A lifetime of reflections, Joanie’s final purge: “You Hook My Bra and I’ll Hook Yours”

Our story follows Joanie from a confused childhood to her Golden Years. Joanie reflects on the events and quirks of fate that led her to becoming Joanie. At 72 years of age, flashbacks and self reflection, allow us to better understand her lifelong search to understand ‘how’ and ‘why’. “Why me?” she asks.

(This story is semiautobiographical adult fiction. Explicit content. There are six chapters. All rights reserved. Comments are appreciated.)

The story jumps around a bit but that’s what can happen in your Golden Years; that’s also what happens when you condense so many years into a brief snap shot. Indulge Joanie a bit and appreciate her story, appreciate her life. You may have many things in common with Joanie.

Chapter 2 of 6

Our story follows 72 year old Joanie from a confused childhood to her Golden Years. Joanie reflects on the events and quirks of fate that led her to becoming Joanie. Her story culminates in her final purge.
Joanie explains how it began; being an only child and being raised by a single parent you need to sort things out.

Previously

When the cruise began it was John who had nervously walked onto the ship with Joanie in a suit case. When they disembarked ten days later it was a beautiful Joanie in a flirty yellow sundress, and her equally pretty girlfriend, that confidently strode down the gangway and onto the dock.

Chapter 2 - Back to the closet

Being Joanie on an almost full time basis had become easier and more frequent since the passing of her wife and love of her life, Emma. 52 years make for many adventures and fond memories. Some of the items Joanie was letting go were sexy lingerie sets she had received as birthday and Christmas gifts. As she sorted and culled clothes and shoes she found herself holding an item to her breast, closing her eyes and reminiscing. A certain blouse or camisole might have a lingering hint of perfume and Joanie would inhale and savor the memories. One particular royal blue garter belt made her smile. Joanie put it in the ‘keep’ pile. An occasional tear would slide down Joanie’s cheek as she determinedly went through with what needed to be done. Not all the tears were tears of sadness.

Reaching for yet another Kleenex Joanie blotted her tears and removed a wad of mismatched nylon stockings from her foot locker. She shoved them into a lawn & leaf trash bag. The nylons joined a well worn 15 inch length denim mini-skirt, a couple of blouses, an old panty girdle and a few other feminine items that had assisted John’s frequent transformations into his femme alter ego “Joanie” over the past 67 years.
Pausing a moment Joanie retrieved the denim mini-skirt from the discard bag. She was recalling how nice her nylon clad legs looked while wearing that skirt. Recalling the many walks with her Emma while wearing that skirt Joanie placed it atop a growing pile of “keep” clothes. Joanie checked the skirt pockets and found an old movie ticket stub that was still there.

The movie ticket stub was from a sentimental chick flick movie she and Emma had attended a few years ago. Joanie recalled being very nervous about being out in public. Emma had held her hand and it helped Joanie to relax and walk into the theater. Emma was thoughtful enough to have bought their tickets.

Joanie remembered how they had both cried at a couple of the more tender scenes. They shared tissues from Joanie’s purse to wipe their tears. Emma had gently rubbed her nylon covered knees in an effort to sooth her. Joanie could remember the movie but couldn’t recall the name of the movie. Getting older has a way of robbing a person of details. At home, later that night, the sex had been particularly great. It must be true that you remember the things that are important to you.

Delving again into her ‘hobby box’ Joanie pulled out 3 rather well worn bras. One was a purple 38 B underwire, one was a turquoise push up Wonder Bra and the other was a black wispy sleep bra. The elastic in all bras was old and stretched. She removed a bra extender from one bra, placed it in her romper pocket, before placing them in the waiting trash bag.

A drawstring make-up bag was the next item she removed from the old locker. Opening the bag Joanie emptied the contents into the trash bag. There were the usual items that you’d expect to find in a woman’s purse or on her vanity; mascara, fine tipped brushes, false eyelashes, several well used pallets of eye shadow and several other expired cosmetics. All went into the trash bag.

Spying a familiar tube of lipstick Joanie pulled it out of the discard bag and pulled the top off. She extended the lipstick and inhaled a pleasant memory from days gone by. Using a small makeup mirror from her cosmetics discards she used it to apply a coat of her favorite color to her lips. She pressed her lips together to even out the color. Joanie retracted the lipstick, replaced the cap and added the tube to her romper pocket. It’s difficult to let go of fond memories or a good lipstick. The aroma and flavor caused a familiar and pleasant stirring in her crotch.

Joanie grabbed a pair of well worn open toed silver lame wedgies and carefully placed them in her goodbye bag. The shoes made her recall a business trip to New York City, over 40 years ago, where she made a point of visiting a famous specialty boutique that catered to transgendered and cross-dressing clients; Lee’s Mardi Gras Boutique. Finding a woman’s shoe that would fit her size 13 wide foot had been difficult. None the less her search for a shoe with a proper fit had been fun. There were so many other items to see and explore; wigs, gaffs, false eye lashes, fetish clothing, literature, erotica and sex toys.

Retrieving a pair of shiny black, 3 inch heeled pumps she smiled. The shiny pumps were one of Joanie’s prized items. Images of her tottering around the house, while practicing to walk in them, came to mind. Smooth hard floors were easier to walk on than soft carpet. It was a wonder that she hadn’t hurt herself. She had bought them from a web site promoted on her favorite TG/CD/Alternate Lifestyle web site; Big Closet Top Shelf.

Retrieving a black thigh high nylon from his discard bag Joanie removed her gold anklet and effortlessly pulled the stocking on. She put the ankle bracelet back on over her stocking and slipped a high heel onto her right foot and extended her leg in a manner that gave her the best view. She wiggled her ankle and smiled as she admired what once was her favorite femme shoe. Pulling her foot back she removed the ankle chain, the pump and nylon and placed them both in the bag.

“Dang”, she lamented, “I wish I knew someone to give these things to”.

Peering into her secret stash Joanie gathered up a medium size wad of lingerie. Quickly sorting through the clump of clothes she set aside a pair of peach colored nylon tricot pettipants, one pair of sexy tap pants that had delicious lace trim and a rather attractive but very short half slip; all of these items had been frequently worn by her under her male clothes over the years. It’s difficult to get rid of ‘old friends’ and besides she thought she should be able to get a little more use from them. She placed these items in a growing “keep me” pile.

Peering again into the footlocker Joanie’s eyes lit up as she retrieved an old photo album. The album was marked “A ‘Trans’ Caribbean Cruise”. Holding the well worn album brought a smile to her face. Wanting to spend some time with her deceased wife Joanie stood up and brought the photo album to her writing desk for a proper viewing. Joanie lingered and savored each page. Time seemed to stand still.

To get a better understanding of what Joanie was dealing with it would be best for Joanie to explain how she found her feminine side and accepted Joanie.

Flashback – Over the years

Joanie explains

My "hobby" began when I was 3 or 4. My parents divorced and mom had fled from suburban Minnesota to the big city of Kansas City I the mid 1950s taking a job as a waitress at The Copper Kettle Café in order to support the two of us. Coffee was .10 cents a cup and her tips were small. I had no siblings.

Home was a twelve story hotel. I recall my mother occasionally painting my nails after she had painted hers. I’d sit, fascinated, watching her get dressed and do her makeup as she got ready for work. Maybe these daily observations were the beginning of my interest in girly things. Leaving for work she’d drop me off at a babysitter.

The young girl next door to my sitter was my age and always wore pretty skirts and dresses. They were always colorful and much different from what I wore. When the young girl would run or twirled around her dresses would billow like a parachute. Her dresses and skirts looked like fun to wear… unlike the jeans and t-shirts I wore. I wanted to wear what my playmate wore.

One day I asked my baby sitter if I could wear a dress too. I was told no. I asked again and added “pretty please’ to my begging. I was denied again. I persisted in what I thought was a simple request. On the third day I begged for her to let me wear a pretty dress. Shortly after being dropped off at the baby sitter on the fourth day of my quest the sitter called me into a bed room. Displayed on the bed was a beautiful blue dress! It was just like what the girl next door wore. It was just what I desired. It tied in the back and it had a bow. My sitter told me that she’d help me get dressed but she admonished me with “Don’t tell your mother.”

I rushed to the bed and picked up the object of my desire. I had no way of knowing that dresses and all things feminine would become a lifelong desire. Is this when I became infatuated with girl clothes? As I aged I’d always wonder ‘WHY’ and ‘WHEN’.

In a flash I had shed my jeans and t-shirts and was finally wearing my first item of girl clothes. I was ecstatic as a young boy could be. It was like getting your first puppy. I skipped and I hopped and went about my day as usual. They only difference was that I was not allowed outside wearing the dress. I didn’t understand why. This secrecy about wearing clothes of the opposite gender was with me, and haunted me, for most of my life. Apparently me wearing dresses was to be kept secret.

As I grew I knew I was a bit "different" with my interest in girl’s clothes, make-up and nail polish. “Girl” is what I wanted to emulate. Maybe I actually wanted to “BE” that girl. I knew girls were different. Perhaps I thought their life was better than mine. Perhaps I thought dressing would make me feel happier. At such a young age who really knows “why”? So why not join their club; even if it was only occasionally and part time. The search for “why” would never leave me.

“Do what you can, when you can”. It’s better than repressing your need to be “you”.

At such a young age you go with instincts; base instincts. I was too young to have formulated anything about such advanced concepts like social norms or gender norms; concepts of shame, embarrassment and being gender ‘wrong’ were just making themselves known to me. All I knew was don’t tell mom. Don’t tell mom evolved to ‘don’t tell anyone’. Secrecy became important.

I played cowboys & Indians with other 6 year olds and was glad when I could wear the cowgirl skirt, vest, red boots and cowgirl hat…we all loved and watched the Roy Rogers & Dale Evans TV show. I recall wearing a ‘poodle skirt’ when playing house with my playmates. It wasn’t a problem for them. I soon found out that it was a problem for the adults.

“Boys don’t wear that… boy’s don’t do that… Good boys don’t…” And there are consequences if you do. Some consequences are subtle. Some aren’t so subtle. It became clear the idea was ‘do not get caught’.

Elementary school had me investigating and enjoying nail polish and lipstick. I used crayons and colored art pencils as nail polish. More than once I had to explain away to my mother and friends that my slightly colored lips were due to popsicles.

Mom remarried and we moved to sunny and warm Southern California. I was the new kid in town and was desperate to make friends and become accepted by my peers. While searching for friends I meet Michelle.

Next – Chapter 3: Some boys do! (Not work place safe)

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