Ready to leave home for Uni, I had endured a “purge” — my first — something that comes to us all at times, deciding to leave my stash at home. I knew my clothes might be found hidden away, but equally felt that my co-students at Uni wouldn’t be ready for a fully-fledged crossdresser in our first semester.

Chapter 17

I was not booked to have shared accommodation in the University hall of Residence. I would have my own study/bedroom. So I figured I could take my night-wear, including bras, panties, stockings and suspenders, to enjoy in the secrecy of my new home. When being visited by girlfriend or family, they could all be hidden, no problem!! I also took a few basic cosmetic items, with which I was gradually getting more skilled. I still looked back at myself in the mirror and saw a bloke with make-up on, but from further away, with some clothing, and with my hair done, I felt passable to myself — which is what matters.

My hair needed a cut, and as I indicated last time, it could be given some colour. Such were the ways that times had moved on.

Bob Dylan didn’t mean this aspect when he sang “The times, they are a-changing” but he was not wrong.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agein'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

So there I stood in the store called Boots, holding in my hand a sachet of the temporary colour rinse that I had almost given in to years ago — aged 13 was I? — called Inecto’s Hint of a Tint. Washes out in 2-3 washes, it said….. So, nothing permanent….. If it all went wrong it would be easily remedied. Just shampoo-in, like any normal shampoo or conditioner.

I had lost the previous sachet which I had lacked the courage to use…. Wherever did that go? Maybe it was found but never mentioned? How many clues had I left for the family over the years? Stray pairs of panties? Oh yes, there was a case of them being found, but never mentioned. They probably thought I was precocious and having sex with girls who were so precocious themselves that they left their knickers under the beds they slept in!!

To cut a long story short. The temporary rinse was a disaster — well, first time, it was probably bound to be. The only positive side of it was that the condition of my hair improved dramatically. Soft and volumized, it was marvellous. Not so the staining of my scalp and around my hair-line. Smudged bright stains of a near-purple colour stared back at me as I dried the past-chin length hair.

Nothing was written on the pack about taking care with exposed skin….. And that wouldn’t help with the parting that shone through between the sections of my hair! Oh, hell! What to do?

Then I saw the stains on the bathroom basin where I had chosen to do this deed. They took a lot of effort to remove and I didn’t have proper bathroom cleaning products to hand….. Damn!!

And everyone would be coming home soon — well, at least my Mum, and Dad too. And I was to go out with my girlfriend that night. Damn! What a mess. Why did I do this?! I was in a panic, now I know, looking back. Blind panic. No time to enjoy the look of the hair. No time to imagine it set, in secret. No time to dress in my undies or night-wear.

I didn’t want to look like this! It wasn’t meant o go wrong.

(I would do this again, many times, over the years. Learning by your mistakes is a great way to advance. But I didn’t appreciate this, just then).

To cut a long story short, it took three more washes to get rid of the staining to my skin and scalp, meaning I lost all the benefit of the colour I had so longed to behold. The bathroom ceramics were equally tough but eventually relented by giving up their purple stains.

Isn’t it strange how extreme the colours appear when applied to get subtle shades into boring mousey-brown hair… or any hair… for that matter? I’M SO SORRY TO HAVE GONE ON QUITE SO LONG…. MY DEAR READER, BY NOW, YOU’LL HAVE GATHERED WHEN MY HAIR FETISH, WITHIN MY LOVE OF DRESSING, WAS SET IN STONE, VELVET COVERED, IN MY HEART.

--oo00oo--

My last few weeks before going to Uni were idyllic………. Looking forward to a whole new experience, it was clear that the relationship with my girlfriend was strong would last beyond separation. We had cemented this with two birthday events which, as young people, were special.

She bought two seats at a Dusty Springfield concert — a “come-back” event really but which promised to be truly memorable. It did prove so to be. I loved every minute. All of the wonderful lady’s classic tracks, and a few emotive ‘covers’ of other singers’ work. Some Carol King songs, some Tamla Motown winners and some soulful R&B classics. I always preferred her ballads. We still have all Dusty’s vinyl albums, all with their magnificent, flattering sleeves and pictures.

Knowing she enjoyed variety stage shows, which were all over the London stage at this time, I got us two tickets for the Palace Theatre — one of the City’s largest venues — for the show starring Danny La Rue. In his own words, “an old tart that made dressing up respectable”…. Or was it “dressing up as an old tart made respectable”?? not that it matters.

She loved every minute from the front row of the circle. The show was done for us! Needless to say, I enjoyed the show for rather different reasons. The glamour! It was so in-yer-face as to be ridiculous, but then, that’s the illusion intended. What do I remember most? The corsetry and, of course, the wigs….. Not just on the star of the show, but on all the dancing girls with legs that reached to the top of their arms! We still have the programme from the show somewhere in an album. I must look it out someday.

But I remained true to my purge. The clothing stayed in the closet where, one day, I would go back to find future pleasure. Pleasure I was to deny myself for three years.

There were no GLBT organizations in the Uni where I was to study, as there are very active groups such as these everywhere in the 21st Century. The most anyone could find would be a small group of (now called) gay guys who would be seen together. No street marching. No militancy. No “demands for equal rights”. But then again, no crossdressing in the street if you wanted. (I didn’t!)

The more I think about it, the less I would have wanted to be classified in that “homo” way, in any case. I didn’t feel homosexual — I didn’t identify with those people who, only two years before, could have been locked up for illegal sexual activity. I was no poof… I was no queer. I was no bum bandit…… I was a normal straight guy with just a special interest. An interest that was not catered for in literature or, except in the limited case I mentioned, the theatre. Danny La Rue had his own cabaret club in Hanover Square in London’s Mayfair. I would not have dreamed of going there — either for the cost, or for the probability that queers would be hanging round looking for boys of my age. No thanks!

So, I remained a secret — closet — crossdresser. One with a girlfriend and a special love of feminine things. Nowadays, we can be recognized, us heterosexual crossdressers (I never liked the word transvestites), recognized as men who love women so much they want to emulate them. I’m comfortable with that description. But sadly, it was never imagined to be described thus in 1968.

--oo00oo–

My arrival at a provincial University was uneventful. I settled in to studies well and my attention was diverted only by serious drinking and frequent parties. All part of growing up. I didn’t choose to be celibate, celibacy chose me. I was still spotty and not an attractive girl-hunt-me guy.
That was ok. I had a girlfriend who loyally waited for me for the semester breaks, during which times we made love as many times as we possibly could.

She seemed happy to run with a relationship that kept us both happy. She was studying at school and, having a boyfriend at Uni, was something of a celebrity; someone to be envied by girls of her own age.

Our love-making was increasingly tender and I think skilled. We found ways to pleasure eachother and bring lasting satisfaction. She said she talked often with the girls about having climaxes, or orgasms, that many of them seemed not to have experienced.

All due to my prowess with my tongue…. we laughed, in private. I did so love the taste of her.

Her skill with her lips around my boyish apparatus grew gradually better and better. I often turned back on herself to avoid cumming while she attended to me….. I feared any girl’s revulsion at receiving a mouthful of my spunk. Why on earth would a girl relish that? I knew I wouldn’t. Really, I could NOT imagine kissing or licking or sucking another guy’s dick. Over the following forty-plus years, I never have and never will.

I did find an outlet for my dressing in the Uni drama club. Somehow, I made it somebody else’s idea that we should perform some Shakespeare in the original medieval format where young men played the female roles. It was hard to forego the role of Juliet but I did a storming performance — in my first-time-ever transgender role — as Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream. That’s now the one play, whenever it’s performed, that I insist we see at London’s Regents Park Theatre — open air performances, usually by stunning casts. My favourite Titania has always been the Polish-born stunner, Rula Lenska. A gorgeous gorgeous redhead with a husky, oh-so-sexy husky voice!

We used costumes from the stores kept within the college and, naturally, relied upon great amounts of elastic to fit the different girths of each performer. My Titania, being an outrageous Queen of the Fairies, allowed me to be clothed in flowing robes of green and orange, ballet shoes which stretched to accommodate my now size-8 feet and a flowing red wig with bundles of curls falling over and below my shoulders. Luckily, we had a great Drama school associated with the Uni so were able to rely on their girls to do our make-up. I was in heaven!! I learnt my lines assiduously and can even now anticipate the next lines through most of this wonderful comedy.

I often wondered how much insight into my predilection for transvestite roles was recognized among my fellow performers. I did get other roles as the terms rolled by. My girlfriend did only once ask “Another girly role? You’ll have to be careful not to like them too much.” As a tease, just as a tease.

Meanwhile, as chapter 18 will show, I had to prepare for life in the real world, getting a job, and getting married.