Virtually Feminine - Part 6 - The Choice


This chapter starts telling the story of how I came to a point where I had to make a decision about my life. I’m sure you guys are way ahead of me, considering where I’m posting this story, but believe me when I tell you it wasn’t that obvious to me…

Kathryn knew my secret. Which was two people more than I was comfortable with. I was more comfortable staying in denial and convincing myself that it was all pretend in the game I was playing.

So, in the interests of full disclosure, and for those of you who haven't read the rest of my story so far… Hi, my name was Andy and I am a trans-woman called Cathy.

And if you think that glib little statement was easy then you have no understanding of the sheer magnitude of personal growth, of fundamental life changing realisation of the underlying causes of so much of the growing dissatisfaction in my life that I had to go through. And you don't understand the cost. That statement could cost me my children, my job, my friends, my family and, if I am not careful, literally my life.

So, heavy stuff, then.

Then why does saying those words feel like I'm laying down a colossal burden?

Obviously I've been getting advice about all this. I thought, by now, I would be talking to some kind of therapist. It turns out, in the UK, the waiting list for gender issue referrals is measured in months or even years. So that hasn't happened, yet

Let's recap a little on what's been going on since the last time I wrote something down.

Kathryn knew my secret. In fact in those first few days she was more convinced that I was transgender than I was. I was convinced that Jez was just a feminine role I was playing in a game, just a character, not me and not real.
Kathryn was convinced that Jez was the tip of the iceberg, with a whole woman buried inside me. She committed herself to revealing to me who I really was and facilitating my transformation from ugly duckling to beautiful swan. Of course, she didn't tell me this, I would have run as fast as possible if she had told me that then. Our relationship was complicated. She was clearly fond of me. I… I'm not sure how to describe how I felt about her, it was very confusing. I would have been her lover, I think, if she had permitted it, I found her incredibly attractive both physically and mentally. I shy away from saying I worshipped her as that implies that I felt she was divine somehow. It was, with hindsight, more like a crush or the hero worship of an older sibling. She represented what I thought I wanted but what, I came to realise, was really what I aspired to be. A modern, independent, successful woman.

We were 'thick as thieves’ as they say. We would meet for lunch and relished the opportunity to work together whenever we could. Obviously people noticed and I'm sure there was gossip about us becoming a couple. We never were, not in that sense. Kathryn took the dominant role in our relationship and I was left the submissive role.

But what about Fee? I can hear some of my more attentive readers ask.

My relationship with Fee, which had been a source of fun and the first genuine positive human contact (apart from my kids and my mum) since my separation from my ex, became more complex after my conversation with Kathryn.

I tried, initially, to keep things as they were. But, as Kathryn and I began to explore my feminine side in RL (more on that later) I began to wonder if Fee had done this to me? He had, by his own admission, seduced me. His actions had moulded Jez to become his creation, his dream girl, his possession.
Jez began to push for more say in what we did, what she did. Fee confounded my growing disquiet with his role in making me Trans by seeing my growing independence as a wholly positive thing and telling me again and again that he was delighted to see me coming out of my shell and revealing the intelligence he always knew was there and wished I would unleash.
He genuinely loved me and wanted nothing but the best for me. Increasingly I felt guilty about using him, blaming him and hiding my secrets from him.
Fee knew I was keeping things from him, but he assumed, if he was patient, when I was ready I would tell him everything.
As our relationship changed over time so did the nature of the cyber-sex. I don't want to go into shocking details, I know I shocked myself with some of the things we did in the virtual world and how they made me feel.
As I came to accept my feminine nature and Fee’s gentle love, I gave myself free rein to enjoy his enjoyment. I delighted in his pleasure, dressing Jez to meet his every fantasy and pushing his boundaries. I would send him sexy messages at odd times and leave him in no doubt what I wished I could do to and for him. By learning about how to please Fee, I began to learn what it was that pleased me. That wasn't something that had ever occurred to me before. I had sex with women and delighted in my ability to bring them ( well, both of them I ever ended up in bed with, I'd only actually had a sexual relationship with the woman who relieved me of my unwanted virginity at University and the woman who became my wife ) sexual fulfillment. But I never really thought about what I liked. Fee would ask me about my fantasies and then try and fulfil them in Second Life. At first I would recall what women had said to me. But as time went by I began to find what really pushed my buttons, and it surprised me to find that it wasn't anything I expected or had experienced before. I loved putting someone else in charge, being submissive. I found there was a power to it, giving your trust to someone, all your faith that they could take you where you wouldn't dare go by yourself.

I grew to love Fee, and he professed his love for me.

It was bitter-sweet, because it was built on a lie. But the lie was becoming the truth and the sweetness outweighed the bitterness.

Oh, and one thing that we tried was gender-swapping, in Second Life a sex change was a click of a button. I'm not sure which one of us suggested it. Alright, I'll admit, it was probably me. I was trying to work up the courage to tell him the truth and I wondered how Fee would react.
I think it may have started with me talking about how girls had so many more options in Second Life than guys. Fee pointed out that it was just like Real Life. I said something about how more choice made it harder to look good and easier to look slutty or stupid. I think Fee laid down the challenge that we should each create a gender-switched avatar to better understand the point of view of each other, or rather, I guess he always has sex on the brain, just like a man, two avatar looks, one for public use and one for the bedroom.
When we presented our avatars to each other I felt weird. It was difficult for me finding male clothes and looks that didn't look like a stereotypical gay man or butch warrior. I opted for a blue suit and, for the bedroom, boxer shorts. I felt underdressed and ugly.
Fee looked amazing. Shorter than Jez, blonde and with bigger boobs. Her ballgown was exquisite and her stockings, suspenders and pearls outfit for the bedroom was deliciously feminine.
I took Fee dancing, and we had a great time. Both of us had private messages proposing cyber-sex, Fee had proposals from male avatars (mostly) and Jez had messages from (mostly) female avatars. We shared the messages with each other and Fee chuckled about what a shock the guys would have when they realised he was a guy.

We tried out our new avatars in the bedroom that night. It allowed us to try some animations that previously wouldn't have worked. Girl-girl, boy-girl, girl-boy and boy-boy. I found the only one that disturbed me was boy-boy. Fee thought it was odd, and to be honest, so did I. I went along with it to see the animations but it wasn't as enjoyable as the other options, I still don't understand why to this day.

Fee didn't really mind either way. He found girl-girl titillating. He seemed keen on boy-boy but sensed my uneasiness. I don't think he really cared as long as there was some form of porn on the screen and he could 'chat’ with me.

So our relationship went through some ups and downs, but I didn't tell him my secret and it ate at me as Fee’s calm and gentle love supported me.

-0-0-

Kathryn invited me round to her place several times in the weeks following the tiling. She always told me it was to help with the house but it became increasingly obvious that she wanted me to explore my girly side. If she wanted me to paint then she would find a dress for me to wear to keep the paint off my suit. She would paint my nails, initially with clear varnish then with colours and give me nail varnish remover and pads to take it off before I came into work the next day.
When we had finished the jobs Kathryn picked out we would cook together in her new kitchen, which was a sheer joy. I love cooking, my mother used to be my school dinner lady and she worked as the head cook at an old people's home. Neither of my siblings really inherited the joy of cooking but I loved it. I could cook a full roast dinner with all the trimmings, and I did, every weekend I had the kids. They loved my dinners and thanks to being brought up with real food from an early age they were not fussy eaters.
Kathryn taught me a few specific American things, like cherry pie and chocolate fudge cake. I asked her about pumpkin pie as Hallowe'en was getting closer and she gave me her mother's recipe. But a lot of ingredients were not available in the UK, like canned pumpkin for one. But that came later.
After dinner we would sit and watch romcom dvds on her laptop, with it perched on the coffee table, Kathryn didn't own a TV.
One time we were watching a film called 'It’s a boy-girl thing’ where a boy and a girl swap bodies. In one scene the female actress playing the part of the male character decides to go to school without a bra because it was too difficult to put on. Kathryn paused the film.
'I bet you could put a bra on, it's not _so_ hard’
'Really, how much do you bet?’
'I’ll make you a real cherry pie from scratch if you get it on and you make me bread-pudding if you can't’.
Well, cherry pie is my kryptonite, especially the way Kathryn makes it. Bread pudding is ok, but it's time consuming to make and you need a lot of stale bread (not mouldy, just dry).
'Your bras wouldn't fit me…’
'I have a friend's bra here that would.’
'Don't think I'm not wise to what you're trying.’
'Whatever do you mean? ‘
‘I’m sat here watching a romcom with my BFF in a dress with nail varnish on. It's one glass of wine away from the alcohol and peer pressure my mother warned me about!’
'So you’ll do it then?’
'Where’s my wine?’
Yes, I managed to get the bra on without too much trouble. The pie was delicious the next week and I took the dress home with me 'to wash’. I wore the bra home under my suit.

-0-0-

Dressing as a woman bothered me. I was happy to think of myself as a kind of 'honorary woman’ when Kathryn was around and 'Virtual woman’ in Second Life. But I knew I looked like a middle-aged guy in a dress when I relaxed at Kathryn's and I would have been mortified if anyone else who knew me came round and caught me looking like that.
I figured I needed help beyond Kathryn's pressuring me, in a playful way to be sure, but still pushing me.
I made an appointment to see my GP. I arranged to work from home so I didn't have to take the day as leave, I also managed to get my annual glucose tolerance test done that morning as well, partly as an excuse for time off work and partly because my Dad has type 2 diabetes and so I need to get checked once a year. I arranged to have the GP appointment after the final test of the glucose tolerance test (you have to hang around for a couple of hours for your body to metabolise the glucose after fasting from the night before). I could have had the appointment in the middle of the test, but I wanted the option to run out in tears if it all went wrong. I'm not sure what way I thought it would go wrong, but… I don't know, I just had this feeling of dread hanging over me.
So, feeling a little light-headed from the fasting and the anxiety I found myself in a GPs surgery talking to a pretty doctor from the Indian subcontinent.
'Well Mr Clarke, what is it that brings you to us today?’
'Well…’ I started, struggling to articulate my problems, let's face it, it was ridiculous, I was ridiculous. I started to feel really anxious and I noticed I was beginning to hyperventilate. I struggled to calm myself and just get the words out…
'I’m having some issues with my feelings about gender…’
Once I got the first statement out it became easier to talk. I said that it was hard to articulate and hard to admit to myself but that I was coming to the realisation that there may be an underlying cause to the mild depression I'd been suffering for the last couple of years. One of my friends had helped me see that I may have some gender issues and I would like to be referred to a specialist who could help me sort out what my issues were.
I obviously hit all the buzzwords and offered a clear request for help that the GP could cope with. She assured me that everything I had told her would be confidential and that she would request a referral from the local GIC, she told me that there were limited resources, especially these days, and that teenagers and young adults naturally would have priority. She also gave me some leaflets, including one for the Beaumont Society and a printed list of weblinks.
I don't think the doctor knew quite what to make of me. I wasn't dressed as a woman and I don't look girly or gay or anything. I think she may have thought I was like a hypochondriac, thinking I had something because I read the symptoms on the internet. As I left her room it struck me what an embarrassing and personal stigma it could be if my friends, family and colleagues found out what I had just revealed to this stranger. Yet it didn't really bother me. Sooner or later, if I continued on this path, complete strangers would be able to tell at a glance that I was not a typical guy.
So, I went home to work over my internet connection. It would take 80 minutes or more to travel to the office and even longer to come back. I'd already wasted a significant part of the day waiting for the glucose tolerance test so I was going home to get some work done, otherwise I might miss deadlines at the end of the week.

-0-0-

That night, after I'd finished working, at around 8pm ( I'd carried on working while I ate, microwave dinners are not much hassle to prepare) I started looking at the list of links. There was so much information I felt like I was drowning in it. The more I read the more I realised how out of my depth I was and how much I needed a knowledgeable guide. Kathryn was great, she would always be special to me. But I don't think she knew any trans people, even in New York, and she really didn't know how to navigate through the NHS.
I started lurking on one or two of the forums to try and figure out what the etiquette was. There wasn't much traffic, no one was discussing anything juicy and everyone was being quite guarded.
One newbie started asking stupid and insulting questions and everyone just vanished except one person called Gwen who just weighed into him, clearly getting increasingly annoyed and frustrated that this troll deliberately didn’t ‘get’ what she was saying.
Eventually I couldn’t stand it any more, I typed;
CathySmith> hey newb, stop trolling, some of us have some confusing issues in our lives right now and we’re looking for some answers from other people who have dealt with these issues before us, why don’t you stop wasting our time with your narrow-minded BS and go and watch the footie like the next stereo-typical straight guy?
NewSexGod>You should leave these sickos to someone who knows what to do to them. I’ve read the bible so I know what God thinks of all you PERVERTS!
GwenLoveheart>Oh Cathy, thanks for sticking up for me, but I’ve been dealing with idiots like him longer than he’s been alive, bless his poor, deluded heart. I’ll IM you later :-)

Oops. Should have kept my mouth shut, or whatever the forum equivalent was. Never mind. Gwen and the newb kept on going, but I got bored pretty rapidly as the newb started frothing at the mouth and repeating himself. I haven’t had much time for god botherers in a while. My dear old Dad forced us to go to CofE Sunday school for years, then turned around and got into Druidism, hermetic magic, tarot and crystals. My brother dated a girl from the baptist church for years, until she gave up god and ran off with a hippie. I’d gone to the Methodist youth group for a while, because they had a badminton court on a Saturday evening. But the BS and hypocrisy of it all just left me feeling empty.
In my late 20’s I found a tshirt with the Epicuran Paradox on it, which solidified my thoughts on the matter - “Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able, nor willing? Then why call him God?” But I still respected people who genuinely had a faith and still strove to make the world better for everyone else and held themselves to higher standards than they expected from everyone else. I didn’t have time for idiots who knew they were right and everyone else was wrong and believed that gave them special privileges to be assholes.

-0-0-

The day after, when I logged into my laptop, I found I had a message from Gwen reaching out to me. It was strange, how nervous I was to respond to a stranger, who presumably was trans, reaching out to me. It kind of felt like it was a milestone, admitting that this thing, whatever it was, was real. The message was very short
‘Hi, sorry I didn’t have time to talk yesterday.
I understand that you are a new user on our forum and you may have a lot of questions. I’m happy to help in any way I can, but I am not a trained counsellor, just a ‘fellow traveller’ who may be a little further along my own personal path than you are.
Welcome to the forum
your loving sister, Gwen’

Sister, eh? That’s a thought, I’m seriously thinking about joining the secret sisterhood of trans-women. What would that mean? I guess responding to Gwen might be one way to start finding out. I started typing my reply.

‘Gwen, I don’t really know where to start… This is really hard for me to admit and if you weren’t an anonymous stranger who I will probably never meet I would probably be running out of the door now. I’m beginning to realise that the feelings I’ve had for many years, about not feeling comfortable in my own skin, being awkward with strangers, wary of men and generally not fitting in, may have something to do with gender issues. I’m not ready to say I’m a trans-woman, yet…’

I stopped and re-read the last sentence. Was that really true, still? Was I kidding myself the longer I dragged this process out? I continued typing…

‘But I have to admit that I am discovering a feminine side to my personality that I cannot deny any longer. I’ve approached my GP for help, but she says the waiting lists are very long. Can you help me identify my options while I wait for a referral to the GIC? Yours Cathy’

Gwen’s reply came back startlingly quickly.

‘Cathy, can we chat? Do you have Skype or something? Gwen’

Hmm, did I have Skype? I wasn’t going to use Andy’s Skype login for this. I used the email address I’d setup to sign in ‘CathySmith’ on the forum to create a Skype user on my system and emailed the details to Gwen.

The connection request came quickly.

Gwen had a picture of a Teddy Bear with a pink bow around its neck as her profile picture. I had the default blank head. She didn’t offer to video call or voice chat, she just used messaging.

Gwen> Are you in a safe place?
Cathy> I’m at home
Gwen> Alone?
Cathy> Yes, I live alone except when my kids are with me. Most of my friends are 80 miles from here
Gwen> That sucks!
Cathy> It has its benefits, at the moment.
Gwen> So you are going through something at the moment?
Cathy> That’s one way of putting it.
Gwen> But… How to put this delicately… You’re not stressed out by some other major life event?
Cathy> Work is hard, raising my kids is hard, dealing with my ex-wife is hard, life is hard
Gwen> That sounds… depressing?
Cathy> Yes, I have mild depression, since the divorce
Gwen> Do you want to tell me more about her? Why did you split?
Cathy> I don’t know! I was working so hard for us, for the kids, trying to do everything I could. Long hours, good job, I did the cooking, changed the nappies, cleaned the toilets, I don’t know what I did wrong. We went to marriage guidance and she

I paused before I typed the next bit I was thinking. It still filled me with shame and anger when I thought of it. I added an ellipsis on the end, hit send and carried on typing

Cathy> She complained in the sessions that I didn’t make love to her anymore. So I took the day off, bought her flowers, cooked a meal and we made love that night. The next day she told me that she only did it to make me feel happy and it felt like rape to her.

Tears were flooding down my face now. I’d just told a complete stranger one of the most awful things that happened to me in my life. That accusation finished my marriage. I found out afterwards that she had been coached by someone at her work (she stocked shelves in the local DIY store in the evenings). I found a plan, some of it in her writing but none of the words were hers, on how to force me to leave so that she would get the house and be free. She’d left it screwed up in the bin in our bedroom when she left, along with an empty packet of birth-control pills. She’d left it for me to empty, I don’t think it was deliberately cruel. I just think she was too stupid to realise what she was doing. But it cut me like a knife. Let me explain, she had insisted that I had a vasectomy after my daughter, our second child, was born. It hadn’t been particularly comfortable and it had left me with less of an interest in sex afterwards, mostly because of the discomfort. So the pills just confirmed that she was having an affair, or seriously thinking about it, before she left me.

Gwen> Why would she say that?
Cathy> To hurt me? I don’t know, she was getting coached on how to drive me insane by her lover, I think.
Gwen> She was having an affair?
Cathy> She never admitted it in the sessions but she was taking birth control pills after my vasectomy
Gwen> That’s normal, though, isn’t it?
Cathy> 2 years after the all clear? No. I found their notes.
Gwen> What notes?
Cathy> When she left, she left their notes on how to drive me away in the bin
Gwen> What?
Cathy> Screwed up in the bin in our bedroom, in her writing and someone else’s, notes like: Make him leave, drive him out, keep the house
Gwen> You’re kidding me?
Cathy> I have a copy - I gave the original to my lawyer.
Gwen> So you got a ‘Good Divorce’ if there is such a thing?
Cathy> No. My lawyer kept changing, and each new one would be lower down the ladder and take longer to ‘read into’ the case. Her lawyer was a shark, who didn’t care about right or wrong
Gwen> So, she got the house?
Cathy> No, I had to sell the house and give her £105K cash, and pay maintenance on the kids
Gwen> Shit. That sounds like a really bad deal. Were you that rich?
Cathy> Not after the divorce, I had a few tens of thousands to buy a house.
Gwen> But you had a good job?
Cathy> Had? Yes. But I got made redundant and I had to take a new job on a lower salary.
Gwen> I think I’d be depressed after that
Cathy> I feel like there’s something wrong with my life. I did before the divorce. Like I was being made to suffer someone else’s life. I kind of hoped, now my ex isn’t here that I could find my life again.
Gwen> Ah, hence why you are looking to see life from the distaff side!
Cathy> Are you a language professor in real life? Because that’s a pretty obscure use of English
Gwen> You got it, though?
Cathy> Er, yes, I think so. As much from the context as anything else.
Gwen> Clever girl! I’m so sorry I don’t have more time to spend with you this evening, but I have other things I have to do, I’m afraid.
Gwen> You are going to be alright, aren’t you? You would tell me if it got too bad?
Cathy> I’d tell you or my friend, Kathryn
Gwen> Cathy and Kathryn? That’s not going to get confusing, at all!
Cathy> ikr
Cathy> I’m sorry for dumping all this on you
Gwen> I asked
Cathy> And I let the flood gates go. I don’t know why, I’m normally very reserved.
Gwen> Sometimes a good cry is very therapeutic. I think you were overdue for one, from what you’ve told me
Cathy> tip of the iceberg, in some ways
Gwen> Really? Oh my. You sure you will be ok?
Cathy> I have at least one good friend I can count on
Gwen> and me. You can count on me, I’m in your corner you know
Cathy> Thanks
Gwen> Make sure to hug your kids. That makes all life’s ups and down come into perspective. I’ll be in touch. It was nice to meet you
Cathy> You too, Gwen. Goodnight
Gwen> Goodnight

-0-0-

So, Kathryn, Gwen and Fee all pushing me, as gently as possible, in the feminine direction. Except Kathryn, sometimes her ‘gentle push’ came like a drop-kick. But she was the only one who knew me, as Andy and Cathy, and she still spoke to me. So she was my lifeline.
Fee was oblivious to my struggle, just like a man, but he was in many ways the most relentless.
Gwen was concerned that I had so few friends that I could talk to about my issues, she gave me some contact information for local support groups. I was too nervous to just turn up at one of these meetings either as Andy or Cathy so I just contacted some of the group members that Gwen recommended on the forum and introduced myself as Cathy.
They weren’t ‘real’ friends like Kathryn, but somehow these tentative relationships felt more real than my relationship with Fee. That was beginning to feel more like pure escapism.

-0-0-

Through it all I carried on with the routine of my life. The workload in my job was insane and it was not uncommon to be in work until 10pm. Which didn’t leave me much time for even virtual socialising. My kids took another big chunk of my time, on average 3 nights a week, or more if I had annual leave to use up.

So, progress was slow. There was no prospect of getting a quick referral for counselling. I was too scared to go out in public as Cathy, or even to a support group, in case I met someone I knew. I wasn’t sure what to do next…

-0-0-

After 2 or 3 months of this glacial progression it struck me - it was clear what the inexorable progress was leading towards. It was time, time to ‘man-up’ and face my future (the irony of this phrase was not lost on me).

I had a choice to make; either skulk around dressing in private and occasionally with Kathryn, playing with the forbidden fruit of being a man in a dress. Or admit to myself that many of the fundamental truths about myself, who I really was, were… wrong.

I told Kathryn that I was going to go to a support group, specifically to meet Angela, one of the people that Gwen had introduced me to. I asked if she would come with me?
Kathryn was happy to come, but she wanted me to think carefully as this was a big step. Was I going to go dressed as a man? Which might insult some of those in the group. Or would I go ‘En Femme’ (look at me! Down with the lingo) as Cathy and risk outing myself to any passing stranger who recognised me. Plus embarrassing myself terribly, I hated the way I looked, there was almost nothing feminine about me physically. I was tall, my hair was thinning, I was too broad across the shoulders, my feet were too big and I was still not as slender as I wanted to be. The only thing going for me was that my ‘moobs’ were probably at least an ‘A’ cup.
Kathryn asked me ‘Didn’t you wear some of your ex-wife’s clothes?’
‘Er, yes - these jeans are from Dorothy Perkins’ she left them in the wardrobe when she left because they were too small for her.
‘Well, you can’t be that far from _a_ female’s size then?’
‘Well, no. You are correct that Linda is a similar size to me, 6 feet tall and about the same weight. More of her weight is on her hips and breasts, but yes. The only problem is that she has been mistaken for a transvestite in the past…’
I’d timed it perfectly, Kathryn had just taken a swig of her coffee and nearly choked in her effort not to spray it over her desk.
‘WHAT!?’ She nearly screamed when she got her breath back.
‘Didn’t I tell you that?’ I smirked ‘My friend Martin was walking through town with his partner when she turned around and pointed out Linda in the crowd, she thought Linda was a transvestite, Martin nearly died laughing trying to explain’.
‘Why the hell did she think your ex-wife was a guy?’
‘Have I shown you photos?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm, Well, she is my height, My weight, she has size 10 feet and her nose is… quite large. Oh, and she wears quite a lot of makeup these days.’
‘Why did you marry her?’
‘I’m finding it harder and harder to remember… she was sweet, she had legs for days, she was a different person then. I thought she looked like Aeryn Sun, the Peacekeeper from the TV series “Farscape”?’

It sounded weak, even to me. I really did struggle to think why I married Linda. I’m beginning to think I was desperate and she wanted me. I think we kind of sleep-walked into it. Also, I had wanted kids. I had talked Linda into it with all the other bits, 2.4 kids, suburbia, the house and cars, etc. But really, I needed a woman because I wanted kids and she was there. Willing to take my money and raise our kids, for a while, anyway.

‘How about if we go to the first one and just lurk outside to see who goes in?’ I said.
‘Ah, you want to case the joint first, get the lay of the land?’
‘I know it’s chicken, but this is scary shit’
‘I guess, for me the worst that could happen is that they could start calling me a ‘fag hag’’.
‘They do that already, since you’ve started spending time with me.’
‘Really?’
‘No, not really, I guess. No one’s gives a sh____ whatever about me. It’s not that they are broad-minded, they just don’t care.’

There was a pause while we both considered the apathy of our work colleagues.

‘Er…’ I started ‘what would it take, to make me look like a passable woman, do you think?’
‘Polyfilla and a corset?’ Kathryn smirked.
‘Bitch!’ I said and stuck out my tongue at her.
‘Are you seriously going to go for it now’ she asked.
‘I think I have to at least think about it.’ I said softly.
‘This is getting real, then?’
‘It has been real for a while, I just didn’t understand what it was.’

We spent the rest of the evening searching for wigs and forms and pads on the internet, getting increasingly freaked by what was available and how much it would cost.

‘You know, you don’t need any of this stuff to be a woman’ Kathryn said.
‘Huh?’ I replied.
‘Well, look at me… I’m not wearing a skirt, I don’t have much makeup on, my sweatshirt is baggy enough that you can’t tell if I’m wearing a bra.’
‘Sorry, Kathryn - I hate to tell you this, but I doubt you’ll be passing as a macho man any time soon’.
‘No, silly - I mean a pink Sweatshirt, women’s bootcut jeans, pink trainers - it doesn’t scream “girly girl” but it would be feminine’.
‘I’m trying to figure out the “flags” that other people see that would change the way that they treat me, how I feel I present myself. And I _know_ I have a whole bunch of stereotypes in my own mind about the difference between men and women, and a bunch of that is unconsciously why I’ve known I was different and now I want to explore my gender more...er, I’m rambling, right?’
‘Did I glaze over? Yeah, I don’t really understand what it is about being a woman that interests you. You’re not gay, are you? And if you were, you wouldn’t need to wear a dress to get a guy. Alex in procurement is gay as anything, and he has a new boyfriend whenever the old one gets fed-up with him.’
‘Yeah, I’m not an Alex, that’s for sure. I don’t have his confidence, his flair or his callousness’.
‘I don’t think he’s callous, just a bit superficial…’
‘I don’t really find him that attractive. That’s something I found in Second Life, playing with Fee. I have some weird ideas about what I do and don’t like.’
‘Oh? don’t stop there…’
‘Er...Ok, I know I can trust you to be discrete. I don’t like boy-boy - boy-girl or girl-girl I like - I don’t really mind if I am the boy or the girl, but boy-boy just doesn’t excite me. How weird is that?’
‘Ha, they could write books about you!’
‘Cheeky mare!’
‘But seriously, for a moment. I know you have a feminine side. You don’t act like a typical male around me, or Fee. But you fake it at work. How does that work? Are you a woman pretending to be a man, a man playing at being a woman. What does ‘Being a woman’ mean to you anyway, it’s not just makeup and dresses, you know?’
I sighed.
‘It’s very hard to put into words. The more I’ve thought about this the more little things through the years have started making a new kind of sense, like a box of jigsaw puzzle pieces that you made into a picture when you were 6 and then you throw them up in the air and when they land they make a different picture, but the pieces fit better.’
‘Go on, this is interesting, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean, or what it means to you’
‘Ok, well, turn it around - what makes you a woman?’
‘Ha, I notice you didn’t say ‘Girl’ - 10 points for personal growth!’
‘I thought we were being serious?’
‘That is serious, it’s the unconscious ‘putting down’ of anything feminine that most men do - you’ve stopped doing that, I notice.’
‘I think I only ever did that as a form of protective colouration, I’ve always felt women were better in some way.’
‘We are. Is that why you want to be one?’
‘It’s not that simple. I can never have what you have…’ Tears sprang to my eyes. ‘You have no idea what you have, how hard it is to keep pretending and hiding how I feel.’
Kathryn gave me hug and I tried to pull myself together.
‘Ugh, I’ve always cried too easily’ I said ‘and the boys used to pick on me for it and call me a “cry-baby”. One more of a thousand things that mark me out as different. If you draw a line and put all the female things on one side and all the male things on the other then I find the things I like, my interests, my predilections are all on the female side - except for the gross physical characteristics of my body. So as a simple answer to your question? What makes me a woman? Everything, except my body. And that’s the one thing that everybody else sees. It’s the thing that stops me being included in conversations with the women at work. The thing that makes the mothers of the other kids at swimming lessons shun me. The thing that keeps me so isolated and alone because I don’t give a _fuck_ about beer and sport and leering at bimbos!’
-0-0-
After my little meltdown Kathryn decided that I needed more specialist help than she could give. She eventually talked me round to going to the meeting. She also convinced me that I should present as female, but not overwhelmingly so. I wasn't keen, at first. I'm not sure why the idea made me so uncomfortable, it was clearly the direction my life was heading in, but the idea of meeting unknown members of the public looking like… well, a man in a dress, filled me with dread. I would be embarrassed and humiliated and I would alienate the very people I wished to emulate.
Kathryn pointed out that she had never been mistaken for a man, but she regularly wore jeans and a sweatshirt. I still had a pair of Linda's jeans bought in Dorothy Perkins. She'd given them to me when her ass got too broad to squeeze into them anymore and they were the comfiest jeans I had. The material was softer and stretchier than my other jeans. Kathryn talked me into buying a turquoise hoodie and a pair of light grey cross trainers from the online store she used. I also got a camisole top and some more underwear.
Kathryn arranged to meet me at my home the evening of the next meeting.
-0-0-
Kathryn turned up as expected with a suitcase on wheels towed behind her, which wasn't expected and probably got the neighbors curtains twitching.
I helped her get it into the house and she started unpacking. I'd already removed all my body hair the night before, which was a significant job in itself requiring electric trimmers, bottles of hair remover and two razors. My skin had felt excruciatingly sensitive all day. I'd had the closest shave I could get this evening.
Kathryn had bought all the clothes I was going to wear tonight and a bunch of other things. She sent me off to strip and put my knickers and bra on and then come back. She handed me a pair of breast forms I recognised from the internet.
“Wow, Kathryn, these things are expensive, I wasn't going to invest that much yet” I said.
“Well, money is tight at the moment, so it would be nice if you could pay me back for them. Tell you what, pay me for the boobs and I'll give you the wig as a gift!”
“Wig?” I asked.
Kathryn delved into the suitcase and brought out a carefully packed wig and an odd looking head made of polystyrene. She pulled the wig from its packaging and I could see that it was a dark red or auburn colour that went quite well with my naturally dark coloured hair and pale skin. It was a lot more vivid than my natural hair although it looked a lot more natural than many of the women with dyed red hair. The style was a long bob. It was lovely. She put it on the head that was clearly some kind of wig stand and straightened it to show how it would look.
Kathryn fixed the forms to my chest with some special adhesive then she had me remove my knickers and we fiddled with the gaff she'd brought to try and minimize my manly bulge. Then I replaced the knickera, put on the Dorothy Perkins jeans and a camisole top and Kathryn started work on my makeup. The makeup was a joint effort, she did the painting and I did the face pulling, gurning as she instructed to ensure things went as well as possible. Kathryn did try to explain what she was doing with foundation and mascara, but I must be honest, I couldn't take it all in. Then once she had finished I carefully pulled the hoodie over my head in a way to avoid disturbing the face she had painted on me and she worked on my wig. A final touch of lipstick and the look was complete. I studied myself in the mirror with some trepidation. I had dressed in women's clothes before, as you know. Either in stealth, not trying to look like a woman but just knowing the ordinary, possibly unisex, things I was wearing were identifiably _female_ clothes, such as would be worn by a lady. Not _mens_ clothes, despite appearances, or for fun, behind closed doors in feminine items.
But this? This was the first time I was intending to head out into the world unmistakably dressed as, appearing as, _presenting_ as, female.
So I studied myself, I was pleasantly surprised. I was no beauty, heaven knows, but neither was I masculine.
Kathryn had kept the makeup very subtle, My eyebrows were the only permanent change, I guessed, but they were still present, just trimmed and shaped with a little bit of plucking. I could probably get away with them tomorrow at work if only because I was a middle-aged guy that no one would be looking at too hard.
My face was never very masculine, but now it appeared like a softer version of itself. Nothing screamed male. I had mascara and a light pink lipstick. Not bright red, that would scream I was trying too hard, just the kind of thing my ex-wife used to wear during the day.
My height was the thing that would mark me more than anything else. Paradoxically, it was the one measurement that Linda and I always had in common.
I had a difficult time making it out of the front door. Kathryn was understanding, but she threatened to scream if I didn't go through with it tonight, after all the planning and effort she had gone to. For her sake, and mine… well, Cathy-me, if not Andy-me, I took a deep breath and stepped out into the evening air and headed to the meeting with Kathryn.
-0-0-
The walk from the car to the meeting was another step I had to overcome. I felt like a furtive spy behind enemy lines with all eyes searching for me, but Kathryn just linked her arm through mine and pointed me in the direction of the meeting.
We got to the door and I dithered about actually going in. This was the final step, once I went through that door then it would be real. People would know, my secret would be out and there would be no controlling it anymore.
Kathryn knew my reluctance. But she didn't drag me through the door. I'm not sure if I wouldn't have preferred her doing that. She left the decision up to me.
She looked at me with understanding in her eyes, held out her hand and said "I'm with you. I have your back. I know who you are and I've got your back."
These simple and heartfelt words gave me the courage to step through the door.

I'm not sure quite what I was expecting but it seemed a bit of an anti-climax. There were a couple of very camp boys on one side, a small group of clearly lesbian girls on the other side and a couple of people in the middle. Two women of a less than certain age were at the front in skirts and cardigans, looking like they were taking the evening off from whist and the church committee. The people in the middle were… different. No two were the same. One was a guy, with a beard, in a sequinned evening gown. One looked like a lesbian with a stick-on beard. One looked like a very masculine woman in an out of date and too short, too tight skirt suit. As we dithered in the entrance one of the older ladies at the front called out in a surprisingly deep and strong voice - "Ah, newcomers! Don't be afraid, my dears, grab a cuppa and take a seat!"
Everyone turned to look at us. The gay boys turned away quite quickly, the lesbians took slightly longer and the other group were, well, varied. The guy in the dress watched us the longest, but even he was not staring long enough to be really off-putting. I guess people were being well behaved.
Kathryn and I made our way to get a cup of coffee each from a small table of refreshments. There was a pot saying "Please donate 50p per cup" on a sign. In the pot was a few pounds in small change. I put a pound in and we made our way to seats in the middle. A young woman came in as we sat down and hurried to get a drink. She seemed to be the last person expected to arrive and the two older ladies started handing out printed sheets, saying "Take one and pass it on" as they did.
I looked at the sheet and it was a bizzare kind of newsletter. It was covered in fine print news stories cut and pasted from the internet from around the world and around the corner. I noticed a story about President Trump hounding gay and lesbian veterans in the U.S. and an announcement that Lily was having a baby and there would be a collection next week. There was a page of URLs for information for the LGBT community. I didn't have time to read it all. The taller of the two women called us all to order.
"Alright everyone, let's get started! It's lovely to see some new faces tonight… I hate to put you on the spot but I think you should tell us who you are and why you are here. I know it's nerve-wracking but you are among friends here and we are in no position to judge you unfairly So, start as you mean to go on, think of it like ripping off a plaster, it's less painful once you've got it done quickly!" she said, in a voice that was at odds with her appearance.
Kathryn stood up and said "I'm Kathryn, I'm here to support my friend tonight."
I looked at her and smiled, glad that she had broken the Ice.
I stood up, took a deep breath and said quietly "You can call me Cathy, I'm struggling with gender issues at the moment."
The woman who came in to the group after us said "Welcome to our group, I'm Claire…" which started the rest of the group going and we got a round of welcomes and at the end the older lady said "...and I'm Gwen, I think we met online, dear". Then she got on with the rest of the meeting.
I didn't know quite what to expect, but whatever I had expected, it wasn't this. There was no dishing of juicy secrets about how to pass as a woman or how to spot a fellow lesbian. Gwen started off by giving a roundup of the local news with information about helpful clinics, horrible council bosses, local shops and churches who were openly anti-gay, petitions to sign to protest anti-gay organisation. It only took about 30 minutes then there was a coffee break where we kind of mingled. Claire came and introduced herself. One of the gay guys said "Hi" to me and one of the lesbians introduced herself to Kathryn, she thought she shared a keep fit class, but Kathryn explained that she lived 80 miles away so it was unlikely. Then, after coffee, Gwen's partner, Sally, gave a brief talk on employment legislation and what HR teams should and shouldn't do with LBGTQ+ employees. Which I found interesting, but a little daunting. I didn't think I was quite ready to face the HR girls en femme yet.

-0-0-

So, now I knew, or at least, I had admitted to myself and others, who or what I was. Ultimately, it wasn’t a choice in that regard, just a growing acceptance of something that I think I must have known for years. The real choice was - what I was going to do about it? What would my next steps be?