better behave yourself or else you'll feel the full weight of my stick on your pretty behind. When you've been let free, I want you to put these clothes on one by one - and VERY SLOWLY. I want to admire the effect as you become a new person. I also think we ought to give you a new name for your role - what do you think?" John didn't answer, until the sting of a hard slap across his face made him mumble "Yes, yes, a new name. Whatever you say" SLAP!! "Whatever you say, MISTRESS!" "I'm sorry - please don't hit me - whatever you say... mistress." John was aware of a grovelling tone creeping into his voice. "Good. Well, it has to be something suitably feminine and submissive, to remind you of your new role in life. I think we'll call you Jenny. Do you like that... Jenny?" Her tone was mocking. "Yes, I like my name a lot, mistress." She seemed appeased and began to untie John's hands. Despite her previous cruelty to him, John couldn't help but get excited when she leaned over him and her warm breath caressed his face. She noticed his sudden erection and slapped him hard again. "I don't want to ever see that again! You're my maid now, and I'm beyond your wildest dreams." John cried inwardly, but allowed her to untie him without saying anything. She stood before him. "Before you get dressed, I want you to kneel before me and beg me to let you put on your pretty new clothes. DO IT!"

 

John knelt before her, with the first signs of tears welling in his eyes. He'd never been so humiliated before, but he knew it would be impossible to resist her. "Please mistress, please let me wear my pretty new clothes. I want to wear my dress and high heels and stockings and apron. Please mistress... I just want to serve you and be your maid."   She seemed pleased and allowed him to stand. The humiliation of having his naked body paraded before her was overwhelming, especially as she watched him with a cool, appraising look. She handed him a pair of black, delicately laced panties with a tiny red rosebud motif. He shivered slightly as he lifted his legs into them and pulled them on. He suddenly felt very embarrassed, but she handed him a jet black corset and indicated that he put it on. He kneaded it over his rather slim body and breathed in as it settled into place. Suddenly, she grabbed the laces at the back and pulled hard, until John felt all his remaining breath escaping from his lungs. He gave out a sudden little scream. She fastened the corset and he realised that his breasts filled the cup and completed the girlish outline of his body. He also felt more trapped than ever, as if the corset was locked around his body. Her eyes gleamed as she handed him the sheer, black silk stockings. They felt so soft and delicate that John was almost afraid to feel them in case he laddered them - and incurred the displeasure of his mistress again. He put them on very gently, which heightened the sensation as they glided over his shaved legs. He knew something was happening which could never be revoked, and the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability was growing with every item of clothing she forced him to wear. Next came the shoes. They were shiny black court shoes with a stiletto heel and a pretty little bow at the back. He forced them onto his feet and silently cried as he stood up and the pain became intense. "Now, walk over to the mirror, Jenny," she mocked. He staggered over to the full-length mirror and immediately understood why she had chosen this particular punishment for him - he looked so feminine, with his calves stretched into shape by the high heels to give the impression of a leggy girl's body. This impression was helped by the slimming effect of the corset, which not only pulled in his waist but also gave his hips and bust a much fuller, feminine appearance. John began to almost enjoy the transformation! "Now then, Jenny, I think you should wear this." He picked up the elaborately-frilled and laced petticoat and, raising his arms in the air, let it rustle down his body. He watched, fascinated, as it settled into place around his waist, reaching just above his knees. He played with the delicately trimmed edges and wanted to cry. This wasn't right... and yet it felt right to him. The jet-black cire dress cam next. It hugged his body as far down as the waist and then flared out with the petticoat. He teased it into shape to produce the best effect, and was suddenly conscious of her staring intently at his every move. "Enjoying yourself... Jenny?" He realised then that his humiliation was complete - he was standing before her with a man's features and a girl's body. He wanted to hide, to avoid her mocking glance. He knew how ridiculous he looked. "W-w-would you make me up, please mistress?" he pleaded. He knew it would be the only way to look even vaguely normal, and yet he understood that if this was to go any further, he would rather be mistaken for a girl than be seen to be a transvested man. All the same, he hated to ask her to complete his humiliation - it seemed like a final admission of defeat.

 

She led him to her dressing table and gently sat him down. She applied the foundation cream, and he just sat back passively. He closed his eyes as she applied the eye make-up, face powder and blusher, and finally the flaming red lipstick. His eyes wouldn't leave his reflection in the mirror when he finally opened them - he was completely transfixed. "Now then, I have a wig for you to wear, but first you must prove to me that you deserve it. Practice walking and talking in the proper manner, and curtsying, and if you please me I might decide to let you wear it." She walked out of the room, locking the door behind her. John immediately got to work, walking in the most feminine way he knew. He was helped by the heels and the shape of the corset, and he was aware that his hips were swinging and his stocking-clad legs were constantly brushing each other. He practised curtsying, daintily lifting the hem of his dress and, placing one foot before the other, slowly bobbing up and down. He was too busy worrying about his mistresses fury to think about how he might look. When she re-entered the room he felt almost like a woman and was eager to show her the progress he had made. She laughed at his attempts to walk without tottering on his high heels, but seemed to enjoy his curtsy, which seemed so subservient when she was watching him. He talked in high-pitched, soft voice and she congratulated him on his natural ability to behave as a girl. To show her satisfaction, she placed her hand in the carrier bag which was by the bed, and with a flourish produced a beautiful mid-length blonde wig. It had been styled to produce a very feminine look, with flowing, delicate curls flicking out. John fingered the silky tresses with eager anticipation. He placed the wig on his head and adjusted it until it felt tight agains his scalp. He wasn't prepared for the little gasp of surprise which Lisa inadvertantly gave out and rushed to the mirror to see the effect for himself. When he looked at his reflection, his legs almost gave way from underneath him. Staring back at him was a young, pretty girl with a shy smile and a soft, feminine face. It was amazing how the wig produced the final transformation. Suddenly his stance, his gestures, even the sound of his voice felt so wonderfully, naturally womanlike. "Right, Jenny my darling, it's time for you to go to work. You can start by cleaning all the floors downstairs, and I'll inspect your work when I come home this evening. It had better be spotless - or else!" John spent the rest of the day working as he had never worked before. The endless scrubbing and dusting and cleaning wore him out, and yet he had to admit to a certain satisfaction with his menial tasks. He bagan to hum to himself and swish his skirts around his legs. He looked in the mirror at every opportunity to admire his prettily made-up face, and realised that his new role was becoming very natural to him. Suddenly the doorbell rang and John's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to ignore it but the glass panelled front gave away the fact that he was in the house. He walked as daintily as possible to the door, opened it and saw Elaine from the office! In his most feminine voice he said "Hello, can I help you?" "Oh, yes. You must be Jenny, the maid. Lisa told me I'd find you in. She asked me to come round to pick up a pair of shoes for her. She wants to wear them this evening." John felt a wave of relief - she hadn't recognised him. "Right away, miss. I'll show you to the mistress's bedroom" he said in his high, girlish voice.

 

Elaine followed him up the stairs and John thought it was ironic that the girl he had bedded only a few months ago was now looking at him as a dumb servant girl. He wanted to shout at her, to tell her who he was, but instead he only blushed and helped her look for her shoes. When he had shown Elaine out, John carried on dusting and cleaning. He was aware that it was getting late and realised that Lisa must have gone to Jan's leaving party. He didn't dare stop working in case she punished him again, so he continued to vacuum and clean until she returned late in the evening. She seemed a little tipsy. Almost without thinking, John curtsied and helped her take off her coat. She seemed pleased by this little impromptu display of acceptance of his new role, and asked for a demonstration of his new-found femininity. John minced before her, careful to walk gracefully and with a feminine sway. He felt humiliated, but at the same time he was anxious to please her, and not solely because of the threat of punishment. He curtsied again, and then sat opposite her, with his hands folded demurely on his lap. She looked around to assess the results of his housework and then addressed him. "Well, Jenny..." She paused to let the name sink in. "I'm very pleased with your progress. You make a very pretty little maid, and your work around the house has been excellent. I'm going to prove my confidence in you... I'm going to let you serve at a dinner party I'm hosting tomorrow evening." John felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. Serve at a dinner party? In front of lots of people? He would not do it, not in a million years! She must have read his thoughts, because she proceeded to remind him that the photographs were waiting at work, and she had disposed of all his male clothes so that there was no way he could leave the house. The hopelessness of his situation began to dawn on him, and the next thing John knew he was sobbing uncontrollably. Lisa put her arm around his heaving shoulders. "There, there, don't cry Jenny darling. You'll be magnificent. And by Sunday, it'll all be over and life can get back to normal." But John continued to sob - he knew life would never be normal again. End of Part One    



Nov 201520

Karins Story

short story

KARINS STORY

  Karin is a cross dresser from Holland, who sent us this account of her first dressing experience: 13 Years old and already different... My first feelings about being "different" came when I was about thirteen years old, when I discovered what would later turn out to be my transvestism. Once I was in the attic playing with my electric trains, my mother came upstairs and hung the laundry to dry. Not only a couple of dresses, but also stockings, panties, garter belt and a moulded bra were pegged to the clothesline.   When I was walking around the table on which my electric train was on, my face touched the silk stockings, which gave me a special shivering all over my body and I noticed I liked that. My hand touched also my mother's bra and suddenly came the feeling that I should try it on. I went downstairs to see if anyone else was left in the house, and fortunately I was home alone. The ultimate opportunity to do what had just come into my mind... I ran back to the attic, not closing the door completely behind me so that I could hear if somebody came home early. I took off my own clothes and slipped into my mother's underwear. Panties first and next a little struggle with the bra. I will never forget that it wasn't so difficult to put on after all - just like I was used to it! Only the garter belt and the stockings caused a few problems, but finally I was wearing female underwear. It gave me a very special feeling I can hardly describe.   Before putting on the dress I wanted to have a look at myself in the mirror, which was downstairs - I climbed down the stairs and went to my parent's bedroom. I was really astonished to see what was reflected back to me in the mirror - I have to admit that the underwear wasn't really my size, but it was amazing how good I felt in it. I had filled the moulded bra with a couple of socks and it really looked as though I had breasts! I went upstairs again and slipped into a nice blue dress. Of course, it was a little too big, but that didn't matter. In my mother's wardrobe I found a pair of black high heels which I put on, and I felt my dressing was complete. I was feeling excited but also feeling just me!   Suddenly I heard the kitchen door slam - I was seized with fear and ran to the attic. I tried to get out of these clothes as soon as possible, but doing that I ran a ladder into one of the stockings. I didn't care about it at that very moment; I had to go back to normal too quickly to notice. Just as I put on my own trousers again my mother came into the door. "Did you have a nice time, dear?" she asked. "Yes mom" I said, looking straight at my trains running around the table. She went to the clothesline, looked at her clothes and suddenly said: "That's a pity, another pair of stockings with a ladder, I'll have to buy a new pair...", leaving me with my thoughts about that crazy, wonderful half hour. Now, several years later, I have been a transvestite for many years. I now have a rather great female wardrobe of my own. It includes several pairs of all sorts of underwear, dresses, skirts, shoes, boots, wigs, silicone breasts, jewellery, makeup and all the things a woman needs. Every moment I want to feel like a woman I can slip into everything I have.   Sometimes I want to be sexy, with a miniskirt, tights, a nice shirt and high heeled thigh boots. Other times I like to wear stockings, a nice colourful dress and pumps. Doing so, I really feel true to myself. There are only a very few people that know about my female feelings. Although being a transvestite has it's complications, I couldn't do without it anymore. I enjoy it too much! Love, Karin

Nov 201520

First Night

short story

FIRST NIGHT

Looking back now, Mike could see how Mandy had skilfully manoeuvred him into stockings and suspenders: right from the time they had discussed Gary's up coming party. Mandy had suggested a feminine character and Mike's immediate reaction had been a pantomime dame. No, Mandy had said, not when all the others would think of the same idea. He could hear her say it even now, "Be original, novel, be unique!" yes, but what? They'd run through all the female characters, any number of princesses, Cinderella and �yes Snow White. Mandy had said that was just right as Snow White was sweet pure and innocent. "And gullible." Said Mike to himself with perfect hindsight. A trawl through the cheap clothes shops uncovered a whole new world for Mike; a dangerous one where the adrenaline high became almost addictive as he searched through the rails of dresses, skirts and tops. A little patience was rewarded with the discovery of a long white button through skirt and a t-shirt style top with sculptured patterns and motifs. The girl at the checkout eyed Mike suspiciously. Mike felt he must be blushing, but tried to carry it off as an ordinary, everyday affair. He stepped out of the shop clutching the plain white carrier bag, and found he'd been holding his breath. Two deep breaths and he was well enough to walk home. The following day, a more confident Mike ventured into the town's department store. He'd walked through the lingerie department many times carefully studying the garments while appearing not to look at them. "Looking for something nice for your girlfriend?" Mike had almost died as the sales assistant spoke. He stepped back and tangled himself up in one of the display stands. He recovered enough to nod. "Looking for a three-piece set in white?", and she went on without waiting for a reply, "Now this is nice, with the lacy panels, and suspender belt, here." Mike was horrified. Surely everyone in the shop must be looking at him. And she was still talking at the top of her voice. "Do you know what size she is, your girlfriend, her bust and cup size?" From his minimal research in a thick shopping catalogue, Mike had decided 36b was nicely middle of the road. "Yes, we've got plenty in that size. Would you like some shiny white stockings to go with it? They're a very popular line with the young ladies." She waved a packet at Mike, and he managed to smile and say, "Yes". He paid, and set off for the shoe department. This was far less traumatic. He selected a pair of size 8 white sandals from the "sale" racks before anyone accosted him. Then he hurried home to try everything on. Mike waited until the house was empty, and the he locked his bedroom door - he couldn't risk his Mum or brothers finding him dressed up. He put the bra and briefs on, stuffing a rolled up sock in each of the empty cups. The suspender and stockings were a little trickier. Mike had to reattach the suspenders to the stocking tops when he discovered the secret of being able to take his knickers down without undoing everything.
    Next came the white sculptured top, and Mike looked down admiringly at the mounds on his chest. He stepped into the skirt; the waist was elasticated and very easy to adjust. He tried it with just the last few buttons undone near the hem. He undid more buttons, two at a time, and tested the effect by walking up and down. He finally settled on about three quarters undone. Mike put the sandals on, and walked up and down some more. He was aware for the first time of the sensual effect of the skirt moving against his legs as he walked. But it wasn't complete yet. There was a male hairstyle and hairy legs to be sorted, and make-up to be applied. The ever helpful Mandy said she would help with all that. The night of the party came and Mike got his bundle out of the house without his mum seeing it. He drove the short distance to Mandy's flat, his heart thumping with anticipation. Mandy's husband Tom was out when Mike arrived. She ushered him into the box room and gave him her shaver. "You'll have to do something with those legs." She smiled and left the room. Mike stripped to his underwear and began shaving his legs. He decided to shave under his arms too, and then removed most of the body hair he could reach. Mike tingled inside as he slipped the stockings on. Everything that touched his silky smooth legs felt strange, exotic and exciting. Mike finished dressing and called Mandy. She came in wearing just her French knickers. Mike was used to seeing Mandy less than fully undressed, but he had never seen her topless. As she painted his finger nails and set about restyling his hair, he pondered on the unusual relationship Tom and Mandy had. He wasn't sure they actually went wife swapping, but they both played the field independently. He was sure Tom wouldn't think anything of seeing Mandy half naked with a man dressed as a woman. Tom arrived home at that moment, put his head round the door, smiled, and went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Mandy finished Mike's hair and applied hi make-up. He peered at himself in the mirror and. Who was that looking back? It wasn't Mike. But it was Mikki! Mike watched the television for half an hour while Tom and Mandy got themselves ready. Mike couldn't settle. He practised trying to walk elegantly, with some success. Then Mandy and Tom came into the lounge, and demonstrated their Pantomime Horse costume. They gathered up their bottles and cans, and left the flat, walking a short distance down the road to Tom's Car. The wind blew Mike's skirt open to reveal the stocking tops and suspenders. Some passers-by stared at his exposed thighs, and a rush of adrenalin surged through his veins. He half turned towards them and the wind lifted high enough for them to see his lacy briefs: they whistled appreciatively. From that moment, Mike was hooked - he would have to do this again! The party was a pleasant enough affair, teeming with pantomime dames but only one Snow White. Several people thought he was a girl: a testimonial to Mandy's skill with hair and make-up. Mandy danced with Mike several times, always when there was a slow, smoochy record on. She held him close, pressing her body against his. Towards the end of the evening, Mandy took Mike upstairs away from the noise to talk. "Well Mike, how are you enjoying being dressed up?" "It's great!" He paused. "The only problem I've got is when I get excited." Mandy's brow furrowed into a question.
    "These briefs aren't really large enough." And Mike lifted up his skirt to show Mandy his swollen, semi erect penis trying to climb out of his knickers. Mandy's eyebrows went up, and she smiled. "Actually, I came to ask if you mind going home now. Tom's had far too much to drink, and I'll need some help getting him into bed." "Yes, of course. We can go right away." Mike was looking forward to walking outside in the breeze again. Getting to the car and then walking back to the flat was as exciting as before, even though there was no one to see Mike's display. With some difficulty, they got Tom upstairs and into his bed. Mike and Mandy retired to the lounge. "Why don't you stay the night?" Mandy suggested, breaking the silence as they sipped hot coffee. Mandy moved closer to Mike on the sofa. She put her arm around him and kissed him. Mike was too stunned to object, and then he found he didn't want to object. Her hands gliding up and down his leg smoothed his psyche. Unselfconsciously, Mike's hands explored the natural curves of her body. Her hand moved to his penis and she gently caressed it to it's full stature: it burst out of the briefs. Mike's hand in response, delved inside Mandy's knickers, finding comfort in her warmth. He stroked her clitoris with a gentle rhythm. While their coffee went cold, they warmed up, delving and exploring each other. Mandy stood up and held her hand out to Mike. They walked to the spare room and closed the door. "Let me undress you," Mandy whispered. She slowly took off his clothes, making every movement a sensual stroking sensation that held Mike in a state of euphoria. She left his suspenders and stockings on. "I want you to make love to me still made up like a woman." Mike now knew where it had all been leading to. She wanted him as her TV lover. Mike took her clothes off as she lay on the bed in front of him, and he surveyed her body. Why should he complain? He would never turn down the chance of sex with Mandy, whatever the preconditions. Mike climbed onto the bed and set about his first night of TV passion with Mandy. The End

Nov 201520

Should I tell the one I love?

frequently asked questions, how to guides

SHOULD I TELL THE ONE I LOVE

Whichever path we choose only one thing can be certain, unless you are very lucky indeed you are likely to endure much heartache and frustration along the way. If the answer is no, you may be committing yourself to a life of secrecy and deceit, if the answer is yes, you will probably run the risk of being misunderstood and rejected. Of course, this will not be the case for everyone and I can only draw on my own experiences to come to these conclusions. However, I am pretty sure that there must be plenty of other transvestites out there whose story is not that different than mine. I can remember being as young as twelve years old standing naked in front of a mirror with my boyfriend carefully tucked out of sight innocently admiring a reflection that had a strange hint of femininity about it. At this time I had no idea why I did this, all I know was that it felt pleasant and comforting. At sixteen having secured a Saturday job and having some spare money, I found myself inexplicably purchasing woman's underwear, wonderfully soft silky and delicate panties and bras. I built up quite a collection. Whenever I was alone I would select my favourite items, put them on and spend hours parading in front of the all-important mirror savouring the pleasant feeling it gave me. To my absolute horror my secret collection was discovered by my mother and for the first time in my life I was made to feel guilt and shame for my behaviour. Despite being hurt and confused by the subsequent anger and derision, I quickly replaced my confiscated belongings, found a more secure hiding place and continued to dress up as often as possible. At seventeen I met and fell in love with my first real girlfriend, Irene, and as our relationship blossomed I longed to let her in on my little secret, but the right moment never seemed to come. When we arranged to spend a weekend away together at a caravan park in the countryside an idea suddenly occurred to me. As we unpacked I feigned annoyance telling my girlfriend that I had forgotten to take any spare underwear with me. I managed to persuade Irene to lend me some of her's and she gave me a pair of skimpy powder-blue satin panties. Feelings Later on in the local pub she playfully teased me that the outline of her panties were clearly visible through my trousers and what would all the other customers think if they know what I was wearing. I had engineered the situation but failed to take full advantage of it and express my true feelings, something I have always regretted. Instead we laughed and joked about it, I suggested that maybe I could borrow some of her underwear in the future but this was met with a cool response. The act of wearing those panties in her presence and with her full knowledge was an extremely elating experience, but not wishing to upset Irene I pushed the matter no further. However, I could not stop the compulsive desire to dress up and so I carried on in private and my little collection started to grow. I obtained a skirt and blouse, a dress, more underwear and some makeup. Our love for each other grew and at eighteen we married, moved away from home and started to make a life together.We were very happy together, but I felt that there was something missing, I desperately wanted to tell my new wife about my peculiar habit, but could not find the words or the courage to do so. As a compromise, keeping my own feminine belongings well hidden, I suggested that it might be fun for me to dress up in some of her clothes as a game, a prelude to sex. In my naivety I imagined that this solution would make it easier for Irene to accept my needs to cross-dress and that, although it was not exactly what I wanted, I at least had the opportunity to dress in feminine clothes in her presence.  
  Uncomfortable I should have been more honest and come clean, it was an uncomfortable arrangement for the both of us. Although Irene let me indulge myself it was far from perfect, she was confused that her husband, a man, should want to wear her clothes for no apparent reason other than a game, and for my part I was gaining very little pleasure from these occasional opportunities. For me, dressing as a woman had nothing to do with sexual gratification, I didn't want to become a woman and I definitely wasn't gay, and yet because of my inability to express my true feelings those were the thoughts that were going through my wife's mind. And with no logical explanation from me, who could blame her really? I spent long hours deliberating over the problem and trying to figure out a way to tell Irene, I became obsessed with wanting her to understand me. The pressure of keeping this secret to myself was starting to become an intolerable burden. It was such a simple, harmless and innocent pleasure, so why did it evoke such misunderstanding and prejudice? It wasn't something dirty or perverted, in fact quite the opposite. When I had rid my body of hair, slipped into skimpy lace trimmed underwear, pulled on my stockings and high heels, put on my skirt and blouse, placed my wig upon my head and applied my makeup I stepped into another world, a better more peaceful and gentle world. The stresses and strains of everyday life seemed to drift away, worries and anxieties were replaced with an aura of beautiful tranquil pleasure. How could this be so wrong? I stopped requesting our little game and reverted to dressing in secret again, alone and isolated, but at least I was dressing as a woman for my own reasons and not as a compromise. I continued like this for some time and life went on - we had two beautiful daughters and we went through the normal ups and downs that all couples have to endure. On the face of it we were a very happy, healthy couple except that I was leading this terrible double life. On the one hand I was the respectable loving husband and father and on the other this person who craved to dress up as a woman in secret because there didn't seem to be any other choice. The burden of keeping my feminine half hidden soon began to take its toll and I am sure my family suffered as a consequence. I became increasingly bad tempered and irritable and started to turn to drink for solace. I couldn't see it then but I became a pitiful creature full of self pity and sorrow, and it was all my own creation. I went through bouts of depression and guilt, throwing away all my feminine belongings, promising myself that I could live without it only to find a couple of months later that the irresistle urge would return with a gretaer intensity. I would then go out on mad shopping sprees replacing everything that I had lost, and so began an expensive destructive cycle that was to last for fifteen years. Every so often I approached Irene asking her if she would agree to my dressing up in her presence, but my requests were always greeted with an emphatic no. This did not help my growing anxiety and depression, but it was not her fault, it was mine. Why couldn't I have just been more honest from the beginning. It would have made life so much easier...  
  Mistake In one last desperate act I took advantage of a weekend alone with Irene while the children were staying with relatives and persuaded her to let me dress up in front of her. She agreed, but it was a mistake, a very big mistake. I felt so happy as I prepared myself, ensuring that I looked my best. Irene's jaw dropped as I entered the room in my favourite outfit, high heeled court shoes, stockinged legs, a short black velour mini-skirt, a wine coloured blouse, my face fully made up and my mousey blonde wig. she could not bear to look at me and after only fifteen minutes sitting on the sofa together she ran out of the room. I following and found her sobbing uncontrollably on the bed, she couldn't cope and was devastated, and it frightened me - this time I had surely gone too far. I had seen Irene upset before but this was different, I had a real feeling that I could lose her. That scared me. I loved her dearly and couldn't even contemplate life without her. Stripping off and scrubbing my face I stuffed all my feminine belongings into a large refuse sack and put it out with the rubbbish. I tried to comfort her, promising her that I would change, that I would block my compulsation out altogether, but it did not last long. How shallow my promise was. Once again I found myself purchasing the clothes, underwear, make-up, shoes and wig that I could not live without, and again I started to dress in secret. Then something happen to change my life again, I had embarked on a quest to become a writer. I had always been quite artistic and I thought this would be a new way to express myself. After several rejected manuscripts I decided to follow some advice and write something I know about intimately. After one more rejection, my first short story was accepted! I was overjoyed and when I told Irene, to my surprise, she shared my joy. She said she was proud of me and pleased with my success. Misconceptions As subsquent scripts were accepted we began to openly discuss my strange obsession for the first time. In the evenings when we took our regular walk in the woods I was able to explain to Irene about the many different aspects of transvestism, why people did it and most importantly why I did it. It was wonderful to be able to talk like this, to explore the myths and misconceptions and my wife listened with genuine interest and curiosity. It was like a huge burden being lifted from my shoulders and I felt ten years younger, the relief at finally being understood was incredible. I still dress up on my own when I have the house to myself because I know that it's not Irene's cup of tea and I respect that, but now there is a big difference. I have not exactly got her blessing, but I do have her understanding and sympathy and that is very precious to me. I no longer suffer from depression or pangs of guilt and can enjoy my cross dressing for the simple pleasure that it is. I now only feel happiness in the knowledge that I have a one-in-milion, long suffering, loving and understanding wife.

Nov 201520

Mike's Discovery

short story

MIKES DISCOVERY

Mike's biggest problem was that he was indecisive. Anyone who knew him was aware that he had to be bullied into making decisions. He was a living example of the old joke: 'I used to be indecisive, now I'm not so sure' Mike's lack of positivity spilled into his personal life in unexpected ways. When Mike was a naïve 14 year old, his brother, Sean, had got married and brought his wife to live in the family home until settling into a place of their own. The fascination of having a young woman in the house was too much for Mike to resist. After Jane had been around for a couple of months, Mike had done what many boys like him would have done and decided to sneak a look in her underwear drawer... The first expedition had been carried out while the house was empty. Mike had gone through the cycle of wanting to do it, then not wanting to, but eventually his curiosity had beaten his fear. He'd quietly gone into the room (as if anybody would hear him anyway!) and opened the wardrobe door. The clothes he found were, of course, a mixture of male and female. It was only a small bedroom and Jane and Sean had to share the limited space as best they could. It was getting harder for Mike to breathe as he realised that here was a chance to discover what female underwear was really like! Countless hours spent looking at magazine advertisements and underwear catalogues had given Mike an idea of the look of lingerie. There had even been rare opportunities to briefly caress a pair of panties, a bra or a suspender belt while out shopping. Here at last was the real thing... Mike had never heard of cross-dressing or transvestism. As far as he was concerned he was only looking at pretty underwear because he liked to. Even at the stage of sneaking a look at Jane's undies it was only a bit of a thrill, nothing serious. After all, what else was a boy his age to do? As Mike started looking through the wardrobe, he was bracing himself for the possibility that Jane was not the sort of girl who would go in for 'sexy' underwear. He was fully expecting to discover a collection of old, comfortable cotton knickers and bras, nothing remotely interesting. Jane did have some plain undies, but as Mike nosed deeper into the wardrobe he found that she also liked far prettier and sexier lingerie too. Mike's breathing became quicker as he found a drawer containing things he had only dreamed of. There were satin and lace panties, bras and suspender belts. There were a couple of beautiful basques, one black, one red. Stockings of all colours abounded. Mike saw black, white, blue and even red nylons, a pair of black fishnets and lace tops...
    His hands trembled as he touched all the gorgeous underwear. The sensation of smoothness and the beauty of the lingerie, as compared with his own cotton boxers, was a revelation. Mike was totally lost in this world and when he heard his parent's car draw into the driveway he shot out of the bedroom, having tried to put everything back as he'd found it. Mike, blushing ferociously, darted back into his room, undiscovered. The thrill of what he'd found was coupled with a sense of guilt at having been going through someone else's possessions. After a few days, Mike's thoughts turned to Jane's underwear once more. It wasn't long before he was alone again. Inevitably, despite the fear of being caught he went back to look at and touch his sister in law's things. Up until now, Mike had no more thought of putting on female underwear than he had of learning Cantonese. In the presence of real lingerie he'd deciding that touching wasn't enough. There had to be a next step and it was pretty obvious what that should be. There was one particular underwear set of Jane's that made Mike feel very excited whenever he saw it. It was the perfect lingerie as far as he was concerned. The set consisted of bra, panties and suspender belt. It was made of smooth satin and delicate lace. The colour was pale pink with white lace. Mike knew that if he ever got around to actually wearing lingerie, then this would be his choice. There were many times over the next few days when Mike would let his thoughts wander to Jane's pretty pink underwear. School work was hard to concentrate on as visions of lingerie interrupted Mike's thoughts. He would come home in the afternoon, hoping that no one else would be home, so he could fulfil his fantasy. He'd then back out. The desire to try the underwear was always limited by the fear of being caught and exposed. Finally, tired of all the to-ing and fro-ing, Mike decided that he would be 'sick' and not go to school one day. Since everyone else in the household worked during the day this meant that Mike had the house to himself. The risk of discovery was next to non-existent. On the day that Mike had picked, he waited until all the normal sounds of departure for work had died away. He then waited five minutes in case someone had forgotten their keys, ten minutes in case of car breakdown and twenty minutes to allow for the possibility of someone being struck by lightning and staggering home... It was getting on for eleven o'clock before indecisive Mike actually got around to going into Jane and Sean's room. He picked out the pink and white undies, grabbed the first stockings that came to hand, panicked and put them all back. Realising that if he carried on like this he would never try the lingerie, Mike then took a deep breath, counted to ten and went back in. He picked up the ball of satin and lace, made sure there were two stockings in the mixture then marched back into his own room. Having at last achieved the first step, the rest should be relatively easy.
    Mike's 'studies' had shown him in great detail what lingerie was supposed to look like on a real body, so it was now a matter of working out the unfamiliar fastenings. This was not difficult and Mike was soon struggling to shed his clothes, impatient to put on satin and lace. He struggled with the bra before deciding that he wouldn't bother with it this time (This time? I hope there's going to be a next time! he thought) and picked up the suspender belt instead. Clipping it behind his waist proved difficult, particularly with his trembling, excited fingers, so Mike turned it around and fastened it at the front. Then he pulled it around to the proper position. The stockings came next and Mike instinctively decided that it would be best to roll them up then unroll them onto his legs. He carefully put the first rolled up stocking onto his foot then unrolled the cool, smooth black nylon up his leg. When the stocking was fully on, it was obvious that it was fastened to the suspenders by the dark welt at the top. Mike's fingers had calmed somewhat, so it was no trouble to secure the front suspender to the stocking. The rearmost strap was different! Finally, after twisting himself then twisting the stocking, one leg was covered in beautifully sheer black nylon. The second stocking was dealt with more quickly than the first until finally Mike was left with only the pink and white lacy panties to try. He picked them up then stood up, off the bed he'd been sitting on. Bending down he put his feet into the leg holes then slowly drew the panties up. This simple action was accompanied by unexpected sensations. Mike had never thought that pulling on a pair of knickers would be so pleasurable. First there was the rustle of the lace on the stockings. Then there was the brush of the panties on his bare thighs and a second's fumbling as the suspender clips got in the way. Finally Mike straightened up, at last dressed in the underwear that had dominated his thoughts for so long. His first thought was how much more wonderful it was to be wearing lingerie than he had imagined. He turned to look at himself in the mirror on his wardrobe. He gasped with pleasure at the sight of himself. The shining black nylons, the pink-and-white panties and suspenders were so pretty and feminine that Mike wondered why he had never dared try them before. It was then that Mike knew that he had made a decision that would stay with him forever. He knew that to live without the possibility of dressing in female underwear would be unbearable. At every opportunity after that, Mike would go into Jane's drawers and try her lingerie. Although he was never caught there were some near misses. None of these put him off. As far as he knew, his secret was safe.
    Finally the time came when Sean and Jane were able to put a deposit on a flat and move out. Mike was roped into the moving party and spent a whole Saturday helping. He helped with very mixed feelings - on the one hand he was glad that his brother and his sister-in-law had found somewhere to really start their new life together. This meant however that there was no further access to Jane's lingerie, so Mike also felt sad on his own account. During the moving day it felt as if all Mike's hopes were disappearing. He had no money to buy any lingerie of his own. The thought had crossed his mind that if he'd had the money, he wouldn't have the courage. By the time the move was completed, Mike was worn out both by the work and by his boiling emotions. He got home, had some food and took a shower before flopping on his bed. He dozed off for a while, waking when he felt a pain in his neck. The pillow felt oddly hard in one spot, so he reached underneath expecting to find the rolled-up T-shirt and boxer shorts that he normally wore in bed. Mike's hand connected with something that felt more like paper than cotton, so, intrigued, he pulled the pillow away to reveal a small package. Written on the front, in Jane's writing was the single word 'Mike'. By now Mike was thoroughly confused so he tore the plain brown paper open. There was a card under the paper, which Mike opened. He read: Dear Mike, thank you so much for all the help you've given us getting moved. I didn't want to embarrass you in front of everybody, so I left you a little something. I'd guessed you'd been visiting my room so I thought I'd return the compliment... On reading this, Mike blushed scarlet. He thought he'd been so careful! After the initial shock he calmed down enough to read the rest of the note. ...I'm pretty perceptive, you know, even though I do seem a bit scatterbrained at times. A girl always knows when she's been raided! Especially when she has a brother about your age who shares your interests. Please accept my gift with my thanks and don't worry. No one else knows about my brother... or my brother in law! Love Janexxx Mike was filled with mixed feelings, but it didn't stop him from unwrapping his package. His trembling fingers clumsily ripped away the paper and tape. Inside he saw a hint of white then pink...Could it be..? He pulled the contents out and finally, on his bed lay two pairs of black nylon stockings and a new set of the beautiful lingerie that he had first tried on... The End

Nov 201520

Silvia Rivera

special interest

Sylvia was the co-founder of S.T.A.R (Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries) along with Marsha P. Johnson and was the first president of the organization.

 

Silvia-Rivera-Foto-Wara-Vargas_LRZIMA20141017_0116_4

 

Sylvia was born on July 2, 1951, in New York City. Orphaned at the age of 3, she was raised by her grandmother. Sylvia ran away from home at the age of 10 because of non-acceptance of her gender orientation, and over the next 10 years survived as a hustling street queen. Sylvia has always been an activist at the street level, ready to demonstrate and ready to go to jail to make the point she is trying to represent.

 

Her most recent incarceration came as a result of the police riot which occurred following the Matthew Shepard "Political Funeral" in New York City. One of her earlier exploits was scaling the walls of New York's City Hall in a tight skirt and 4-inch heels in order to open the doors to admitting the gay and lesbian demonstrators attempting to gain admittance. (They removed her with a fire ladder before she got the doors open).

 

Sylvia was active in queer politics in the 1970s and was a direct witness of the shameful deletion of transgendered people from the proposed Gay Rights ordinance in New York City by gay and lesbian leaders who were willing to sacrifice trans people in order to get their own rights protected. In spite of "giving up" transgendered people, gays and lesbians still did not get their ordinance passed until 18 years later.

 

Sylvia Rivera took a hiatus from active political work from the late 1970s to the early 1990s, when she worked as a food service technician with the Marriott Corporation in Tarrytown, New York. Nevertheless, during this period she never missed the Christopher Street Liberation Parade (now known as the New York City Heritage of Pride Parade). She also organized periodic drag shows in Tarrytown. In the early 1990's Sylvia returned to New York City after losing her job, and went through several years of homelessness, living on the same piers where Marsha P. Johnson was found dead.

 

Sylvia resumed her political activities as an advocate for homeless people, queer people, and the transgender community. In 1997 she came to live at Transy House. She continues to be active on the Stonewall Riot Veterans, the Metropolitan Gender Network. the MCC of New York, the Anti Violence Project, The Fed Up Queers, and many other organizations. Sylvia Rivera has been featured in many books and articles dealing with Stonewall and queer activism.

 

One of the best sources is "STONEWALL" by Martin Duberman. She has also received many honours and awards in the United States and overseas for her lifetime of political activism for the queer community, including recognition by the Washington DC Transgender Alliance, the AmBoyz, and the New York Puerto Rican Gay and Lesbian Organization.



Nov 201520

Sounding Like a Woman

frequently asked questions, how to guides

SOUNDING LIKE A WOMAN

Fortunately for us, there is no such thing as a 'normal female voice'. Our voices are almost as individual as our faces, and any individual voice is capable of great variation. We can speak nasally, harshly or huskily almost at will. You will, no doubt, think your voice is too low in pitch, but bear in mind that pitch is only one factor in a voice, and other factors can compensate for low pitch. Earth Kitt's voice, for example, is very low pitched, but is unmistakeably feminine. In fact, a low pitched feminine voice can sound very sexy. It is important to remember that your are not trying to get a completely new voice, just to feminise your own existing voice. Your dialect or accent should be preserved, and you should be careful to keep your individuality. Relaxed self confidence is a necessary first step in developing your new feminised voice. Undue tension in any part of the body will interfere with the easy functioning of the vocal chords. This is often accompanied by excessive concentration which also prevents natural speech. Before starting an exercise, stretch your muscles to remove any undue tension, and then relax. As much like a cat as possible, stretch and relax. Try to avoid doing the following speech therapy exercises when there is too much background noise - complete silence would be ideal. It may even be a good idea to draw the curtains to help dampen the sounds of the outside world. Stretch, and relax.... Breath Control After relaxation, breath control is the next most essential in feminising your voice. Good speech stems from breathing correctly and in a controlled way. If you cannot control your breath you will not be able to control your voice. Stand with your body weight slightly forward, with heels lightly on the ground, shoulders loose and head erect. Take a deep breath and allow it to escape slowly and evenly. Practise this once or twice before attempting to use your breath to speak. When you do speak, be careful not to spend all of your breath at the beginning of the phrase. You should have enough to last comfortably until the end of the phrase, or even have a little left over. Allow any extra breath to escape without sound. A puff of air at the end of the phrase is both unnecessary and unfeminine. Controlling your breath as above, repeat the following phrases: I am going shopping today Could you tell me the time please? Can I try this blouse on please? Practise these over and over, until you're happy with your breath control.  
  sounding2.jpgPitching Right Male voices are generally lower in pitch than those of females. Therefore, a woman with a very low voice and male inflection stands out. Pitch and tonal range are not the only differences between male and female voices - only a part of the difference. The object of these exercises is not to produce a falsetto, but to incorporate higher notes into your speaking range. The voice is closely integrated with personality. Inflection, volume and voice quality are used to express emotion. Trust your natural femininity and have fun with the exercises! Continued relaxation is very important - stretch and relax... Pitch is determined by the degree of tension in the muscles controlling the vocal chords, which are in turn controlled by your own perception of the sound you are making. When you want to sing a note, you don't tense your vocal chords deliberately - instead, you hear the note in your mind and the vocal chords adjust themselves, the process is subconscious. Speech works in the same way. Vocal muscles can, however, be exercised - and flexibility improved - provided that you have plenty of breath and keep your neck and throat muscles relaxed. Before starting any exercise, here are a few points to remember: Avoid smokey areas Avoid stress so you can develop a pattern of relaxed and easy breathing Develop a different speech rhythm - melodic rather than a business-like staccato pattern based on a narrow range of notes. Bearing this in mind, try counting 1-2-3... 1-2-3... 1-2-3...... Then, raising the pitch a little (though still speaking, not singing), repeat again. Keep practising at different pitches, and the exercise will help you to add a more melodic character to your voice. Voice Variety In this exercise, the voices you use should all be very different. Try to approach each as best you can, but don't be disheartened if your first efforts are disappointing. Variety is the spice of life - try as many different voices and pitches as you want... Husky Feminine Voice - "It is time I went home now" Low pitched, but less husky voice - "It is time I went home now" Medium pitch feminine voice - "It is time I went home now" Higher pitched voice - "It is time I went home now" Try them all again and again until you feel confident in a variety of voices - you can learn to use all these voices in everyday speech to express your different emotions, just as we all use our own male versions naturally.  
  Setting the tone A further difference between male and female voices is their tone. In puberty female vocal chords lengthen and the lining of the pharynx becomes thicker and softer. This produces a mellow, soft tone. Male vocal chords increase in mass and length, and the pitch descends. These tonal differences can be manipulated by using exercises to lengthen the vowels. Working on neatening your pronunciation will also pay dividends. Research shows that women's pronunciation is 'correct' for a greater proportion of the time than is men's. However, this does not mean that you need to change your accent - merely to be more careful in the way you speak. Stretch and relax. Breathe easily... Sound the first letter of the phrases softly, feel your mouth forming the sounds, and stretch the vowels a little: OO L-ah L-ah Ahoy ahoy - stretch to A--hoy ahoy that ship ahoy Cold, cold, it is so very cold Boom, boom, the gun went boom Stretch and relax. Breathe easily... now try it again... Once you are satisfied with your lengthened vowels, at least for the present, you can move on to your inflection. Quality Inflection When we speak we do not do so in a monotone. Rather, our pitch rises and falls naturally. This modulation of pitch is known as inflection, and it is this that gives our voices their expressive qualities. Inflection is especially important in personal conversation - it shows whether or not we are listening attentively. Many of the diffferences between male and female voices - especially in inflection - arise from the kind of things we say. An employer does not coo softly at someone receiving a reprimand, nor does one bellow sweet nothings into the ear of a lover. Generally speaking, women use inflection more than men. This reflects their nurturing role with children - although the quality is still visible in women who do not have (or want) children. The next exercise is designed to improve your inflection. Stretch and relax. Breathe easily. Then try saying: OH - (pitch drops) No - What (pitch drops) a (pitch drops) pi - (pitch drops) -ty I can't (pitch drops) and I (pitch drops) won't (pitch drops) believe (pitch drops) it Step (pitch rises) up Step (pitch drops) down Be (pitch drops) qui- (pitch drops) -et!  
  Putting it all together It is time to put together everything we have learnt so far. So, stretch and relax, breathe easily, then repeat the following nonsense rhyme, trying out all that you have learnt: Dong Dong Dong! Bonged the great big gong. The Hong Kong gong Had a long sad song Of woe and wrong, Of woe and wrong! Bong Bong Bong Dong Dong Dong Bong Bong Bong Bong! Dong Dong Dong You can hear the gong In old Cantong. The Hong Kong gong In old Cantong You can scarcely hear the gong The Bong-Dong gong Remember, it is all a question of practice - and if you can manage to clearly recite the above rhyme, while paying attention to the techniques we've covered, you'll know you've made excellent progress. Try listening to yourself with a tape recorder, and continue to work on your breath control, tone, variety and inflection until you are happy with the way you sound. Stretch and relax, breathe deeply... Stretch and relax, breathe deeply... Good luck! For a more in-depth guide to elecution, please see our Speech Therapy Course which includes four audio cassettes, which take you through voice exercises allowing you to practice and evaluate your progress.

Nov 201520

Whats In Your Handbag

frequently asked questions, how to guides

WHATS IN YOUR HANDBAG

I think the oddest thing in mine is a four-inch nail. No - it's not for emergency repairs to the dancefloor after I've been dancing, but more of that in a bit. First, a few things which are not in my handbag... Once upon a time, when I had a larger handbag, it always contained a hairbrush. My current one does not. Before putting on my wig I brush it thoroughly. However, touching up the wig (once it's on my head) is better done with the fingers. Brushing can leave the wig with a flat, unnatural look. Fingering creates a more untidy appearance which looks much more natural. So - when I'm out strutting my stuff I don't need a hairbrush. I sometimes carry a spare stocking or two in case of ladders, but there aren't any in my bag at the moment. The darker the stockings one wears, the more important this is - the slightest damage to a black stocking is glaringly obvious. Currently, mine are pale - a shade the manufacturer calls 'natural'. With these, the sort of damage stockings pick up on the dancefloor is very hard to see. They don't last forever of course, but they are wearable in a worse state than black ones. The down side to this is that the paler the stockings, the better job you need to make of shaving your legs! Another thing absent from my handbag is money. It's hard to dance with a bag flapping about on your shoulder. For disco numbers, there's a kind of teenage charm about dancing around your handbag, but it's a bit limiting - having to keep to a single spot on the dancefloor. When it comes to ballroom dancing, the bag is just a nuisance. It's best just to leave the bag where you're sitting, but an unattended handbag containing money is not a good idea. My money goes into a little purse on my belt - it looks a tad like a hand grenade, but it is very useful!  
  handbag3.jpgAlso absent are most of the make-up products I use - foundation, blusher and eye make-up are all missing. I've tried carrying these, but found that once they were on they were on for the night. The only make-up items I carry with me are a couple of products genuinely useful for repairs during the course of an evening. One item of make-up I do carry with me is face powder, with a couple of little pads to apply it. Dancing in a wig is a hot business. They say that horses sweat, men perspire, while ladies only glow. A night at the disco can have me glowing like a pig. As the glow trickles down my face, a little extra dab of powder can fix a multitude of sins. I also use the powder as a base for lipstick - the other make-up product I carry. I tend to suffer from slightly greasy lips and used to have a lot of difficulty in getting the lipstick to take, especially on the lower lip. A bit of powder (not too much) leaves my lips dry and ready for the colour. Actually, I use the lipstick more often during the course of the evening than the powder. A little bit of extra lippie can do wonders to a face that's starting to lack something or other. More - there's something deliciously feminine about sitting down and putting on your lipstick. Along with the lipstick, I also carry lip-liner - invaluable in defining a sharp edge to lips that have become smudged over the course of an evening. (See our make-upguide for hints on applying make-up) An essential accessory for both make-up products is a mirror. It's handy for checking whether more make-up is necessary,and indespensible for putting it on. I used to carry a plain rectangle or round mirror, but found it was apt to break if carried in a handbag. Apart from the risk of seven years' bad luck, broken glass is dangerous and certainly not what I want to find on thrusting my hand into the bag. It also spoils the impression, sitting down doing one's lips with a shard of broken mirror in the left hand - deliciously femme?? Get real! The mirror I use today is actually 2 mirrors, normal and enlarging. They are in a solidly constructed hinged case which, when shut, preserves them from harm. Both mirrors are useful - the normal one for checking the appearance of my whole face, the enlarging one for work on my lips.  
  handbag.jpgTransgender Resources A Survival Kit for a Night on the Town, By Annie Peters Lipstick is not the only thing that can wear off during the evening, and I also carry a small perfume spray. I think it's important to smell nice as well as look good. Spraying it on is, of course, another action in the deliciously feminine category, but don't overdo it - your fragrance should not precede you by too much! Less feminine is a handkerchief - and not a delicate lacy one, at that. I have already mentioned 'glowing like a pig'. When the glow stings the eyes something substantial is needed to blot it. Used with reasonable delicacy, the hankie can be better than a tissue for mopping up the glow without wrecking the eye make-up. Carrying tissues as well could be a good idea - but I tend to use a bit of paper from the toilet. It does well enough, and avoids the accumulation of a layer of disintegrated tissue at the bottom of my bag. In some places the toilets run out of paper - but more can sometimes be had if one has the gumption to ask at the bar. Much more ladylike than a hankie is a nail file in a little plastic case. Rough nails not only look less than perfectly femme, but wreck stockings. It also has a little hook at the end for removing dirt. Dirty nails - varnished or otherwise - are a real no-no. Also metal are four small safety pins. I keep them pinned together for convenience - a solitary safety pin at the bottom of the bag is very hard to find, and when a safety pin is needed it's usually needed in a hurry. A cluster of four pins is much easier to locate. Their purpose (need I tell you girls) is emergency repair to clothes. At the bottom of the bag, with the pins, is a small card with a dozen or more kirby-grips. The grips can be useful for keeping a wig fixed to one's real hair - especially if the wig's webbing is past its first flush of youth. Another use for a hair grip is to pin back one's real hair if it seems determined to escape from the confines of the wig. That's especially important if wig and real hair are different colours. And that leaves only... the four inch nail. It's for the toilet. As a trannie out on the town, one has to be careful about using toilets at all. There are places - mostly gay - where there isn't any great problem about using the ladies, but it shouldn't be taken for granted. Be careful, and check it out first - but it is sometimes possible. In several ladies toilets I've used, the sliding part of the bolt has been missing from the cubicle doors. A nightmare scenario is to be sat there with my knickers down, only to have a woman with more sensibility than sense burst in on me. At best, a trannie is only allowed in the ladies under sufferance - and there are limits one must not cross. So... slide the four inch nail into the bolt fixings and it's securely held. A handy tip, perhaps. Remember, you read it here first!

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