SUSAN'S STORY

  I was 14 years old and had been dressing in earnest for about 18 months. Up until then I had occasionally tried on my cousin's tutu and school uniform and had famously allowed myself to be tricked into playing all afternoon in her garden in her wonderfully garish party dress, something she loved to remind me of although I suspect not if she knew what I really liked to get up to. But when I turned 13 it suddenly became more serious. I wanted to wear underwear, jewellery and make-up. I wanted people to pass me in the street and look at the well-dressed young lady across the road. I had wonderful fun working out the order in which my mother's clothes went on and feeling the beautiful constriction of a bra for the first time. After about 18 months of bunking off school or pretending to be ill and sneaking into my mother's wardrobe I wanted to go out dressed. My opportunity came one cold November afternoon. I had been left in the house on my own with the certainty that I would not be disturbed until early evening. My only task was to walk the dog.   On hearing the front door close I decided to begin the day again en femme. I went to bed in a nightie for a cat-nap and woke up and had a bath. Having dried myself I put on a beautiful soft lilac negligee and went over to my mother's dressing table and applied make-up, mascara, eye shadow and lipstick, none too expertly. I then dried my hair. My hair was quite long in those days and could be styled into a passably female style. Having put my face on I then dived into the wardrobe, desperate to transform myself from a gangly teenage boy into a gamine young woman with a taste for sensible clothes. I stuffed a white lacy bra with a pair of socks, put on a pair of matching panties and dark blue tights and a lovely slip with a lace trim around the bodice and hem. I loved that slip and always got a thrill when I saw the lacy hem against a blue-stockinged thigh. I then chose a white chiffon blouse with puff sleeves and a long bow at the collar and a dark blue pleated skirt. It was perfect, with my lacy underwear covering my small bust showing through the blouse. I finished it off with a pair of earrings and a pearly necklace. I donned a pair of dark blue patent leather court shoes and after choosing a suitable handbag I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. Looking back at me was a shy, pretty girl who looked as though she worked in an office as a secretary or a sales assistant in a department store. I thought I looked so feminine it was ridiculous to think of me as anything else. I was quaking with excitement. I wondered what her name was. It wouldn't be a racy name like Samantha, more likely to be a more modest name like Claire, but that did not go with my surname very well. Then I remembered that everyone I knew seemed to have an older sister called Susan and they were always nice and if rather dull girls. I liked the name, a sort of "everywoman's" name, and so it was that I became Susan for the first time. It was then downstairs to find a suitable coat and hat to protect me against the cold. I felt the rustle of my skirts as I went downstairs and noticed the pleated skirt billow with my descent exposing the hem of my slip. At this rate I was going to be lucky to get out of the house without wetting myself. I chose a cream raincoat and a silk scarf tied loosely around my shoulders. I did not have the confidence to venture out without anything on my head in case I was recognised so I put on a woollen bonnet popular at the time which I felt framed my made-up face nicely and showed off my earrings.   Closing the back door behind me with the rather bewildered dog on the lead, I felt the cold wind in my skirts - it was delicious and I felt a quiet gasp of pleasure at this sudden vulnerability and internalising, all- pervading femininity. I felt my movements grow calmer. If someone had spoken to me at that moment my voice would have been higher and softer. Sneaking out the back gate I looked both ways and seeing there was nobody about I ventured out with quick short steps. The feeling of exposure only intensified. As I got used to walking and gained confidence I began to mince a little. I loved the fact that it was cold and that I was being kept warm by wonderful feminine attire. I walked for miles, slowly gaining the confidence to walk on the same side of the road as passers-by. I walked through parks and past shops which I stopped to gaze into hoping to catch my reflection. A rather alarming incident occurred when another dog started to pay attention to mine and its owner, a middle-aged man, seemed to want to engage in conversation about canine matters. I smiled sweetly and nodded my head a few times and carried on. I don't think he ever twigged. I was so ecstatic I could have skipped.   It was beginning to get dark and it was time to head for home before the nightmare scenario of my parents and siblings being in the house whilst I, dressed up to the nines, was marooned outside. I walked home quickly nervously checking to see whether any cars had returned before me. Had there been I do not know what I would have done apart from go into a quiet, blind panic. Waving mischievously to the old lady across the road in the semi-darkness I slipped through the back gate and into the house. The house seemed warm after the cold of outside. I hung up my coat, hat and scarf in the cloakroom and went upstairs and undressed, taking care to put everything away exactly as I had found it. It was a relief to be able to take my shoes off. I then had another bath to wash off all the make-up and whilst I was in the bath the rest of the household returned. "Could you leave the bath in," came my mother's voice through the door. "Yes Mum," I said. "Did walk the dog?" "Oh yes," I said more dreamily. "We had a lovely long walk." As I thought of the blissful last few hours I sank back into the bath and I am afraid did what teenage boys do in bathrooms on their own. That night my parents were going out. I had to smile when I saw my mother dressed in exactly the same clothes as I had been wearing only a couple of hours before. I thought she looked lovely and showed great taste. My first outdoor experience dressed as Susan remains to this day my finest.

LISA'S NEW SISTER

I grew up in a small house with two bedrooms, So Mom had one room and mysister, Lisa and I shared the other room. So It was easy for me to getcourious and try on my sister's clothes.

I started out with her panties andslip, then gradually added a bra and nylons. As time went on I started towear Lisa'a dresses and petticoats when she was not at home. I would sneakand wear her lingerie to bed at night and sometimes in the morning I wouldwear her panties and nylons under my regular clothes when I had time to putthem on before school. One day while Lisa was staying late at school, I hurried home and put herclothes on. I was parading around the house and doing some household choreswhen the front door opened. I ran to our bedroom and hid in the closet. Icould here my sister coming in. I could also hear her talking with someoneelse. She had come home with one of her girlfriends and they were talkingabout what they were going to wear to a party coming up this month. My heart was pounding hard as I listened to them talking. I was hoping theywere going to leave again soon and I could continue with my dressing fun.Well all of a sudden Lisa's girlfriend opened the closet door and there Iwas, standing in the middle of the closet in Lisa's dress and heels. She just stopped talking for a few minutes. It seemed like forever. Then shestarted to giggle and then laugh really load. Lisa asked what was so funnyand she motioned for Lisa to came and see. As my sister got close enough tosee me, she grabbed me and dragged me from the closet. She was very upsetat me at first, then she started laughing right along with her girlfriend.They started to call me sissy names. Her girl friend lifted up my dress andsaw I was wearing lacey pink panties. They all blurted out some morelaughing again. They told me to walk around so they could look at me. Finally they settled down a bit and told me go out into the living room fora little while. I did as they said. While I was sitting on the couch, Icould here them in the bedroom talking and giggling, but I couldnt make outwhat they were saying. Then I heard my sister call me in. As I came into theroom they were still trying not to giggle at me. There was a slightsilence, then Lisa said I was going to be there new little sister. They saidthat I would no longer be wearing boys clothes and as Lisa removed all myclothes from the dresser, her girlfriend was placing some of Lisa's pantiesand extra slips and nylons in the drawers. Lisa also took all my jeans andshirts out of the closet and said that the right side of her closet wasgoing to be mine and she hung up a few dresses me to wear. They told me Iwas going to wear panties and nylons everyday including to school. Lisa and her girlfriend said that this weekend they would go out and get mesome more lingerie and nylons so that I would have enough to wear all week.I was to wear everything under my clothes to school. Then when I got homethey would have a petticoat and dress laid out for me to wear. I was nowgoing to do all of her girl chores around the house in my dress. And if Ididnt do as they said they would tell all my friends at school how I like towear sissy clothes. I continued to be Lisa's new sister all thru my school days and as I gotolder they helped me with make up and clothing to keep in style and to thisday I am still her little sister. Hey, keep in touch, Miss Lee

 

PROTECTING ALICE (PART 1)

I am a 14 year old called Alan and I live with my mum and dad, my sister does not live at home as she had a disagreement with my parents a few years ago, so she moved out and now lives at a boarding school. I have kept in touch with my sister Helen, but I have not let my parents know this, so as not to start any arguments with them. I came home from school early on Friday as a reward for doing well in my course work, so I got home before my parents did but this was not a problem as I had my own key to the house. I had the house all to my self, I rushed up to my room and turned my computer on to check for any emails that I might have received. I had just started to read them when I heard a car pull up in the drive way, it was my mum and dad, so I just settled back down to read my emails. I heard the front door open and close and after a little while I heard shouting coming from downstairs. I quickly turned my computer off and quietly creeped along the landing, to see what all the shouting was all about and that was when I saw my dad start to hit my mum. My mum replied that she was leaving him and that as soon as Alan was home she was going to take him away from him forever. My father the grabbed my mother's neck. I was terrified by this as I did not know what to do, so I watched as I watched my mothers body get looser and looser and then just hang there limp, when my father released my mum she did not move and then he looked around to see if anyone had saw him. I then thought he might be coming upstairs so I ran into my parent's room to hide as there was no places in my room that I could hide from him. When I got into my parent's room I quickly looked around for somewhere to hide and saw the big wardrobe up against one of the walls, so I ran and opened it and climbed in, hiding behind some of my mother's long dresses that where in there. As I closed the door I heard steps coming up the stairs and into my room, them after a while I heard the steps go into each of the rooms ending up in the room I was hiding in.
    Whether he had heard some noise earlier or not I did not know, but I was terrified at being found so I was being very still and quiet when the wardrobe door was opened. I dared not breath for fear of giving my self away. After what seemed like hours, but was in fact only a few minutes, the doors where shut and I heard footsteps walking away. I then heard the front door open and shut. I creeped out of the wardrobe and up to the window in and saw my father getting into his car and drive of towards my school, so after what I had just seen and heard my father do and say, it was fair to say terrified out of my skin. I suddenly knew what I had to do, and that was to go into hiding from my dad! So I ran into my room and grabbed a bag, and stuffed some of my clothes into it and ran down stairs and out of the back door and away from the house. After I had got to the other side of town I saw a cheap hotel and booked myself in under a different name for a night, I then called my sister Helen and when she answered and said that I sounded scared, I told her about all that I had seen and heard. She asked where I was so I told her, she then told me to turn my mobile of and to wait the for her to arrive, after 3 hours Helen arrived with a big bag, and said that the police had called her to ask if she had seen or spoke to me today, because I had gone missing from school. She them reassured my that she believed my story, but my father will soon start showing pictures of me around the area to find where I had gone, and that she had a plan to hide me but that I would have to do exactly what she said to do, I replied that I would do anything to stay hidden from him as he is going to kill me.
    I asked her what her plan was and she then said that as everyone was looking for me Alan as a 14 year old boy, I was to become a girl and her cousin I thought about the plan for a few minutes and then agreed to her plan. Helen then asked me to strip all of my clothes of and to stand upright in the middle of the room, witch I did and then Helen looked my body all over and said to go into the bathroom and run the bath, and that she will be there in a minuet, she came in with some female bath lotion that she pored into the bath, and instructed me to get in to the bath. After washing myself all over my skin felt different, but I could not place my finger on what it was, and then my sister leaned into the bath and but some female shaving gel on my legs, chest and arms and started to shave the hair off my body. When she had done she asked me to lift my arms and then shaved under my arms as well, when it was all done she told me to rinse all of the bubbles and gel off and to come back into the bedroom after I had dried my self. I when into the bedroom to see that Helen had opened her bag on the bed and took out some of her clothes, and after looking over her selection she selected a flowery pair of pink panties that had a lace frill around the edge that she then gave to me, I pulled them on up my shaved leg and was amassed at how smoothly they slid up my smooth legs. Next she passed me a matching bra and explained how it was put on by females, and after a little struggle I managed to get the latches at the back to catch shut, she then passed me some of her old tights with some small weights in the toe ends. I looked at her with a confused expression and said "where do I put these?" and the reply was that they where to go into the cups of the bra, and that the weights would make the bras act like they where designed for, so I put the weighted tights into the bra cups and after a little bit of moving them around, the bra felt heavier and seemed to handle better.
    I asked her what her plan was and she then said that as everyone was looking for me Alan as a 14 year old boy, I was to become a girl and her cousin I thought about the plan for a few minutes and then agreed to her plan. Helen then asked me to strip all of my clothes of and to stand upright in the middle of the room, witch I did and then Helen looked my body all over and said to go into the bathroom and run the bath, and that she will be there in a minuet, she came in with some female bath lotion that she pored into the bath, and instructed me to get in to the bath. After washing myself all over my skin felt different, but I could not place my finger on what it was, and then my sister leaned into the bath and but some female shaving gel on my legs, chest and arms and started to shave the hair off my body. When she had done she asked me to lift my arms and then shaved under my arms as well, when it was all done she told me to rinse all of the bubbles and gel off and to come back into the bedroom after I had dried my self. I when into the bedroom to see that Helen had opened her bag on the bed and took out some of her clothes, and after looking over her selection she selected a flowery pair of pink panties that had a lace frill around the edge that she then gave to me, I pulled them on up my shaved leg and was amassed at how smoothly they slid up my smooth legs. Next she passed me a matching bra and explained how it was put on by females, and after a little struggle I managed to get the latches at the back to catch shut, she then passed me some of her old tights with some small weights in the toe ends. I looked at her with a confused expression and said "where do I put these?" and the reply was that they where to go into the cups of the bra, and that the weights would make the bras act like they where designed for, so I put the weighted tights into the bra cups and after a little bit of moving them around, the bra felt heavier and seemed to handle better.
    After this was done she asked my to turn around so that she could work on my hair, into a more female style which she did by putting my shoulder length into a pony tail, tied of at the end with a girls pink hair ribbon. She said to open my eyes and to look at my new self and I was gob smacked so I got up and started to walk towards the mirror in the room when Helen said that there was one thing missing and that was shoes, she then got a pair of 3" cream court shoes out of her bag and slipped them onto my feet. I then tried walking towards to mirror and found that with the 3" heels and the petticoat I could not move my legs as much as I could before and that i had to walk slower. After I had mastered the walking like a girl, Helen said that she could not call me Alan and that she would call me Alice from know on, and that it was time to go or our father would find us. So we quickly gathered all of her clothes that she did not use into her big bag, and piled my own clothes into my own bag and then put in her big bag, and quickly left the hotel and headed towards the train station. As we started walking along the road I was terrified in two ways, one was that our father would come along the street and recognise me despite the disguise, and the second was that other people would recognise that I was a boy dressed as a girl. Helen sensing my nerves reassured me that I was not attracting any glances, and to just act like I had always been a girl and not to think about it, so I took her advise and then realised that the wind was blowing the dress that I was wearing, and that the wind was flowing around my legs. I had to admit that the feeling of the wind blowing around my smooth legs, was a brand new experience but one that I was starting to enjoy.
    I asked Helen in a softer voice then was normally mine, that got softer and softer and I talked to her where she was going to hide me as I had know idea where to go, she said not to worry about it as she had the perfect place lined up and she just had to get me there without being seen by anyone on the look out for you. It turned out that Helen was taking me to her boarding school, and when I realised this, I said "but I can't stay here with you as I am not a girl and this is a girl's boarding school!" she replied, "what better place to hide a 14 year old boy than in a girls boarding school, and besides you don't look anything like a boy at the moment!" At which point I looked down at myself and realised that for most of the journey here, I had not thought about being a boy and had just acted like a girl, because that was what I was dressed as. I then raised my next objection - how was I going to blend into a girl's boarding school when none there had seen me there before? Helen gave a little chuckle and said that she was in her own room with space for one other girl, and as she was very close to the head mistress of the boarding school, all she had to do was to sneak me into her room without anyone seeing us along the way. She would then go and talk to the head mistress about Alice, and explained all of what had happened and why she had taken the steps that she had, she was sure that the head mistress would help with the problem of keeping me hidden from our father. So using as much stealth as possible we sneaked into the school grounds, and up into Helen's room luckily no one saw us as we made our way to Helen's room, Helen then told me to take of all of her clothes apart from the panties and bra, and started the hunt in a draw. After I had taken off all of her clothes apart from the panties and bra, she passed me a cotton nightdress, and told me to climb into the bottom bunk bed, and to make sure that the nightdress stayed smoothed out above and below my legs whilst in the bed. Helen then said that she was going to see the head mistress about Alice and that she would be locking the door behind her and if anyone knocked on the door, whilst she was gone, to just act like you are not here. With that Helen opened and closed the door to her room and then locked it. Then the realisation caught up with me. That my mother was now dead and that my father was looking for me in order to kill me, so I quietly wept. To be continued

LYNNE'S STORY

  Prologue The differences in the meaning of certain words should be first understood before this is read. A transvestite is someone who wears the clothes of the opposite sex for sexual satisfaction and/or for florid display where the observer is required to understand that he is looking at a person whose physical body is different from that which it appears to be. A transsexual is a person who is convinced that he/she is of one gender trapped in the body of the other gender. He/she has the intention of undergoing surgical re-adjustment to correct what is a conceived error. A transgenderist is someone quite like a transsexual, i.e. he/she is certain that he/she is of one gender trapped in the body of the opposite gender but with little or no intention of undergoing re-adjustment surgery. Sex and gender - these two words are greatly misunderstood. Sex is the physical body and is incontrovertible. Gender is what a person feels himself/herself to be mentally and sub-consiously. The feelings of gender are difficult to understand but, to the transgenderist, they are very strong. I am a transgenderist.   My Thoughts about myself These feelings were apparent to me at a very early age, as far back as my memory goes. I was only a very little boy, long before I went to school, when I knew without doubt that I should be a girl. I knew without doubt that I should be playing with the girls and not with the boys. I knew that I wanted to have dolls and prams and not lorries and guns etc., as my toys. I knew that I should be wearing dresses and not the clumsy, ugly clothes that boys have to wear. I could not understand it. I had an aunt living close to us who really did not help my situation as she often remarked, in my hearing, "Teddy is too pretty to be a boy, he should have been a girl!". It was nice to hear but no-one seemed to agree with her except me and I could not talk about it. I could not understand these feelings but, at the same time, I was unable to talk about them as boys are all supposed to be tough and boyish, whereas I had none of those feelings and certainly did not want to be tough and boyish, No! I wanted to be frivolous and girlish. And pretty.   But none of these feelings helped to make me what I felt was right, I still had a boy's body, I still did not feel at ease with other boys, the girls did not want me to mix with them and I began the feelings of my entire life - loneliness! At times, and still to this day, I feel incredibly lonely with no-one with whom I can talk freely and who would understand my feelings. There are times, even now after a lifetime , when I could often just sit down and weep because of my sadness and frustration at not being able to express myself openly.   And so my life fell into a sort of pattern, I could not unburden myself to my Mother or my sister; I had no common bond with other boys; I felt that I had a bond with girls, but in their eyes I was a boy and they did not accept me.  
  So I became indrawn. I made very little conversation with anyone because there was nothing for me to talk about with them. As years went by I think I became known as a boy who always wanted to be clean and tidy, I never remember wanting to muck-about and get dirty as other boys seemed to do. I was probably seen as somewhat of a prig! That, of course, tended to increase my loneliness even more and I gradually became even more of a "loner". When I was about 5, my younger sister was born and, after a year or so, it became clear that she was not quite as normal as other children. After some research and investigation she was diagnosed as having Downe's Syndrome. This made my mother very attentive to her to the exclusion of my older sister and myself. Our Father was a ship's officer and was not home very often. During my older sister's teen age years, as she became very attractive, she acquired high heeled shoes from time to time and, as I was also growing, on a number of occasions she had me wear them about the house so as to stretch them for her. Little did she know that those occasions were delightful for me! Then came the 39-45 war years and we all lived with fear as we were in an area which was often subjected to air-raids and bombing. We were bombed-out in 1943, when I was 12 and I, like my older sister, was farmed-out to friends with whom I lived for many months. They had three sons, two of whom were older than me and one slightly younger. The Mother was very kind to me and seemed to give me a lot of affection. That may have been because she was sorry for me living apart from my family, or it may have been that she recognised something in me that was different to her boys. I believe that I craved affection as my Mother's affection was, understandably, directed largely towards the younger, Downe's Syndrome child. I know that my older sister felt the same as I as we have discussed this a few times during our grown-up years. About this time, the husband of a friend of my Mother, abused me on a number of occasions. I have those memories etched into my mind. I can say, however, that that abuse affected me greatly and made me even more indrawn. Once again, I could talk to no-one about it, nor ever have, even to this late part of my life. When I read about young children being abused, I know what they suffer and my heart goes out to them! The family of the aunt who, in earlier years had said I was too pretty to be a boy, included a girl, one year younger than I, and three boys, considerably younger. It seems laughable now to think about, but when I knew they were coming to visit I used to say a prayer that Mavis, my cousin, would ask to wear my clothes (she was somewhat of a tom-boy) so that I could ask to wear hers. Of course it never happened, it was just a fantasy... So the years went by with my increasing confusion. I was so convinced that I was a girl that I even used to go to sleep at night with my arms wrapped tightly around my chest. This seemed to cause breasts to appear and I was always hoping that, on waking the following morning, I would have breasts like my older sister had but of course, it never happened, it was just another fantasy!  
  The time came for a career and I chose going to sea as a ship's officer. It seemed the natural thing to do as many of my male family members were in that profession. At first I had 2 years as an RNR cadet on a Royal Naval Training ship. There was so much to do and learn that I found my fears and confusions lessened to a degree. Perhaps they did not lessen, they were just pushed into the background by the need to concentrate on learning new things! Many years later, I was in correspondence with one of my old term on the training ship and in a telephone conversation when we were reminiscing about our training years, he commented that I had been known as "a goodie-two-shoes". This must have been my inner feelings manifesting themselves even in that male establishment! After those 2 years I commenced as a Cadet officer on merchant ships and travelled the world extensively. I took up a career which was essentially masculine. Perhaps I was trying to submerge my then fearful feminine feelings? In any case, for many years I worked very hard at my career and spent years in this masculine environment, fearful sometimes that my feminine side would be discovered but often laughing within myself at dealing with very macho men who accepted me as one of them and had no idea that there was a woman inside the man they were dealing with! I can look back over those years and see a successful career despite being feminine! A couple of things stick in my mind from those early years. On returning to England between voyages, there were a number of Army Shows in various theatres in various cities and I went (on my own) to a few of these. I was amazed to find that in the show there were men dressed (convincingly) as women. I had never heard of these neither had I realised that men actually dressed that way. They excited me as I realised that men actually DID dress in skirts. In Bombay on one early voyage, a group of four of us were befriended by two middle aged ladies. I don't know how I was among the group as I was only about 17 and the others were more senior members of the crew. However, the ladies wanted to organise a party but that would have meant two ladies and four men, a group out of balance! They suggested that I as the youngest should attend the party as a girl to balance the figures! The following day, I had the afternoon "off" and they asked me to go to their flat and try on some clothes. Of course I jumped at the chance as I had never, even then, worn a dress or any feminine clothes. I went there and they tried a number of dresses on me and I remember looking good and seeing the right "me" at last. It was a wondeful first experience and the two ladies seemed to delight in having me dress in various types of pretty clothes.I remember wishing that the afternoon could go on forever! In the event, however, the party never materialised but I can still remember the few hours I spent, for the very first time in my life, as a girl! On one later voyage, as a young 3rd Officer, I found a bar in Antwerp where all the "girls" were actually boys. It was a complete eye-opener for me. In retrospect it was probably a male brothel but I was very naive then and did not realise. I had a few drinks and spoke to one of the "girls" who told me that the owner was looking for other "girls" and wouldn't I like to join them? I became excited as this seemed what I would wish for but, however, we were scheduled to sail during that night so I never had the opportunity to attempt to change my life! With the wisdom of hindsight it was probably that Providence was looking after me! Much later in my life, when I was a Group Chief Executive and was travelling worldwide quite often, I visited San Francisco and during the evening went to "Finochio"s" which is an internationally known club giving regular shows containg very beautiful "girls". I was astounded at how glamorous they all were and my eyes were opened even wider than they had been previously. I discovered that many, if not all of them lived their lives as girls and I was very envious! One time in Paris I was on a business visit but had my wife with me. I took her to the Crazy Horse Saloon and saw the wonderful show there. Afterwards we went to Montparnasse and had dinner then visited a nightclub, "Elle et Lui" ("she and he"). The whole show comprised beautiful "girls" and after the show, one of them came to our table and had a drink with us. My wife, who by then knew all about me, was bursting with mirth because this beautiful "girl" was flirting outrageously with me. A waste of time for her of course!  
    I was still very troubled in my mind. My older sister, at that time, lived in London and worked for a psychiatrist. On one leave, when I visited her I wanted to ask if I could see her Boss but I did not have the courage to ask her so I was not able to raise the issue with such a person who, I was sure, could advise me what to do. I needed help because inside of me there is a woman screaming to get out! She cries and hammers at me incessantly and is always there, every minute of the day. I speculated one one or two occasions of actually "jumping ship" and trying to make a new life for myself, but as usual, it never happened. Then the best thing in my life happened, I met a wonderful girl and we got married! I loved her then as I love her now, 46 years later and despite my knowledge of myself as a woman in a man's body, I continue to love her desperately. Later in life I actually managed to pluck up the courage to see a psychiatrist. I went to him for about 10 or 11 years and he enabled me to see myself from the inside. He prescribed, and I accepted, that I should take female hormones. He said, and was proved right by a lot of medical evidence in books on the subject, that the hormones actually make the mind believe that it is a woman. Therefore the compulsion to wear feminine clothes tends to diminish, not vanish, but certainly become less compulsive. I told him of a dream which I have been having ever since I was a little boy. In the dream I wake up one morning and find that I am in a beautiful feminine bed-room, am quite a beautiful woman and do not know who on earth I am. I hear men's voices beyond a door and wonder where on earth I am. I never have opened that door and have often wondered what I would find in my dream if I did!   Also later in life, my wife became more accepting of this strange feeling of her husband. She actually said that if I was to persist in this, I should do it well and not look too much like a freak! She helped me to buy and to wear, good clothes. She helped me to understand the art of make-up and how to use it to best effect. She showed me how women walk, how they talk, how they hold their hands, and many other things that men never consciously notice. I had to learn all of them. It was a wonderful learning period, at last being more or less accepted as a person within a person. How does my wife accept me? Readers would have to ask her that and not me. I love her dearly and have always tried to treat her as a queen, in a manner in which I would like to have been treated if ever I had been a woman. I have often said that I may not be a woman, but I try at all times to be a lady! I plucked up enough courage to make contact with a lady in a School of Beauty. She was, and still is, wonderfully understanding and helpful with the art of make-up. She has advised me the products which I should use and to her I owe a debt of gratitude. She was not, and still is not, at all perturbed by this "man" who wants to look like a woman.  
  Gradually I became better at making a reasonable appearance and, to cut the story somewhat shorter, started to go out dressed as a woman. What a terrifying thing it is to do for the first time ! However, I persevered and now manage to go out on occasions in reasonably good shape and appearance. I was quoted in   "Femina" some few years ago as stating: "The average person on the street seeing a woman walking towards them glances at her and then continues looking forward. The only time a woman gets a second, more inquisitive look from bystanders is if she is incredibly beautiful or grotesquely ugly!" Perhaps both fortunately and unfortunately, I am neither! One very pleasant thing, which happens to me quite often, is to be addressed as "Madam". It gives me a wonderful feeling! In my case I wear clothes suited to my age, not dowdy but fashionable. I have a wig with white hair, to suit my age and wear medium heeled shoes, very occasionally, high heels. In short, I think I look like the average middle aged woman in society. I enjoy knitting and have become quite competent. I would like to learn dress-making and this is one of my further aims.   By this time I had dug down deep into my subconscious and had stopped fighting the feelings which I had. I came to accept that deep in my subconscious and even in my unconscious mind, there is actually a woman in there. She is called Lynne. She is the woman who at all times is crying to get out and to be herself. She is always there, as I have already said, every minute of every day she is hammering to come out. I have accepted her as being inside me and the acceptance of her openly in my life has made life easier. I believe I am a much more placid person because I am not fighting within myself. Living as a male my whole life has been an act. Can the reader even begin to try to comprehend what it is like to act every day? To dress like, and appear to all outward purposes to be a man is a great strain as I can never, as a man, show my true self. I must always be on my guard to show the male persona and not the woman inside. However, when dressed in skirts, wearing make-up and looking good I am enabled to be my true self without having to act. What a tremendous relief it is to be able to act as my natural self! It makes Lynne a very placid person because at last, she can be her true self! I have been greatly indebted to my eldest niece, now 48 years of age, who, after I told her about myself, insisted on meeting Lynne and who even now, is the only person in the know (unfortunately very few!) who actually accepts and treats me as a woman.   Lynne has most of the normal feelings of a woman, she is fairly soft and very tender hearted, she loves the finer things in life and dislikes the unseemly. She is moved to tears easily and quite often. She finds men quite attractive but only as Lynne and not as her male alter ego. She is ever present to some degree and when dressed she almost completely takes over. She always wishes she is shapely and slender, but knows that this can never ever be. She often feels envious, even now, of young women who have slender, curvy bodies and she longs to look the same. She would love to be attractive and have people notice her as a woman, but at the same time she is glad, perhaps, that no-one pays her a lot of attention. This actually means that she is blending into society. She goes out to dinner, to shows, to the theatre and does most of the things normal women do. She is not a bad housewife and does quite a lot of housework. She often goes shopping and completely blends in with all the other women in supermarkets. If I had only myself to consider, I would live out the rest of my life as the woman I know that I am. However, there are many others who would be affected by such a decision and it would not be fair of me to consider just myself, so it cannot be done. I shall just have to continue longing! It seems as though, at long last, I have become as much of a woman as I will ever be able to be, and I accept that thankfully.  
  An interesting factor in my personality is that women generally seem to accept me, in my male personna, and to confide in me. I have had a number of women pour out a lot of their innermost feelings to me. Maybe it is because they sense something in me which is akin to them and which does not threaten them as women? Even my male self still feels at ease with women and ill at ease with men with whom I have little or no conversation and nothing at all in common. I long to be accepted by society as my true self and not as the self I appear to be outwardly. If it ever happened, and it is never likely that that would occur, people would find that I am still the person they have always known, only then, they would know me better!   On speculation, I am sure that many people would be shocked if they found out that I wear dresses and skirts and pass as a woman; but what would there to be shocked about I wonder? I do not try to "pick up" men , I do not flaunt myself as a woman, it is merely that I feel completely natural when dressed in skirts and wearing make-up, so what is shocking about it?   It can be said that I dislike my (male) body intensely and yearn to be a woman constantly. So what sort of people are we? I say "we" because I have been privileged to meet a few, but there must be thousands of us out there! For example I know a "woman" in Capetown who had the courage to give up her male life and is now the manageress of a computer company. I also met a "woman" who was, at that time, a theatre sister in a well known private hospital in Johannesburg - another who had had the courage to take up a new life!   We are not gay! We are not exhibitionists. We want to blend in to society and not to be recognised as our male personnae. We would like to be accepted by other women as one close to, if not wholy part of, female society. We do not try to 'pervert' other folk to become like us. We just want to live our lives in peace! At the same time, in my case, out of love and devotion to my wonderful wife, I retain the male outer ego and do many of the things that husbands, fathers and grand-fathers do. It isn't easy and still gets me down. I would love to be fully accepted by society as the woman I know I am. For the sake of my family, however, this can never be. I count my blessings for what I have in my life.   Epilogue Such are the experiences I have had as a woman that I have come to appreciate what many women have to suffer at the hands of men. One small example is that, when driving my car as a woman, I have on many occasions had fists shaken at me, had horns tooted and other examples of so-called masculine superiority, just because I may have happened to beat a man off at a set of traffic lights. Every woman will know what I am talking about. In my opinion, men actually are subconciously afraid of women! They are mysterious creatures and men cannot understand them. Therefore they try to show their so-called masculine superiority by deriding women wherever possible. This masculine ego problem is a root cause of violence against women, in my opinion. Although the thought is completely unfeasible, if every youth had to live for, say, six months of his teenage life as a girl, and suffer many of the indignities which girls suffer at the hands of men, there would be a much greater understanding of women's problems by men, and possibly much fewer attempts to show off the male ego.   Wasn't it Dustin Hoffman who, after making the fim 'Tootsie', said that he became a much better man having been a woman?!  

JENNIFER

  Jennifer is about 23, with long black hair. She is very pretty, and she accomplishes her beauty with only a little dark grey eyeliner. She would be a knockout with a little more makeup. She also dresses very conservatively for someone her age, often with a jacket and knee or below length skirts, and very low heels. She walks with a slouch, not with the confident walk of someone so lovely. And she applies hair spray and brushes her long hair in public, an odd thing to do I think. Although she started out here as a secretary, she has moved over to the "PC Support" department". We have a PC Support department here of three women. They install computers and peripherals and teach intro courses on the major packages for the staff, but they are not computer science professionals. The other two women are quite cocky, and know that when people call on them for help it is because they are really stuck. They use this cockiness to advantage when that happens. I think the other women are teaching this attitude to Jennifer. Jennifer is also recently engaged, and I can imagine they are teaching her some things about handling a husband too. I had a little run-in with Jennifer recently. Each department was given a spreadsheet to complete, and they would all be con- solidated by someone later on. The spreadsheets were to be printed on legal size paper instead of normal letter size paper. So I inserted legal size paper in my printer and ran the spreadsheet print macro. Now, I know more about spreadsheets and particularly about macros than Jennifer or her two friends will ever know. However, what I don't know about are printers, and I was peeved that the spreadsheet did not signal the printer to print on legal size paper. The printer printed a letter size page, ejected the sheet, and went to the next sheet of paper. So I called Jennifer for help. She told me with a smirk that I had not programmed the printer for legal size paper, she did this for me quickly, and with a satisified gleam she left. That did the job, and it printed fine. I forget about this for awhile as I went on to do some of my own work, and when I printed the printer was still set on legal size. I decided I could do without Jennifer's confident little smirk, so I opened up the printer manual (I am one of the few people who reads a computer manual when I am stuck), found the section on paper size, reprogrammed the printer, and thought I was back to letter size. But I was not. The printer display clealry read "Letter size", but the printer was printing as if it had legal size. "Uh, Jennifer," I telephoned so sweetly. "Could you come over and help me with my printer?" She sounded very annoyed on the phone, as if I had bothered her enough for one day. She said she'd be over in a few minutes.
    he came over, looking great as always, and sat on my printer table, hiking up her skirt a little and giving me a view of her lovely legs. "So what seems to be the problem?," she asked me innocently. I explained the problem. "Now tell me exactly what steps you took to fix it," she said. I know that is proper computerese, but she said it in a demanding tone that is quite unlike her. Actually I didn't remember what I had done, so I got out the manual. Jennifer was getting impatient as I fumbled through the manual, and she reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a compact and a lipstick, and she started applying some frosted pink lipstick to her lips. Now this was unusual - she never wore lipstick! But I found this quite erotic to watch as she carefully painted her lips. "What's the matter, am I distracting you?," she asked as she batted her long eyelashes at me. Finally I found the manual page and explained what I had done, ignoring her question, although with obviously red cheeks. Yes, Jennifer had me pegged. "Oh, I see what the problem - you just left out a step," Jennifer replied, deliberately leaving her lipstick tube unscrewed as she put it down right next to the printer. "I could fix this in five seconds for you, but ... ," leaving the sentence unfinshed. "But what,?" I asked. "But, I don't like your attitude. You think you're so smart with your college degree and everything. I think you need to show a little humility first. You don't know everything, you know." "Do you want me to fix this? Will you do as I say first?" I really needed to finish my work. "I guess so," I sheepishly replied. "I thought so," Jennifer replied confidently. "Lean over that chair and pull your pants down, I am going to give you a spanking."
    The door was closed, I did need to finish my work, and I figured it wouldn't be so terrible. So I leaned over the chair. "Pull your pants down. And your shorts too." I did, red-faced. She stepped behind me, holding a ruler that she found on another desk. "Ready for some humility?" Whack! A ruler really stings! Whack! She wailed away until my eyes were tearing. When she had enough she sat down in front of me. Although I was crying from the pain and the embarrassment, my erection showed I enjoyed some part of it. Jennifer, saw my erection and smiled. "I thought so. You are really turned on, aren't you? Admit it." So I did. She smiled at me sweetly, calmly touched up her lipstick, and watched me watch her every move. When she was done, she put the lipstick back on the printer table, still unscrewed. Then she said, "Go ahead, you know what you want." So I started stroking myself. She let me do this for awhile while she watched. Then she said, "Oh, that's not what I thought you wanted. I thought you wanted this." And she ever so slowly reached for her tube of lipstick. She turned it over to show me the shade. "Read it," she commanded. I did - "Frostiest Pink." (Avon, if yu're interested.) Then she turned it to my lips. She held my chin in her hand and commanded me to look at her eyes, and that at her lips. And she slowly stroked it on my lips, deliberately, until she thought my lips were pink and glossy. Then she told me to resume stroking. So I resumed stroking myself. I was stroking faster and faster. She opened her compact and showed me the image of my pink lips. That put me over the edge. I came at the humiliating sight of my own pink lips. When I had calmed down, Jennifer spoke up. "Well, how did I do?" I wasn't sure how to answer that. I was humiliated into being spanked bare ass, jerking off, and wearing lipstick. "How did she do?" "I think you did just fine, Jennifer," came a voice behind me. I turned around. There were Jennifer's two PC support friends. "What do you think - did we train her well?" I was embarrassed beyond words - that they had been standing there the whole time to watch my humiliation. They made me stay naked and would not let me wash off the lipstick until Jennifer fixed my printer. The End

WIGS

  wigWhat kind of wig would suit my face? Different faces suit different hairstyles - here is a guide
  • Oval - As its name implies, the Oval Shaped Face is longer than wide, with a jaw that's narrower than the cheekbones. Because the oval shaped face has no dominant areas and is so proportional, this face looks good with just about any hairstyle, length or texture. WGS106
  • Round shaped face - a wide hairline and fullness below the cheekbones. These faces look very good with a geometric or linear style. Add height, when possible, and long, wispy side areas to make the cheeks look narrow. Comb hair close to the head on the side and at the nape.
  • WGS104Square Shape Face - comprises of a wide hairline and jaw. Square shaped faces need height on top and narrowness at the sides. Comb the hair off the forehead to add height to the face. Curly texture and wisps of hair around the face break the wide, straight lines common to the square face.
  • The Diamond Shape Face - is characterized by a narrow chin and forehead with wide cheekbones. Diamond shaped faces need narrow sides and fullness at the chin. Bobs work very well for this shape. Avoid wearing height on top or volume on the sides. Use some fringe or bang to cover narrow forehead.WGS100
  • WGS110The HEART Shape Face - has a wide forehead and a narrower chin. Bring some hair onto the forehead to disguise its width. Keep hair close to the head at the eyes but make it slightly full around the jaw, and below and in front of the earlobes.
  • PEAR Shape Face - is characterized by a small or narrow forehead and a rather large pouchy-appearing jawline. Comb hair to add width from the eye level through the crown of the head. Set and comb hair close to the head on the sides and at the nape.WGS069
  • The OBLONG Shape Face is characterized by a very long and narrow bone structure. The client who has an oblong facial shape often has a long, thin neck. Use a fringe or half-bang across the forehead by creating soft waves or curls in the crown and nape areas. This helps to create the illusion of an oval.WGS068
What colour wig will suit me? Often eye colour helps us select a wig colour. We know that red is opposite to green and blue and as such, sets up a beautiful contrast. Blue eyes are a standout when framed with a red wig. Once we decide to go to red, we look at complexion to select the proper red, with fair complexions favoring the light reds, such as Irish Red, and dark complexions favoring the auburns. WGS105Complexion is also a very important guide in selecting hair colour. A strong contrast such as a pale complexion with jet black hair, is great for making people notice your face, but you'd better have a Snow White clear complexion as well. Strong contrast causes the eye to see complexions very clearly, and if that is a good feature for you, you should consider toning down the contrast a bit. You can go too far when toning down contrast. With no contrast at all, your face gets lost completely, like a painting without a frame. We often see this at our salon very often. It can be an interesting effect, but it's not one you normally would want to live with day in and day out. Dark Complexions and eye colours can still benefit from some contrast with hair colour. Often a dark brown complexion will be set off with light chocolate hair, or  jet black. Then light brown complexions get contrast with dark brown hair. It's a vice-versa sort of thing, with the big idea being to get some contrast. The amount of contrast is up to you, remembering that strong contrast causes the eye to focus and pay attention. After the eye is done paying attention, the brain makes decision as to whether or not it likes what it has seen, based on myriads of reasons which include believability. But even the unbelievable can be beautiful. That's one of the great things about wigs. They allow you to change, without really changing. What size wig should I order? Men and women tend to have similar sizes of heads. In fact a lot of women have larger heads than some men. So gender isn't really a factor in head size. The wigs do adjust and are meant to fit smugly. Many men can wear the women's styles of wigs. Just like clothing and shoes, they are slightly different in shape and size even though they are sized as "average". The only other "size" besides average, is "petite" and these do have a much smaller size cap. If your head is unusually small, then you can wear a petite although not many wigs come in petite. If you are looking for petite sized wigs, type the word petite in the search box. How do I put my wig on? Firstly secure your hair. Turn your wig partially inside out. You will see two little tabs about where a man's sideburns would be on the wig. Those tabs end up over your temples and are what you use to tug the wig on. Hold the tabs and put the wig across your forehead. Pull in on the best you can and gently pull the back down over the wig cap. Re-center the wig using the tabs... push the wig back a bit... don't have it too far down. Fit on the wig cap can sometimes be adjusted just by adjusted the tabs at the bottom of the wig cap... are there little bits of elastic and hooks or Velcro there??? Adjust the edges so it feels comfortable. Determine in advance how much stress you're putting on the wig before you wear it for the day. If you are going to be wearing a wig all day or while doing strenuous things (like larp or all day at a faire). Be sure to pin the wig down securely. The wefts of the wig can be hair pinned in. For all day strenuous wear... recognize that it is going to be like wearing a very warm cap. Don't get overheated Sometimes the cap might fit, but the wig might be too full and need to be trimmed down. It is a good idea to have the wig cut at a salon so that the hair length fits the face of the person wearing it. If your hair is short, the wig will just fit over it and you can tuck in anything that may stick out. If your hair is long, it is quite likely you can fit all your hair in without a lump. I have seen long curly hair flatten down enough to wear a very short pixie. It just takes some practice. It will need to be put up and flattened-- preferably with a wig cap--so that it doesn't "pouf out" and make lumps in the wig. Do NOT make a bun. The wig should fit snugly, with the bottom of the wig all the way down to the nape of your neck, and the front of the wig up to your front hairline, somewhat like a swim cap. There may even be ear tabs on the sides that fit in front of your ears and help you to get the wig on straight. If it is too loose or two tight, take the wig off, adjust the tabs at the nape, and try it on again. The wig will need to be brushed or "finger combed" into place once it is on you head. You may secure the wig to your own hair with hair pins. Or if you do not have hair, you may used toupee tape. Do the wigs come styled like in the picture? Do I have to style them myself? All our wigs are designed to be easy to wear and require the minimum of effort to style. How long will my wig last? Human and synthetic can last about the same amount of time. A wig can last from a few months to several years. Like clothing, it depends on how well you treat them and how often you wear them. On the average, a wig lasts about 6 months if worn everyday. What makes a wig more convincing? If you find a basic style that you like but think it is too full or too long, it is best to keep the wig instead of returning it, and having it trimmed to fit your individual face. Remember just because you have bought an expensive wig, that does not mean the style it is going to look good on you. Will wearing a wig ruin my natural hair? Hair grows on the average about a half an inch a month. Pressure does not keep hair from growing. The only thing that will stop hair from growing is lack of circulation or clogged pores.Stay away from "wax" conditioners (like cream rinses). Also, your scalp does need to be stimulated. I highly suggest massaging your scalp vigorous about 15 minutes daily. This can be accomplished by brushing your scalp maybe before you go to bed or while watching TV or reading. It will keep the hair follicles clear and the blood flow going to the roots. I also suggest using our human hair leave-in detangler. It contains a conditioner that helps the skin and hair follicle. How do I care for my wig? Storage - when you remove your wig, keep it on a wig stand (or "head form") to maintain the shape. Smooth out straight hair or fluff curls with a wire brush or pick. Cover with a hair net that holds the style without matting. Avoid leaving your wig near heat (radiators, vents), humidity (showers), or dusty areas. Wearing - once you have become accustomed to your wig, it's easy to go about your daily activities. Just remember to avoid blasts of heat - such as quickly opening an oven door - on synthetic wigs. When cooking, please be sure not to open the oven while wearing your wig. Also, try not to expose the wig to any other heat source, such as a blow dryer, curling iron, clothes dryer, etc. You can use regular mousse daily on synthetic and human hair wigs for extra body and a more natural look and feel. Can I wash my wig? If you are washing a synthetic wig use shampoo and conditioner made specifically for synthetic wigs (do not use a mild shampoo as it will cause the hair to oxidize). Remember to:
  • Put the wig on a styrofoam head or wig saver after washing (do not use cans, lamps, etc.)
  • Use hairsprays made specifically for synthetic wigs.
  • Do not use any form of human hair mousse, gels or spritzers.
  • Any type of heat will cause wig fibres to frizz (lamps, ovens/stoves, heat from body).
  • Do not attempt to cut the wig or hairpiece as it must be professionally done.
  • Do not use use any form of curling irons, hot rollers or blow dryers.
  • We recommend using a Silicon spray to protect the synthetic hair from frizzing, drying out and fading.
Shampooing frequency depends on wearing frequency. Generally, a wig should be washed after every 6-8 wearings in warm climates or after every 12-15 wearings in coolers ones. However, if you're especially active, use heavy hairspray, or live in an especially humid or poor air quality climate, you should wash about once a week to remove excess perspiration and dirt.

THE ADMIRABLE TRANSVESTITE

  What is admirable about being a transvestite? Is the urge to dress in women's clothes something to be encouraged? Can wearing a dress somehow help to make a man a better person? These are the sort of questions that I, as a transvestite, have asked myself. Here, I hope, you will find the answers. First let us define our terms. Not every man who puts on a frock is a transvestite. Female impersonators, drag artists and panto dames do not necessarily dress away from the stage. By a transvestite I mean a man who dresses for his own private enjoyment. In the full sense of the word, an amateur. Why do we do it? It is not too difficult to accept that someone we love likes to dress up, but it is much harder to understand why. It is particularly difficult to understand that he may have been doing it in secret ever since he was a boy and, if he had not been found out, would have carried on doing it. Why all the secrecy if he is not ashamed of what he does? The transvestites who come to public attention are those who have messed up their lives in some other way. They have become involved in crime or had mental breakdowns, or simply behaved incredibly stupidly. These are the only ones who get written about so it is easy, but quite wrong, to assume that all transvestites are the same, or that the habitual wearing of women's clothes will inevitably lead to the same fate. Even the transvestite who has not yet come to an understanding of himself and his passion, can harbour the same fears and with some justification. The problem is that the man who feels guilty about dressing, and yet continues to dress, denies responsibility for his own actions. Because he cannot admit that he enjoys dressing he blames his upbringing, his hormones, his star sign, anything but himself. Small wonder that a man who becomes so confused about what he does by himself makes a mess of the rest of his life as well! If he then uses his dressing as an escape from that mess, and as an excuse for doing nothing about it, he is indeed a pitiable state. I know that state myself. There have been times when I have been so obsessed by the thought of "becoming a woman" that I have done stupid things and hurt people needlessly, broken promises and failed to explore opportunities. I know from experience that obsession can make being a transvestite a nightmare. Transvestites are the most private of people. As well as those who are ridden by self-doubt and the fear of discovery, there are thousands of happy well-balanced men who dress as women either privately or in public about whom nobody knows, or those who do aren't saying. The admirable transvestite is the one who has conquered his fear and obsession. He dresses only to give pleasure to himself and others. Of course his behaviour is odd and irrational and he does not talk about it to people who do not want to know. The same holds true of every sport, every hobby, and most jobs. Very little of what any human being does is absolutely rational and indispensable. The world is full of odd people behaving in odd ways and transvestites are by no means the oddest of the lot - a civilised society is one which can tolerate the eccentricities of its members where they do not curtail the freedoms of others.
  f587_1177gnrsfeatadmirtranspage2.jpgThere are transvestites who only dress in private and there are those who live and work as women, and the former do not always envy the latter. Each situation has its own costs, not all of which are obvious. As with any hobby, it is up to each man to decide just how far he wants to go, and whether he is prepared to pay the price. This article is an examination of the various types of transvestite, the satisfaction they enjoy, and the price they and those for whom they are responsible have to pay for them. It has been written with the intention that:- Those who know and are concerned about a transvestite may have some of their more irrational fears and anxieties relieved and be able to talk freely and knowledgably to him about what he does and how it affects them both. Transvestites may be able to understand the motives behind what they do, and the consequences thereof. As a result, they may be able to choose freely and responsibly where and how they dress. If any transvestite decides, after reading this article, that dressing up is just not enjoyable enough to justify the time, money and emotional energy he has spent on it, then I will be well content. The best reason not to dress is to have better things to do. Dressing can be exciting, relaxing, interesting, consoling, uplifting, revealing or just good fun, but it is not everything. Although the admirable transvestite sees and enjoys a wider world than most, even that is not all there is. The world is wider, and stranger yet. The Difference In the beginning God created all creatures male and female. Every child before it can talk knows the difference and and which it is itself. Indeed, studies show that toddlers barely able to walk know whether other toddlers are male and female. For what it is worth, boy babies spend more time looking at little boys and girl babies at little girls. The toddlers tell each other apart by the difference in their movements, but adults cannot distinguish such subtle differences. So far as they are concerned, unless they have cause to change the nappy, a little pink baby is a girl and a little blue one is a boy and they will treat them accordingly. The toddlers react to a natural difference between the sexes, the adults to a cultural one, and just how much of the total difference between men and women is natural and how much is cultural is a question that is the source of continual debate. It is a question of particular interest to transvestites who attempt to find the answer by opposing the natural characteristics of one sex with the cultural ones of the other. Let us distinguish the two by calling the natural difference - that which distinguishes male from female - sex; and the cultural one - which distinguishes between men and women - gender. God made sex. Man (and woman) made gender. Gender divides human society into two worlds; the world of men and the world of women. Men and women everywhere not only dress differently, they also use different tools, speak different languages; in almost every respect they are two totally different sorts of people (I am writing now of the world as a whole rather than just the modern industrial section).
  f587_1173gnrsfeatadmirtranspage3.jpgMen and women also live in different worlds in the sense that they occupy different space. Some places are forbidden to women and some to men. Even in a one-roomed hut the men live on one side and the women on the other and neither ever crosses to the other side. In some cultures a person may never see a person of the opposite sex to whom they are not related. Although that is no longer so prevalent, even in our own society it is still considered unlucky for a bridegroom to see his bride on the morning before the wedding. The differences between men and women vary from culture to culture. In one society only men may make pottery, in another only women may. In one place only women milk cows and only men milk goats; ten miles away vice versa. Each village, each tribe is convinced that it knows best what is suitable for a woman to do and what for a man, but in no case are their ideas universally true. It was these variations in the gender pattern as much as anything that gave a community its identity. Strangers might be traded with, but it was almost unthinkable to marry one, because they did not understand the real difference between men and women. When I was young I would often hear the old people in my part of rural Ulster complain that "you can't tell the girls from the boys anymore", a remark that seemed patently untrue to anyone of my generation. What they meant, but could not say, was that the difference between boys and girls stood for all the other differences that made them the people they were. When their idea of what that difference was was no longer held true, they felt themselves losing their own sense of identity. The world they knew was passing away. If the gender difference is so important to a person's sense of who they are, then why is it that a woman can live and work in a man's world, wearing men's clothes, and all the prejudice she encounters does not force her to deny that she is a woman, yet transvestites often feel compelled to deny any trace of their masculinity? Joan of Arc, after all, dressed as a man and fought as a man, yet there was never any doubt as to her original gender. History is full of similar cases. There have been other cases of women who passed as men and whose true sex was only discovered on death. The most bizarre example is probably the legend of Pope Joan, the English girl who was supposedly elected Pope and gave birth on the way to be crowned. Why are these celebrated in ballad and legend while their male counterparts are over- looked? History, as any feminist will tell you, is His-story; the story of man's world. Women appear in it only incidentally, where their effect on the masculine world is undeniable, and the most undeniable of women are those like the two Joans who were successful in a man's role. Male transvestites, along with most women, are invisible to History.
  f587_1178gnrsfeatadmirtranspage4.jpgThe two worlds are complementary, but they are not simply mirror-images of each other. Men and women may live in different worlds but they are born in the same one, the world of their mothers. Sooner of later a boy will leave his mother to enter the world of men, but he retains fond memories of what that world of his infancy was like. His view of womanhood is tinged with memories of his infancy. A girl, on the other hand, sees manhood as freedom; boys are the ones who do not do as they are told. When she first asserts her own independance, she does so by acting the tom-boy, a phase that usually ends when she becomes interested in boys. A woman who acts like a man therefore is trying to make her own mark on the world. She may be feared, hated or resented for that, but not despised. Of course there were those, especially in times when independant women were less common, who simply enjoyed the shock that the sight of a woman in trousers gave to male egos, and never actually did anything but dress up. There may even have been a few so insecure about asserting themselves that they only dressed in private, but generally, once the gesture was made, it inspired them to prove that they were "as good as men". "Jane's aunt became an aviator first because of getting to wear overalls and getting dirty. Had young girls been able to do this at home, as now, she is sure she would not have seen the midnight sun or the Nile." For male transvestites there are no such opportunities (for what can a man do in a dress that he cannot do better in trousers?) so, unless they enjoy shocking people or look good enough to pass, they dress in private. Everyone, when faced with a new situation, reaches into the past for an appropriate response. When we first fall in love, for example, we use the sort of expressions we heard when we were hugged and kissed as babies, which is why Valentine messages come from floppy bunnies and the like. Joan of Arc and her sisters responded to the challenges of men with what they learned in their tom boy days and built upon it. For a man there is no similar period, no time in which he felt approved of when acting like a girl. On the contrary, growing up for a boy meant not acting like a girl, not being a "cissie". A man who puts on a dress is not recalling some proud moment of youthful independance. He is seeking warmth, security, love, the things he had when, as an infant, he last lived in the world of women. I know this is not a complete explanation, indeed it is not exactly how I regard my own dressing, but it is un- deniable, and the reason why some men enjoy dressing, or rather being dressed, as babies or schoolgirls.
  f587_1265gnrsfeatadmirtranspage5.jpgWhen being an adult male is depressing it is pleasant to pretend that you are a little girl and do not have to grow up to be a man. So it was that the Americans expected to be believed when they claimed that after the bombing of Tripoli, Colonel Gadaffi spent his time sitting in his tent dressed as a woman. So you see that some men dress to escape hostile reality and return to the security they felt in infancy, and this goes well with that attitude of dependancy. It also protects their self-esteem as men, if they can pretend to themselves that the desire is not of their making. These men like to wear clothes that remind them of the women they loved when they were young, so it is not surprising that they end up looking like their mothers... Quite a few men have started dressing late in life following the loss of a much-loved female relative. In these cases it is quite obvious that their dressing is an attempt to fill the gap in their lives that the loss caused. The fact that, perhaps for the first time in their lives, they are alone with clothes that bring back memories of previous happiness, may make the temptation to dress irresistible. Of all the retreats from a hostile world that a man can make, dressing is one of the most satisfying. Any form of hobby or relaxation is pursued not only for its own sake but for the feeling it gives of "getting out of oneself", leaving behind the worries of the mundane world. The transvestite can do that almost literally, for by "becoming a woman" he leaves behind for a while the burdens he had to bear as a man - as long as he is a "woman" they no longer matter. The trouble is that this will only work in public with people who accept him in his self-created role. To be dressed in the presence of someone who still sees you as the man you normally are removes all point from the exercise. This knowledge that the people who know you best as a man will find it hardest to accept you as a woman is a major factor in the secrecy that surrounds dressing. Other men dress for more frankly sexual reasons. The women they portray is not a respectable mother figure but a fantasy mistress. The catalogues that cater for transvestites illustrate the difference. For one type there are the sort of Sunday-best clothes any woman might wear and words such as safe, secure, discreet, convincing, soft, feminine: for the other more exotic wear and descriptions like wild, wicked, sexy, sinful, daring and provocative. This second class of transvestite may well have begun dressing in puberty, when female clothing becomes sexually attractive because the people who wear it are. It may seem strange to someone who is not a transvestite to say that a man can feel even more masculine when dressed as a woman, but it is true. Just as a diamond looks best on a black cloth so the contrast with the femininity of the clothes enhances his own sense of maleness. Being a transvestite is like having a mistress who will comply with his every whim. He can act out his sexual fantasies with her and not have to worry about how a real girl would react. The clothes he buys for her are the same as he would buy for such a woman. A man who is unsure of himself with women may use his fantasy as a substitute for the real thing: a more confident person who finds a sympathetic wife of girlfriend may discover he enjoys making love to her while dressed or perhaps playing a game where he pretends that he is only dressed up because she orders it. Part of the excitement for both is the thought of doing something "naughty", for if a little bit of guilt were not an aphrodisiac, why is lacy underwear advertised as "wicked"?
  f587_1172gnrsfeatadmirtranspage5.jpgWhereas some years ago the greatest fear of transvestites and those who knew about them was that they might be gay, now it is that they might be transsexual. I hope I have shown the reasons transvestites have for dressing need not include a desire for surgery. Certainly the man whose female wardrobe consists of things like seven-inch stilettos and fishnet stockings is hardly likely to want a sex-change. By contrast, many transsexuals (people who believe they really are female but were born male - or vice versa) do not dress at all unless they are actually living as women. Because they are sure of what they consider to be their true sex, dressing would only make them too painfully aware of how their bodies fail to live up to it. Both types of transvestite, and other types I have not yet covered, dress in response to basic human needs, and the women they portray reflect those needs. Whether mother or mistress, lady or femme fatale, they are creations of their own male minds. The particular method that the transvestite uses to bring these images of women to life may be peculiar, but the images themselves are not - they are common to all men and can be traced through the years in art and literature. There is hardly a word that a man has written about his true love that a transvestite has not applied to his fantasy woman. Men see women not only as mothers and mistresses but as many other things as well. The man who first starts dressing usually has a rather extreme image in mind. If it is a mistress figure, his first experiences may arouse him to orgasm. That level of intensity does not last. The woman he has made himself is different from the fantasy he had of how she would be, because she is flesh and blood. Every man who ever fell in love with a woman has had the same sort of experience. The wise man is the one who knows that the dream must be tailored to the reality rather than vie-versa. In this the transvestite, if he is wise, has an advantage over other men. His woman is not just flesh and blood but his flesh, his blood. He knows her better than any sister. Whatever image he throws on her, he can change and alter until it fits exactly. So it is that the more experience a transvestite has, the more real his "woman" is, and the more realistic his expectations of other women become...

WEARING JENNIFER'S FACE

  There are eight of us enjoying a dinner party at Jennifer's house, including my girlfriend and me, and we have been drinking. Jennifer and I have been trading warm smiles--there has always been an attraction between us. Jennifer is older than me, a widow for several years, and very attractive. I wander down the hall seeking the bathroom and end up in her bedroom. I see something that really takes my breath away: On the bureau, covered by a plastic bag, is an amazing mask of Jennifer's head. I pick it up and examine it: it looks so erotic with the mouth half open and the eyes empty. Jennifer suddenly strolls in--she clearly followed me--and tells me that her husband made for himself from a cast of her head and it is real in all details. She can tell I am fascinated by it, and she takes it off the pedestal so I can have a closer look. As I hold it playfully up to my face, she tells me, almost orders me, to try it on, and moves swiftly to put it on me as I protest weakly. My friends walk in and watch in amusement. With some difficulty Jennifer stretches the mask onto my head, as I stop protesting and help her. The mask is made of a material that is squishy like a silicone breast and quite stretchy--it fits me tightly but it is not uncomfortable. The nostrils extend into my nose, and the lips of the mask fit over mine giving me Jennifer's soft, feminine lips. I touch the mask and feel the thickness at the cheekbones. It reminds me of the way my sense of touch is numbed when wearing a condom--this is like wearing a condom over my head. But unlike a condom, the opening of the mask is as small and my head is large. It turns me on that I cannot take off this mask without difficulty. I go to the mirror, glad that my penis is bound down in tight underwear. I look in the mirror at my reflection, now wearing Jennifer's face, her dark curly hair cascading around her face, my eyes shadowed in her eye sockets, the nose prominent but feminine, the slightly cleft chin, the lips soft and well defined. Come on, she says with enthusiasm sharpened by alcohol, let�s dress you up so you look the part. I look at my friends smiling: little do they know that I have no choice, that I have dreamed of this. My heart pounds with lust and excitement, and I wish the pleasure of this moment could go on forever. My head is trapped in Jennifer's skin--it holds me firmly, with no hope of removal, I imagine, and that is how I want it.
  Jennifer shoos my friends away, insisting I must dress the part and really surprise everyone, so I follow her into the spare bedroom to try on some things she has that should fit me. She locks the door, unbuckles my belt, and energetically pulls my pants down, immediately noting my state of arousal. She comes to me and smoothes the mask with her hands as if admiring it. There is a price to pay for this, she says, and she asks if I am willing to pay it. I cannot believe her boldness, and how the situation has escalated from the moment I discovered the rubber mask in her bedroom. Now I am wearing the mask and my pants are around my ankles. She removes all of my clothes and unbuttons the top of her dress, freeing her soft breasts. We stand and kiss passionately in the middle of the room. I imagine how this must look: I am a man with a woman's face, and a woman�s hair. I open my eyes and reflect that kissing her while wearing her own face is too incredible to describe. I wonder how she feels about seeing her face looking back at her. Her soft rubber lips part as I moan softly, and I feel her hair touch my neck and shoulders as I shake my head and look at the ceiling in ecstasy. We know we cannot go on any longer--the others are expecting us--so she quickly disengages her lips and finds me some clothes in the closet that she says her husband had once worn to a Halloween party in the 70's. I see a closet full of women's clothes, and I begin to wonder if he was a transvestite. She pulls on opaque latex panties and two pairs of nylons, but not before she impulsively takes me in her mouth for ten incredible seconds. My penis is now a bound and gagged prisoner, sacrificed to complete the illusion of a mock Jennifer. A tight nylon and spandex girdle with pads is wriggled on to give me hips and thighs and the double mounds of a sexy woman�s ass, then a tight, orange vinyl skirt with laces in the back, a bra stuffed with large, jiggly prosthetic breasts, and a constricting black turtleneck top that completely hides the bottom edge of the mask. The go go boots in white are tight but I can walk in them, and the orange and plaid Beatles cape is tied with a cord in front. The press on nails and false eyelashes seem a bit over the top for this simple charade, but I acquiesce. I don some black leather gloves that give my hands a feminine look. I cup my boobs, so firm yet soft on my chest, and my gloved hand feels the tight nothingness between my legs. She puts pink blusher to highlight my prominent cheekbones and lipstick on my soft lips.
  Jennifer shoos my friends away, insisting I must dress the part and really surprise everyone, so I follow her into the spare bedroom to try on some things she has that should fit me. She locks the door, unbuckles my belt, and energetically pulls my pants down, immediately noting my state of arousal. She comes to me and smoothes the mask with her hands as if admiring it. There is a price to pay for this, she says, and she asks if I am willing to pay it. I cannot believe her boldness, and how the situation has escalated from the moment I discovered the rubber mask in her bedroom. Now I am wearing the mask and my pants are around my ankles. She removes all of my clothes and unbuttons the top of her dress, freeing her soft breasts. We stand and kiss passionately in the middle of the room. I imagine how this must look: I am a man with a woman's face, and a woman�s hair. I open my eyes and reflect that kissing her while wearing her own face is too incredible to describe. I wonder how she feels about seeing her face looking back at her. Her soft rubber lips part as I moan softly, and I feel her hair touch my neck and shoulders as I shake my head and look at the ceiling in ecstasy. We know we cannot go on any longer--the others are expecting us--so she quickly disengages her lips and finds me some clothes in the closet that she says her husband had once worn to a Halloween party in the 70's. I see a closet full of women's clothes, and I begin to wonder if he was a transvestite. She pulls on opaque latex panties and two pairs of nylons, but not before she impulsively takes me in her mouth for ten incredible seconds. My penis is now a bound and gagged prisoner, sacrificed to complete the illusion of a mock Jennifer. A tight nylon and spandex girdle with pads is wriggled on to give me hips and thighs and the double mounds of a sexy woman�s ass, then a tight, orange vinyl skirt with laces in the back, a bra stuffed with large, jiggly prosthetic breasts, and a constricting black turtleneck top that completely hides the bottom edge of the mask. The go go boots in white are tight but I can walk in them, and the orange and plaid Beatles cape is tied with a cord in front. The press on nails and false eyelashes seem a bit over the top for this simple charade, but I acquiesce. I don some black leather gloves that give my hands a feminine look. I cup my boobs, so firm yet soft on my chest, and my gloved hand feels the tight nothingness between my legs. She puts pink blusher to highlight my prominent cheekbones and lipstick on my soft lips.
  As we prepare to sit down to dinner, I become embarrassed by the constant attention and declare to Jennifer that it is time to take it off. She is adamant that I remain in the mask, and chastises me for making her go through all that trouble only to take it all off after a few minutes. I protest that it wasn�t entirely my idea, but she makes me promise, in front of everyone, my most solemn promise, all kidding aside, that I will not take off the mask until she says so. I agree, smiling a good approximation of her smile. She makes me promise to speak like her while I am wearing her face, and I playfully agree in my breathy voice. My heart pounds, and I cannot hold on much longer to the wave of pleasure I am riding. The party is winding down. I have caught my reflection in the mirror many times and each glance grants me a jolt of erotic pleasure as I see Jennifer�s face instead of mine. I would eagerly make love to any woman who looked like I look tonight. My girlfriend seems a little shocked when I grab her and give her a deep kiss with Jennifer's face on. I suggest, with alcohol on my breath, how erotic it would be to make love to her wearing this mask; it has been my fantasy, I tell her, to pleasure a woman while disguised as a woman. She says nothing, ignoring the remark, but I can see that she is thinking, considering, maybe fantasizing about it as she stares at me later. Jennifer's soft rubber lips have blown the guys kisses, her mouth has spoken in her breathy, husky voice, and she has minced around the room in little white boots shaking her wide hips and bottom in a parody of femininity, but I have begun to tire of it a little. I am still turned on but the raging fire has been reduced to white-hot coals. As the last couple leaves only four of us in the house, I suggest that I perhaps I should take off the mask and clothes so we can go home. With a nasty smile, Jennifer declares that she has not given the word yet, and will not give it. I am tired, I am hot and I chafe, so I tell her it has gone on long enough. She reminds me I gave my solemn oath, and with loud laughter at his drunken cleverness, her escort tells me I am going to bed with Jennifer whether I like it or not. Getting a little angry at this attitude, I pull off the leather gloves and reach under the turtleneck for the edge of the mask. I will peel it up and stretch Jennifer's face off of my own, even though I wish to continue wearing it. Then, after removing it, I will ask if I can borrow it for the night, just for laughs. In my heart I want to keep it on, but I must take a stand or appear to like my predicament too much. I search for the edge of the mask with no luck, and ask my girlfriend for help. She laughs and tells me a promise is a promise. I go to the mirror and pull the turtleneck down so I can see the edge. I see it is stuck tight to my skin, and try as I might; I am unable to roll or peel it loose. I tug at the hair, the face, the neck, but Jennifer's face is mine for now. The three of them laugh at my plight, and I now see that my they all knew that I would not be able to remove this thing at the end of the evening--Jennifer told them, but not me. Looks like you'll get you wish, my girlfriend whispers seductively as she drives us home. I pull down the cosmetic mirror and run my gloved fingers over the false face that is adhered to my own. I smile as I imagine making wonderful love tonight, sleeping masked, waking to the morning light with long hair across my pillow, and eating breakfast in a bathrobe wearing Jennifer's face. Before we leave her house, Jennifer secretly makes it clear that I will only be able to remove the mask when I have paid her back in a very special way. She turns and announces so all can hear her: Tomorrow I will release you--I will call and tell you how to do it. But her wink tells me that I must come to her house, to see her in her own bedroom. In the succeeding weeks, Jennifer shows me the contents of her closet in the spare bedroom. I learn that in that closet lives a woman who was imprisoned inside of me until that night at Jennifer�s house. Jennifer receives more than she bargained for, but the woman inside of me grows stronger and is more and more reluctant to go back into the closet at the end of our sessions together. I imagine this fantasy life will grow in strength until finally, one day; Jennifer will be surprised to see herself walking down the street wearing tight jeans that show off her ample ass. She�ll have bouncing breasts beneath a red silk blouse, and she'll wear red heels to match her nails and the red lipstick on her soft rubber lips. The corners of her ample mouth will curl in a confident smile as she walks, hips swaying, ignoring the urgent pleas from the woman standing on the sidewalk. Perhaps, I think, I will never tire of wearing Jennifer's face...
  The mirror shows a fashion throwback to the 60's, something like a whorish Emma Peel, but a woman, a convincingly real woman. The mask is mobile, thin enough in places to allow facial expression: smiles, grimaces, kisses, and the languid, half lidded, false eye lashed, pouting look of lust. I am ready to explode, but I am contained because I cannot manually stimulate myself further. I am in a holding pattern of pleasure: the swishing movement of the long hair, the sound of the nyloned legs brushing as I walk, the clip clop of the little boots on the hardwood floor, the feel of my large, firm ass under the short vinyl skirt, the feel of my gloved hands as they touch the rubber illusion that so artfully hides my own face. My passion burns as brightly as a torch in the night. As we prepare to leave the room, Jennifer slyly smiles and tells me she knows my secrets. She makes it clear that I owe her and she will collect very soon. Say yes, she demands, say it like a woman would. Yes, I say, in as close an approximation of her breathy female voice as I can, yes. Everyone is knocked out by my appearance as Jennifer walks me by hand through the party, introducing me with a big grin as her big sister; I really do look like her sister. My girlfriend is impressed and playful, watching with amazement and something else I can't read. In front of the group she acts like she wants me to get out of this Jennifer disguise and be her boyfriend again, but I see she is enjoying it. I get catcalls from the guys and they grab my boobs and ass like drunken construction workers.

STAND BY YOUR BOARD

  Getting In The Mood So the first stage is to dress for the part, get yourself mentally attuned as a diligent housewife. Skirts must be worn at all times, preferably protected by a pretty apron or pinafore. Setting The Temperature. First look at the care label on the garment to see what fabric it is made from, and what setting the manu- facturers recommend. Some irons actually have a fabric guide the majority do not. Most irons now have thermostatic settings symbolised by a series of dots You just set the iron to the setting marked on the care label. The symbols most commonly used are these: If you are in doubt, please do be cautious. Start with a cool iron and if this doesn't seem to do the trick increase the temperature until the creases dissapear. How easily this happens will also depend on the moisture in the garment, so let's look at judging the moisture. Judging The Moisture. Just like when you first learned to walk in high heels, judging whether your clothes are too damp or too dry to iron is all a matter of balance. If the clothes are too wet when they are ironed you will get a poor finish and they will probably need ironing later. But then again if the fabric has been allowed to get too dry it is often impossible to achieve a smooth, crisp finish. And we do want it crisp, don't we? For most common |fabrics you will need Ito iron them when they are just slightly damp to the touch. If they are already dry, either use the steam setting if your iron has one, or use a small spray such as you might buy for household plants. Just be careful with silk and viscose as these fabrics will show water marks and so should not be sprayed. Chiffon, Practise your technique georgette, crepe and acrylic fibres should only be ironed when they are completely dry.
    Practice Is Perfect Now we have covered the basics of ironing it is time to pop on your pinnies, stand by your boards and practise your technique. Are we all ready? So let's make a start. 1. Dampen the garment if necessary and set your iron to the required temperature for the garment to be ironed. 2. Iron the hems and the seams first, before moving on to the collars, then sleeves and pockets, and finally the main body of the garment. 3. As a general rule always iron in the direction of the grain of the fabric using long, smooth strokes over as large an area as possible. The exceptions to these are: Iron fine wool with a light circular motion. Iron knitted rayon diagonally. Iron embroidery on the wrong side over a thick blanket or pad. Iron tucks and gathers with the point of the iron. Iron heavier materials by laying a damp, lint free cloth on top. This is the only way to get crisp pleats in skirts. And remember girls, once you have taken all this trouble to get your clothes looking neat and smart, do be careful about how you then hang them up. Try to ensure you have enough cupboard space to allow your blouses, dresses and skirts to hang freely. If that means you have to be ruthless at times and actually pass on some of your little worn clothes to Oxfam, so be it. If you are in doubt, please do be cautious. Start with a cool iron and if this doesn't seem to do the trick increase the temperature until the creases dissapear. How easily this happens will also depend on the moisture in the garment, so let's look at judging the moisture.

EXFOLIATING YOUR SKIN

  exfoliateSteps: 1. Brush dry skin before getting into the shower. You can use either a loofah, exfoliating gloves or a body exfoliating brush. Start at the soles of the feet and work your way up. 2. Get into the bath or shower and wet your entire body. 3. Apply exfoliating cleanser to your loofah or exfoliating brush or gloves. 4. Scrub your body with it, using gentle, circular motions. 5. Opt for grainy types of cleansers to clean the skin, rather than soap. Choose exfoliating cleansers that contain ingredients such as oatmeal, ground almonds or even sea salt. The grainy texture exfoliates the skin. 6. Make your own exfoliating cleanser, if you prefer. Mix sea salt, olive oil and lemon shower 2juice together, or mix ground almonds and powdered milk. The combinations are endless. 7. Use a washcloth for mild exfoliation. 8. Rub rough spots, such as heels, with a pumice stone or stick. 9. Apply lotion containing alpha or beta hydroxy acids after you exfoliate. This will continue the exfoliating process because the acids further abrade and remove dead skin cells. 10. Be sure to use body moisturizers at least once every day. Regular exfoliating is extremely drying to the skin and will do more harm than good unless the skin is rehydrated liberally with lotions. Tips: Some products are more abrasive than others. If your skin is very sensitive, use as little friction as possible and stick to the least abrasive products. Warning: Never overexfoliate with excessively abrasive exfoliating cleansers, or you run the risk of bursting the delicate blood vessels under the skin. If the vessels burst, your skin may appear permanently flushed. This condition, known as telangiectasia, must then be treated using laser surgery.