Prologue:

“My name is Mandy Collins and I'm a transgendered woman.”

When I first wrote those words, I expected only two people to read them — myself and my psychologist. Indeed it was at her suggestion that I started to write my life story as a means of coming to terms with my situation. The very fact that I see a psychologist will make some people look askance. It's a strange thing that a physical illness gains sympathy, but admitting to seeing a psychologist causes some people to assume that I have a mental illness. In order to prove that that is not the case I have decided (with my doctor's permission) to publish my story, so here it is.

Chapter One. 'To thine own self be true.'

My name is Mandy Collins and I'm a transgendered woman. Born a boy and named Michael, from a very early age I knew I was not like other boys. My parents, Jim and Jane already had two girls when I was born, and my father especially was desperate for a son. Instead he got me.

We lived in Rockhampton, Queensland. Dad was a carpenter and spent his working days in the blokey all-male world of tradesmen, because in those days it was out of the question for a woman to become a carpenter. Mum worked part-time as a typist for a legal firm and occasionally brought home some documents which she typed on a big old-fashioned Olivetti. Because I showed interest, she taught me how to touch-type and this was to stand me in good stead later in my life.

Dad wanted to take me fishing, shooting rabbits, or going along to football, and was disappointed that I showed no real interest in any of those 'manly' pursuits. Instead I asked Mum to teach me how to knit, but, sensing Dad's reaction she replied “Not now Michael, maybe when you're older.”

As I mentioned, I had two older sisters — Kate, older by six years, and Elizabeth, or "Bessie" as she was always called, who was three years older than me. In those days, girls dressed in a much more feminine manner than they do nowadays. Skirts or dresses were the rule, worn over petticoats, and stockings held up by suspenders or garter-belts, (depending on where you are from), were an absolute 'must' for a lady, and marked the transition from child to young woman.

I was about fourteen when it happened for the first time. I was alone in the house, with my parents and Kate at work and Bessie at school. I think I must have had a cold. Anyway, getting bored with my books, I started to wander around the house and eventually into the room my sisters shared. Neither was particularly tidy, and were often in a rush to go out in the mornings, so their beds were strewn with items of female underwear and some skirts and dresses. I think it was the silky feel of a petticoat that intrigued me first, so much nicer than my cotton underpants and singlets. Then I picked up some knickers and finally a bra — and again that silky feeling. Suddenly it entered my head to wonder how they would feel if I put them on. This was a perfect opportunity. No-one was due home for hours, so I stripped off all my clothes and gingerly stepped into some knickers and pulled them up. It was an electric feeling — the soft material against my skin, and inevitably I started to get an erection, something I'd only recently discovered.

Next I tried on a bra, and finally figured out how to connect the hooks and eyes in front of me and then working the strap around to the back. The cups sagged, so I found some stockings, rolled them into balls and filled the cups; next came a suspender belt, and then the stockings. Ah the stockings! They were sheer and light, and the feeling as I drew them up my legs and attached them to the suspenders was total bliss. I picked up a white full slip with a generous lace trim around the hem and bust-line and put that on too. From the skirts on the bed I selected a pretty pale blue one with a flower motif, stepped into it and drew it up to my waist. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and realised that I needed a blouse, which I duly found on a hanger in the wardrobe. I was slim and had small feet, and I was pleased to find that I was able to wear Kate's heels, so now I was fully dressed. Looking in the mirror I was delighted with what I saw. Somehow, even with my short boy's haircut, I had been transformed into a girl!

Now what about some make-up? I decided to put on just a little lipstick, and the feel of it on my lips and the subtle scent, added yet another level of sensuous delight. I posed in front of the mirror, pirouetted, and then walked around the room, getting used to the technique of walking in heels and loving the sound they made on the wooden floor, enjoying the swish of the skirt, and how it felt against the petticoat and the nylons covering my legs.

'Why are girls allowed to wear such delightful clothes, but could still wear pants if they wanted, while boys would never dare to wear skirts in public?' I mused.

I was in total heaven, and could have stayed there dressed for hours, but the sound of the old hall clock striking the hour brought me to my senses and I realised that I only had thirty minutes before Bessie arrived home from school, so reluctantly I started to take off all those wonderful clothes, replacing them more or less where I found them, and put my drab boy's clothes on once more. I was just about to walk back to my room when I suddenly remembered the lipstick, and carefully wiped it off with some tissues which I flushed down the toilet.

I had not long settled back in my bedroom and started to read a book when there was a knock on the door. Phew! I had just made it in time! It was Bessie at the door and she had forgotten her key.

“Thanks Michael” she said as she walked past me, and appeared to sniff the air. For one heart-stopping moment I thought I had left the lipstick on, but no, I was sure I had wiped it all away.

After that wonderful experience of wearing my sisters' clothes, I couldn't wait for another opportunity, but of course it was not going to happen very often that I would be in the house alone, but still the memory of that wonderful afternoon stayed with me.

My next opportunity was on a weekend day about a month later. Mum had agreed to go with Dad to the football, and the girls were out doing something. I told my parents I was going to visit a school friend to finish some homework, but in reality of course I was going to have the house to myself and then spend a delightful hour dressing in my sisters' clothes once more. After I changed back, I would go out and actually visit my friend Tom, but I wouldn't be telling him what I had been doing of course. I knew for sure that I was the only boy in the world who wanted to dress up as a girl, and in those pre-internet days, why should I suspect otherwise? I would get Tom to agree that if my parents inquired, I'd been with him all afternoon.

Once more I enjoyed the sensuous delights of pretty, silky underwear, stockings and heels, and the delight of trying on several dresses and skirts. I was sorely tempted to keep dressing for a long time, but I didn't dare risk getting caught, so once again I reluctantly removed the clothes and my lipstick, dressed in my boy clothes and cycled over to Tom's place.

We were sitting quite close together as we worked on the project and suddenly Tom said “I know what you've been doing!”

I could feel myself turning red as I replied “What do you mean?” and thinking 'How could he possibly know?'

“You've been with a girl!” he said triumphantly “I can smell her lipstick on you!”

My heart skipped a beat. I suddenly remembered the first time when I had dressed, and my sister Bessie had seemed to sniff the air as she passed me. She had smelt the lipstick even though I had removed it. She knew!

I somehow managed to smile at Tom and said “Well, you're the clever one!”

He smiled smugly and said “So what's her name?”

I thought fast “Mandy”, I said “but don't mention it to anyone, ok? My parents say I'm too young for a girlfriend.”

“I won't.” he replied “It's our secret.”

I don't think I made too great a fist of that homework, my mind was too full of other things.

“The best laid plans of mice and men
Gang aft agley,
And leave us naught but grief and pain.” Robert Burns.

In my life I've discovered that we are most often caught out when others do something unpredictable, and such was the case with me.

It was my third opportunity to dress, this time on a weekday and once again I had a cold, something I was very prone to in those days, so again I was in the house on my own. I gave everyone thirty minutes to be well clear of the house, and then I was off to the girl's bedroom, which I was pleased to see was in its usual state of disarray. That made it easy to replace the clothes in approximately the same position as I found them, and the girls wouldn't notice the difference.

I spent the whole morning trying on various dresses and skirts. My sisters had far more clothes than I did, and being of similar size, often wore each other's. I had decided to dress until three o'clock, giving me plenty of time to get back into boy mode before Bessie came home from school. I was so wrapped up in the vision of myself in the mirror that I didn't hear the front door open.

“What the?!!” The roar of my father's voice made me freeze on the spot. Then I slowly turned, my face a flaming red.

His jaw was working and he was clenching and unclenching his fists, and suddenly I was not only embarrassed, I was very afraid, and I started to sob.

“What on earth are you doing?” he shouted “Do you mean to tell me I've bred a nancy boy? Get those bloody clothes off this instant! I'm going to tan your hide until you can't sit down for a week!”

“No Daddy, please.” I sobbed and that only seemed to increase his rage.

My rescue came from an unexpected quarter.

“Leave him alone Dad!” It was Bessie, who had entered the house unheard with all the noise of Dad's voice and my crying.

“Leave the room Bessie which I give this little queer the hiding he deserves.” snarled Dad, but Bessie was made of stern stuff.

“I'm not leaving,” she declared “Even if you beat me too, I'm going to stand here and watch you.”

Dad stared at her for long seconds, and then suddenly he pushed past her, ran down the stair and left the house, slamming the door behind him. I threw myself into Bessie's arms, still sobbing and gasping ”Thank you Bessie, oh thank you.”

After a while my sobs turned to snuffles and eventually stopped. Bessie slowly stepped away from me and examined me critically.

“You make quite a pretty girl you know. I've thought that for a while. You just need some longer hair and some makeup.”

“You thought that for a while? You knew?”

She smiled “Oh yes. That first time you put on some lipstick. I know you wiped it off, but I could smell it on you. I suspected you were doing more than just that, so today I was very careful in arranging how my and Kate's clothes were left on the bed. That would have confirmed it for me, as you would never have put them back exactly how they were.”

I managed a wan smile “It almost sounds like you are ok with it.”

She smiled “I suppose I am. You've always been a rather feminine boy, and I don't mean that unkindly, it's just who you are.”

“Would it shock you if I said I wish I'd been born a girl?”

She laughed “Why should it? It's a compliment to my sex in a way.”

“But what are we going to do about Dad? I'm sure he's gone to the pub and when he comes back he'll be still angry. And what's worse, he'll be drunk”

“I know,” she replied “And I suggest you ring your friend Tom and ask if you can stay over with him tonight. In the meantime I'll tell Mum, if she hasn't already suspected, and Kate as well. Dad may be tough but he'll be up against three women.”

I rang Tom and asked if I could stay the night because something had come up at home. He readily agreed and fortunately didn't quizz me on what it was.

“Right,” said Bessie, “Mum's due home soon, so I suggest you give us back our clothes, and head over to Tom's.”

Strange though it sounds, with the recent traumatic events, I had forgotten I was wearing my sisters' clothes, and I blushed again at being reminded of it.”

“I'll go out and give you some privacy.” said Bessie. "Just leave everything on the bed and I'll sort it out.”

I did as she said and soon met up with her again, in my boy's clothes this time. She sniffed the air again and said “Yes, I can still smell the lipstick, perhaps we should do a better job of removing it.”

“Yes, Tom smelled it on me once, but he thought it was because I kissed a girl.” I said.

“I'm curious.” said Bessie “When you're dressed as a girl, what name do you call yourself?”

“Mandy.” I replied “It's the name I thought of when Tom asked me who I had been kissing.”

“Mandy.” said Bessie “Yes I like it.”

She helped me to thoroughly cleanse the lipstick off my face and then pack a spare set of clothes for the following day. I would be going along to school with Tom, and wouldn't return until mid-afternoon. Hopefully by then my father would have calmed down.

To be continued