Fembitions
By Paula Mortenson
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Anyway, having got that off my chest, I hope you see my point, even 'outsiders' have fembitions.
Having chatted to others, from our TV world, I find that the fembitions are almost endless. A keen golfer and TV of my acquaintance is desperate to play, en femme, at his local golf course.
He would love to play a course from the ladies tees as Angelina. If anyone out there knows where she might be welcome, let me know.
In a limited way I have already achieved this fembition. You may have played one of the many golf games that are available for your computer. The more sophisticated ones allow you to choose and name your own players. Driven, I presume, by 'political correctness' some even permit you to select the sex, not to mention skin, hair and clothing colour.
Hidden away in my directory of players are Maggie and Rose. Maggie - redheaded, fair skinned, and whose emerald green top suits her colouring. Similarly Rose, attired in lilac complementing her tanned complexion and dark hair.
The greatest advantage is that I can nip off for a quick game as Maggie without having to leave the office (and the attendant difficulties it might create).
But there's no ladies locker room to retire to for a chat or to repair one's face.
From others I've found fembitions to serve in shops, banks and restaurants. I've even come across a fembition to ride to hounds, become a chauffeuse, and play in ladies cricket or tennis matches. That ignores those who want to be brides, geisha girls or tarts. I didn't enquire whether they wanted to take their roles to the logical and ultimate conclusion.
Fembitions are not only for TVs, through. Not so long ago, I saw and was involved in a female achieving her fembition. Even though I was alone on stage with her and in front of an audience, this caused me no problems. Sally and I were performing in a revue and our sketch was set in a hospital room. There I was, lying in my hospital bed being visited by my 'wife'.
On each previous night she had made her entrance in a fur coat and completed the scene precisely according to the script. But on the last night as she stood to speak, with her back to the audience, her hands lifted to her hips to draw the fur coat open and reveal to me - alone - a white basque, tiny white bikini knickers and stockings tautly gripped by suspenders. The audience had no idea what I could plainly see.
Afterwards she confessed that she had fulfilled a life long ambition. She had discussed with her husband and my wife what was to happen beforehand, and she had enough confidence in me to presume I would not give her secret away to the audience. Little did she realise that my stuttering reaction was caused less by surprise then the recognition of a fembition of my own!! The flashing isn't important to me, nor to be recommended, except under those very controlled circumstances. It was the thought, for me, of appearing in public so apparently respectable, and yet beneath being so vulnerable. But if Sally can fulfil her life-long fembition, why shouldn't Maggie? Anyway, you must excuse me, I have to dash.
Angelina, wait for me on the first tee, will you? I'm just popping into the locker room to adjust my bra, it's cutting into me.
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