CROSS DRESSING – Myths, Fallacies and Most Therapists Without a Clue Part 3

Blog 78 Part 3 of 4

Really sorry it has taken so long to complete Parts 3 and 4 but time spent in a hospital and rehab helped to set me back big time.

While Part 1 covered “so much more” and Part 2 summarizes experiences with my cousin in Florida, this Part (#3) narrates the transformation of Julie to almost a full time gal.

So, where was I heading with my brother and relatives all passed (A euphemism easier to use than “died”.)? Now I was  really alone ꟷ  after fifty-two years of DADT marriage and three with my cousin during which time the external Julie was emerging, the perceived restraints from family and friends lifted. Boom! I went on a mindless spree ꟷ like pushing the start button on a robot ꟷ filling my closets with dresses, skirts and tops. Probably accumulated some forty bras, and an equal number of panties and girdles.

About this time while wallowing in self-pity my life took a positive turn, for a change. As recounted in a previous Blog I was corresponding online with a fellow who was working a few hours’ drive north of my home while his wife and teen-age daughter lived two hours south here in Florida. Best known as “Rog”, I met him for dinner on his way through Lake Worth ꟷ where I live. A few inches taller than my present stooped posture he was nicely dressed and accessorized but evidently made no attempt to “pass”. That is, didn’t try to modify his voice or walk ꟷ drew stares when entering and leaving a restaurant. Nevertheless he appeared confident in his own skin. He lived with his family as a female and his employees knew that he CDd. Further he was active in local LGBT communities. I met him for dinner the first time in drab but, upon parting, he urged that when we meet next I should be dressed. Upon deliberating I decided ‘Why not?”. Nothing to lose. And so a new chapter in my life began.

Monthly, and sometimes more frequently, I now proceeded to have my nails done before heading to a Beauty Shoppe for a wash, cut and style. The first time, to be sure, was a traumatic event (Described in greater detail in a previous Blog.), but what the hell, Julie, you have faced danger and death before. Amazingly, I never lost my composure ꟷ like it was something I had done all my life! Looking into a mirror after having my hair washed and not quite dry I was shocked to see an ugly, made-up, woman staring back!  At this stage of my life, in my mid-eighties, I thought I was using too much makeup. However, in 20I8 Cover Girl advertised a new makeup for older women ꟷ  so I guess I don’t use too much; although, in my opinion, the female in that ad portrays a mask-like visage, At a nail shop, while wearing a pencil skirt, without a second thought I hopped on a high bed to have my eyebrows plucked.

I believe it’s true that in later years women often develop some male features and visa-versa probably due to changes in the testosterone level. I’m sure you have seen some old women with hair growth on their chins. Currently my hair curls below my shoulders, eyebrows are trimmed and my breasts have developed to a 38-B. Nipples are now tender and often hard though no longer associated with an arousal. Regularly wearing a bra for so many years probably helped shape them ─ really. They aren’t just flab filling a bra but appear female without a bra ꟷ in other words shaped and drooping. Recall long ago, sixty years past, while still a bachelor, I bought “Queen Honey Bee” ointment in the hopes of enlarging them ─ waste of time. Then tried a pump along with a nursing bra ꟷ wishful thinking. Now, weight is down to 148 which is lower than my military and college rowing weight. One catch though, what was muscle is now flab. A VA doctor told me that it is not unusual to keep losing weight as one ages ꟷ sure as hell isn’t due to exercising though my stationary bike mocks me every day. Reminds me of the set of weights I had in college when the only time I lifted them was to move to another dorm room. I am, in fact, as close to female as I can ever hope to be without adding hormones and possibly transitioning ꟷ a move I have never considered. I do believe that most old men, like myself, are having hormone changes entirely due to age. The trigger was pulled some eighty-eight years ago and now, living alone, the urge to CD is stronger than ever even though the fetish factor has all but vanished. The irony of it all!

While I still had a car and no longer even worried that I might be “made” – going grocery shopping, visiting a department store, or eating dinner alone at a nice restaurant became the norm. I was at a place in life where, not being able to prophesy what the future might hold in store, I should have been able to gloat on my good fortune. But you know what? I had never thought about it much. It was like having good health ─ one doesn’t think about it at all until maladies start to take over.

The reader will probably say a CD never passes. Ten years ago I would have certainly agreed that my facial features weren’t feminine, but now with long silver hair, puffy bags under watery red eyes, deep wrinkles above mouth and jowls nicely hiding an Adam’s apple, an observer’s first impression is “crippled old lady” as I was using a cane at that time. Nowadays, the features I envy the most when noticing young ladies (and young CDs) are the whiteness around the pupils (I believe it’s called the cornea) and secondly, as previously mentioned, shapely legs in high heels.

I must interject a story that has no bearing on this blog other than warn to be careful what one wishes for as one day it might bite you on  your ass. At age twelve I was sent by train to visit my mother convalescing at the Will Rodgers Nursing Home in Saranac Lake in upper New York. In those days TB was treated by country air and the smell of cow dung. Really! I slowly walked by my mother’s side along the many bed-occupied balconies ꟷ she never stopped crying the whole time. I swore to myself that I would never marry a crippled woman. And yet I was destined to have a crippled wife (Surgeries on heart, both knees and hips.) and then I became a cripple too. Taught a lesson that serves no future application.

In 2014 I had turned in my leased car during the period I was over-medicated and fainting almost daily. I was a hazard on the road and, likely, would kill other people along with myself. Using taxis as Julie I found a husband and wife team that used unmarked cars and charged flat rates to each destination ─ in other words no meter. After a few trips as Julie I divulged to the gal driver my alter ego. After quickly getting over her initial shock she had no problem accepting me and so did her husband and fifteen-year-old son. In fact two years later I was invited to their Thanksgiving dinner with a half dozen other guests who never treated me differently than the way I presented, nor were they ever given a heads-up on Julie’s gender. They were fascinated by my true tale about the very first Thanksgiving dinner. Succeeded in keeping my voice soft.

Occasionally visited a female non-VA doctor (as Julie) when I wanted a second opinion from the VA’s. On one such visit my lady taxi driver agreed with that doctor that Julie presented better than Julian! Not only did that make my day but at any time thereafter when feeling apprehensive about going out as Julie I would bolster my confidence by recalling their unsolicited comments. Oh yes, there was never an occasion, when visiting that doctor, that my testicles were examined though she had to use a stethoscope to listen to my heart through my bra. I use “had to” as I think doctors must pledge before leaving medical school that they are duty-bound to use that instrument on every patient, needed or not. That in the face of a recent article from the AMA that a mere 17% are able to decipher stethoscope’s sounds correctly!  I surmise that a stethoscope hanging over a white coat completes the required look as “doctor”. Sorry, I digressed again.

Admittedly, before I had a State-funded part-time aide, paying others for transportation considerably limited my ability and desire to go out. To go grocery shopping cost me an additional $40 and to enjoy a restaurant or mall visit was $50. However I did get a kick out of shopping for lingerie accompanied by my gal taxi driver. On one such occasion she selected bras for me to buy or reject; but the need to enter a department store’s fitting-room never arose. I’m sure that having a companion GG along dispelled any doubts that an on-looker might have as to my gender.

Then through my VA social worker it was arranged via a Florida agency that I would have a gal (for free) three hours a week to grocery shop or keep my apartment clean. Had another boost to my ego one day. On the grocery list that I prepare on my computer Word program I listed Centrum Silver (Vitamin supplement for over age 50). She came back with that item alright but it was marked “for women”. I must have arrived! Many months have gone by and she still addresses me as “ma’am”.

Soon thereafter on another occasion before my gal came to pick up my shopping list I  experimented to find out how little makeup I needed to pass her fleeting glances. As mentioned it’s almost a two hour chore for me to put on my shmear (Though I thoroughly enjoy it when I have the time.) and removing the gook is a half-hour project. So I applied moisturizer and foundation only (not using three different concealers, eye shadow and liner either) but did line my eye-brows and applied mascara and lippy. Of course I shaved and my garb was still female ꟷ skirt and top and some jewelry too. When she did pick up my grocery list and two hours later returned to help put the groceries away ꟷ she never looked at me “sideways”. On this same day of the week I also mount my electric wheelchair for a two-block trip to the mail box. I greet local residents with a wave. They hardly glance a second time at this little old lady ꟷ other than cordially greeting me.

That settles it ꟷ from now on when not expecting an occasion where others would have an opportunity to glance at me for more than a nanosecond ꟷ I could get by with a minimal amount of cosmetics. Some of those reading this dissertation are young and handsome men so my comments would be puzzling as they likely use makeup sparingly to get by. For those of us that are endowed with much less ꟷ some “shmear”, as my mother would say, is a necessity.

In the 1950s sanitary napkins didn’t have sticky backs to adhere to panties; instead one donned a thin band with two snaps to which the pad was attached front and back ꟷ kept one’s panties dry. During that time I was underdressing while building the largest wholesale hardware business in Canada. About ten years later I tried wearing a Tampon when I went to dinner at the DuPont Hotel in Wilmington, Delaware (As operating director of a large chain of discount stores I was visiting two stores that we had in Delaware.). I’ve read that plugging is used by some to keep their partners behaving. Anal sex toys are also displayed in Adult Stores. For me it isn’t a sexual thing but rather an emotional add-on to help complete my gender identity. Now, in my nineties, for a few days every month I again use either Tampons or the Playtex kind which I prefer. I give no more thought than using pads every day ꟷ it’s become a normal part of my being. Might mention that for 24/7 I tuck. Feeling a nylon-clad thigh rubbing against the other means it’s a proper tuck and adds additional satisfaction to my persona.

Follow me, if you will, in the frequent morning ritual performed in the waning days of an old CD. Breakfast is over and washing finished. Along with a close shave goes the last remnants of L’Oréal’s Age Perfect night crème. Then a Summer’s Eve douche before inserting a KY ultragel lubricated Playtex Sport tampon. Now the black Bali Lacy Skamp brief is lined with an Always Maxi pad or, perhaps, the thinner Flex Foam. A black Glamorise Magic Lift bra is best for me for I fill it out nicely without padding. Meanwhile a charcoal-clay mask works for five minutes before removing to make way for Olay Eye before a moisturizer over which comes Clinique’s Super Primer. A brow liner followed by a brow brush are allowed to dry while applying mascara. Then eye liner pen or powder before four shades of shadow ꟷ from white to black ꟷ goes on. A dab of eye concealer under the eyes highlights them nicely. Using “line concealer” with Clinique’s “Redness Solutions” hides blemishes ꟷ especially above upper lip and nostril veins. Dots of slightly darker concealer spread on and above lips is a tip from pros. Time now for foundation first spread by fingertips before finishing with a cosmetic sponge. Three shades of blush contours the cheeks.   Time now for Aveeno moisturizer on legs and arms. Silk Reflections Jet thigh highs anchor a Rago open-bottom black/white high-waist girdle. Chanel No. 5 in cleavage and on wrists concludes the task.

Don a closely-fitting beige knit top, black pencil skirt with costume jewelry to match. Only then goes loose powder to set the look with a lighter pressed powder used along the ridge of nose. Lip liner and lipstick applied with brush and then gloss finishing it. Finally, Emory board, clear and color gel nail polish to cover long curved nails.

Now I look at the reflection, at the finished product creating a much younger woman ꟷ makes the whole effort very rewarding to say the least. But why do I do it, why do I spend all this effort on a fruitless quest? To a lesser or greater degree it’s what we do.

 

Part 3 portrayed the peak few years for Julie while Part 4 follows her downward spiral. Keep in mind that a CD’s final chapter could be far different ꟷ you might, based on the actuarial factor, die much earlier in life brought on, perhaps, by ill health or an accident;  or you could live to a ripe old age enjoying, as long as is ordained, every minute of your gift.

 

 

Continued in Blog 78 Part 4 of 4

 

[JG1]

Part 3 portrayed the peak few years for Julie while Part 4 follows her downward spiral. Keep in mind that a CD’s final chapter could be far different ꟷ you might, based on the actuarial factor, die much earlier in life brought on, perhaps, by ill health or an accident;  or you could live to a ripe old age enjoying, as long as is ordained, every minute of your gift.

 

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