Halloween — Chapter 5

October 31, 1980

Laying out my lingerie on my bed, I thought back to the Velvet Underground and my mother’s introduction to the world of transsexuals and transvestites. She certainly took her promise to Connie seriously and always encouraged me to follow my heart in my quest to find my own identity.

I always found the preparation for my outings as Lisa to be as much fun, if not more, than the actual outings themselves. The skirt I wore four years ago was still trendy enough although it would be better described as retro now. During a trip to the Briarwood Mall earlier this week, I was able to find a sleeveless silver blouse and a pair of open-toed shoes with a sexy 2” heel in Jacobson’s department store. It was probably the only week of the year I felt comfortable visiting the makeup counter at Jacobson’s and I had no problem sitting down with the technician and discussing makeup ideas for my upcoming outing.

Today I was meeting two girls who I contacted through a Cross Dresser’s Personal magazine. They had invited me to their apartment for a quick dinner before going to a Halloween party at a local gay bar. This was only the third time that I have met other cross dressers or transsexuals through these so-called Contact magazines and, as usual, I was fairly nervous. There were so few ways to meet other ‘girls’ and it was hit or miss through these magazines. My first two times started out innocently enough with both men buying clothes and lingerie for me and getting a hotel room. But both times they backed out of getting dressed themselves and just watched me getting dressed. Once I was dressed they both wanted to fool around and initially I was excited because I really wanted to explore how I’d feel in the role of a woman having sex with a man. Needless to say, after a little petting, both men wanted to suck on my boy parts which immediately took me out of my role as a woman. Neither of these incidents ended poorly, although they easily could have, but they certainly introduced me to an entirely new type of person–the tranny chaser.

Having shaved and moisturized my skin I sat down at my desk with my towel wrapped around my chest girl-style and turned on the light to my makeup mirror. This was my first year living alone outside of the college dormitory system and I had splurged a little getting the mirror but it was so much easier than standing in the bathroom and trying to put on my makeup.

Without my mother around, I had spent a lot of time over the past few years practicing applying my makeup on my own. My routine was generally the same; I’d apply a little beard cover before applying my foundation and setting it with pressed powder. I was hoping that the electrolysis that I was suffering through weekly would diminish my need for beard cover but electrolysis was not only painful but it was extremely slow and costly.

After setting my foundation with the powder I would move on to my brows. For the past few years I had been plucking them as much as I could without embarrassing myself. Then I’d generally line my eyebrows before applying eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara. Then after applying a little blush to my cheeks, I’d finish by lining my lips before applying my lipstick.

After finishing, I spent a few minutes reflecting on my image in the mirror. I was always pleased with my look even if I was without my wig. I never looked in the mirror when I was in boy mode; in truth, I usually avoided it. But here with my makeup on I saw the person who I wanted to be; the person who I should have been. How many people would ever feel what I was experiencing now?

Realizing that is was close to five o’clock and that I still had to get dressed and call my mother before heading to my six o’clock dinner, I quickly began to dress. Sliding my stockings slowly up my leg, I always thought about my first meeting with my gender therapist. Her very first question was, “Do you get excited when you put on your stockings?” It took me three sessions to convince her that the excitement I felt was not sexual excitement and that I never had sexual arousal when I was getting dressed. But that was not to say that I didn’t enjoy dressing. I always did. Everything from my bra with my new silicone breast forms to my skirt and blouse felt natural. Finally, crowning it off with my wig and brushing my hair out and then looking in the mirror always took my breath away.

Selecting a few bracelets and a ring from my jewelry box, I tried to think about which earrings would look good with my outfit. I was always grateful that my mother had encouraged me to keep my ears pierced despite all of the ridicule that I received at school. She also kept her word and made sure my brothers never said a word about them. Seeing a pair that Mom had given me last Christmas I quickly inserted them and sprayed myself with a little perfume.

Sitting down by the phone, I dialed my mother while putting on my new 2  ½” heels. Since buying them earlier in the week, I had worn them each day after school so I would be comfortable wearing them all night.

“Hello!”

“Hi, Mom, Guess who?” I laughed.

“Hi, Lisa, How are you? There is no need to guess when I hear that excitement in your voice. What are you doing tonight?”

“Well, I just finished dressing and I am meeting two girls for dinner before going to a Halloween party.”

“Now, I want you to tell me that you are going to be especially careful like you always do. You know how much I worry about you when you are out as Lisa. Who are the two girls? Excuse me for asking but are they real girls or girls like you.”

Sighing loudly, I replied, “Mom, you know I am always careful.” But I understood my mother’s concern because while I never felt in danger as John I always felt especially vulnerable when I was out as Lisa. “I was introduced to the two girls through my therapist and they invited me over to dinner. They graduated from college about 10 years ago and they thought it would be nice to talk over dinner before going to the party.”
I hated lying to my mother but I didn’t want her thinking I was blinding contacting people through Tranny contact magazines.

“That’s wonderful. I am glad that you are meeting other girls like yourself. It can only help you in finding yourself. How is your therapy going?” I was so lucky to have such an understanding mother. I remember the morning after she first met Connie she asked me when we were eating breakfast, “How can we find more information about transsexuals?” I remember taking her the library at Haverford College and showing her all the information that I had learned over the years. She was voracious in searching out information; nearly as voracious as me. In fact, it was her that found my gender therapist, Dr. Coleman, when I was away at college.

“It’s going ok, I guess,” I replied. “We’ve reached a little impasse, though. I think it’s a minor issue but Dr. Coleman sees it differently. She wants me to tell her that I am a girl trapped in a boy’s body but I don’t know if that’s the way I feel. I have always wanted to be a girl and I remember praying every night that I’d wake up the next day as a girl. But I’m not sure I feel like I’m a girl trapped in this body. It’s weird because I’ve always wanted to be a girl but I’m not really sure how a girl feels because I wasn’t born a girl. I know Dr. Coleman is trying to help me and she tells me time and again that she truly believes that I am transsexual. But she won’t let me go forward and start getting female hormones unless I admit to her that I am really a girl ‘trapped in a boy’s body.’ Does any of this make any sense, Mom?”

“You certainly have me confused but I think I understand the point you are making. I don’t know if I can be of any help but let me give you my thoughts. You were always different than your brothers. You were much more sensitive, insightful and caring. And while your brothers were always involved in sports, you were much more interested in playing inside and using your imagination. A mother always wants her children to be happy so I never pushed you into sports but I was always worried because you always shied away from boy’s activities. But it wasn’t until a few years ago that I understood that you wanted to be a girl. I just wasn’t looking for that when you were younger.”

“Thanks, Mom. You always make me feel better. You don’t know what it means to me that you love me no matter what. I love you so much and I hate to run but I better before I’m late for dinner. I love you!”

Twenty minutes later, I was pacing outside of the apartment building on Washington Street. Wearing the Burberry swing coat that my mother had given me as a gift, I wasn’t as nervous about being seen as Lisa (Halloween is the best excuse) as I was nervous about meeting my new friends. Finally, with some trepidation, I entered to lobby and rang the buzzer to their fifth floor apartment.

“Hello, is that you, Lisa?” a slightly masculine voice inquired over the intercom.

“Yes,” I barely whispered in reply.

“Go over to the door and I’ll buzz you in. And, dear, don’t be nervous. Just take the elevator and knock on 505 and we’ll let you in.”

After getting off the elevator I walked slowly to apartment 505 wondering just how I had gotten myself in the position that I was dressed as a girl and getting ready to have dinner with two other boy-girls while my regular friends were at Halloween parties at various fraternities. I wasn’t worried so much that I would run into any of my friends at the Flame nightclub because the Flame was a gay club that none of my friends ever visited. I was just worried about where my desire to be a girl was leading me both socially and professionally. As I was getting ready to knock on the door, I heard the chain lock being removed and the door slowly opened.

“Hello, Lisa, please come in,” a voice from behind the door started, “I’m Jenny and this is Sally. I just don’t want anyone passing in the hallway to see us so come in quickly.”

“You are simply beautiful,” Sally smiled as she opened her arms and pulled me closer in a hug before leaning closer and air kissing my cheek. “It looks like you have had plenty of practice dressing. The boys will be all over you when we go out tonight. Have you been to the Flame before?”

“Before you answer let me give you a hug and grab your coat, dear,” Jenny said, “and then let’s go into the living room and have a glass of wine before dinner. Would you like a glass of Chardonnay, dear?”

“I’d love a glass, Jenny,” I replied while Sally took my hand and led me over to the living area. The room was nicely decorated but then just about any room would look better than a college students’. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the chair she offered me looked like something my grandmother would own and sadly out of place for someone their age. In addition, although there were a few paintings and drawings on the wall, I immediately noticed the absence of any pictures or photos in the room. I was surprised that both of them were wearing wigs because they identified themselves as transsexuals in the contact magazine and I expected that they both would have grown out there own hair.

“So have you been to the Flame before, Lisa?” Sally asked while Jenny was getting my glass of wine.

“No, I haven’t. I know it’s the best gay club in Ann Arbor but I haven’t been there yet.”

“Well, it’s one of the few places that makes girls like us feel welcome,” Sally smiled, “especially on Halloween.”

“Here you are, Lisa,” Jenny said as she glided effortlessly across the room in 3” heels. “I love your skirt and your heels. They’re perfect with your sleeveless blouse. I see that you either are blessed with very little hair or shave your arms like we do.”

Flushing profusely, I answered, “I do shave my arms as well as some other places when I get to go out as Lisa. You and Sally look great in your strapless cocktail dresses. Do you live full time as Jenny and Sally?”

Looking at Sally, Jenny smiled and looked back to me and started, “Lisa, Sally and I love meeting young girls like you because we really want to help our younger sisters. Sally and I dress and live as girls all the time except when we have to go to work or maybe stop for groceries. Because of that, we keep ourselves fully shaved at all times. Of course, we’ve both had about 250 hours of electrolysis on our faces and we are hoping that our faces will be completely clear in about 50 more hours. Have you tried any electrolysis?”

“I’ve had 12 hours but the technician thought I’d only need about 200 hours in total.” I never thought about what I’d look like without a beard or what I looked like when I shaved my body hair but looking at both Jenny and Sally made me a little bit uneasy. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Both of them were thin and moved with feminine grace. But I didn’t understand why they didn’t commit to living full-time as women. It also explains the lack of photos in the apartment. How could they display pictures of themselves if someone from the ‘boy’ part of their lives decided to visit; like their families?

“I wish I only needed 200 hours on my face because I’d now have them working on my arms and chest,” Sally laughed, “If you have already started electrolysis then I suspect that you consider yourself a transsexual, Lisa?”

“That’s a difficult question, Sally,” I replied after taking a sip of my wine. “My therapist and I are arguing over whether I think I was born in the wrong body. My earliest memories are of wanting to be a girl but I don’t know if I’d say I’m just a girl in the wrong body. That seems a little superficial. But I do think that I’m not a transvestite because my dressing is less about sexual arousal and more about feeling comfortable in my own skin.”

“I think I know where your analyst is going the ‘girl trapped in a boy’s body thing,’ “Jenny replied, “The current clinical belief is that you aren’t a real transsexual unless you feel that way; as if there is only one way to be transsexual. My advice to you is to step back from your therapy until you are convinced of your orientation. Then if you are convinced that you are transsexual you should go back and tell her what she wants to hear.”

“Jenny, you and Sally both identified yourselves as transsexual in the contact magazine I got your names from. Why are you working as men and living at home as women?”

“Are you familiar with the Johns Hopkins Gender Identity Clinic?” Sally inquired.

“A little, I think that is one of the few places that performs transsexual surgery, isn’t it?”

“Yes, dear, it was,” Sally began. “It stopped doing surgery for transsexuals in October of 1979. The head of the clinic declared that transsexual surgery didn’t work. Jenny and I were on track to have our surgery there this year but everything was put on hold. Neither of us knows what to do. Frankly, we are both devastated. We can start at one of the other centers but people are thinking of following Johns Hopkins lead and we don’t want to get lost somewhere else. We were in therapy just like you are. We were receiving female hormones and we were hoping to have our surgery but everything stopped. Our physician even stopped prescribing us hormones as a result of the clinic’s closing. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy. Jenny and I refuse to be unhappy and that is why we live as women at home. Until something changes, it’s the best we can hope for. Here, let’s go over to the dining room table while I refresh our wine. Dinner is just about ready.”

As we headed into the dining room, I couldn’t help asking myself, “Is this all there is?” I know Sally said she was devastated but I was beside myself. I wanted a normal life as a woman not a life in the shadows. Why hadn’t my therapist told me about Johns Hopkins? How would she prescribe me female hormones if Jenny and Sally couldn’t get them? Would I be having more fun with my friends at the fraternities or would I be happier hiding in the shadows with girls like Jenny and Sally? What was I willing to give up to live as a girl? For that matter, would having surgery (if I can find a clinic to do it) really make me a girl?

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