Disguised in Skirts (Part 1)

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Transgender FictionBy Clare Cavendish

I first met Rita in the winter of 1982 in the make-up department of a top store in Manchester. It was late afternoon - one of those dull dreary November days. I was due go to a little "do" that evening in a local pub, where a number of like minded people met every week.

I was already dressed as a woman ready for the evening's jollities. I remember I was wearing a new olive green straight skirt I had bought the previous week and it fitted me like a glove, making me look slim and elegant. With it I was wearing a beige silk blouse and a little green and brown silk scarf. Of course Rita could see very little of my sartorial elegance as I was wearing a three quarter length swing back camel hair coat to keep out the chill.

Whether she picked me out as a transvestite or not, I do not know. At first glance I was reasonably sure that she was one, even though se was stylishly dressed in a black tailored suit and a white silk blouse. Her feet in their high heeled patent leather court shoes and black stockings seemed very small - one of the things that made me uncertain as to whether or not she was actually a fellow traveller. Nevertheless, there was something about her, -- I could not put my finger on it, but there was something not quite right.

"That's a beautiful colour" - I acknowledged, as she tried a lipstick on the back of her manicured hand. She looked up with a start, her eyes momentarily frightened. Yes, I ad been right. "Yes", she replied, forcing a little smile as she stared at me. In the moment we both knew the other was a fellow traveller, and I saw her relax.

We chatted away for several minutes afterwards about make-up in general and then I suggested that she might like to join me upstairs for a coffee in the cafeteria it being such a miserable cold day. She agreed readily as we toddled on our high heels.

"How did you know?" she asked as she sipped her coffee.

"Darling," I smiled, "when you've been at it as long as I have it is extremely difficult for someone to deceive you!"

"Oh", she sighed, obviously upset that I had "read" her.

"Look, you're extremely good - one of the best I've ever seen. You mustn't take offence."

"No, it's not that. It's just that, as far as I know, I've never been read before."

"Really?" I smiled eyebrows raised.

"Not as far as I know, anyway" Oh dear, how we deceived ourselves, I thought. The poor girl, good as she was, had probably been "read" by a good few people before now.

"Have you been doing it a long time?" I enquired casually - not wanting to appear to pry.

"Since 1972 - since I was twelve"

"My goodness - no wonder you're so good! Did your parents know?"

"My mother started me off", she smiled.

"Well I must say that's decidedly unusual. Tell me more."

And so she told me her story...

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