The Office Boy

My name was Mike Grant, and I say was, because it's different now. I have two years of college and I'm taking classes at night to finish with a degree in Business. In order to support my school expenses and have some spending money, I found a job working in an office as sort of a glorified office boy. I'm 5' 7" tall with soft brown hair and blue eyes and I have never weighed more than 140 in my entire life. Valerie Hooper, the woman I report to is in charge of the office, and also prepares parties for Christmas and so on. Valerie is about 50, married, with two sons and a husband. For Halloween she wanted everyone to come to work in costume, fully expecting a lot of monsters or ghosts. When I told her I wanted to do something different but had no idea of what, or who, to come as, she smiled and told me that I could easily come as Diane Benson, the actress, when she was my age! "You have the same facial structure she does, and with the right makeup you could be her twin Mike. Think about it and let me know. That night I told my mother what Valerie had suggested, and to my surprise she agreed! "I can help you if you like Mike. Your sister still has a lot of her clothes here so that would not be a problem. Besides, it could be a lot of fun!" I told her that I would think about it. For years I was lonely, depressed, angry at myself, the world, and the gods that made me this way. I knew I was smart and had a good job, but at age 20, I was still driven by urges I never had any control over, no matter how hard I tried. I often felt the urge to dress as a girl, but each time I did, and then looked in the mirror, I saw a clown instead of the woman I wanted to be. Including my makeup, I was merely a parody of the woman in my dreams. My frustration at my inability to achieve any semblance of the woman I felt I wanted to become had driven me into silent secrecy when I did try to dress up. That night, in my robe, I munched snacks as the television played in a muted tone. The young women on the screen were a constant reminder of what I wanted to be able to look like, and equally, my inability to either conquer my desires, or forget it, or become the woman I had so many dreams about. In my heart I knew I was going to do it, because even though I had secretly tried on my sister's clothes many times when I was growing up, and always felt like a clown, this time I would have my mother to help me. My mother's tacit approval lifted the veil of frustration and I felt as if I was soaring. I knew, in my heart, that this time, I would look good. Since Claire was just a year older than I was, most of her clothes fit me pretty well, and I was sure that with some help, I could look pretty nice. My biggest concern was how everyone in the office would react to me dressed as a girl. The next morning, when I told mom about my concerns, she told me that in her mind, the best way, if I was going to do it, would for me to be perfect. Since I didn't want to come off as a clown or one of those freak of the week people, I agreed. "I'll get a few things today and we can see how you do tomorrow. If you like it then you can stay dressed as a girl until Monday." Someone once said that tears are merely a reflection of the soul, whether its fear, joy, or sadness. All those years of hiding, frustration, fear, and secrecy came to a head all at once, and I started to cry. Why are you crying Michael? This is what you want isn't it? To live and work as a female?" My head popped up, and out came, "What!" "I'm sure its true Michael, based on the number of times you wore Claire's clothes!" Shocked that mother knew about my dressing up as a girl, and afraid of what I might blurt out, I kept my mouth shut. "I said I would help you if you let me Michael, and I think that you should practice dressing every day after work, and each weekend from now until the day when you go to work." I started to say something, but mom held her hand up and said, "You did say that you wanted to be perfect didn't you?" "YesÉ" "Well this will give you a few weeks of practice before the party!" I could find nothing more to say about it, swallowed my pride, nodded my head yes, and quietly went to my room. That night I decided that mom was right. I would do the best I could or not at all, and if she already knew about me dressing up and wanted to help me then no matter how I thought I looked it wouldn't matter.


    On Saturday morning right after breakfast mom told me to go to my room. I have everything you'll need. I'll just show you how to use it and you can take it from there." As far as my mother was concerned it was a done deal, and that combined with my natural desires made it easy for me to stay silent in my agreement. Mom gave me the stuff, which I recognized as a popular hair removal cream. As soon as she left the room I stripped and quickly had a coat of the cream all over me, from the eyebrows down. After a shower and a close shave I stepped out and patted myself dry. I had never yet shaved my body or used hair removal cream before, and I was surprised at just how smooth my skin felt. My beard, while not what you would call light, was a light color and only moderate in growth, and after I shaved I had nice soft skin. With the towel wrapped around me I went into Claire's bedroom and closed the door, hesitating for just a moment because I was pretty sure that as soon as I was dressed and stepped out of the room I was not going to want to quit. Ignoring that thought I forged ahead, opened her dresser and selected a pair of lavender colored cotton panties and slipped them on. When Claire was younger she had a shape like a pencil and used a padded pantybrief and some breastforms to give her some shape. I had found them while I was in her room dressing once, and made sure I left them right where I found them. I slipped on the pantybrief, adjusting the pads to suit me. The pantyhose went on easily, but the nylon against my now naked skin was like an electric shock as I slid them on. I went to the vanity and sat down facing the huge mirror. Makeup was the only thing I had managed to almost master simply because that was all I could do on so many occasions. I applied the foundation using a powder to set it, brushing away the excess as soon as it dried, leaving my skin looking soft and smooth. On my eyes I used a mint green with copper and gray highlights with deep black eyeliner both over and under my eyes. A bit of rose blusher on my cheekbones and black mascara on my lashes. My naturally curly hair was thick, and as it was drying the ends started to curl, so with a brush I was able to create a modest if messy pageboy that framed my face. The curly ends added just the right touch to the style. I didn't even need a curling iron. I heard mom knock on the door, and when she came in the room and saw me, she told me that my makeup was fine. "Let me help you with your nails." I opened the small drawer and pulled out the box of fake nails. Using the glue in the box mom attached one to each of my nails and filed them into an oval shape with rounded tips. The polish I selected was one shade up from pink. It took a while for the polish to dry, and while I waited I stood in front of the closet and tried to select what I was going to wear for my first public debut. As soon as my nails were dry I slipped my arms into the lavender bra and settled it in front after I fastened the single front hook. The breastforms were flesh colored, filled with silicone to a small 'B' cup, which was perfect on my frame. The waist nipper was beige with eleven hooks and a zipper, and once I had it on it made my waist a trim 25 inches. Unable to decide on what to wear, mom picked out a light blue floral summer dress for me to wear. She said it would 'go with' my bra and panties. I wore off white sandals and a matching blue jacket. Mom redid my hair a bit and it seemed to flow around my face. I looked in the mirror and was floored! The reflection in the mirror I saw that I did look like Diane Benson in a way and I stood before the mirror in a dream like state looking at the girl standing there. I loved the image I was seeing. The girl that I had only dreamed of stood in front of me, not perfect of course, but I did not feel like a clown this time. The image I saw in the mirror burst all of the illusions I had about my maleness! Inside, in that private place we all have, I knew that I would never again be happy again unless I was able to become this young woman more than once in a while.


    The girl, me, was looking back from the mirror, and like my sister, she is stunning. Her large blue eyes with their long lashes look deeply into me. She has wide, pouty lips highlighted by sensual reddish pink lipstick. Her soft brown hair falls a few inches above her shoulders, styled with bangs, gently brushed without a single hair out of place. White button earrings and a thin white necklace merely enhance the simple blue dress. The simplicity of the dress draws my eyes to my face. Without any fanfare at all I turned to face my mother, and when she looked up I heard her gasp. "Damn!" Mom stood up and had me turn around for her. "If I did not know it was you I never would have guessed that there was a boy under that dress!" "Thank you mother." I sat down facing her, my knees firmly locked together and my hands in my lap. "I can see that you know how to do makeup and get dressed, but how are you in public?" "I've never been out of the house mother." "Then it's time that you experience things all women enjoyÉ like shopping, having your nails done and your hair styled." "Like this!" "Of course dear! How else?" "ButÉbutÉ" I started to sound like a car that needed a tune up, but mother had made up her mind! "Michael, you and I both know that you want to go out and make people think that you are really a girl, don't we? Lets stop pretending that you are so attached to your macho self and admit that you love being a girl." Why did she always know? Are all mothers able to read their children's mind like this? Without waiting for an answer she said, "Get a purse and put your wallet and some lipstick in it and I'll get cleaned up a bit before we go." As I waited for her to get ready I knew that mother was right. I no longer had any reason to use excuses or delaying tactics. The time had come; I had to step outside wearing women's clothes. I had to, and wanted to, act enough like a real girl to convince everyone that would see me that I really was a girl. I had to act in a way that everyone who saw me would believe I was a female. The very thought of being a convincing girl made me feel weak and vulnerable, yet fear was attacking every nerve in my body, and the longer I waited the more my fear grew. Mother finally showed up, but before we left the house she asked me what my girl name was. "I never picked one mother!" "Then why don't we use the name of the actress you look so much like?" I agreed, and from that moment on she called me Diane. The first thing that I became aware of was how the breezy air felt on my nylon covered legs. That same slight breeze also kept teasing its way up and under the hem of my dress. It was a new sensation, but I have to admit that I loved it. I found that wearing high heels made my hips sway, and I had to walk with a better posture just to help me to maintain my balance. It wasn't long before I began to hold my arms up at my sides bent at the elbow instead of putting them in my pockets like I normally did. Mother saw the way I was reacting to the clothes, but instead of saying anything she just smiled at me warmly, with approval written on her face. I wondered about that, and finally I asked her about it as we drove to the mall.


    "You would have done this sooner or later anyway Diane. If I help guide you then you'll have an easier time of it and I get to have another daughter who is a lady to her core." She glanced at me and saw the worry on my face. "Diane, you are a boy, that's true. But only on the outside I think. Inside, where it counts the most I think you're a girl. That wasn't clear to me until I saw you for the first time this morning, then it was obvious, to both of us I think. Am I right?" It was my moment of truth, and without even thinking about it I nodded my head yes. "I don't think that you feel you're much different from any other girl at this moment Diane. I know that you want people to think you're a girl, and you want them to treat you like a girl, so we'll have to make them think you're a girl, won't we?" Again, I nodded my head yes, but this time I knew I had a smile on my face. "You'll need panties and bras of your own Diane, so why don't we start there." It was a statement of course. We both knew I would do whatever she wanted. I walked right beside my mother, keeping step with her, noticing how she held her hands and like her shadow, I began doing the same things. In the lingerie department we bought a dozen panties and three new bras before we moved to the junior department where I tried on several skirts and dresses which we bought along with two suits. In the shoe department I tried on shoes and found that Claire and I wore the same size, so I only bought a pair of beige flats. "Let's put the packages in the car Diane, and then we can have some lunch before your appointment at the salon." "My appointment?" "While you were in trying on that nice pink suit I asked the girl to call ahead and get you an appointment. You do want to look your best on Monday don't you?" "But I thought I was going to do this on the weekends for three weeks before I went to work as a girl!" Mom was pushing me to see how far I would go, so in a fit of bravery, I one upped her to see what she would do. "Of course! Maybe I'll get my hair colored and a nice perm at the same time." "That's probably best if you're going to work as a woman. Maybe they can pierce your ears at the same time." Mother was not about to be one upped by me, and had even raised the stakes a bit higher. Unfortunately I had nothing else to offer and my bravery made it firm. I could only smile in my acceptance. I had walked up to the cliff and stepped right off so to speak. After lunch we walked to the salon in the mall and a woman named Betty took me to a chair. "This is Debbie, she'll be your stylist." I looked at her and smiled. After some discussion about what I wanted, Debbie concluded that I didn't have a clue, and she simply told me that she would do a 'modest' amount of work on my hair before she started on me. I simply let her do her work with a minimum of chatter. When I had to move to the dryer another girl came over and started in on my nails, removing the ones I had put on that morning then made them slightly longer and used a light red polish on them. While she was doing my nails another girl pierced my ears and added small gold hoops! When Debbie was done and I looked in the mirror I was stunned at just how much a simple hairstyle can make a person change. My once soft brown hair was now blond, done in soft waves on top that terminated in sharp curls behind my head. My hair was just below my ears, brushed out to frame my face with bangs that were swept to one side. In my ears sat small gold hoops. I looked so different that it was hard not to keep looking in the mirror!


    Mom and I drove home and at mom's urging I moved into Claire's bedroom. I put the clothes away and started to move things from my old room to the new one, moving some of Claire's things, like underwear, to my old room. Later that night I went on line and found a site I had visited before. They sold things to help make men look like women, even if they were naked. I had visited this site many times in the past but had not yet bought anything. I saw that they had improved everything, so I used the on line ordering system to buy a few things I knew that I would need. I did not tell my mother. That night we watched television, mom in her flannels, me in a nightgown and robe set that was not much more than a diaphanous swirl of light blue The next morning I got up, brushed my hair, did my makeup and dressed in a skirt and blouse before I went to the kitchen and started the coffee. Mom came in shortly, and as we had our breakfast, she asked me what I had in mind for the day. "I have a few things I want to do on the computer, but I would like a picture of me first." "I'll get the camera!" Mom snapped the picture as I stood in front of a blank wall, handing it to me when it popped out of the camera. I took the picture and in my room I scanned it into the computer so I could clean it up a little. Then I scanned in my college ID, drivers license, and work ID. With the software it was easy to cut my old picture and paste the new one in its place. Changing the name was harder because I had to match the font, which was different on all of the items. When I was done, I printed out one of each on my printer, in full color, and other than the picture and name, I had exact copies of each piece of my ID. My name on each was Diane Michelle Grant. My dad had used a laminating machine quite often, and it was still in his office, so I went in and laminated each one. I was so elated at being able to dress as a woman that almost could not stand it. I fixed up a wallet that I had found in Claire's room with all of my new ID, moved my pictures, credit cards, and money to the new wallet and put it in the purse. My image in the mirror kept my attention, which was narcissistic I suppose, but I loved the way I looked and did not want to give up being a girl any sooner than I had to. At three that afternoon the things I had ordered arrived. Their ad was correct! Next day delivery! Mom signed for them, and as soon as I saw her she gave them to me. "What is this?" "I'll show you in a little while mother. Right now I have to examine them to make sure everything arrived undamaged." Of course nothing was damaged. It's hard to damage latex just by shipping it. I eagerly opened the package, and right on top was the panty with the artificial vagina. I set it aside and pulled out the box containing the breastforms. Each of the breasts was made so real looking that it was scary! I eagerly stripped my blouse and bra off, read the instruction sheet carefully, and using the enclosed adhesive, attached them to my chest. As soon as I smoothed out the seams they seemed to become one with me as only the almost invisible seam remained. The vaginal panty was harder to put on, but again, following the instruction sheet, I managed to slip it on, removing all traces of my manhood. Naked, I looked in the mirror and saw a young girl from head to toe. In my reverie I failed to hear the door open; when my mother gasped I turned to see her ashen face.


    Without a word she walked up to me and touched the breastforms, assuring herself they were fake I guess. She knew for a fact the vagina was a fake. "I see that you have become a girl after all! Do you have to take that off toÉ" "No mother, but I have to sit just like any other female." "Well, since you're so much a girl now why don't we go out tonight?" Without waiting for an answer she told me to wear the same blue dress and walked out of the room. After shopping, and a trip to the salon I knew that I was not a clown at all. I was now able to present myself as a female and make people believe it, but mom had posed a challenge of a sort, so smiling I went into the bath and after washing the old makeup off, I shaved as close as possible. I was not yet able to make myself over into the various 'types' girls, but I knew what I wanted to look like. I wanted silky soft skin, full, sexy lips framing a radiant smile, a gorgeous outfit, and perfect hair. I did not want to be a girl with a sweet childlike look, but instead I wanted to look pretty, like the proverbial girl next door grown up into a sexy woman. I went to the dresser and pulled out a corsolet and tossed it on the bed, then added black panties to the pile. I was going to wear black, not the same dress I wore earlier in the day. I found one I liked better. This one was also a sheath dress, but it had a plunging back with a low cut front and was a very hot mini dress. I had seen Claire wear it exactly once, for a dance she had gone to, and spectacular does not describe how she looked in it. I hoped I would look half as good! Sitting at the vanity I did my makeup, and with the new cut, my hair seemed to fall in place with a minimum of fuss. I no longer needed the padded pantybrief and slipped the black panties on. The corsolet was a lot harder to get on than I imagined. It had eleven hooks up the front with a zipper over that, and laces up the back. I was unable to tighten the laces on my own so mom came in and did it for me. Once I was all cinched in, my 'breasts' sat in the cups, the nipples barely held in. I pulled on the pantyhose and reached for the dress. The dress had a single strap that went around the back of my neck attached to the sweetheart neckline, fitted bodice and hip hugging skirt. I slipped it over my head and mom zipped it up for me. The hem of the dress was a good three inches above my knees while the bodice defined my now trim waist and my breasts were clearly displayed. Smiling I went to the jewelry box as mom left for her room. I found the black and gold chandelier earrings and attached them, then fastened the matching choker style necklace around my neck. On my left wrist I wore a thin gold bracelet, which was all the jewelry I wore that night. I did my lips in a deep red and spritzed myself with perfume. Looking in the mirror I knew without a doubt that this is what I wanted. I could not simply give her up now that I had been allowed to find her, and I made up my mind right then. Diane was going to stay no matter what.


Mom said nothing when she saw me, but I saw her smiling as she turned to get her purse, and I knew I had made a good impression on her. Dinner was at a new place by the river, and as we dined mom and I talked about the transformation that had come over me in just a few days. It was my turn to tell her the truth. "Mom, I've always felt this way, I just never had the chance or the nerve to tell you about it. When Valerie suggested it I was afraid to tell you. When I did, I was sure that you would be angry at me. But now I know that I have to dress this way, all of the time, even at work. I have to become Diane all of the time or I think I will bust!" Mom reached out and took my hand in hers, and told me she knew that the first time she saw me. "If that's what you want, then I'll support you of course, but you have a lot of catching up to do if you want to be a real lady. Starting now, I'll teach you all you have to know to become a woman." I spent all day Sunday getting ready for my debut at work, which made mom just shake her head. "You don't have to do anything special Diane, you look very nice right now!" But my concern manifested itself in an obsession to be better than just okay. I used the hair cream again then shaved every inch of my body that I could reach until my skin was as silky smooth as any woman. I washed and cleaned the vaginal panty and breastforms before I put them back on. This time, rather than rely on pressure to hold the panty in place, I used glue to secure the seams in the crack of my butt. The breastforms were pert with no sag, and made me feel very feminine once I had them secured to my chest. Somehow they felt natural, like I should have had them all along, and I could not, or did not, want to visualize myself without them. Mom had given me an aloe based skin lotion, which I rubbed in all over, making my skin softer to the touch and smelling of flowers. I slipped on some panties and a bra then some shorts and a tee top and began to select my wardrobe for the next day. In my heart I knew that the only thing I was going to wear was the new pink suit mom and I had bought on my very first outing as a girl. It had a straight skirt that was above the knee a little, and a fitted jacket with no lapels. Both were lined, which meant that I didn't need to wear a slip with it. For a blouse I selected a thin gray pullover blouse that had a single button at the neck, in the back. The blouse was mom's but because of the vagaries of women's sizes it fit me perfectly, and I wore a size 12 to her 10. Claire had a pair of gray shoes that I borrowed, size 8 by the way, and in my mothers jewelry box I found pearl earrings and necklace set. I already had a gold watch and two rings. Once I had everything ready, I relaxed and made a late lunch. With the vaginal panty it looked as if I had rounded hips and a natural taper in the front, just like all women did. Mom even commented on it once. "You might want to call Valerie and tell her how you'll be dressed in the morning Diane. I'm sure she won't mind, and at least she'll be prepared when she sees just how pretty you are." That made sense, and right after lunch I called Val and told her that I would be dressed as a woman when I showed up for work. Her only comment was that she would look forward to it!


    I spent the night in curlers, getting up early to do my hair and makeup. As I slipped the panties on and saw the cleft in the front a feeling of calmness came over me and I relaxed and got dressed. A soft, lace trimmed demicup bra in white, nude pantyhose, and a white waist nipper. I pulled the skirt on, then the blouse, stepped into the shoes and pushed the earrings into the small holes in my ears. I pulled the jacket on and used a soft reddish pink lipstick to outline my mouth, added perfume, the necklace, watch, rings, and bracelet. Looking in the mirror I could see no trace of the man I was just a few days ago. Once unleashed, Diane had taken over and consumed me, and now, I was Diane Michelle Grant, inside and out. My purse was filled with my wallet, lipstick, tissue, and car keys. Drawing in a breath I left the house for the biggest event in my life. Whatever happened today, a spectacular success or a colossal flop, everyone would know that I wanted to dress and work as a woman, and there would be no going back. Strangely, the fear that had consumed me before did not cross my mind as I drove into the parking lot. I locked the car and walked to the door, showed Walter, the guard my phony ID and walked in. It was no longer a maybe, and I walked into the office and straight to my desk, and the first thing I saw was the nameplate. 'Diane M. Grant' etched in white on a blue background sitting on my desk! I stashed my purse in my desk and went to get a coffee, returning just as Valerie walked in. She took one look at me and broke out in a huge smile. "I was right! You look spectacular Diane!" She went to get a coffee, returning to my desk quickly. "I'll introduce you around today Diane. The way you look, nobody will believe it if we told them who you really are, so I'll let them assume you are a new hire and we can go from there okay?" It really was the best way, so I agreed. As I was introduced around the office I saw a lot of different looks that I had never seen before. From the men it was mostly an evaluating look and each time I felt as if I had been mentally stripped. From the women it ran from indifference, (from the pretty ones), to envy (from the older ladies). Valerie motioned me to join her in her office, and as soon as I was seated she asked me for my ID. I gave her the one I had made up, and after a quick look made arrangements for me to have a new one made. "You'll have the same duties Diane and the same rate of pay of course." Then she explained the looks I got from everyone. "All men are on the make all of the time Diane, and to them, you're fresh meat so to speak. Ignore them and they'll relax after a few days. The older women are jealous of the way you look while some of the younger girls see you as competition. You can ignore them as well, or play it as you see it." Then she had me go and have my picture taken for my ID card, assigned a new computer sign on, and I went back to work, doing the same exact job as before. During the morning I settled in and finally relaxed as I discovered that everyone accepted me for what I appeared to be; a woman, about 20 years old or so. At lunch Kelly and Beth asked me to join them, and we sat together at one table. I got an earful as they discussed the single men that worked in the office, in graphic terms, and some of the older women who they thought were ready for the retirement farm. It was a very educational lunch!


For my part I paid close attention to what the other girls wore and so on. My new ID card arrived at two, just as I had my first phone call. In person mom and Valerie both told me that I looked like the actress I had taken my name from, but I sounded like Kathleen Turner. On the phone I had no idea how I would sound, so I was relieved when the male caller addressed me as a woman. That night I collapsed on the couch from the stress mom said. After that it got easier each day, and at the end of a month it was as if I was a natural born female. I hated shaving close every day because my face became sore and very tender. That's when I saw an ad in the paper, showed mom, and she agreed. I made an appointment by phone, and that Saturday morning at eight I was at the clinic. I was shown in to see the doctor, and was surprised to see it was a woman. I had to tell her my true status of course, which was hard because by now I did not look like a male in any way. She sat there quietly while I told her all about myself and the dilemma I found myself in. When I was done I fully expected her to toss me out, but all she did was ask me some medical questions, my medical history and so on. Then she asked me if I would like to have my own breasts! "Of course, but I'm not taking any hormones, so that seems out of the question right now." "Maybe not Diane." When she told me how she could do it, that day, I was all smiles and agreed to it right then. I was out for the entire procedure, but essentially, she used a laser to remove my entire beard, then Liposuction to draw fat from my waist and used it to make breasts, the same size as my fake ones. When I awoke I was sore, but not bad, and I had a few small stitches. But I also had a 23 inch waist and two perfectly formed, completely natural breasts. I was in heaven as I got dressed and then drove home. Mom knew I was going to have my beard removed, and when she saw my slightly swollen face she started clucking like a mother hen and immediately wanted me in bed. I was just too sore to argue with her and let her help me get undressed. When I removed my bra and she saw me, a common occurrence in our house, she saw my brand new boobs and narrow waist for the first time. "Those are real!" "Yes, they are! Aren't they nice?" Then I explained how the doctor did it. Mom helped me get a nightgown on and I went to bed, staying there until late the next morning. In the shower I felt my new breasts, washed the stitches in my navel carefully and wearing just panties I slipped on a top and a skirt, which fit a lot better now that I had a smaller waist.


    During the next week I became used to having sensation in my breasts, and loved every minute of it. On Friday Valerie invited Kelly and I to her home for a barbecue on Saturday afternoon. She failed to mention that both of her sons would be there. I picked out a tan floral summer dress, and wore tan sandals with a thin, short sleeved jacket. My hair, now trimmed, flowed around my face like a halo. I had a small brown leather purse to complete the outfit. I examined myself in the mirror. My hair was longer now, cut and styled in a more business like way, but still casual. My shoulders, accented by the short sleeves of the jacket, were trimmed with brown piping. The top of the dress did not have a deep neckline, but it was low enough to allow a hint of my cleavage, and that was accented by delicate gold locket suspended from my neck. I wore a minimum of makeup, just a hint of eyeshadow, a soft red lipstick and my best perfume. As soon as I arrived at Valerie's her youngest son, Mike greeted me and showed me to the patio. Unlike Valerie, who was my size, Mike was huge! He stood at least 6'3" tall! I had to look up to see his face! Kelly was already there, sitting with Douglas, Valerie's other son. He was also quite tall. Both of her sons had dark hair, Mike with green eyes and Douglas with blue. Her husband was not as tall as his sons, but he had the same build. He was wide, with a barrel chest, and dark hair. It was immediately obvious that Valerie had arranged this little party so Kelly and I could meet her sons! While I had been living and working as a woman for almost four months now, I had never had a date nor had I ever looked at a man like a woman would. I had known that sooner or later some man would hit on me, and now, it seemed, was the time. Mike almost, but not quite, doted on me, and I often saw his gaze drift to the top of my dress; I knew he was not admiring the material my dress was made of! When I looked up at him I could see that atypical look of male superiority on his face. I felt so feminine right then, and it was a wonderful new feeling. I now knew what my mother had told me about men was true. They had a magnetic appeal to women that simply could not be denied. I knew that there could be a lot of joy to be had in being so attractive to a man, and the thought of being Mike's new girl friend ran through my mind. I was flattered that he thought I was pretty enough to make him come to me, yet in the back of my mind I wondered why I felt this way. Until I had started to dress as a woman I had never had a sexual thought about another male in my entire life! Now I was thinking about Mike in ways I had never dreamed of before. We sat at the table side by side eating, and even though I held up my end of the discussion, I was thinking about the way Mike had looked at me. Thinking of Mike, as my boy friend did not turn me off at all, instead it had just the opposite effect. I was a girl and I had a real live male catering to me, like a boy friend would. Not only that, but I was flirting with him the way girls do to their guys. I began to feel hot inside as my thoughts drifted to more erotic places. That scared me momentarily, because up to that moment I had never had an erotic thought about a maleÉ ever! As our food was eaten and just the drinks were left, I felt his hand on my leg half way up on my thigh! Right then Valerie started to clear the table and Kelly and I jumped up to help her. It saved me from making a decision whether to let his hand stay there or ask him to remove it.


"My sons seem to be taken with you girls." That was obvious, but it was Kelly who stated it. "Like you didn't arrange this Valerie! I'm certainly not complaining mind you, Douglas is very nice." They both looked at me, and all I could do was smile. Nobody said anything else, and we filled several pitchers and rejoined the men. Mike asked me to take a walk with him, and took my hand in his as we walked along the waters edge. We rounded the point and as soon as we were out of sight he spun me around, held me close, and kissed me. He was gentle but urgent as his tongue probed against my mouth and I opened so his tongue could enter me. I was unable to pull away, not because he was so big, but because I didn't want to. He asked me out for the next night, and I agreed. By the time I got home I had become like a young girl in my anticipation of this date. I know mom saw it, and when I told her about it all she did was remind me what good girls did, and did not do. Big help she was! I had chosen to wear a skirt that flared slightly at the hips with square cut pleats in a dark green. A simple white blouse, and black two inch heels. I added jewelry and perfume. My makeup was for evening, darker eyeshadow and a dark red lipstick this time. I was nervous as I waited for him to arrive, but when he did I calmed right down. He took me to dinner, and later, he drove to a secluded spot by the lake. As soon as he kissed me all of my mothers admonitions went out the window, especially when his hand found my breast. Every nerve ending was on edge as he manipulated me like a musical instrument, making my body play his tune. When he took my hand and placed it on his member I felt myself shudder, not in revulsion, but in lust. I wanted this man to take me, love me, make me love him back, and he did. Unbidden my hand began to stroke him and I felt the buttons of my blouse come undone and his hand found my naked breast while I unzipped his pants. He popped out all engorged and hard, throbbing in lust as my hand again found him. The skin was like velvet, yet hard like iron beneath my hand. I was stroking him when all at once he gushed, filling my hand with goo. "Sorry about that Diane." He gave me a hanky and I cleaned up. "This isn't the place for two people our age Diane, why don't we go back to my apartment?" Common sense kicked in and I asked him to take me home, and like a gentleman he did.


    Mike called me every day at work and each night at home. Valerie told me he was so in love he could hardly stand it. Kelly asked me if I had slept with him yet, and when I did not give her an answer she assumed that I had. On Friday night Mike and I had a date, and I knew in my heart that I was going to have sex with him, so I packed a small bag to take along. Mom could hardly miss it, but this time all she told me was to be careful. "That vaginal panty is very good Diane but this can lead to disaster if your not very careful." "I'll be careful mom, but this is the last hurtle isn't it? I have to do this even if he finds out." Later it turned out I was right, because right after dinner he drove us to his place. As soon as he had closed the door he was all over me, and I once again became like warm bread in his hands as he massaged my nipples with his fingers. I felt the zipper of the dress going down, and when it did I stepped out of it and tossed it aside. Mike watched as I removed my bra and tossed it aside as well. I reached out and began to unbutton his shirt, then his pants. He stepped out of his pants and just stood there. I ripped his briefs down in a single motion leaving him naked in front of me. I sat on his couch and removed my pantyhose and shoes, leaving my panties on as he grabbed my hand and took me to his bed. He found every single spot that turned me on and some I didn't know I had. I wanted him to be mine and pushed him on his back. His erection stood tall and proud as I went to my knees, bent over, and kissed his member. It was not unpleasant, and when my mouth opened I took all I could in a single motion. His hands held my head as I bobbed up and down, until I felt him starting to tense up. I straddled him, and helped him find the opening in the vaginal panty. He slid in and I began to rock back and forth, watching his face the whole time. His eyes closed and he was moving his head, but his hands remained firmly on my breasts as I pumped him. I was now in charge of this man and I loved it! Finally he released and filled my panty. Spent, he fell back as I went to the bath to clean up. He was still naked in the bed when I returned, also naked as his hand reached out and pulled me to him. I lay next to him, my hand on his manhood while he kissed my breasts, renewing my excitement. He grew hard once again and once again my mouth found him. This time I wanted to taste him, and did not move as he swelled and released his seed into me. I spent the night with his arm around me firmly cupping a breast with his hand. I woke before he did, dressed in the skirt and blouse I had brought along, brushed my hair into a ponytail, and started the coffee. It was a very domestic scene for sure as he woke up and saw me. Naked, he went in and took a shower, returning in shorts and a tee. I put both of my hands on the cheeks of his butt, and tried to keep him from moving to far away. I wasn't surprised to find that he was rock hard once again. I genuinely hoped it would not be too long before he wanted to take me out on a date. Then Mike kissed me again. "Eat your breakfast Michael, you'll need your strength for later." I know it was coquettish of me to tease him, but I simply could not resist. After breakfast he helped me wash the dishes, and then his hands found my breasts again.


He had the stamina of a bull and it was another two hours before he took me home. Valerie was there talking to mother when he dropped me off. "By the look on your face I would say that Mike is a very happy man this morning!" "A polite woman never talks about her conquests Valerie, even if it is the bosses son!" "He's going to ask you to marry him Diane, probably this week." "Diane, I think it's time that you told him about yourself, and made arrangements to make yourself into a woman, don't you?" Mom was right, Mike deserved more than a lie. "Okay mom, but maybe you and Valerie could be here when I tell him." They looked at each other and nodded their heads yes. "We'll be by tomorrow Diane, around six." The next day was hell as I wondered how I would tell Mike about myself, and Valerie was no help either. All she said was that Mike and I would have to find a way to overcome this minor obstacle. After dinner mom and I did the dishes and I sat, waiting for Mike and Valerie to arrive. Promptly at six the doorbell rang and I admitted them into the house. "Mom says that you have something serious to tell me Diane, what is it? Valerie and mother had mysteriously disappeared, leaving me alone with Mike. Direct is usually the best approach, so I drew in a breath and told him. "Mike, I'm not a female, but I love you and want to be your girl, and hopefully, your wife." "What do you mean your not a girl? You and I slept together, and I think I would know a girl when I saw one, especially when she is naked!" "I'm sure that's true Mike, but none the less, I am not a female. I will be shortly, but not now, right this minute. I wear a special kind of panty that lets me have the look and feel of a woman Mike. These are my boobs of course, but the rest is all latex." By the look on his face I was sure he was going to hurt me and started to back up. "I'm angry that you weren't honest right up front Diane! You tricked me, and that is wrong!" "Yes I tricked you Michael! What would you have said if I told you, "hey fool, I'm a man just like you!" You would have dropped me like a hot rock and you know it! But it wasn't deceit on my part so much as my desire to be your woman, or your lusting after me, panting every time you looked at me. No Michael, this goes both ways. I love you, I really do, and I will make you a fine wife if you let me. I just need time toÉ become that woman you want me to be!" By then I had tears running down my cheeks and ran out of the room straight into my mother's arms. "He hates me mother!" My tears ran down my cheeks because I was ashamed of what I had done. I was not a woman, I was a pile of latex trying to be what I was not. I tried to tear myself away but I felt Mike's hand on my arm and in a rush of emotion I fell into his arms. "Oh Michael, what are we going to do?" he said nothing as he picked me up like I was a feather, and carried me to my room, slamming the door behind us. "We," he said very forcefully, "are going to make love again and then we are going to talk about this problem we have." Then he unbuttoned my blouse and began to undress me. I stood very still as he slowly ran his hands all over me, making me tremble in delight and lust. Then he stood there as I undressed him, ran my hands all over him until I reached his manhood when I began to stroke him. As he purred I slipped into bed and lay there, naked and smiling. He took me quickly but forcefully, and then later, slower and with a methodically slow tempo which drove me crazy. Unable to quiet his lust, I rolled over, got on my knees, put my head down and allowed him to take me. We were both panting when he completed and lay there for a moment. Then I got a warm washrag and cleaned him up so that I could use my talented tongue once again. He stayed in my room that night and we talked about the future. I told him how it all began and why, and in the end he asked me to marry him. "You have a year Diane, after that we get married!" The he went back to being forceful again, but I said yes and that night I slept like a baby. Less than a year later I was a woman, and on our wedding night he found out just how much of a woman he had married.



Advice how why you are a transvestite, transsexual, transgender, transwoman. Help and advice from Transformation

You only have to walk down the local high street to realise that not all women take the same degree of pleasure in wearing feminine clothes as others.

 

So it is that not all mothers will introduce their children to their allure, and again not all children are going to be susceptible to the allure of clothes. This in turn can mean that not all wives or partners will have the same feelings for clothes as our own mothers and may, indeed, have less interest in them than we have.

 

It has been noted by some authorities that a proportion of TVs have an above average sex drive. Moreover many of our ideas about sex and love start in our earliest years and the relationships of that time. Consequently a young man with a strong sex drive – which is probably something we are born with – when combined with a powerful and glamorous mother figure, may well link the process of making love with the sort of glamour that he saw in his youth.

 

Glamorisation

 

Later, in his married life he may look for the same sort of glamour in his partner and if he finds it, will probably be unaware of the underlying need for it.

 

Unfortunately not all couples share the same level of sex drive or interest in the physical expression of their love. If this is the case and the man is disappointed in this part of his life, subconscious urges may push him to find glamour and even sexual release by creating it around his own person.

 

The glamourisation of oneself can be quite simply done by wearing distinctive clothes, or adopting a personal style of dress that satisfies ones idea about oneself. Interestingly, changes like these may help to bridge the gap in the relationship and create a masculine figure that the partner finds more attractive and hence more acceptable as a lover. When this is not the case the sex drive may lead to a search for other female company either for the occasional fling, or for a permanent change.

 

Sexual

 

The fling can be enjoyed with another woman, in the form of an affair or one-night-stand in which there is grave danger of causing hurt to the other party or to oneself.

 

It would not be a conscious decision to turn to feminine things but more likely the result of frustration from a lack of sexual outlets that leads to the classic moments of early TV discovery.

 

The seconds spent lingering over the wife’s clothes when she is not around soon develop to a snatched moment donning a dress or some undies while she is out. At any point the level of satisfaction may prove to be adequate and the process to full trasvestism can stop, equally the relationship may improve so that the frustration goes away and the sex drive finds a more usual outlet.

 

There comes a point for many who cross-dress when the urge to do so becomes important in itself and leads to the next major step – the possesion of ones own wardrobe. This may start in a clandestine manner with the purchase of some special items which are enjoyed and then thrown away, but soon this is not enough and more complete adventures may be tried.

 

A night away on business gives one the chance to spend several hours dressed in the hotel room and afterwards the garments may find a home in some hiding place in the car or the attic.

 

I have heard of TVs who have had an entire wardrobe in the attic under the pretext of having a model railway up there. This is fine and allows many hours of cross-dressing right in the heart of the home, but surely discovery is also inevitable? But that’s another story.

 

What I have described here is a route that frequently leads to the TV way of life, but many would be able to put in different details that round out the story in their own case, and many have only the need to go some of the way to feel an acceptable level of contentment.

 

For some, the joy of wearing feminine clothes is enough in itself and it doesn’t worry them if a beautiful wedding gown, for instance, is set below the sight of a scruffy beard. For others the frequency of episodes of cross-dressing can be low, perhaps just once or twice a year, and the manner of it can vary from the outrageous caricature of femininity to the well known cliches of schoolgirl, tart or nurse.

 

Encounter

 

These may all relate back to images from youth, close friends in primary school perhaps, or a hauntingly romantic but brief encounter with some one who was clearly a whore at heart.

 

They provide the satisfaction that is good for the particular individual and at each stage the process towards further changes may stop, frustration satisfied, or the price of carrying on to high.

 

The image of self may be too upsetting because we are not necessarily proud of our secondary personae. Alternatively the challenge to our family life is too great – it’s ironic really because cross-dressing may have its origins in an attempt to find a compromise for one’s sex drive without placing family at risk.

 

Another critical point in development may soon crop up; the wish to create a truly womanly image of oneself. It may start as dissatisfaction with what has been achieved so far. A bra stuffed with tissue, or a pair of stockings, soon seems a poor alternative when compared with the almost natural feel of prosthetic breasts or the possibility of growing ones own with hormone creams or pills.

 

To feel for the first time the weight of prosthetic breasts moving as a part of ones body is an unbelievable thrill. To wear an entire ensemble with frothy petticoats, undies, high heels and a pretty frock can open the door to more possibilities, although again there is a price to pay, and there is a risk that such exhibitionism can be damaging to ones social standing.

 

It is a lucky cross-dresser who has a partner who can be happy with his personal passion. Too often the drive to dress can also lead to a move to live alone. In some ways that is very sad, for there are not many of us who really enjoy being alone, but then under these conditions loneliness can give way to spending much more with one’s alter ego.

 

Of course if the step to live alone has been taken, then another series of vista open up. It may be possible to consider living full time dressed as a women, either in the outside world, within the confines of the house or only at times when one is unlikely to be disturbed.

 

There is also the chance to live with someone who is like-minded or accepting a man who wishes to be seen as a women. In this situation the experiences of ones childhood that sowed the seeds seem far away.

 

The warmth of the mother’s love may be in the subconscious; the sneaky masturbation that accompanied early essays at donning female garments will be just an embarrassing memory, for now the joy of feeling and looking feminine and beautiful will have become a reason in itself.

 

At this stage one turns away from the extremes of exhibitionist garments, the bulky petticoats, the extravagent skirts and blouses, and wears the more truly feminine clothes that you see on other women.

 

Where, then has the man gone? Is he totally rejected? Certainly he is in most cases, but in others he may be still be someone on the outside looking in and getting pleasure from creating the woman he also is, knowing himself to be a man but loving the woman. Possibly a man only at his workplace, for all other times, his glamourous alter ego.

 

Identify

 

And so what started as some expression of a Freudian sexual need, established when a child, becomes in its most advanced form an art that becomes a completely satisfying lifesyle in itself.

 

Many of us have set off along this path. At any time we may realise that we have reached some specific point along it. We may know that this is enough for us and decide to be content as we are, but on the other hand we may decide to continue further.

 

Some readers will only identify with a few of the stages listed here, others will recognise much of their own experience. The lesson to learn from it is to understand what pressures lie behind your passion, to respect it and to accept it, but at the same time be considerate of those around you. They should not be troubled or offended by what can be a bizarre type of behaviour for those that don’t understand it.



LIFE OF A VICTORIAN MAID

Female domestic staff usually had to provide their own clothing. In the Victorian and Edwardian periods, this would typically have been a lilac, blue or pink working dress with a white cap and apron for the morning. In the afternoon, which was the time for visitors, servants would change into a formal black dress and frilled apron and cap. In grander houses, a female servant might have worn a white blouse, white petticoat and underskirt and then a black pinafore over the top. She would have had a white frilly cap with a coloured ribbon. The alternative, perhaps for less dirty work would have been a white blouse, black bodice and then a white pinafore dress on top. The cap would have been black with white trim. In our house, Florence wears a dark apron for dirty jobs such as laying the fires, over her blue working dress. Florence wears Julia's old clothes during her free time; for her afternoon off once a week. On Sundays, she wears a plain, sombre, black coat and skirt, with black shoes, stockings and gloves. She has a toque style of hat. In most houses, there would be too much work to allow the maid of all work to rest during the day. Jobs would include making fires, carrying the coal in, dealing with tradesmen and women, cleaning - housework including spring cleaning, washing, washing up, cooking and making tea, preparing beds, carrying hot water, running errands. And in the larger houses, managing junior staff. They would also mend their own clothes, and check the doors and windows were locked at night. By 1890, many houses sent their washing out as this was cheaper. If there was a separate cook, with other work done by a housemaid, the maid of all work would be a 'plain cook', preparing simple dishes such as meat, vegetables and puddings. Morning Florence has an early start each morning; in the summer she is at work by 6am and in the darkness of the winter by 7am. After washing and dressing, she goes round the house, opening the shutters and curtains, and opening a few windows. In each room, she takes up the hearth rug, places the fender on a cloth, and cleans and re-lays the fire. She polishes the brass and steel work. Florence then sweeps each downstairs room, collecting the dust near the fireplace. She carries her tools, including brushes, blacklead, emery paper and polishing cloths, from room to room in a wooden box. The cinders from each fireplace go in the bottom. She then dusts the furniture. One of her friends who works at a nearby house has a Bissell carpet sweeper, but Florence has to make do with a variety of brushes. She takes a supply of coal and kindling to each fireplace and lights the downstairs fires; today's March morning is chilly. A large range could burn 1 hundredweight (nearly 51kg) of coal per day, costing about one shilling in 1890. The Bush family have a medium-sized range, but together with the fireplaces, they consume about this much coal in the coldest part of the winter. Sidney pops his head round the kitchen door; "Can I have my breakfast, Florence?". "Oh, sorry sir." Sidney just has some bread so it takes just a moment to prepare things. She takes them into the dining room. Her next task is to prepare the breakfast for the children, Mary, who has just arrived, and for herself. They have bacon and cold meat for breakfast in the week, and sausages or bloaters on Sunday. As the has her first moment of rest in the day, Sidney leaves the house for his train journey to London.


  Florence quickly finishes her breakfast, and then goes upstairs with hot water for her mistress and the children. Mary is giving the children their breakfast and will help them get washed and dressed. "Good morning, Florence." says Julia. "Good morning, missus." replies Florence. She sets the jug of hot water down on the wash stand and prepares Julia's clothes. "I am going calling this afternoon, so I will need my best skirt and blouse. And Mr and Mrs Browne are coming for dinner tonight at 7." Florence silently groaned. She had hoped to have her afternoon off today, but now she would need to prepare fancy food for dinner; Mr and Mrs Browne always needed to be impressed. Florence brushed madam's hair, and helped her dress. By 8:30, Julia was ready for the day, and Florence went back downstairs and brought breakfast through to the dining room. At 9, the whole family assembled in the dining room for morning prayers. After clearing away all the breakfast things and washing them up, Florence sweeps and dusts upstairs. Her mistress's eldest daughter Constance helps Florence to make the beds and do some of the chores. She is quite a willing girl so her work makes quite a difference. Florence goes round the house collecting the oil lamps, and takes them to the kitchen. She cleans and trims them, refills them, and then takes them back. Her next task is to clean up the candle sticks; the family don't use too many as they are expensive. She then discusses the day's menu with Julia and is sent out to buy a few items, such as yeast, that are not delivered. In their road, a baker brings fresh bread each day in a basket, and the milkman brings the milk on a cart. Florence has to visit the greengrocer's, butcher, and fish shop.  


  Afternoon Returning home, Florence makes the midday meal for Mary and the children, and herself. They eat this together in the kitchen at about 12:30. Their usual lunch is cold meat; most weeks there is ham and chicken. Then Florence prepares luncheon for her mistress, who sits down to eat at 1:30. Florence then helps her mistress undress for her rest, and goes downstairs to clear away from lunch. Her next tasks are to begin preparing the meal for tonight. She has barely started when Julia calls for her help with dressing for the afternoon. The kitchen and nursery tea at 5pm is mackerel, with bread and butter and a small cake. Barely finished, Julia returns from her visiting. Florence helps her to change for evening.  


  Evening At 6:15 Sidney returns home, and Florence takes him hot water. At 6:30, the guests arrive; Florence welcomes them, and shows them into the drawing room. The dinner seems to go well; the Brownes leave at about 9:30. Once the ladies have moved to the drawing room, Florence clears the last items from the dining room, leaving the men in peace. At 9:00, after clearing up and washing up, Florence has a quick kitchen supper of bread and cheese. Florence cleans Sidney and Julia's shoes, checks that the drawing and dining room fires are safe, turns out the downstairs oil lamps, and locks the doors and closes windows. She then attends to Julia, helping her to undress and wash. She removes the slops.    



I was about 5 or 6 I guess. I can remember my dad going ballistic, and right after dinner mom had me change back into my own clothes while she told me it was wrong for boys to dress as girls. After that I was always careful so as not to get caught whenever I dressed up. I always thought I was beautiful, but then, I was always looking at the ideal in the mirror rather than the reality.

 

My name is Tim Grant, I’m currently 5′ 5″ tall, weigh about 125 pounds, with green eyes with brown hair. My mother was just five foot, Claire my sister 5′ 2″, and dad was 5’6″. I sort of fell in the middle, and didn’t expect to get any taller. I knew I wanted to dress as a girl as often as I could and by the time I was 15 and starting high school, I was well aware of men who dressed as women. In fact I had found a lot of sites on the Internet that catered to them, and had printed out a lot of information, from how to make your own breastforms and padding to how to do makeup and hair. Experimenting, I made some birdseed breastforms and had cut some foam rubber into ovals to pad my hips and let my hair grow out until it was shoulder length, all in preparation for my debut this coming Halloween.

 

It was the one time of the year I could dress as a girl and `get away’ with it so to speak, and I had planned for that night very carefully. Claire had moved to college, but she had left behind a lot of clothes, and I had carefully tried on every item, and now I had several complete outfits, including shoes. My biggest downfall was hair. No matter how hard I tried I was never able to manage a truly feminine hairstyle. I managed to get close, but I was always unhappy with the results and usually put my hair in a ponytail.

 

As Halloween drew closer, I knew that I would have to confide in my mother because there wasn’t anyway around it, so one day right after school I told her that I was going to the school Halloween party as a girl. To my surprise, she asked me if I finally figured out how to be a girl! “What do you mean figure it out?” “What I mean is have you figured out how to become a perfect young lady.” I was at a loss for words! “Tim, you cannot possibly believe that I don’t know about you dressing up in private do you?” She knew! I was dead! “If you want to dress as a girl I insist that you let me help you get ready. Do you have everything you need?” “I borrowed some of Claire’s things mom, I have several outfits.” “Show me” Was all she said.

 

In my room I showed mom what I had selected to wear, all of it, and all she said was “adequate”! “I have to go to the store on Saturday anyway, so why don’t we get you dressed and let me see what you look like, and if you need anything we can get it then. I’ll even do your hair for you.” “Dad.” “Won’t be here all weekend. Now plan on getting dressed right after breakfast On Saturday.”

 

It was a very long two days as I wondered just what mom had in mind, but I was not about to let this opportunity slip by, and on Friday night I made sure that I didn’t have one stray hair anywhere on my body. Right after breakfast mom and I went to my room where I slipped on a pair of panties, then as she watched I used the foam pads to make my hips rounder. I slipped on the pantybrief and reached for the bra, but mom stopped me.

 

“Lets do makeup first Tim.” I walked into my sister’s room and sat at her vanity while reaching for the foundation. Mom sat next to, and slightly behind me watching, but not saying anything as I smoothed the liquid foundation evenly on my face. I started to reach for the eyeshadow, but mom stopped me. “Let me show you something Tim.” She dabbed at my face with some loose powder, letting it set for a moment before she brushed away the excess, leaving my skin looking smooth and soft, and all one color.

 

Mom watched as I added a bit of earth tone eyeshadow, then a soft plum over that, highlighted with black eyeliner on both upper and lower lids. I used a rose silk blusher on each cheek and was reaching for the lipstick when mom told me to wait. She sprayed my hair with hairspray, and began to curl my hair with a curling iron. As she worked I watched her carefully so I could do it myself if I had to, or had the chance. She left my hair all curled up, telling me to finish getting dressed. I slipped the bra on and added my birdseed breastforms to the cups. I now had a full `A’ cup.

 

Sitting on the bed I slipped on some pantyhose, then went to the closet to get the dress I had planned to wear to the party. “Oh no, not that Tim. For shopping you’ll want a skirt and blouse.” “Shopping?” “Of course! You’ll have to try on anything we buy, and I’m sure that you would rather look like a girl trying on clothes rather than a boy!” “But I thought. I mean. what if someone sees me!” “Then they will see a pretty 15 year old girl! Now find a skirt and blouse and lets finish getting you ready.”

 

I selected a pleated green skirt and a white blouse with a round neck collar, and as soon as I had them on mom finished brushing out my hair. I stepped into the black flats and mom handed me a soft red lipstick. In the jewelry box I found a pair of gold hoop earrings and slipped them into the holes in my ears after I took out the studs I usually wore.

 

Mom was grinning at me as she picked up some perfume and gave me a spritz. “I think that will do it for now, except for a name. I can’t call you Tim now can I?” Mom wanted me to tell her my deepest secret, and as much as I wanted to tell her, I was afraid! I was standing in front of the mirror looking at someone else. It was me, but different, like I was my own sister, and I was afraid to tell her the name I had chosen for myself. “Tell me Tim; I’ll bet it’s a pretty name.” “Gail.” I had blurted it out quickly, and mom smiled when she heard it. That’s a very pretty name! Find a purse Gail, and lets go shopping!” I was rooted to the spot until she took my hand and led me out of my room, stopped and picked up her purse, and continued out to the car.

 

I had never been outside the house dressed as a girl before and I was very nervous as we drove down the street. She reprimanded me twice for slouching down, and when we got to the mall she parked as far away from the doors as she could, even though there were places closer. Before we got out of the car she turned and looked at me. “You are a very pretty girl Gail, and going into the mall is exactly what you need. If you act like a girl, walk like a girl, and watch your mannerisms, nobody will know who you are. Actually I was counting on some of your friends being here, because that way you’ll have to be doing your very best or be discovered.” With that, she got out of the car and waited while I did the same. Standing next to the car I felt a breeze run up my skirt and held it down as mom just giggled. “Come on then Gail, we have a lot to do today.”

 

We went through the food court, and sure enough, standing right in the middle were some kids I knew at school! I stayed close to mom and we walked right on by, and they never gave me a second look, like they knew who I was! Out of earshot, I mentioned it to mom and all she did was smile. I walked beside her as she veered into a huge department store, and then into the lingerie shop. “We should get you some bras and panties of your own Gail. We’ll start with a half dozen panties and two bras I think.” Please note, she did not ask me, she told me. I selected two bras I liked and some nylon panties, but she said cotton was better, so I got the bras and cotton panties in assorted colors. “This party, is it fancy?” “It’s a Halloween party mom, not the prom.” “A pity.” “Huh?” “Oh, never mind dear, I was just wondering, that’s all. But you should have something to wear that would help foster the illusion; why don’t we go in here?” And in we went, to a store that catered to weddings, proms, and so on. Almost all of the girls in school bought their dresses here, and in fact two of them, Kelly and Jessica were there!

 

All I could do was act as if I belonged there, and mom and I sorted through the dresses until she found one she said was just perfect for me. Believe me, I was nervous as hell when she took me into the changing area, which was essentially a single huge room. I quickly put the dress on, but it didn’t look very good on me, and I took it off and convinced mom that we had to leave. She didn’t like it, but agreed when about five girls came in just as I was ready to leave.

 

“Maybe at Sares we can find something for you Gail, but you’re simply have to relax! You look fine!” I tried, and almost did relax once we got into Sares. Once inside mom picked out a pink suit, a sheath style dress and a jumper for me, plus several blouses before we left for the car. “When we get home I want you to try on all of the clothes, especially the suit. Save that to last, and wear the pink heels with it.” I did as she asked, and the new bras made me look a little more pert I guess, and all of the clothes fit me just fine.

 

The suit was unlike anything I had worn before. It had a short, straight skirt, which hindered the way I walked. The jacket was shaped to accent a feminine waist and only made me look better. I walked out to show mom, and dad was standing there! He looked at me and I waited for him to erupt, like a volcano held in too long, but he didn’t! “Howard, this is Gail, and she will be staying with us for a few days. She has a party to go to next Saturday, so we did a little shopping today.” Then he floored me. “You. look very nice Gail; are you going to dinner with us tonight?” I looked at mom, and before I could answer she said “yes of course she’s going with us!”



IT STARTED WITH A NIGHTIE

From what I’ve read and learned there are crossdressers, transvestites and transsexuals to be found in every walk of life, every background and every social group. I don’t think I could come up with one ‘type’ of person who couldn’t fall into one of those categories or another.

 

Fair enough, not every individual is a transvestite, but I reckon that we all know one without ever knowing it. The nearest to the ‘type’ of person I could think of who was least likely to be a transvestite was me. Now if that isn’t a sweeping statement I don’t know what is, but let me try and explain.

 

I’m in my mid-thirties and I work in the security industry. I love contact sports, football and rugby. I’m six foot tall, long-haired and I’m a heavy metal loving, part time writer, full time beer drinker. Oh, and I served in HM forces in all the mud and muck that the wetter parts of Europe could supply.

 

You know the sort, the gun-toting, hard drinking, hard swearing, macho type that terrifies the locals, smashes up bars and the countryside with equal abandon, all in the name of our national defence. Best off all, the good old tax payers paid me and my colleagues for doing it. Travel the world, meet interesting people and kill them. Fun, huh?

 

Lonely

 

When I left the forces I wandered about a bit, met some very interesting people and realised that I didn’t want to kill them. I got a short term contract job with a security firm and moved down South. It was in a not so sunny London that I first came across the ‘alternative scene’. I found London to be a pretty lonely place, busy as hell and full of people, but no one seemed to have a minute to spare for themselves.

 

Unless you got ‘in’ with the crowd quickly, it seemed you were destined to spend most of your time on your own. For a bit of pocket money, I worked the door at a couple of nightclubs, many of which ran theme nights. One of these was a real eye opener for me even though I’d lived in Germany for three years.

 

Fetish clubs seemed to be springing up all over the place – having seen evidence of one or two ‘fans’ at rock clubs and heavy metal gigs I wasn’t repulsed, but then again I wasn’t particularly drawn to it. I wasn’t really bothered either way, long sifts, little cash and little interest in anything but beer and bands really.

 

No whether this had planted a time bomb in me I don’t know, but a few years later I read a newspaper advert looking for new writers. One of the subjects the advert requested manuscripts under was erotica, so working along the lines of ‘anyone can write that’, I sent off for the publishers guidelines and got by return a sample of their previous output. One of the pieces was transvestite fiction at its very worst…

 

Putting my ‘anyone can write that’ attitude next to my very limited knowledge of fetish clubs, I set off and began writing. Easy as that, no problem, even my four finger typing couldn’t keep up with what was pouring out of the word processor.

 

Heady stuff this sudden creativity, it isn’t until you’ve read it over that you realise how bad it actually is. Descriptive, suggestive, sensuous, whatever words I tried to apply to the stories and tales didn’t quite fit. I’m biased enough to say it was good, but it lacked feel, missed intuition.

 

I couldn’t express what the characters felt when they were dressed or forcibly dressed, what was it like to put on lipstick or to wear spiked high heels? I didn’t know, and there’s nothing worse except writers block than having an excellent idea for a story but not knowing how your characters feel, act or react.

 

Crossdress

 

How was I going to get over the problem? Brain wave! Ask my girlfriend! Great idea? Well, yes and no. You see, I’d developed this particular character, Daniel – I’ll leave the plot out for the most part, but he’d fallen into a tangled web involving this mistress, she’d got him to crossdress and I didn’t know what to do with him.

 

The trouble was doubled in that the more I was writing, the more I was becoming intrigued by the whole thing. I found it easy enough to get into the character’s heads, but I couldn’t get into the character’s clothes, so to speak. If I was already writing good stories, how much better would the stories be if I understood what my character got from crossdressing? Which is roughly where the nightie came in.

 

The first time was innocent enough – HA! Who am I trying to kid! I don’t know if it was innocent or not, what I do know was that is was as broad a hint as I could possibly have come up with. I sneaked off to bed early one night, slipping under the duvet in the light blue, strappy nightie I’d ‘discovered’. Just below knee length, slightly flowered over the breasts (or where my breasts would have been). Soft and smooth on my skin. Exciting? Yes. Arousing? Definitely.

 

I lay quietly in bed, nervously waiting for my girlfriend. This nervous anticipation certainly lent an edge to the experience. At worst it would be outrage and disgust, at best she’d just laugh!

 

As it turned out, it was better than that – it was sensational! To protect the less than innocent I will spare you the details… oh alright then! I couldn’t get my head to follow what my body was feeling, from the touch of Lynn’s hands on me through the nightie, to the way my nipples seemed to set themselves on fire. Lynn ‘asserted’ herself and it came as a very pleasant surprise to me that she loved the ‘power trip’. When she straddled me and took over completely I was totally blown away.

 

It became a regular ‘nightie’ game, too regular for both of us really so we cooled off from it for a little while. The nightie was still around but it wasn’t on all the time. I explained to Lynn about my problem writing and where the idea for the nightie had come from. If I could work out what it felt like then I’d have a better idea what to do with the characters in the story. (I think I’d left poor Daniel standing there in a white lace nightdress and negligee).

 

After getting the problem off my chest, the writing took off again. I now had the added advantage of Lynn proff-reading and giving me a sounding board for ideas. I was very pleased with the insight into what women get up to getting themselves ready and why they disappear into the bathroom for hours on end.

 

I’d been writing almost by rote, following the same routine for the characters getting dressed, doing make-up and so on. Having Lyn’s guidance into how women think about their clothes and cosmetics gave me pointers. I was able to channel these into the characters, putting flesh onto the bones so to speak, albeit with a certain amount of guesswork. Some things were apparently sacred.

 

Lingerie

 

Somewhere along the line I graduated from the nightie to lingerie – bra, stockings, suspenders and panties. If the nightie had been a shock to the system, the lingerie just about blew my head off. I know that it was a little strange for Lynn, the first time I filled up the bra cups with balled up socks she wasn’t too happy at all. I could see her point, so I didn’t push it, though I think that when she saw what she could achieve by playing with my nipples through the bra, she was as impressed as I was!

 

After a boozy night at the local we got home and I got it into my head to ‘go all the way’. The beer having loosened my tongue from my brain I asked if she’d mind making up my face. She agreed with the proviso that in the future I was to start doing my own. Watching the transformation in the mirror while she worked, I was astounded by the amount of work that actually goes into making up a face. The change in my looks astounded me even more, once Lynn had attacked my unruly hair I just about fell off the side of the bath…

 

The make-up kept dragging me back to the mirror, staring at my reflection in fascination, puckering my lips and trying to see the ‘ME’ beneath the cosmetics. I’ve never been particularly fashion conscious, nor have I ever really been bothered with how I look. This ‘other self’ was immediately different though, I was deeply concerned about how my hair looked and what would other shades of lipstick and eye shadow do?

 

Lynn says she notices a change come over me when I’m dressed, calmer, softer, kinder? I’ve not really explored this with her, perhaps I should, but then again I find the prospect rather daunting. I know I feel much more relaxed and at ease and that I’m intensely aware of ‘myself’. It might be that I’m afraid of losing the feelings and sensations if I try to classify them. There is also the worry that Lynn is merely ‘putting up’ with my sudden interest in crossdressing. I’ve asked her, halfheartedly, if she minds. She has said that she doesn’t and that she actually actually likes it, though I still have the nagging fear that she’ll ask me to stop.

 

Guilt

 

That must be the guilt coming through I guess. Though why I should feel guilty about being a transvestite I don’t know. It’s not as if anyone I know has ever told me that crossdressing is the ultimate evil and that practitioners of this ‘black art’ will be sent to eternal damnation.

 

Alright, so the media does, and the bible does too. I’ve never paid much attention to the former, and no attention at all to the latter, so, as I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me, where does this guilt come from? I don’t know and I don’t care, but I don’t like it either.

 

High Heels

 

My worries over Lynn’s feelings towards my crossdressing were assuaged when she told me she’d love to see me in high heels. Quite where she got this bolt from the blue from I don’t know, but believe me I’m not complaining! She was insistent about it, even down to wanting twin thick buckle straps at the ankle and the style of the shoe!

 

The enforced change to my posture made me all the more conscious of the whole effect. My mannerisms and movement had to change and adapt, even I noticed this ans I revelled in it. Lynn was so right about the ankle straps, they definitely have an effect.

 

When I stand up or walk, my back is straighter and my legs appear longer and far shapelier. My steps have to be smaller and neater, calf and thigh muscles stretch delightedly. I’m always filled with elation when I hear the heels click on the kitchen floor.

 

We are never ever going to get a carpet or carpet tiles in there.

 

From Lynn I learned that less is often more, toning down my make-up from the full-blown parrot and panda to a more sophisticated look. I remember Lynn’s initial reluctance to kiss me after my first attempt at painting my lips, hardly surprising really as I might as well have used an industrial sized brush! The same conclusion occurred in the boob department. I’m slim as well as tall, so big boobs don’t work – smaller can be more beautiful and I think Lynn was absolutely right.

 

Outfits

 

Being on a restricted budget, neither Lynn nor myself can go on rash spending sprees – thank goodness for charity shops! Whilst our wardrobes are not bursting, they have grown and I’ve a selection of outfits to experiment with. My days off often coincide with Lynn’s work. Well, stick alone in the house with no intention of doing much, a girl has to find something to do, doesn’t she!

 

Not every day and often not all day, but Lynn will sometimes come home to find me dressed. After a quick inspection, we generally end up in bed, so I guess Lynn quite likes the idea of me being at home dressed while she’s at work

 

How far one goes is obviously dependant upon the individual. I can only speak for myself, of course, and I know how fortunate I must be compared to some of the other articles I’ve read.

 

I know I’m never going to pass in public, I would love to do so, but I know that it isn’t practicable. It doesn’t upset me because I can dress more or less whenever I wish and can stay dressed for as long as I choose. I also have an outlet through my writing. It doesn’t really matter whether anyone reads what I write; I can use my creativity to go out for me.

 

Granted, I’ll never buy a drink in a pub when I’m dressed, or go to restaurants etc, but I’ve done all that in ‘real life’. I combine the memories with what I know through my dressing and I’ve got the best of both worlds.

 

Convincing

 

As for being more convincing, yes, I’d love to be more convincing, to be able to express my ‘other’ self more openly. I am, however, conscious of the limitations and how far I’d be willing to go to achieve ‘convincing’. I fully expect that some transvestites long for their own breasts and would give anything for a course of hormones or a boob job. I understand that some people need to go all the way, to become the person they were born to be.

 

Me? Well, lets see. I’d love to have a trimmer shape. To that end I’d love to go overboard with corsetry. The idea of my body being forced to adapt to tight laced and boned corsets or basques thrills me. Obviously this would only work until I removed whatever garment it was, but I’m not looking for a permanent change. Then again, I do shave my legs and paint my toenails. I know neither are permanent, but they are longer term, and I often wear lingerie under my ‘normal’ clothes.

 

For me, the most wonderful aspect of transforming myself is painting my lips. I think that this is because it’s such a feminine thing to do. Similarly, painting my toenails and shaving my legs. I see where Lynn was coming from with the high heels as well, whether or not this is my defining moment, I don’t know. Then again, I’ve read so much on the subject of the ‘defining’ moment that I’m beginning to think mine is the

 

When I’m alone and dressed, I still get all the sensations that I had when I first slipped on the transvestite road, but when I’m dressed and Lynn is with me the sensations are heightened and intensified to such a huge extent that I sometimes struggle to keep my feet on the ground. I don’t feel the need to dress full time – often I don’t dress for weeks. The sensations and feelings seem to become all the more intense with each transformation, not only for me, but hopefully for Lynn too.

 

My writing has evolved from sketchy ideas to new heights, opening new adventures of exploration. I’ve also found that writing female characters has become a lot easier for me to handle, seeing things from different perspectives, ones I hadn’t really considered seeing things from. My crossdressing isn’t a crutch for the writing, nor is my writing a crutch for my crossdressing.

 

The writing could exist without the dressing, but would not be anywhere near as ‘readable’; I can write without being dressed and I can dress with absolutely no intention of writing. I should admit though, that my crossdressing sets my imagination free to pursue ideas that I would never have contemplated without ever having tried on the nightie…

 

One thing that I am absolutely certain about is that my writing would never have flourished without Lynn being there to prompt and probe.

 

Anne



FROM HE TO SHE

For one in 10,000 of the population, a hormonal imbalance in the uterus about six to nine weeks after conception is where it all starts. A study from the Netherlands examined the brains of straight and gay men, women and male-to-female transsexuals. They looked at part of the hypothalmus, an area of the brain that is affected by sex hormones during its development, and discovered that while the brains of straight and gay men were the same, the transsexual-to-female brains were almost identical to the brains of women.

 

However, knowing that the way you feel is due to a quirk of nature doesn’t make life any easier, especially when puberty kicks in and your body starts to head off down a route that is diametrically opposed to the way you want to go.

 

“I have people turning up who are on the point of suicide,” says Fran Springfield, specialist gender identity counsellor, “and self mutilation is not uncommon.” But, in a strange way, these are the lucky ones – they’ve recognised their situation and have taken the first step. Others are not so lucky. “Many transsexuals go through periods when they attempt to suppress or deny their condition. Some choose hobbies or jobs that are hyper-masculine in order to try to prove that they are not transsexual.”

 

Transsexuals can be found in all walks of life: Springfield has even had former SAS members come to her for help. Some transsexual-to-females who visit are in the 40s or 50s, have married and have children. Having made the initial contact the patient is now ready to embark on the journey from transsexual-to-female.

 

STEP ONE: Counselling

 

“Clients undergo many hours of counselling to determine that they are really transsexual and to rule out other psychiatric problems,” says Springfield. The only specialist nurse gender counsellor in the country, she has worked in the gender field for ten years, and is a member of the Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association, an organisation which governs the treatment of transsexuals. The client is then referred to a psychiatrist for further evaluation.

 

STEP TWO: Hormone Treatment

 

Transsexual-to-females are given oestrogen which prompts them to develop breasts and a smaller waist. They will see more fat on their hips and smoother skin along with a reduction of body hair and loss of libido. Hormones do not usually stop beard growth which has to be removed by electrolysis. It can take up to 1,000 hours of electrolysis at £35 per hour to remove a full beard. Hormones do not alter voice pitch either, although speech therapy can help in that respect.

 

STEP THREE : Changing gender role

 

Patients will have to live in their new gender role for at least 12 months before an operation can be performed. During this time, all documents relating to the client are changed – driving license, National Insurance, everything except birth certificate. The patient must also come out at work – following the case of P vs Cornwall Council in the European Court in April 1996, transsexuals are now protected against discrimination in the workplace. A Home Office working party is expected to report in 2000/2001 on changing the birth certificates of post-operative transsexuals to reflect their new gender identity.

 

“The real life experience is important,” says Springfield. The 12-month period is a duration laid down by Harry Benjamin, who actually coined the term transsexual and, on a quite unrelated point, lived to be 102 years old. During this time transsexuals are checked up on to make sure that they are not cheating.

 

STEP FOUR : Counselling and Referral

 

Psychiatric examination follows more counselling to rule out delusion in the patient. After all, there will be no going back after the operation.

 

STEP FIVE : Surgery

 

It’s not only the end results that are good, there are also very few complications following the 4-5 hour operation. The patient is out of hospital in ten days and can be back at work in three months. The risk of prolapse is small and usually only occurs if patients have sex too soon after surgery or if the surgery is poor. Satisfaction rates with good surgery are 100 per cent. “The patient has got they body they always wanted,” says Springfield. “To see patients going from desperation to complete satisfaction makes the job very rewarding.”

 

Following surgery cases, 40 per cent of transsexual-to-females live as heterosexual women, 40 per cent are lesbian and 20 per cent pursue a bisexual lifestyle.

 

“Transsexuals are ordinary people who’ve gone through an extraordinary experience,” says Springfield. “Many live their lives without anyone knowing their background. You have probably met some without even knowing.”

 

You can contact Fran Springfield at http://members.aol.com/gics



Testimonials

 

Real extracts from customers letters or emails telling us of their personal results. The originals of all of these letters are held by Transformation for verification.

 

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We realise that most of our customers guard their privacy & would not want to appear on video. But we also know that there will be a few of you out there that would love to appear as a convincing woman in a short video clip where even your mum would not recognise you!!! If you are interested in shooting a short testimonial video using your phone please ring Diane or Beverley for full details on 0161-773-4477 or email us here.

 

BECOME AN INSPIRATION TO OTHERS

 

Hi ladies, Just wanted to tell you about my visit to Manchester on Saturday. I went again for a changeaway and had just the BEST time. It was wonderful, and again, that is down to the staff you had on duty. As I walked in, Debbie remembered me, saying "Hi Sophie....you staying with us today?", which was the perfect introduction. Both her and Eileen were just fantastic. They take real care and have a genuine interest in you, in your choice of outfit, and your make up. You could say that is what they are paid to do...true, but actually, they did seem to genuinely care, and really did welcome me as a woman into their female fold. Eileen helped me pick my two outfits, listening and taking into account what I wanted, and advising me accordingly. Debbie then did expertly did my make up. Then, once changed, both treated me as the woman I want to be. I literally was one of the girls for the duration of my stay. It was just wonderful - truly magnificent. And my wonderful experience was down to their expertise and kindness. It was FAB-U-LOUS!! Can't wait for the next visit.

 

Sophie x

 

Hi Diane Just wanted to write and tell you that I went for two changeaways this week, and what a wonderful time I had. Just wanted to let you all in head office know the wonderful job that Eileen and Debbie did, in the makeovers.Both were fabulous, but Debbie was especially superb. She has this wonderful manner about her, which just makes me feel that, whilst I am there, I am a woman. Her makeovers, the way she picks out clothes, and the make up design and hair styling, are just fabulous. But then after that, she talks to you like you are one of the girls, about girly things that women would chat about, and it just comes naturally to her. It is not forced, there's no act, which makes you immediately feel accepted as a woman there. Transformation should be very proud to have her. Thanks Diane....I can't wait to return!

 

Sophie x

 

Hi, This is a note of thanks to your company and if one person is to be singled out it would be Beverley on the phone ordering service. After much deliberation and a little therapy I decided time was right to undergo hormone replacement, my first contact with Bev was lovely, I found her proffesional, patient and knowledgable of products so well qualified to guide me through, I placed an order which arrived next day and delighted, I feel Beverley should be congratulated and no, I am not related to her! Many thanks again from

 

Robyn

 

Dear Tracey I feel I had to write this letter to extend my thanks to you personally for my experience on Tuesday 22nd February. After plucking up courage the day before to enter the shop, I was made so welcome and comfortable the moment I entered the shop. Your professional attitude and empathy are a credit to you and I wish the world had more people like yourself to make people like myself feel more accepted in society. Once I had gained confidence I made a purchase and agreed that I would return the next day for a Changeaway. Upon arriving the next day I was greeted with the same enthusiasm by you as I was the day before. I then felt nervous again as there was another lady in the shop. I should have had no doubt that this lady (Christine) would show me the same respect as you. She is also a credit to your establishment. The whole experience that I had over the next few hours felt so normal. This is soley down to your relaxed and empathetic manner. As you know I have a very Plain Jane dress sense and you respected that and did not try to make me look like a Drag Queen. And how you gave me a waist I will never know, I have not had a waist since I was 16!!!!! Your knowledge on applying make-up made even me look special (in my opinion I am six foot tall, eighteen stone and look like a battered rugby player) You made me feel so relaxed that I actually found myself chatting to you as if I had known you for years and telling you all about my secret life and I can honestly say I have never talked this candidly and openly with anybody other than my wife. Saying that, I don’t think I have expressed myself so openly and been so frank as I was with you. Just like two sisters twittering on. You also made me feel so comfortable and convincing that I couldn’t believe that I sat in the shop the whole time. Please pass this on to your managers and feel free to use is as a testimonial if necessary. Once again thank you so much for my experience with you. You are a credit to both your company and yourself. Hope to see you next year when I am next in Birmingham Best wishes

 

Chris

 

Many thanks for your help recently. As you now know I visited your London shop unexpectedly yesterday as I realised I couldn’t make next week after all and what an amazing experience it turned out to be. I don't think I was ever made to feel so welcome in a shop before, it felt like more of a spiritual event than a shopping expedition; many, many thanks to Samantha & Karitas. I left your shop feeling freed from decades of suppressed emotion and truly I haven't felt so good about myself in many a year. If anybody who has only ever cross dressed on their own before and has any doubts about making such a step by visiting such an establishment (and believe me I can understand) just try it otherwise you'll never know what you have missed. Once again thank you to Samantha & Karitas for making it such a special day.

 

Steve

 

On Monday (16th) I gave myself a treat by spending a day out, and just over £400, at your branch in London. It is a pleasure to tell you just how helpful and kind both Beverley and Samantha were, Beverley paying particular attention to my needs, and also to tell you how much they both contributed to my enjoyment of my time there. Please pass on my grateful thanks for their time and attentionl. My only regret is that I could not stay any longer than I did as it took me over three hours to get there and roughly the same time to return to my home near Southampton. Highest regards

 

Dawn

 

Yesterday, I visited your Birmingham shop and had one of the most fantastic experiences of my life, thanks to Shirley. This was my first-ever visit and my first ever Changeaway. I arrived just before 11 o'clock and Shirley was in the shop. Her sixth sense came into play instantly, as she knew I was self-conscious and sensed I was also confused. She sat me down on the sofa, "magicked" a cup of coffee and asked quite a lot of very discreetly worded questions. The result was that she put me very much at ease (not completely, but that was down to me, not her) and established, out of her questions, a look that would suit me - I had no real idea except that I didn't want to look tarty, because this was not a joke to me. Shirley selected a breast size, measured me, selected a pair of suitable shoes, guided me on an ideal pair of panties (I wore them today all day) and off we went. She left me to strip down to underwear then came back and started work. With a suitable corset, she whittled eight inches off my waist, fitted my bra and breasts (fantastic - if only they had been real!) and made an elegant woman of me. She did a fantastic job - my face was the only bit I wasn't entirely comfortable with, but Shirley could only work with what she had! Here's the fantastic part of it all - when she had finished, Shirley walked round me and then looked me in the eye and said: "You look fabulous". And I thought she was right - but it was she who had made this fabulous transformation - and by saying what she did so spontaneously gave me a massive confidence boost. It has given me the resolve that this will not be my last visit. I had a particularly difficult phsychological obstacle to overcome and almost without my realising it, Shirley led me through it to perform true magic. Not only did I look fantastic, I felt fantastic. I sat in the lounge for quite a while, getting used to this new me, read a few magazines, learned how to sit from what I read and I loved it. Shirley, you are a marvel and I'm looking forward very much to my next visit and experiencing you working your wonders again. Thankyou so much - and thankyou Transformations for being there.

 

Love, Sarah

 

I want to thank you. my last order was complete and on time like every order i placed. the three gifts were perfect. i will make use of them throughout my transformation. they are needed essentials for the m/f transformation. i will put them to the test when i go out to clubs and concerts. when i started transformation at first, i was very uncomfortable. now, i look forward to face the world. I am no longer a closet dresser.

 

love Martha

 

Hi girls I want to thank you all for my purchases my new breasts Alice dress ankle boots etc.  I now have everything that I need to be a complete woman thank you all

love Carol from Manchester

 

I'm just emailing to say that the creams arrived early this afternoon and I've already had my first session with them. Here's hoping that I'm able to see some results in the near future. If you like, I'll keep you posted. Can I say once again a very big thank you and how very pleased I am with your service, your promptness in responding to emails, the speedy overnight delivery and for your very kind and discrete help when I called. It is all very much appreciated indeed and I'll certainly have no hesitation in contacting you again by phone. Very many thanks again and my kindest regards.

 

from Jaydee in the UK

 

This is one girl that is beaming with pleasure after receiving my new Realistic Vagina. It looks so real and thank you so much.

 

A Loyal Customer

 

from Ginger in USA

I would like to thank Maria for all her help and assistance when I have called the customer service line and for the way that she treats me like a woman. Maria has always explained every item I have asked about in a very helpful and respectful manner and I look forward to talking to her again soon. Many thanks

 

from Karen in Suffolk

Thank you so much Claudia for your understanding and kindness, your service and Customer Service staff are extremely friendly and helpful and are a credit to your company. Cant wait till my next treat from CDC.

 

from Allan

I have just received my Realistic Vagina and what a wonderful transformation it has made. I started wearing it immediately and have never felt better. Thank you so much for offering this product and I will buy from you again.

 

from Marryann in USA

Thank you very much for the parcel I received and shall be ordering again very soon and I will be recommending you fast efficient service to all my friends.

from Steffan

 

Jess United Kingdom

I just wanted to thank you I've been really happy with Transformation and the products are fantastic, they have not only made a difference to my body but also my quality of life. I think I would have committed suicide had I not found out about this site so I just wanted to personaly thank you all at Transformation  for your support. Your customer service is amazing and user friendly and I immediately  felt at home and I don't  have to pretend to be somone im not. Please thank Stephanie Anne Lloyd,  I think she is legendary and a true hero to the Trans people and I think shes saved and changed so many lives for the better. I only wish there were more people like that around. Im going to continue to use your services indefinatly where I feel safe and secure. Thanks for your help and have a nice night Jess x



Cross dressing has become a big part of my life and like others I would like to share my experiences and views, if you decide to post my article…”

 

Ok, so this is my story…

 

It is not one racked with with emotional turmoil, it probably wouldn’t even make a Mills and Boon novel. It is not one of a man’s desire to become a woman when he realises that he should have been born a girl.

 

But the interest being a TV has created to the general public and indeed to the unique individuals who visit the Transformation site, made me want to put fingers to keyboard (so to speak) and share my cross dressing experiences and views with you.

 

As I write this article, I do so as Jenna, my female alter ego. I am dressed as her, in lacey underwear, high heels and a short skirt with a bosom-hugging top to add to the air of occasion.

 

I am 31 now and have been cross dressing since the tender age of 6 or 7, or indeed as far back as I can remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I began cross dressing, but having an elder sister probably helped and may have been a starting point.

 

At that age, I cannot put it down to hormonal imbalances, or even starting to think to myself that I wish I had been born a girl, it was something that happened one day and has been a part of my life ever since. Looking back now, there still doesn’t appear to be a reason, but even to this day, I now have the urge to slip into my lacey underwear and my own female clothes and become Jenna whenever I can. My reasons are simple: female clothing is a damn sight prettier than my own, I love to wear it, I feel good when I am wearing it.

 

Why did I choose Jenna?

 

A couple of reasons really. Firstly, it is unusual (a bit like me I suppose) and secondly, it is quite a girly name which befits the way I feel when I cross dress.

 

I had never really thought of giving myself a female name or personna before, that was until I met a lass at a party, who was a transsexual. She listened to me and suggested my giving myself a girls name and it went on from there.

 

Throughout my life, there have been several occasions when the opportunity to dress as a woman, and actually go out in my party frock dressed up to the nines, have presented themselves. They were mainly confined to fancy dress parties, or pub and club nights, but even to this day I am still very much in the closet and have never met anyone in real life who feels the same way as me and understands why I and many others cross dress.

 

Speaking to someone by email is not the same as meeting someone face to face. When you can both sit down together, you can at least both dress as women and swap experiences.

 

The clothes I wear are my interpretation of how I think a woman should look, as indeed is many other TVs’ perceptions. I love sexy, lacey underwear. I love wearing figure hugging skirts, tops or dresses finished of with a set of perfect legs and of course, the good old high heel shoe. I own a pair with a 4 inch heels and I wear them as often as I can, because I think they look really feminine and I look good in them.

 

I think I dress the way I do because I am very envious of how many sexy women there are in this world, and as well as wanting to be able to pass convincingly as one of them, I would prefer to share my bed with one as well. Kind of have my cake and eat it.

 

They have so many beautiful things — what do men have? A chauvanist attitude and a dull, grey suit…

 

I feel great when I am dressed as my alter ego and it also helps in de-stressing me at the end of another crap day at the office. I have to keep my feelings and wanton desires well in the closet when I am at work, as well as at home as the wife refuses to accept that I am TV and life could become very unbearable.

 

Going back to dressing as a woman: my feelings can sometimes be really overwhelming. I enjoy dressing in petite feminine things (I am a slim size ten by the way). I even used to bunk off school in my teenage years, just so that I could rifle through my sister’s clothes and spend the day pampering myself as every woman does now and again.

 

I buy my own clothes, the knowing look of the spotty faced Saturday girls are always a bit disconcerting… can they actually sense that you may have an ulterior motive for that bag full of sale priced clothing you have just purchased? One would certainly think so. Why does it always seem to take so long for the items to be put through the tills, accompanied by the girly titters and giggles. Embarrasing as it may be, as long as you look good and feel comfortable in that nice sexy little outfit you have just purchased, who cares?

 

Which brings me nicely onto my next point:

 

..that of the narrow minded views and opinions of the good old public… I can’t discriminate, but it really annoys the hell out of me when you get the big mouthed idiot or the unsavoury characters shall we say, who make life unbearable for each of us, each TV – a unique person in my own opinion.

 

Yes, it isn’t the done thing for a man to dress in women’s clothing. It could be misconstrued as being abnormal, but what the hell. You can only take so much abuse, but the narrow minded views of individuals who think that just because you are TV you must be perverted push the limits. Is it any wonder that most TVs remain in the closet?

 

Underneath the mascara and lipstick there is still a man, and I am pretty sure that most people will only take so much before they explode, myself included.

 

Some women actually actively encourage their partner’s cross dressing. They feel that if they help their menfolk to become women, not only do they gain a confidente, a sister, a good female friend, they also gain the respect, love and admiration only a part-time woman can bring.

 

Most feel threatened though, God knows why.

 

Personally speaking, I have no desire whatsoever of becoming a full time woman. Not taking away the respect I give to those who have made such a huge emotional decision, it certainly takes guts. I have a friend who is in the final throes of their transition to full time womanhood.

 

I admire and respect her, but at the same time I pity her because of what women face. There is no doubt that they are, probably, the weaker sex in some respects. They are used and abused in a very male-dominated world and more often than not taken for granted, something of which I too am guilty at times.

 

So where does that leave me? Still in the closet I’m afraid, unless by some freak act of nature I turn into a female overnight or the world actually realises that TVs do exist but underneath our lipstick and mascara we are human too.

 

I would love to wear my lacey underwear under my clothes, but I can’t, I have to remain behind closed doors. Perhaps Jenna might come to fruition one day and people will understand.

 

I am a normal person, I just enjoy dressing as a woman.

 

Take Care One and All

 

Regards, Jenna



For many years I was a closet tranny, never venturing out of the door or dressing in front of my family, but when I got to my middle forties I decided to pluck up courage and go out at night when my family were away. I had secretly been buying clothes for a long time, but if I was to start going out, I had to try to do it properly. I already had a nice black skirt from C&A, A-line as was the fashion in the early eighties, and knee length. I bought a matching blouse from Paige’s and a black velvet jacket from Marks and Spencer. I’ve still got a very old wig which my wife had left to be thrown out.

 

I needed to get something to walk in as the only shoes I had were from the sixties or a pair of very high and strappy stilettos which were too awkward to walk in for any distance. I did the rounds and finished up with a pair of 3 inch stilettos from the Clock House at C&A. Just an ordinary little black court shoe – I’m a size six and a half.

 

I already had some good underwear, a few accessories and some makeup items. I just bought a a nice new pair of black tights and I was ready to go!

 

I spent the afternoon getting ready – having a bath, shaving my legs and body, etc, then it was time to get dressed. I took my time with my makeup (which I’m still not very good at) but at last I felt finished. I was very nervous, but my mind was made up. I went downstairs, poured a martini and waited until the lights had gone off in all the surrounding houses. I live in a small village on an even smaller estate, where everyone knows everyone else. It would be disastrous to be found out as I’m sure all closet trannies feel.

 

At last the coast seemed clear. I gingerly opened the front door and ventured out onto the step. I live in a large circle at the end of a cul-de-sac and had previously decided to go for a walk round the block, which is about half a mile.

 

The three inch stilettos were really comfortable and I had no trouble walking in them. After all these years they are still my favourite shoes. I have had the tips renewed several times.

 

I enjoyed feeling the air around my legs and the movement of my skirt. It was lovely.

 

I made it safely back home, poured another martini and sat down to savour what I had just done. I had done what I had wanted to do for decades – I had been out as a woman.

 

I’ve been out many times since – over a hundred, but nearly always on my little late night walk round the block. A few times I’ve got a little more adventurous and taken the longer walk down to the main road and the bus stop.

 

Eventually I wanted more. I wanted to be seen, but not found out. I chose a rainy night and went out a little earlier than usual. The rain was useful as I could use my umbrella to hide behind. Still just on my little walk round the block. When I was nearly back home a neighbour drove past in her car. She had seen a woman walking up the road with an umbrella and shoulder bag. Still in the three inch stilettos. Diane had seen me and never gave it another thought. I felt great!

 

Shortly afterwards I went out in my pale blue flowered sundress under a different black jacket with a ‘Classic Woman’ label inside. Even the label makes me feel good! My dress has a wide mid-length skirt and before I went out I wasn’t too happy with the way it was hanging so I put on an extra petticoat. That made me feel a lot happier.

 

By that time we had had new and much stronger street lighting put in our road. Nevertheless my confidence was growing and I set off without worrying. I had only gone about thirty yards when I became aware of a young neighbour walking along on the other side of the street. He was looking at me. I just carried on. Stuart must have thought I was worth looking at. I was pleased I’d put on that extra petticoat! Naturally, I was wearing the three inch stilettos again. He probably heard me coming before he saw me!

 

As we went through the nineties skirts got shorter and some of my older dresses were again wearable. It was fabulous to go out in a short skirt. Something which I had never dared do when I was younger. No, I don’t dress like a teenager, but its acceptable now for the older woman to wear things which are in fashion. I bought a couple of new skirts to bring me up to date – a plain black velvet and a green/grey check from M&S and a short black waist slip from BHS to go under them.

 

One night whilst wearing my black skirt I went a bit further than usual along the main road to the post. (I really did have an important business letter!) A few cars passed and I felt terrific at having been seen in a short skirt and heels. I was wearing a pair of sling backs which didn’t hold my heels very well and I hobbled quite a bit. It was winter so I was also wearing 60 denier black tights which had become the in thing.

 

As I was walking back up the entrance road to the estate, which is quite steep, I was suddenly flat on the ground. I banged my head quite badly on the footpath. My wig came off. As I got slowly up, I felt a dampness and realised that it was blood from where I had hit my head. The sling backs had stayed on, so I put my wig back, gathered my bag and walked as fast as I could back home. The walk was quite painful.

 

When I saw myself in the bathroom mirror I couldn’t believe the size of the gash above my right eyebrow. It was deep and looked as if it had been done neatly with a knife. I still have a slight mark. I eventually managed to stop the bleeding, which had been quite profuse and stained my blouse badly, and started to get undressed. To my amazement I had badly grazed both knees, but the 60 denier tights were unscathed!

 

I was lucky not to have been knocked out. What would have happened if someone had come across this unconscious, unbewigged but fully dressed tranny doesn’t bear thinking about. The next day I went to the doctor for a checkup and was pronounced fit but lucky. He asked if the wound had been stitched, as it had come back together so neatly.

 

It was the second time I had fallen while dressed. The first time was when trying to run in those strappy four inch stilettos I mentioned earlier. Needless to say, I don’t go out walking in sling backs anymore!

 

My desire to dress was still as strong as ever, but for a while I didn’t actually do it. Then I went out and bought a pair of boots from Shoe City and could not resist going out in them straight away. They are so comfortable. They are the kind which come just up to the back of the knee. I walked quite a bit further than ever before and again was seen by about ten people in cars who took no notice.

 

On the way back I met some other people out walking. I could hear male voices coming towards me and I felt vulnerable both as a tranny and as a woman.

 

I decided to cross to the other side of the road, probably as any other woman would. They just passed by deep in their own conversation and never bothered with me. Another car went by and I felt reassured.

 

While I was walking back up the hill towards where I had previously fallen, another car came up from behind and stopped right alongside me before turning towards a private drive on the opposite side of the road. I carried on walking. I heard a female voice which I recognised. It was Denise saying goodnight to her boyfriend.

 

They must have had a really good look at me, being less than four feet away when the car had stopped beside me. I was wearing natural coloured glossy tights which could be seen above my boots and below my skirt, which finished just above the knee.

 

This was my closest contact yet and again no one seemed to bother. I must have passed for a woman without a second thought.

 

Again I didn’t dress for a while, but the desire remains so strong. As I’ve got older I have had to go up a dress size. My favourite at the moment is a plain little black number which I bought in Littlewoods. It hangs above the knee and is tailored from the bust.

 

Yesterday I decided it was time to see if I could still get into into it. I had bought a lot of new accessories while on holiday in Majorca in the summer. New rings and clips, an ‘L’-for-Linda chain, a new watch as my old one had given up and a lovely Moschino shoulder bag with a leather and chain strap. I had also bought some new fashionable ankle strap court shoes from BHS which I wanted to try.

 

Yes the dress still does fit me. Its a bit tighter that I would like (what woman doesn’t think that), but still very much wearable.

 

So here goes for another night out. Having read the good advice on the Transformation web site, I wanted to go out earlier and be seen more. It took a while to get ready. As I said before, I’m still not very good at makeup, and if more people are to see me I want to look my best.

 

Under the dress I first put on my Wonderbra knickers into which I always put a pantie liner. After that comes a lovely M&S underwired body which is really comfortable. It doesn’t open at the crotch, which makes it difficult to go to the toilet, as I have to get virtually undressed. It’s not too bad if I’m wearing a dress with a long back zip, but most inconvenient if I’m in a skirt and top!

 

Then come the 60 denier tights I mentioned before (it’s still winter) followed a lovely little full slip which I’ve had for years, but it is very pretty and the right length to go under the dress. All in black, of course.

 

At that stage came the makeup, followed by the dress and the wig. Its time I bought a new wig. I’ve been looking at the Transformation catalogue and quite fancy a Selina in medium brown. Must make a point of visiting Bury Old Road again!

 

I topped off my ‘Classic Woman’ jacket with a nylon scarf and a fashionable little round hat from M&S.

 

After all this it was later than planned when I was ready to go out. I’ve recently had new windows and doors fitted, so I had to transfer the correct key to my ‘Linda’ keyring. I set out but had only gone a few yards before I realised that the new ankle strap shoes with 4 inch heels were not for walking in yet. I’ll have to wear them around the house for a while.

 

Back home I decided upon Plan B, which was to get out my knee length boots. This done, and after renewing my lipstick and a few shots of my new ‘Woman’ perfume which I had also bought in Majorca, out I went again. Round the upper part of the block and down towards the main road. The boots were not quite so comfortable as I remembered them, but probably because it had been a long time since I had worn heels.

 

I got down to the main road and heard male voices. Two young lads were across at the bus stop. I realised that as I was later than I intended they must be waiting for the last bus back to the next village.

 

As I approached I heard a wolf whistle! For a second I thought I had been read. Then I heard two more wolf whistles. There were no jeers or cat calls. This was too good to be true. I was genuinely being wolf whistled! Like any other woman, I held by head high and walked on. I had enjoyed the experience. I hope it happens again!

 

A couple of cars passed as I walked on, then the last bus. I walked further than I had ever walked before while dressed. I was enjoying myself. But soon I realised I was tired and decided to turn back. I have a plan for very long walk, but that will have to wait.

 

I got back to the main road and headed for home. More cars passed without incident and I was happy. I was a little apprehensive as I approached the bus stop, but the boys were not there. They must have gone home on the last bus as I had surmised. I wonder if they looked out for me as the bus drove by?

 

As I started to cross the road back to our estate I heard another car coming. I decided I didn’t want to wait to let it pass so I crossed. Just as I got to exactly the same place as I had heard the first wolf whistle, the car passed. After (only a split second) it had passed there was a toot on the horn!

 

Three wolf whistles and a horn toot! This was my lucky night! The lads in the car must have been on their way back from the pub and had seen a bird! The short dress and boots had definitely done their job!

 

I walked back up the hill to the house and reflected on a wonderful evening out. Obviously I’m still not too old to excite the male when properly dressed and looking good! The wolf whistles and the toot from the boys in the car helped me to realise what it is really like to be a woman!

 

Lots of love

Linda XX



St Paul said that there abide faith, hope and charity - but I have more hope than faith in the charity shop as a source for transvestites' clothing...

 

The Charity Shop

 

In Heaven, no doubt, charity shops are Aladdin's caves for transvestites. This world, alas, is a more cruel place. Buyer beware: rather than Aladdin's cave, here, charity shops are all too often little shops of horror. I think that there are three main reasons for people giving clothes to charity shops - they're worn out, they no longer fit or they were a mistake from the start. To take the last of those first - if it looked ghastly on the woman who originally owned it, it will probably look even worse on you. On the whole, transvestites need to take more care over what they wear than women do. I, for one, am not crossdressing to wear someone else's discarded horrors.

 

A quick glance with a critical eye will be enough to assess the ghastliness of a lot of clothes. Sometimes, though it's necessary to try the clothes on to see how awful they are. There are garments which seem fine in theory but in practice, just don't work. There are clothes which could be splendid, but they're cut so that they don't hang right on a human body. If they hang badly on a woman, they're likely to hang a whole lot worse on you. The cut of clothes can offend a lot more than the eye. I have a friend who picked up a teddy from a charity shop. Exceptionally, it was large enough for a transvestite's body - and it was certainly very pretty. The snag appeared when putting it on for the first time. It was decorated with piping which cut into the flesh in some extremely sensitive places. The original owner had probably found it too painful to wear, but I think it must have been even worse for my friend!

 

Acceptable

 

Less painful, but still a pain, are problems around washing and ironing. There are clothes which are a lot of work to keep in half way acceptable shape. There's no reason why transvestites shouldn't iron their clothes - all the same, if someone took a garment to a charity shop because it was too much trouble to iron, it probably really is too much trouble to iron. I've given clothes to charity shops for this reason - I'm sure that a lot of women have done the same. Other pains include hand-wash only - how good are you at hand washing? Worse are problems around garments not being colour fast. I once bought a red skirt with an elasticated waistband from a charity shop. Its original owner had removed the washing instructions, so I decided (as I thought) to play safe. I hand washed it, with a few other things, in tepid water. The skirt came out fine. Everything else emerged mottled with pink. It ruined some expensive undies. More extreme than hand-wash only is dry clean only. Charity shop items in that category generally cost more to clean than to buy. Something which looked to be a real bargain turns out a bit expensive. Washing and ironing are compounded by the fact that a lot of charity shop clothes are without manufacturers' labels. Some of these may be home made, but in others one came to see where the labels have been ripped off. Why anyone should do this I do not know, but it leaves care of the garment as a lottery in which there are only booby prizes. Wrong guessing can ruin not only the clothes without labels, but other things in the same wash. Instructions for washing and ironing are not the only label to be snipped out. Size labelling can also be missing. That allows three possibilities - carry a tape measure, try the garments on, or guess. Someone did once advise me to carry a tape measure as a matter of course. I've never done so, and don't know anyone who has. Even the friend who gave me the advice (a transvestite) doesn't do it. Trying clothes on would be the ideal - but it takes an unusually bold transvestite to do so except in such safe outlets as Transformation. Not having attempted it, my guess is that a trannie wishing to try on women's clothing in a charity shop would meet with, at best, a frosty reception. It could well be worse than frosty. In fact, 'frosty' is an accurate word for the attitude of many assistants in charity shops towards men who bring women's clothes to the counter, let alone towards any male who wished to try them on!

 

Guessing

 

Size labelling brings us to the size of the original owner. An important point on this is that there's an overlap between the issues of clothes being ghastly and their no longer fitting the original owner. I married a woman who wore size 10 clothes. I saw her through the traumas of going up to size 12, then size 14, and on to size 16. She was concerned not only at her increasing girth, as such, but also by the fact that, with each increase in size, it became harder to find nice clothes. The problem for us, here, is that not only does the male body tend to be larger than the female one, but it is differently proportioned. Men generally have thick waists, which increases their skirt size several notches. Probably worse, they also tend to have broad shoulders, which can have a dramatic effect on blouse and dress sizes. Towards the end of our marriage, my wife was finding it difficult (at size 16) to find clothes she liked in ordinary dress shops and department stores. The task would be much more difficult for a transvestite who is more likely to need sizes up in the 20s. Someone I know, who doesn't seem an unusual size for a man - and certainly isn't fat - says that he takes a size 22. If flattering garments in that size are difficult to find in shops selling new clothes, they will be very much more so in a charity shop. This brings us to the reason why clothes no longer fit women - and are given to charity shops. Generally, it has to do with the process through which my wife went. Women tend to grow larger as they grow older - acquiring matronly figures. The result is that there are plenty of size 10 and size 12 clothes in charity shops. The proportion of transvestites who can squeeze into these must be as tiny as their waists are. In fact, probably the most frustrating thing about charity shops is that there are some lovely clothes going very cheaply in size 8 or 10. I've seen some really beautiful leather skirts available for a couple of pounds. Alas, all of them have been designed for anorexic teenage girls. The most beautiful leather skirt I ever saw anywhere was in this category. It combined black and wine coloured leather sewn to form an applique pattern. It was in a Leyton charity shop. I don't know why I tortured myself by giving it a second glance, but I went so far as to gauge the size. It was hard to believe an adult human being could have a waist as small as that. Much the same applied to a skirt of electric blue satin with a tulip hem. This wonderful creation was sighted in a Southend- on-Sea charity shop. I still think about that skirt. Even if I could have returned to my early teenage dimensions, I doubt if it would have been possible to squeeze into the tiny waistband. It would have been better if I'd never seen it. The likes of that skirt can offer me nothing but heartache.

 

Bargain

 

It comes as a relief to leave the subject of beautiful clothes much too small to wear, and consider the third reason people give things to charity shops. This is because they're worn out. Clothes of this kind can be found on the bargain rails - cheap even by charity shop standards. Alas, unless you're good with a needle and thread, you are unlikely to rescue anything useful in this category. Indeed, even if you can sew, it isn't worth trying to fix anything worse than unstitched seams. When the fabric of the garment starts to give out, there's not much to be done apart from ripping it up to use as dusters. That said, perhaps the most intriguing thing I've ever seen in a charity shop came into the worn out category. I didn't buy it - the item wasn't worth having - but it did set me wondering. It was a red suspender belt which had been repaired repeatedly with large and clumsy stitches. A woman who sewed that badly would surely not bother to sew at all. Women don't usually repair their lingerie, in any case. Suspender belts continue to be worn in this age of tights because they are sexy - the much repaired one had long since lost its last trace of sexiness. The original owner was almost certainly a transvestite - but why had the worn out suspender belt gone to a charity shop instead of in the bin (where it belonged)? I sensed that there was a story behind it - and I still wonder about it. Perhaps the best treasures to be found in charity shops are such intriguing little hints of other people's lives. I've donated several items to charity shops which, I'd like to think, may have set someone wondering about the original owner. These have included garments carrying Transformation labels - at the end of their useful lives.

 

I have found one (and only one) useful garment - repaired by its original owner after much wear - on the bargain rail of a charity shop. It was a little pink blouse with re-sewn seams under the armpits. I bought it for 50p, expecting the seams to go again very shortly. Many wearings later, the seams are still holding - and the blouse has proved itself a genuine bargain. I've wondered about that original owner. She may have been an exceptionally tubby woman - overly fleshy arms, perhaps. Alternatively, the blouse may have formerly belonged to an other transvestite. The strain on the armpits could be the result of broad shoulders (a major problem in clothes made for women placed on a male body). The restitching of the seams, while not as clumsy as that of the red suspender belt, does not exhibit much delicacy. That may be another sign of a tranny former owner. To be fair to charity shops, I ought to mention another excellent buy - albeit one that few trannies could have worn - a genuine girl's blazer. Can a schoolgirl be properly outfitted without a blazer? This was - and is - a treasure, not least because the blazer is an item of school uniform not available from such outlets as Transformation. Buying a blazer from a school outfitter is not a transaction I would care to make. They would surely wonder why my 'daughter' hadn't come with me to try on her new blazer. And then, perhaps... "What size is she, sir?" "Oh, about my size..." Really, I'd rather not even think about that. But here was a blazer that would be easy to buy. It seemed natural enough that I would snap up a charity shop bargain while it was available, rather than risk losing it by waiting to return with my 'daughter' at some future time. The only question was whether it would fit me...

 

Growing

 

As school blazers go, it was a fairly large size. The previous owner had probaby finished with it on leaving school, rather than growing out of it and being bought a larger one. I looked for a size label. There wasn't one, although all of the other labelling was intact. I felt doubtful - could I squeeze into even a large school blazer? As a teenager I'd worn an elder sister's blazer sometimes - but that was a long time before. The blazer was cheap for what it was, but it wasn't free. Trying on the blazer in the shop was out of the question. I am generally fairly open about my transvestism, but there are limits. A trannie going for schoolgirl items is sure to raise issues around paedophilia in the minds of a lot of people. It may be nonsense - there is no link that I can see between wishing to dress as a schoolgirl and wishing to abuse children - but that would probably not reduce the trouble which would ensue. After dithering for a little while, I bought the blazer, took it home and tried it on. To my great pleasure, it fitted. It was a very snug fit when buttoned, but I was able to wear it. Few transvestites, however, would have been so lucky. I am small by male standards, and - most important - have very narrow shoulders. My last girlfriend, in fact, had wider shoulders than me. Turning from the best to the most surprising transaction, it arose in the purchase of a matching camisole and French knicker set. This was another purchase over which I dithered before making the transaction. It was very pretty - but would it fit? There was no size label and I had to guess. My feeling was that the knickers would be OK, but the camisole could be too small even for me. (As it turned out, this guesswork was about right). Eventually, I decided that the camisole didn't matter because the French knickers were worth at least the £3 asking price. On that basis, I took the lingerie set to the counter. The lady looked at it, picked up a pen, crossed out the £3 and wrote £2 instead. And that was what she charged me - but why? I've often wondered about that... Possibly the lingerie set had been priced by a rival whose prices she enjoyed altering. I would like to believe that she thought transvestites should be encouraged to wear frilly undies, and liked to sell them as cheaply as possible if a trannie was buying. I've tried to convince myself of that explanation - but haven't yet succeeded!

 

I have made a few really good buys in charity shops - but has the charity shopping, overall, been worthwhile? I doubt it. I am reminded of people with gambling habits. Speak to any gambler and you'll be told that he or she (usually he) has made an overall profit from betting. If this was true, Ladbrooks, Coral and all the rest would have gone bankrupt. Instead, they appear to be doing very nicely. The punters misperception is surely a matter of selective memory. Occasions So it is with charity shopping. I remember a few real bargains. How could I forget them? The things are still in my wardrobe. What I rarely do is to balance these against a large number of mistakes. More - what have I done with these mistakes? For the most part, they've gone back to a charity shop. This is a process which increases the size of the charity shop haystacks of the unwearable which obscure the needles of occasional real bargains. If I added up the total of my charity shop spending, and divided it by the wearable clothes with which I emerged, I'm sure that my bargains would prove rather expensive. If I added on the cost of the undies ruined by dye from the red charity shop skirt... Well - I'm sure you get the picture. There's no such thing as a free frock. You'll be lucky if you even find a cheap one that's any good. Normally, a charity shop habit is not quite as expensive as a gambling one, although a wash day disaster can leave it so. However, the truth is that almost all of my wearable girlish clothing was bought new. Alas, in this cruel world, charity shops are very far from Aladdin's caves for transvestites...