It’s that time of month ...

Can I guess what sort of story you're now expecting? Don't be silly.

What did you think I meant. I’m not a woman – even if I dress like one.
I mean it’s PAYDAY.
And because it’s the weekend I can go to the shops, dressed properly and look for new choices to improve my wardrobe. And if I’m very lucky – a new pair of shoes.

Given the opportunity – and I hear you guffaw –I’ll be wearing a new and stylish garb at the weekend.

I know the opportunity that some would prefer would be for me NOT to do so and for them to have the opportunity to tell me so, bluntly, violently even and rudely. Next, you’ll be suggesting that they might cease their grubby nastiness and deep-rooted abuse and bullying at what I do – if I promised to stop. As if, buddy. A tiny part of their forebrain may not have deliberate intent – but almost nothing prevents disapproval and all that comes with it. And once you’ve got an ugly label – nothing makes it go away.

Do you wonder if the haters would prefer a dead child or a live child who challenges their preferences as regards NOT being in any way linked to L or G or B or T or I or A,C,D,E,F,H,J,K.

What are they so frightened of?

Is any one of my ilk – or any other who is ‘too different’ asking them to participate or follow someone else’s desires or preferences? How stupid. But some of them are – stupid that is. And bigoted. And uninformed. And easily-led. Oh dear. And there’s probably times I’m less than perfect, hah.

In modern terms, that’s like suggesting an ‘influencer’ has the power to force another to dress or wear what is suggested. I know it happens – where else would the astonishing desire to wear ready-torn jeans have come from. But apart from dedicated flowers of fashion, however Kink-inspired (old joke folks) does anyone really dress in a way that another demands? I exclude some man-woman situations. Boyfriends and husbands take note. You MAY have heard phrases like 'You're not going to wear that, are you?'

But me – I’m going to the shops. I saw a delicious dress which I really wanted. It has the short sleeves which are most comfortable for me, it allows for the appallingly cylindrical shape I possess (which no amount of body-armour, oops, body-shaping force-wear will significantly improve. I like the asymmetric hem which conceals a mildly unattractive pair of legs. Boobage have I none – but the selected costume will conceal the default forms and fillers.

In the mood I’m in, I’ll be going to M&S to buy a bra and some panties – they are after all my favourite things. I tend to avoid wearing a bra to work – but never say never. I don’t wear any of those boy-pants any more. Just panties for this chunky old girl.

I do wonder exactly why I love wearing a bra – it’s such an un-male item. But that double-curve just below my eyeline, the tightness of the bra straps, of the bra band – it just feels so … satisfactory. I’m not sure I can explain it better. Does it make me feel more womanly? I don’t have an answer for that. I like wearing a bra. Isn’t that enough?

Is there a reason I love wearing women’s clothes?

I’m really not sure I can give a good reason.

I do hate a lot of the ‘normal’ clothes I have to wear. What boring colours. What uninteresting materials. Yuk.

I do agree that wearing heels is sometimes a damn nuisance. Despite the stories of newbies instantly coping with four-inch, five-inch even six-inch heights – I feel if it’s not true for me and those I know (and the shops don’t sell much more than three-inch either). Why do so many writers exaggerate?

Mind you, - if you do or don’t mind, here I go - if I actually did begin to comment on how some stories really don’t fit with my perception of reality and likelihood – there would be fewer stories where the new-girl becomes instantly good at a wide variety of practised-female skills. There would be fewer stories where the new-girl becomes an exemplar of wonderful womanhood. There’s possibly a few other T stories that I don’t find convincing for similar reasons. But that’s my problem as a reader – NOT a criticism of any author.

What an unusual event – I’ve gone off at a tangent in the middle of my text.

Ooops.

Onwards – As Harrington would say ‘Let’s be about it’.

= = = = = =
After M&S, there’s a street filled with useful shops. Two nailbars, three hair salons, three dress shops, four shoe shops and a series of charity shops of variable quality.

I’m confident I’ll find something suitable. Like I said, I’m looking for some new clothes. As a second part of my mission, I’ve been invited to a wedding. And it’s one that I will be attending in my preferred dress, costume, outfit – describe it as you wish.

Suddenly through the best charity shop’s window, I saw an outfit that would be sufficiently out-of-the-ordinary that the outfit itself would be noted (hopefully) as much as the wearer. I didn’t WANT to embarrass anyone else. I really didn’t want to embarrass ME. But due to circumstances too complicated to detail here – I would be attending my cousin Kaite’s wedding in a frock, ensemble or equivalent. And there it was. A gorgeous east Asian outfit with embroidery, implicitly made of multiple layers of silk in red and brown – with embroidery all over. Delightful. And so bold as to make the wearer almost anonymous – I hoped.

Cousin Kaite was one of the first in the family to welcome me when, at the advanced age of 30, I rather publicly presented myself as ‘somewhat femmy’.

There I was, trying to be ‘ordinary’ while wearing a costume that even the most / least generous would see as ‘not-usual-for-a-male’. Calf-length capri pants in pale brown with a red trim, white sandals with little buckles – and only a ¾ inch heel, Okay – I’d got my toenails painted natural (but glossy). I’d worn a plain paler brown double-layer t-shirt and had a thin sweater wrapped around my shoulders. There was no way that I looked like a 5 foot 10 inch rugby player. Ooops.

Fortunately, I could say with not a quiver in my voice – ‘Hi folks, Marti has arrived’. There were three Martin’s in the family – my uncle who took the full name, Kaite’s younger sister Martine and myself who for whatever reason was usually known as ‘Mary’.
Kaite was the first to greet me "Hi, Marti (and you could hear the change of emphasis). I love the new look. You look very, erm, comfortable. I’m glad you’re here. Now, come and have a gossip with the other girls.”

I heard ‘the other girls’ and knew that Kaite would smooth the way.

I expected some, if not considerable, reaction but to my amazement, it was all very calm. Maybe a bit of ‘calm before the storm’ but as the minutes went by, I worried less and less.

Like the shoes,” my aunt murmured. “And you’re very sensible to have tidied up your legs. You can say you’ve done it for the swimming, or cycling or whatever. Probably just best to ignore it and give no reason at all. Huh?”

“I’ve been looking for a pair of trous like that – I saw one in grey and blue – but didn’t quite like it enough.” That was from my sister Julie.

Quite soon I and my outfit were no longer the immediate focus of dissection, sorry, discussion. I relaxed some more.

= = = = =
Back to today’s expedition. I’d got the dress – an Indonesian tunic-style called a kebaya. Lovely.

Next was the need for a new red dress. The one I had seen the week before had gone and I had no desire to enquire of the manageress. She was perfectly willing to sell to anyone – but there was an undercurrent of ‘I’m not comfortable with the likes of you, can’t you hurry up and go’. Unpleasant – even though the shop did often have some lovely things. A delicate balance. Like Life.

I found another alternative in the second charity shop. There had been nothing satisfactory in the main shops. A kaftan-style (loose and thus muchly suitable) with loose angel sleeves – not plain red, but with a white pattern. It might work well enough for me. I can reset the hem if I want to.

The last step for the day was the nailbar before doing the ordinary shopping - food, drink and other necessities. Time for the toesies as well. Pink and pretty. So nice. But it took some time to select just the right colour.

= = = = = =
Coming out at Kaite’s was a couple of years ago now – and I was much more comfortable going out dressed. I never wanted to be more than ‘a middle-aged woman in a comfy dress’ and, mostly, that was what I managed.

Take yesterday, for example. I had worn leggings and a skort, a blouse – all in a range of pinky-red. When I arrived at the salon – don’t be silly why would I go anywhere else – I was greeted by my friend Charlotte.

It hadn’t taken her long to realize that I was a ‘special customer’ and she made it very clear that while there were differences in her clients, it was at least as much from client to client as by any gender complication.

We got talking one time – after which I invited her to come and talk to my Wednesday Club. Yes, we Ts meet up like any other social group. Tell tales, compare experiences, drink a bit, eat a bit, squabble some and get along just fine, thank you. We’ve got a good reputation for welcoming newbies and helping them come to terms with all the relevant changes.

She said “If you’ve done the research and gone beyond ‘what everyone knows’ or even used the mark-one eyeball and looked at people – certain truths become evident. There ain’t NOBODY who has a body that’s like another – except sometimes twins. There ain’t nobody – and I include twins – who is actually happy with every part of their body. I’ve had top-end models in my place who grumble about the shape of their ears, their distorted toes, - from top to bottom. Everyone. Probably including you, Marti, my sweetie”

I grinned. “Me – complain? I’m just your average wannabe-ordinary cross-dresser. Just do your best while I pay your stunningly reasonable fees.”

We both giggled. I had always done that sometimes – even as a teen – but now I did it more often, more naturally – and with the proper lady-style position of the hands. I can be taught. I can and have learned.

I’ve learned that being confident is the key to being out in public. I make a reasonable effort to avoid being overtly ‘wrongly-dressed’ But I am going to continue. I want to dress. I want to go out. And as I said, it’s that time of month and I will be going out to buy some new clothes.