This story has a TRANSGENDER theme; chronologically it preceeds my other stories about Rita's adventures in her happy state of transsexual womanhood. It deals with her experiences during her months of transition, and logically it should really be the first section of the story I called "Rita's Transition".
RITA STARTS REAL LIFE
Introduction: The Reality. After I took early retirement, I found that indulging my sense of being transgendered occupied more and more of my attention. I now think that it was always a part of me, and that it had been liberated by the mental upheaval following my prostate surgery.
Prior to the diagnosis, I had lived in a delightful comfort zone for many years, indulging my cross-dressing fetish. I always wore nightgowns in bed, and frequently wore girdles and stockings. I always dressed that way to make love to my partner Jan, and she was happy to accept me. As the years had passed, she seemed to get less desirous of conventional sex, and more often than not she satisfied my desires by hand; that seemed to satisfy her too, and she obviously became excited as she felt the results of her efforts, culminating as they always did in my ejaculation. When I wore my feminine lingerie, I could also be worked up to a state of intense excitement by manipulation of my nipples. They were very sensitive, and though small, they became rigid in response, and stimulated me so much that I could achieve orgasm without any other manipulation. It struck me that in this respect Jan and I responded in almost exactly the same way.
Before my surgery I took anti-androgens for six months, and their effect was to turn me off completely; my last male orgasm occurred just a few days after starting the medication. It was a strange time; I was completely uninterested in sex, and had no desires for my feminine clothing; I no longer responded as usual to attractive women, being indifferent to, rather than fascinated by what they wore. I was not unhappy, since my inhibited capabilities caused me no concern in the absence of any desire.
A few months after surgery things were very different. My sexual desires, as a male, returned, but I discovered that I was no longer able to achieve erection. I also realised, belatedly, that I would never again be able to experience the supreme physical pleasure of ejaculation; I no longer had a prostate gland to produce the fluid, or to experience the delightful spasms associated with its discharge. I became very frustrated; it was a male sexual frustration, but it expressed itself, as stress always did, in preoccupation with cross-dressing, which became an obsession that took possession of my thoughts during all my waking hours. The frustration fed on itself, and increased, since my usual response to cross-dressing had been desire for sexual release, now no longer possible.
In my desperation I sought out anything that might cater to my overriding passion for cross-dressing; I read TV stories avidly, finding them unsatisfying, and finally decided to make some attempts at writing myself. Then I discovered the web, and soon was spending almost all my time following up links which I hoped would relate to my interests. For a while this proved equally unsatisfactory, but one day I discovered the magic word 'gender'; that opened up a completely new world -- a world where some men dressed as women, some lived as women, and some even became women. It was my introduction to the world of transsexuals, and I began to learn about their feelings and experiences at first hand. In the course of my exploration of the net, I also found mailing lists that served as forums for transgendered people; I joined one, hoping to hear from people who shared my interests. To my surprise, I found myself much more in sympathy with the transsexual people that posted to the list than with the smaller number of transvestites, and I started private correspondence with some of them, making one very close friendship. It was virtually a cyber love affair, and was invaluable in providing each of us with a 'shoulder to cry on'; I was able to unload my transgender feelings, for the first time, to someone who understood and shared them, and the catharsis was important in relieving my frustration; my correspondent was able to deal in a similar way with the conflict between her drive towards transition, and her relationship with her marriage partner of many years.
During this period Jan was very helpful to me. She didn't understand the depths of my desire for feminine clothing; in fact I didn't myself completely, as I had not realised that it symbolised more fundamental feelings about gender. She did realise that I was sexually frustrated, and together we experimented in an attempt to find some activity that would give me physical relief. Miraculously, the problem did resolve itself, and it did so in a way that led to much greater satisfaction and happiness for both of us.
We discovered that the glans of my penis was as sensitive as it had always been; I experienced pleasant sensations when Jan stimulated it, even though it was no longer engorged and rigid. One day she suggested using baby oil as a lubricant, and to my delight this made the pleasure even more exquisite; as we experimented I found a build in excitement occurred, and my mind became focussed on the arousal much as it had previously. The build up eventually terminated in a release, which was much more emotional and mental than physical, though it did manifest physically as a shudder which engulfed my whole body. The physical effects became more and more enjoyable as time went on, and they could even be continued after the initial shock of my release; I realised that I was experiencing orgasm again.
It definitely was orgasm, though the experience was quite different from the exhilaration of ejaculation that is the essence of a male orgasm. In my contemplation of what was happening to me, I came to the conclusion that it seemed to resemble descriptions I had read of female orgasms. The build up was very slow, exquisitely slow, with my pleasure dependent on the gradual increase in excitement; my mental and emotional state was a critical component, in fact I enjoyed passively being 'seduced' by my partner; and the final release involved my whole system, and was not necessarily restricted to a few brief moments of intense pleasure. Making this identification enhanced the pleasure of my experience; the idea that I was experiencing orgasm, as a female, stimulated me even further, and convinced me that I was indeed transgendered.
With this realisation, sex became more of a pleasure than it had ever been previously. Lack of erection ceased to be a source of frustration, and became an essential feature of my newfound pleasure. Without the well defined focus provided by a tumescent penis, I found that my pleasurable sensations were strangely unlocalised in space; that allowed me to think of them being based inside of me, and accentuated their essentially female nature; I could imagine the seat of my pleasure was my clitoris, located within my vagina, and doing so made the experience even more satisfying. I finally realised that sexual behaviour is learned, and that a major component of it is mental; faced with a male system that no longer functioned as such, my transgendered mind had not only helped me to overcome my sexual frustrations, it had led me to develop new and even more intense female sexual responses.
My delight in my new sexual pleasures, and my identification of them as essentially female, made life seem better than ever, but I was selfish in being almost completely unaware of Jan's reaction to what was happening to me. She was a loving partner, and now helped me to experience fantastic pleasure when we were in bed together, but she was quite worried by my change in behaviour. She was concerned about what I was up to during the long hours that I spent at the computer, and she also thought that I was still frustrated by my impotence; it's also likely that she experienced frustration herself, as I was no longer capable of providing her with a normal sex life.
She did know that I had email correspondents, and that the topics of mutual interest were related to my cross-dressing activity. One weekend she asked me point blank who my 'pen-friend' was, and whether I used a femme name in my correspondence. She wanted to know if the 'pen-friend' was male or female, and was somewhat taken aback by my reply that it wasn't a simple question to answer. I started to explain the world of the transgendered, and where I saw myself within it; she had opened the floodgates, and triggered a massive outpouring from me that covered the way I felt about myself, and gender. I opened up as I had never done to anyone before, admitting things which I had not really admitted to myself until very recently; she was interested and intrigued and asked questions, and the conversation lasted for the whole weekend, and continued with a few interruptions for several weeks afterwards.
Opening myself up that way got us closer than we had ever been, and had the magical effect of starting a second honeymoon, after thirty happy years of marriage! We found we couldn't bear to be apart from one another, we spent most of the day making eyes at one another, and we couldn't wait to get to bed in the evening, at a ridiculously early hour. Once there, we made passionate love, physically satisfying for both of us.
It was obvious that some barrier had been knocked down in Jan's head, as well as in mine. Our close feelings for one another had no doubt been stimulated by the liberating effect of my complete and utter candour, but there was no question in my mind that Jan was also drawn closer to me by my revelation of a feminine side to myself. I was liberated myself too, and took delight in being able to share intimate feelings with her; it was a delight to feel free to talk, with complete lack of embarrassment, about how much I enjoyed stockings and suspenders, and have a completely accepting non-judgmental response. As I lost my inhibitions, and took delight in my feminine identification, I quite deliberately did things to stimulate the effects, and push myself further into it. Jan accepted all my little games happily, and even helped the process along. One evening as we were making love, she said "you silly girl" fondly to me, and the effect was electrifying; it was apparent to both of us that reinforcement of my fantasies was a powerful stimulus to me.
That incident led to Jan talking to me during love making as though I was female, and I encouraged her to do so; I also got her gradually to accept me as Rita. She had no problems with the gender association, but understandably found it difficult to use a new name for someone she had known intimately for so long. There were other incidents too that reinforced my identification, and pushed me further into it. I had always had the usual problems of male cross-dressers in trying to get clothes to fit well; a particular problem for me was with my special love, girdles. They were designed for women (of course, and that was their appeal for me) and assumed that the wearer's hips were some ten inches or so larger than her waist. I had more normal male proportions, and found that to get the snug fit around my hips that I enjoyed, the waist had to be uncomfortably tight. I had always been vaguely interested in trying a real classical corset, and one day it occurred to me that a garment designed to measure, which could be adjusted by lacing might be the ideal solution. I ordered one, with very helpful advice from the lady who owned the boutique, and waited eagerly for it to arrive. When I finally got it, and mastered the intricacy of lacing it up, the effect on me was devastating. The skill of the maker was evident in the hourglass shape that was clearly visible, even when the lacing was not restrictive at all, but it drove me into a state of mental exhilaration. I felt myself 'feminine'; I felt myself enter a new state of existence, and I wanted only to relax, wallow in the sensations, and allow myself to sink completely into that space.
I was now deliberately stimulating my feelings, and looking for means to reinforce them. Jan seemed to accept all of my activities, and their consequences, and it seemed clear to me, that the more I explored the world of 'femininity' the more she and I got closer.
Introduction: The Fantasy. Life was now very good indeed. A large portion of my time was spent indulging my feminine desires, and mentally exploring every possible aspect of them. I enjoyed trying on dresses, and spent more and more of my time wearing them around the house. My cross-gender activities and nature were still very much 'our special secret', though; I hadn't ever considered making them known to others, and certainly never contemplated a public venue. In spite of my enjoyment of my assumed 'femininity', I knew that my real image was very unconvincing; to a large extent this was due to the fact that, although I had spent most of my adult life exploring female clothing, I had never really experimented with wigs or makeup seriously, nor had I thought very much about accessories, and creating a complete ensemble.
This utterly illogical state of affairs finally started to bother me. I began to think about making my female presentation complete; I found myself envious of women who had glorious shoulder length hair, and wore prominent earrings; I also thought it might be interesting to experiment with makeup. When Jan and I went to the theatre, I found myself looking at the elegantly dressed women there, and wishing that I had the freedom to dress in exactly the same way for an evening out. I also started to become dissatisfied with my body, and the incongruity between the reality and my mental identification. I began to wish that I had full natural breasts of my own; they would make wearing bras and corselettes much more enjoyable and much more natural, and move my sensitive nipples to their proper place at the front of my bra cups. Although experience of sex was now a wonderful pleasure, I began to long for penetration as an essential part of it, and wanted my body to be free of male appendages, even though they were actually the physical source of my pleasure.
Monday, May 24th. As these desires became stronger and stronger, I realised very quickly what their logical consequence was; it seemed to make more and more sense to me, and become more appealing, but when I thought of the social consequences of such a course, and the legal hassles, I was still reluctant to contemplate it seriously. It was Jan who woke me up to reality. She seemed always to be completely in tune with me, and this time might have been reading my thoughts. "You enjoy being a woman, don't you, Rita?" "I enjoy my fantasy of being one," I said; "It's a pleasure to indulge, and it becomes absolute bliss when you reinforce it. You're a wonderful partner, and I'm madly in love with you." "It's mutual," she said. "But not only do I love you as a person; I am more and more in love with what you have become. It's much more than a pleasant fantasy now." "It certainly gets stronger, and more important to me," I said, "but there are some basic facts of anatomy that have to be considered; in the cold light of day, it is just a fantasy." "Rita, my love; those 'basic facts' can be changed. They aren't necessarily something you must submit to for ever. It's quite possible to make your fantasy become the reality." Though the idea had been hiding in my mind for a while, I was staggered, not just by her suggestion, but by her equanimity in dealing with it. "You're suggesting I should become a full fledged TS, transition, and live full time?" I said. "Are you really thinking that I might have sexual reassignment surgery?" "Yes, my love," she replied. "I think you are a TS. Your feminine identification is so strong that I don't see why you wouldn't want to follow the path to its logical conclusion." "But what would that do to our relationship?" I asked. "It would make it stronger than ever," she said. "You have indulged in a lot of self-analysis in the last year or so, and it's patently obvious where the process has led you; you haven't quite reached the inevitable conclusion. I think I have. I've done some self-searching too, and I've come to realise that the more feminine you are, the closer we relate to one another. I think I have shifted too, and more to the point, I now recognise that my orientation has changed. I think I'm a lesbian. I'm in love with you, and I want you to become a woman. I want you to join me as a sister as well as a lover in our own special feminine space."
I was overcome by her plea, made from the depths of her love and absolute empathy. I was convinced at that moment, and with tears of joy in my eyes I said "I will, Jan, my love. That is where I want to be." We hugged one another as sisters.
The magic of that moment seemed to last for an eternity. Eventually I came down to earth, and though unshaken in my decision, began to consider some of its implications. "There's a lot to think through," I said. "The process is well established and well documented, and I have access to an incredible amount of material accumulated by my friends in cyberspace. That part of it is almost a routine matter now, and there are thousands of others, thanks to the real pioneers who had to fight every inch of the way. But I have to deal with coming out, and the social aspects of it, not to mention the odd legal hassle. There's also another concern ..." "What's that?" "Sex," I said. "It's vitally important to me. I discovered that when my drive was frustrated. The changes in me result from discovering the greater joy of experiencing sex as a woman; at least that's how I like to think of it, and I can't imagine anything I want more than to make it a real female experience. I want to be penetrated; I want a vagina; I want my centre of pleasure to be my clitoris, inside me. But ironically, the whole process which led to those desires is driven by testosterone; they disappeared when I was on anti- androgens, and they came back, in spades, when my testosterone level built up again after the surgery. I'm not too happy about the thought of messing with that aspect of my system; I might finish up neuter, and have the worst of both worlds."
"There's not a chance of that," said Jan. "This isn't a matter of simply turning off testosterone; the first stage of the procedure is to start replacing it with estrogen, and other female hormones. No doubt that will change the way you feel about things, but your body will start to generate normal female urges, and my guess is that they will reinforce what is already in your mind." "That could be," I said, "but I really want to be sure; I think I came to my feminine identification directly through my sexuality, and that is a vital component of my whole persona." "Well," said Jan, "the first step is to see a good endocrinologist, one who is experienced in dealing with TS people, and discuss this point head-on. In any case the initial stages are fairly reversible, and if you do find that the hormones are doing the wrong things you can always stop them. I really believe they will do all the right things. I think the gradual changes in your body, and the urges that it develops, will reinforce your present sexuality."
Sunday, May 30th. The inevitable decision had been made. In the days that followed, I sat down and thought the whole complex process through very carefully, and made lists and schedules. I was in the fortunate position of being retired and completely free, and also reasonably well off. The costs involved in transition and surgery were not an obstacle, and in fact I could finance them without difficulty. That freed me completely from the 'gatekeepers', and I could choose my own path, and my own schedule. I could seek out professionals who were known to be 'T* friendly', so there were no real obstacles to the basic mechanics of the process. The first step was clearly to see an endocrinologist, and get a prescription for hormones. As their effect gradually manifested, I could start the process of going full-time, at my own pace. One result of that would be the necessity of making my new self known to everyone I knew and had contact with.
Tuesday, June 1st. That still seemed a daunting task, but nonetheless I did proceed immediately to the essential first step. I sought advice and information from the network of T* people in cyberspace, and made an appointment with a local endocrinologist who was highly regarded in the gender community.
Dr. Elderton was female, and struck me as being very attractive when I introduced myself on my preliminary visit. I explained my situation to her, and she listened with obvious empathy and understanding. "I now identify myself as female mentally," I told her, "and I have come to the conclusion that I am transsexual. I want to start the process of transition, and as a first step I need a prescription for female hormones." "I would be happy to help you," she said, "but there are some criteria that must be satisfied. I need to be completely certain that you understand fully what you are doing, and that you really wish to follow this course. I'd like to discuss what it entails with you, and ask some questions. I suspect that you are sure about what you want, and that it is a carefully thought out decision, but as you must appreciate, I have to verify that. There are also some medical considerations, and I will need to get some blood tests done, and check your general health." We got into a quite lengthy discussion of my sexual history and my attitudes and desires. She seemed particularly interested when I spoke of my relationship with Jan. "You seem to be happily married," she said. "I am indeed," I replied. "Jan and I are very close, and we seem to have got closer as my female identification has strengthened. She has shifted just as much as I have, and we seem to have been in step all the way. My decision was really made when she told me that she now identified herself as lesbian, and wanted me to be a woman completely." "That sounds like a relationship made in heaven," the doctor said, and I thought she sounded wistful; "I wouldn't want to interfere with it. I am quite satisfied that it is appropriate to prescribe female hormones for you; I'll be in touch when we get the test results."
I raised my concerns about sex drive with her. "You should be aware that female hormones will change things," she said. "You will find that your feelings and attitudes do change, and there will certainly be effects on your emotions and moods. But I think that sexuality is mental to a large degree, and you may very well find that your present attitudes and desires are reinforced. That has been the case with many of my transsexual patients. Some were disturbed by manifestations of what they saw as male sexuality, and wanted relief from the symptoms, but many were motivated, as you are, by the desire to be a woman sexually as well as socially. My experience is that genuine transsexuals do find that the effect of hormones is to reinforce their internal feelings of gender." I was relieved to hear this opinion from an experienced professional, and reassured about my decision.
Tuesday, June 8th. The test results indicated that there were no medical concerns that would impact on female hormone therapy, and a week after seeing Dr. Elderton I had my first prescription. Jan and I went out to dinner that evening to mark the occasion; we didn't make it into an exuberant celebration, but we both felt that it was the beginning of a journey, and one we looked forward to. I thought happily that it would not be too long now before we would be having dinner out together, and I would be properly dressed for the occasion. In bed, later on, with the first dose of female hormones working on my system, we snuggled together and chatted about how things would proceed from this beginning. "The next step is to start working seriously on my presentation," I said. "It's no longer a fantasy, and I have to convince other people that I am what I feel myself to be." "I've been thinking about that," Jan said. "Obviously I have some first hand experience with feminine presentation, but it has been picked up rather casually, after my heady years as a developing teenager. I think I would like to learn a lot more about clothes, and hair, and makeup. I certainly don't want you to outdo me." She hugged me, to show she wasn't serious. "I don't think you need worry about that," I said. "I don't really," she went on, "but seriously I think it would be wonderful for us to study the whole subject properly and learn together. I'm beginning to like the idea of having a real girl-friend." "I already have one," I said, "but I like the sound of what you are saying. There is one big problem that you don't have, and that is hair in unwanted places. I have been looking at the voluminous correspondence on the lists, and I don't look forward to hours and hours of electrolysis. I am seriously considering trying the laser treatment."
Friday, July 9th. In the days and weeks that followed I gradually became aware of changes to my body. The effects were very subtle at first, but there were times when I became very aware of a tingling feeling around my nipples. No doubt some of the effects were wishful thinking, but I became convinced that my skin was beginning to feel softer and smoother, and that there was some noticeable rearrangement of tissue around my hips. There was a change too in the way I felt about myself; I still felt feminine, and enjoyed the feeling, but it seemed to be more of a continuous glow, a feeling of well-being, instead of the intense periodic excitement that occurred before, usually as a result of getting dressed. It struck me that this was due to my acceptance of femininity as my natural state; it was a deep satisfaction always present in my consciousness, rather than an exhilaration induced by particular activities. Jan and I made love as we always did, and it was as satisfying as ever. When Jan took control of me, and manipulated my pleasure centres, I became excited as I always had. The slow build up was an incredible pleasure, as always, and it did seem to be enhanced by feelings that my sense of femininity was now based on what I knew was happening to my body; I was gradually shifting from a fantasy world into the real world. It wasn't all wishful thinking; Jan was picking up some signs too. "You're beginning to get real boobs," she said. "They are still quite small, but they are definitely developing. They really are cute." She started to fondle them, and caressed my nipples lovingly. It was a delicious experience, sending tingles of delight right through me, and I realised that things definitely were changing. "If that is anything like the way it feels for you, then I don't know what made me wait so long," I said. I started to fondle her beautiful breasts, and felt the immediate response. "It is good," whispered Jan, "and I'm so happy for you. Welcome home." The thought that our feelings were very much the same was a wonderful stimulus to both of us.
Saturday, July 10th. I found the address of a clinic that offered laser treatment for hair removal; from the information on the web they were 'T* friendly'. I made an appointment, and with some trepidation went off to talk to the woman who ran it. She took me into a private office, and smiled pleasantly at me. "What can I do to help you?" she said. She seemed very empathetic, and made me feel a little more at ease; I had to bite the bullet. "I want to have all my facial hair removed," I said. She didn't seem the least bit taken aback, so I continued. "The fact is that I am a transsexual, and I plan to start transition right away. I want to be able to present myself as a woman fairly soon; I hope that won't be a problem." She smiled again. "Not at all. We are quite used to dealing with TS clients, and we are happy for them to present themselves however they feel most at ease." I felt her empathy for me, and wasn't surprised when she took my hand for a moment. "Believe me, I understand," she said. "I am a transsexual woman myself; ten years ago I was starting my transition, just as you are now." We got down to details. She suggested three treatments, at intervals of a month. "The process doesn't remove all the follicles," she said. "About thirty percent of them recover, and have to be treated again. After three treatments there should be very little left to concern you, but there may be some residual light coloured hairs that will need electrolysis." I made my first appointment; I thought first thing in the morning would be good, and they were able to set it up for Thursday, the following a week.
Sunday, July 11th. Over the weekend I had some long chats with Jan. I reviewed my game plan, and took stock of what had been done, and what still needed to be arranged. "The hormones are starting to show some effect," I said, "and I've arranged to start laser treatment. There are some other things to get organised very soon, too, but I have the feeling that the time has come to finally step out of my closet." "I think so," said Jan. "Let's think about getting a reasonably passable image to start with, so that you can get some public experience. The real Rita will emerge gradually as all the other changes take place." "I need a wig," I said. "I really hope that my hair will grow long enough that it will suit me, but it certainly isn't ready yet. I need some skirts and dresses, too." "You really ought to try them on," said Jan; "how do you feel about that?" "I'm scared," I said, "but it has to be done. There is that TV store in town, it's called Transformation or something like that; they probably have some things that will work, and it won't be too embarrassing there. I hope they don't just cater to drag queens; I would like to merge nicely into the background to start off with." "I'll go with you," Jan said. "It should be quite interesting, and I think you need some moral support." "I'm afraid I shall to start with," I said. "But it won't be too bad there; their whole business is the transgendered, and they obviously won't want to turn them off. Hopefully I shall soon graduate to women's clothing stores." "You will, Rita my love," said Jan; "you are a woman now." I squirmed happily at her encouragement, knowing as well as she did that it was just a little premature.
Monday, July 12th. The next morning, we drove to the address I had looked up, and found the store. It was called Transformation and the display window contained an array of feminine clothing as well as wigs. We went inside, and I was relieved to see it wasn't busy. A middle aged woman, presumably the owner, came over to us, smiling; "Can I help you?" I thought I had better get used to explaining myself, and bit the bullet once again. "I hope so," I said. "I'm just about to start transition, and I shall need a wig until my hair grows. I'd also like to look at some dresses." The woman didn't seem at all surprised, and smiled again. "Good for you," she said. "Let me show you the wigs we have." I realised with some horror that I had not given very much thought to precisely what style I wanted, or even the colour. "I don't want anything too outrageous," I said; "I think to start off with, I'd like to merge into the background. I do like long hair, though; shoulder length would be nice." "Have you thought about the colour?" "Not really; it might be best to start off with something close to my natural hair colour." My hair was dark, not quite black; when asked for a description I usually called it dark brown. There was a wig there, in a lighter shade than my hair colour -- a sunny auburn -- but it appealed to me right away. It was almost shoulder length, and the hair was not combed straight, but had broad curls at the ends, giving it a wonderful feminine shape. "What do you think about that one?" I asked Jan. "It looks nice," she said, "but you should try it on. That's the only way to tell whether it really suits you." "That's right," said the proprietress. "Sit down in front of the mirror, and let's try it on you."
She picked up the wig, handling it with great care, and put it on my head. I looked at myself in the mirror, and was staggered at what I saw. The face looking back at me was unmistakably that of a woman. When I looked intently, I could recognise my features, and there was also a certain roughness; it was the face of a woman, but that of a woman who had not taken too much care over her appearance. I looked at it nonetheless, and felt a wonderful feeling inside of me; it was beginning to seem that my fantasy could become reality. Jan picked up the effect on me, and said "It suits you, my love. Rita is definitely coming out of her closet." The proprietress looked at me carefully; "You're right," she said; "I don't think you could make a better choice. The face needs a little work, but with proper makeup you will be a real beauty." I thrilled at her words. "I'll take it," I said. "And now I need some clothes. I'd like a dress that suits me, but isn't too much of an attention grabber; it would probably be a good idea to have a skirt as well, and a couple of tops." Happy to oblige, the proprietress led us over to a whole row of clothing racks. "Your judgement is very good," she smiled; "what do you have in mind?" "I've always liked the shirtwaist style to look at," I said, "and I imagine it would be comfortable, too." She had several, prints and solid colours, and I realised the choice would be difficult. "I think a fairly plain one would be best, for the moment," I said. "When I gain some confidence, and want to invite attention, then I'll blossom out." "I like your attitude," said the proprietress, smiling. "What about this one?" It was blue, not too loud, with a large check pattern. "I like it. What about sizes?" She had a tape measure ready, and was measuring my bust, waist and hips. "It should probably be a little larger in the bust," she said, "to allow for future development." I liked the idea of that, and found myself more and more at ease with this congenial woman. "Would you like to try it on?" she said. I realised then that I had not prepared myself as well as I might have. "I would," I said, "but I've made a mistake, one that I'll never make again. I don't have the right things on underneath." "That doesn't matter," she said; "we can get a good idea if you just take your pants and shirt off." Jan signalled encouragement, and I followed the proprietress into a small changing room. She was quite professional, and unperturbed as I took off my pants and shirt; she helped me slip the dress over my head and shoulders, and did up the buttons at the front. "It looks good," she said, "but you need the wig as well." She went out to fetch the wig, and once I had that on, the image I saw in the mirror sent thrills through me. It was me, not too familiar yet, but an image that would become the real me. "I like it," I said.
We also got two skirts, and two tops -- four changes of clothing as Jan pointed out. As I paid for the purchases, and waited for them to be packed into bags, I realised once again that my dreams were really beginning to come true. I must have been smiling happily; Jan smiled back at me, and the proprietress picked up my feelings too. She smiled as well and said "I think you will enjoy wearing these things. They will look very good on you, and you will be a beautiful woman." That was music to my ears, and I was sitting on cloud nine as Jan and I walked back to the car. "That wasn't so terrible, was it?" she said. "No," I replied; "I think I might get used to it quite quickly. I thought the lady there was very helpful; she had just the right touch, too." Jan nodded agreement. "I suppose there will be a sad awakening, one day," I went on, "but so far everyone I have dealings with is remarkably friendly, and helpful. They seem to welcome new recruits to the world of women." "That's good," said Jan, "especially at the beginning. It wouldn't be nice at all to be met with hostility." "Of course, all of them were women themselves," I said. "I don't think men would be quite so empathetic. The very idea of 'surgery' makes most of them wince, but apart from that the fact is women are just much nicer than men; I am beginning to like the idea of being one." Jan smiled and hugged me. "I like the idea of you being one, too."
When we were back at home I decided it was time to start my transition in earnest. I put on some of my favourite underwear: a girdle and stockings, and a half slip. I decided not to use breast forms, and though I didn't really need one yet, I put on one of my favourite bras; its optimistically chosen C cups weren't anywhere near to overflowing. I put the dress on, and then the wig, trying to arrange it as I had seen it in the store. Jan had discreetly left me alone, and she looked up as I walked into the living room, trying to appear casual. "You look wonderful," she said. "The Rita that's been hiding all these years is finally making an appearance, and she's beautiful." "Thank you," I said. "But she needs some more work. Her voice leaves quite a lot to be desired, and her face really needs to be done. Could you help me with that now?" "Of course, my love," said Jan. She took my hand and led me back into the bedroom.
She sat me down at the vanity. "This is a first experiment," she said, "so don't expect too much right away. I realise now that I don't know as much about makeup as I should; but I'll get into it properly -- with you -- and hopefully we shall become experts together." "That would be fun," I said. "I'll try a fairly heavy foundation," said Jan; "we have to get rid of any beard shadow. In the future, that won't be a problem, and we can be a lot more subtle." She took two blobs of cream from a jar, using the fingers of both hands, and put them on my cheeks. Then she proceeded to massage my face, gradually working the cream into my skin. As the layer spread over my features, I saw my complexion change, and take on a more feminine appearance. Jan worked for some time, trying to shade the colour properly; "That doesn't look too bad, does it?" she said. She dusted powder over the surface; "How does it feel?" "Not as sticky as I thought it might," I said. "It looks very nice, and I'm sure I shall get used to it. At the moment it's rather pleasant; it's just another of those nice little signals that indicate femininity." Jan smiled. "Now for the piece de resistance," she said; "let me fix your lipstick." I felt a little thrill as she said that, and sat entranced as she filled out my lips in a bright crimson. That completed the picture, and I looked at my reflection in awe; it really was the image of a woman. She was not strikingly beautiful, but to me she had a definite attraction.
"You look nice, Rita my love," Jan said, carefully studying her handiwork. "The hair and face really do work for you, and with practice, we'll make you into a stunning beauty." I squirmed happily again. "Eye makeup can be very effective, too," Jan continued, "but it is a lot of work, and takes some skill to be effective. I think we should leave it for now. Your eyebrows should probably be thinned out and shaped a bit, but the whole impression really is quite good. There's no doubt you are feminine." I just sat and looked in awe at my reflection in the mirror. "Well Ms. Rita," Jan said, "you can't spend your whole life sitting admiring yourself in your boudoir. The weather's beautiful now, why don't we go out for a walk. It's time to introduce Rita to the world." I knew she was right, but I still had some qualms; however I realised that this was the critical step, one which had to be taken, as soon as possible. "OK," I said meekly, and went to look for some shoes. I took a pair of 'sensible' walking shoes, with heels that were not excessively high, and had a practical width. "I'm ready," I said, plucking up my courage. "You need a purse," Jan said; she found me one of hers that was small and quite elegant, with a shoulder strap. I slipped it over my shoulder, and followed her to the door.
I stepped outside with very mixed emotions. One part of me was very apprehensive, wondering what lay in store out in the world and away from the private shelter of home. But I also felt a thrill; I was a woman called Rita, and I was going out into a public space, just as any woman might do. I would walk down the street, wearing a dress, and passers-by would see me; they would look at Jan and I casually, and see nothing remarkable, just two women out for a walk together. I realised with a quick intake of breath that the males might take more than a casual look, and think about whether I was attractive or not. The street wasn't busy, and we had walked for a block or so before anyone passed. It was a middle-aged woman, and she gave us a quick look and smiled briefly as she went by. Jan squeezed my hand "The first encounter," she said. A couple of men then passed, and paid us very little attention, but I saw a group of three teenaged girls approaching, and realised this would be a more critical test. They were busy in conversation, and looked up when they saw us; they stood aside to let us pass and gave us a friendly smile, as Jan thanked them. As we left the street, and made our way into the neighbourhood park I smiled my relief at Jan. "That was the critical test," I whispered. "From my reading of other people's experiences, teenage girls are the most difficult to fool. They are at the stage of worrying about their own image, and they make very critical assessments of others, and pick up all the little signals." "I remember that stage," Jan said, "I spent my whole time comparing myself with other females, and wondering what ideas I could get from them. But I don't think you should say 'fool'; you are showing yourself in your true colours." "I suppose I am, but there must be a lot of residual indicators of my former self. What's interesting is that as a fully qualified female, I am almost exactly at the stage they are; I'm searching for my own image, and very interested in others for just that reason."
We had reached the small lake, and sat down on one of the benches. I smoothed out my dress, and thrilled as I felt the delicious things underneath it. We sat for a while in the sun, and an elderly man came by, and sat himself down at the end of the bench. He smiled at us, and said "A nice afternoon, ladies." "It is indeed," said Jan, returning his smile; I gave what I hoped was a pleasant smile, and nodded, afraid to let my voice give me away. The man sat quietly, watching the ripples on the water, and seemed to have accepted us quite casually. He looked up at us from time to time, but didn't appear to be unduly interested. He certainly did not seem to have detected any signs that warranted further inspection. Eventually Jan looked at me and said "It's probably time for us to be getting back, Rita." I nodded agreement, and we got up and smiled at our benchmate, then walked back along the path. Once we were out of earshot I said "It doesn't seem to be too bad, so far. That's what most of the people say recounting their experiences. It isn't even necessary to give a flawless presentation; unless there are too many jarring signals, people simply accept you for what you appear to be." "That makes sense," Jan said; "why would anybody assume otherwise?" "If they look hard for signs, they might find them," I continued. "At this stage the voice would be a real giveaway, so I must get to work on that. But the most important thing is to have confidence; if you're confident in what you do, then most people will accept you. What they pick up is not the little gender signals, but the awkwardness that goes with lack of confidence; once they sense something that doesn't jibe, then they will start looking for the reason." "You've been doing your homework," smiled Jan. "Yes, but it's easier said than done. All I have to do is have confidence, but that can't be turned on to order. Trips like this do help though, I'm beginning to feel quite good about it, and I just love the way my dress moves in the breeze." Jan smiled and squeezed my hand again.
We passed a fair number of people on the way back home, and some of them smiled or even spoke in a friendly manner. None of them seemed in the least suspicious or puzzled, and I began to feel that they were actually seeing something close to what I saw in the mirror, even though my picture was coloured by wishful thinking. Once back inside the front door, Jan hugged me tight. "You passed, Rita my love!" she said. "You've come out; you've made your debut, and now we can work on making things better and better." "The voice is the most important thing now," I said. "I'll try and get in touch with a speech therapist tomorrow. "We must get outside as often as we can," Jan said. "I don't know how you feel about restaurants, but there are some lesbian hangouts we could go to for starters. After all it would be particularly appropriate now." She winked at me.
That evening we went to bed quite early. I unbuttoned my dress, and slipped it over my head; then I carefully put it on a hanger in the closet. "I suppose I am required to dress in these clothes all the time, now," I said, in mock resignation. "Of course," Jan said. "You will have to learn that being a woman requires a lot of dedication. To look your best always, you will have to deal with minor discomfort." Jan knew how I felt about feminine things, and played along with my kidding. "Do I have to wear the girdle all the time?" I asked plaintively. "Yes. I don't want to see you without it. It just wouldn't be you." Jan started giggling. "Well, just for you," I said, and kept it on as I climbed into bed by her side.
Tuesday, July 13th. The next morning I phoned the office of a voice therapist whose name I had found on my extensive list of TG resources. She offered services specifically for the transgendered, and was prepared to deal with clients privately. She suggested that I come to see her for an initial chat that afternoon. I got Jan to help me with my makeup again, and decided to wear the dress. It was already becoming obvious that I would need to get some more clothes, and there was the cold and wet weather in the winter to think about too. I drove off on my own to the office, and walked inside. The receptionist looked up with a smile. "I'm here for an appointment," I said. My voice must I have made it completely clear why I was there, but she didn't bat an eyelid. "What name was it?" she asked. "Rita Opal." "Ah, yes. You're right on time, and you can go into the consulting room now." The therapist was a strikingly beautiful woman, with a lovely contralto voice -- a perfect advertisement for her skills. "Please sit down," she said. "May I call you Rita?" "I'd like that," I replied. She didn't register any surprise at my voice, either. "What can I do for you, Rita?" "Well," I said, "you can see my appearance, not devastatingly beautiful, but hopefully sufficiently unambiguous; I need a voice that will go with it." She smiled "I see." "I am a transsexual, and I have just started transition. I plan to dress and live as a woman full time, starting yesterday." She smiled again; "You started just that recently? Your presentation is really very good. There's the odd little clue I might have picked up, but of course it's my profession, and I do have some experience. The voice certainly needs some work, but with a little effort you will be completely convincing."
I felt a little easier, hearing her opinion, and I hoped she wasn't just buttering me up. "I take it you were making no effort to modify your voice," she continued. "No." "Then it isn't very deep for a male voice. With some practice, you will be able to speak in a higher register, without too much effort or discomfort. But the essential thing to learn is simply the way in which women speak: the phrasing, the modulation and even the body language. It's those things that are the real indicators, and if they signal 'woman' then everyone you meet will make the assumption that you are a woman, and will be completely convinced. A lot of women do have fairly deep voices, one or two lower than yours even." "What's the procedure?" I asked. "If you can manage it, I would like you to visit me three times a week, at least to start off with. A half hour at a time is enough. I'll listen to you, make suggestions, give you tapes to work with, and you will have to practice and practice. In time, it will become second nature to you." She reached into one of the drawers of her desk and took out a tape casette. "Take this with you," she said, "and listen to it this evening. Then try to speak just the way the voice on the tape does. Don't worry about pitch, just try to get the phrasing and modulation exactly the same. It might help if you could make your own tape, so you can really listen to yourself. That will give us something to start with; can you come tomorrow afternoon?"
She took me out to the receptionist, and I arranged to have a half hour appointment Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at four o'clock. "I look forward to working with you; see you tomorrow afternoon." I drove home happily, feeling that things were under control, even though I had several daunting tasks ahead of me.
After dinner I sat down with Jan, and listened to the tape. We would listen to a phrase, or sentence, then I would repeat it. It was clear from listening to my own voice played back that my natural speech patterns were subtly different, and I tried to reproduce the phrasing and modulation of the woman's voice on the tape. "This is really fascinating," said Jan. "All these little things we do so instinctively, but they send signals that every hearer picks up. They are picked up, without any conscious analysis." "Yes," I said, "it's always interesting to try and figure out exactly what we do with actions which are normally in the background of our consciousness. The trouble is that I have to do a lot of them consciously now; hopefully I can be reprogrammed, and eventually run things in the background again." "I'm sure you will," said Jan. "I can already pick up the differences in the way you were saying some of those phrases. It will become second nature." She was so enthusiastic and encouraging, and I thought how much more difficult my path might have been without her by my side.
Wednesday, July 14th. The next morning I decided to wear a skirt. My preference is definitely for dresses, but I thought it was a good idea to get used to a variety of different things. It was a fairly full green skirt, and I wore a contrasting shirt-style light top. I wore the same bra again, and a white slip. I sat at the vanity, and combed the long hair of the wig, wishing that it was really my own hair. Then I decided it was time for me to try makeup on my own, and I put on foundation fairly liberally, trying to do exactly what Jan had done. The effect didn't seem too bad, and I finished things off by doing my lips very carefully with the bright crimson lipstick. "How do I look?" I asked Jan, when I had finished. She looked at me attentively; "It's you," she said. "It's the Rita I know, and she's starting to look very pretty." I thought that she was probably a biased observer, but it was a nice boost for my self-confidence. "I'll do then?" "Of course you'll do," she said. "But we must get a good book on cosmetics, and work on eye makeup; that would make things even better. I'll see if I can find a video this afternoon, too."
I went off that afternoon to the voice therapy session. I was getting more used to being outside now, and was worrying much less about what might happen if I was read. I certainly would be if I had occasion to speak to anyone, so I thought that my current appointment was none to soon. The therapist greeted me warmly, and sat me down in a comfortable chair. "Let's try some of the phrases on the tape," she said. She played the first one, and asked me to repeat it. "That's really quite good; you must have an ear for the subtleties of speech." I didn't do quite so well with some of the others, and she got me to repeat them, speaking them herself, too. She would exaggerate the emphasis on words, and the way the tone changed through a phrase; I found that very helpful, and was able to follow her example. I was finding it easier, but it still didn't come naturally, and I had to think every phrase through before speaking it. When I remarked on that, she said "of course, but you certainly can follow the examples, and with some practice, you will start to speak that way without doing so consciously." She gave me some more tapes, and told me to spend an hour or so each day working with them. "Now let's see what we can do about pitch," she said. "Anyone can speak in a higher register, even falsetto, but it doesn't sound natural. It isn't a good idea to try for too high a register either; if you get all the other things right, you can be as successful as Marlene Dietrich!" She smiled. "The thing is to try to raise the pitch just a small amount at a time, and try to get that happening without thinking about it. It's a good idea to think of a musical sound in your head, part of a song you know well, for example, and try to match your speaking voice with one of the notes in it." She got me to try speaking with my voice in different registers, and I found it wasn't really difficult; the trick was to use the higher register instinctively. She told me to speak more quietly too. "You are really doing well," she said finally; "it will still take a lot of work, but the results will be well worth it. Keep working at the things we have talked about, and I look forward to seeing you again on Friday."
Out on the street, I was just about to get into the car when a man came up to me and asked for directions. I knew the street he was looking for, just round the corner, and realised I was now in at the deep end. I pointed, and said quietly "It's one block down the next street on the right." "Oh, thank you very much ma'am." He smiled and went on his way. I seemed to have passed muster, but it did occur to me that he might have had worries about being lost, and wouldn't be particularly tuned in to looking for anomalous cross-gender behaviour in everyone he met. All the same, it was a pleasant feeling to have passed another little test, and I began to realise that most people aren't looking for all the little signals that might give the game away. They take people as they appear to be at first sight, and don't pay too much more attention unless they see something really strange or striking. I resolved to be as 'usual' as I possibly could, and amused myself by thinking that the platinum blond hair, mink stole, fishnet stockings and flamboyant makeup would have to wait for a while.
I still was quite high when I got home, and when Jan greeted me with "How was it?" I pulled out all the stops, turned on my modulation and said quietly "Fine. I just love that dress you're wearing. It's peachy." I smiled sweetly at her, as a look of amazement came over her face. "I take it the voice therapy is doing something," I said; a broad smile spread over her face. "Rita, my love, that's fantastic!" She hugged me, and I said in my best imitation of a basso profundo "But I'm not sure whether I can keep it up for too long." She recovered quickly: "That too; oh dear!" she said and giggled.
I told her about the encounter in the street; "I do feel a lot more at ease, now. But the whole time I have to be thinking about what I should do, and how I should be doing it; the good thing is that if I can do it, then with some practice, I should be able to do it naturally without having to think about it." "I'm very impressed," Jan said. "I suppose the main thing is your deep desire, which will keep you working at all these things, but you seem to have chosen some very good people to work with you. It's obvious we should get you as much exposure as possible; why don't we go out tonight to that lesbian place?" "I think I would like to," I said, "but I won't guarantee to be too garrulous, except of course to you. I imagine in that place, they will be used to pairs of women locked in quiet conversation with one another." "I got a couple of books, and a video, on makeup," Jan said. "Why don't we make our first exploration into the mysteries of eye makeup?"
That's exactly what we did. Of course Jan was not exactly a neophyte like myself, but her knowledge of makeup was based on her experience of what she had tried and found to work for her; she hadn't made an in depth study of all the subtle details that experts wrote about in fashion manuals. She was now gung-ho to become a real expert, and the topic caught my interest too, probably because it was another of those special things that belonged in the world of femininity. However, neither of us wanted to start our formal studies in cosmetology just before an evening out. "Let's just wing it, for this once," said Jan. "There will some people who look a lot stranger, where we're going." "That sounds like fun," I said; "what shall we try?" "Well," said Jan, "the basic items at our disposal are eyebrow pencil, eye shadow, eye liner, and mascara. We could also use false eyelashes, but that might be carrying things to excess. Why don't we try all the others?" "I'm game," I said, "but I think for this once I should place myself in your experienced hands. How about doing your test run on me? Then you'll have honed your skills for yourself." "OK," said Jan, "but you must thin those bushy eyebrows first." My eyebrows weren't actually too thick, as I used an old beard trimmer on them periodically. But I dutifully went off to the bathroom, and trimmed them very close. I considered shaving them off completely, but then I would be completely dependent on Jan's skills with the eyebrow pencil. I thought it might be a good idea to visit a beauty salon for a makeover, eventually, to see how they dealt with the problem.
"That's better!" said Jan. "Now sit yourself down at the vanity, and I'll see what I can do to create a femme fatale." She worked for a long time; she started with the eyebrow pencil and shaded my brows so that they arched a little more. Then she outlined my eyes with a fine black line, and spread a little metallic blue shadow on my eyelids. Finally, she applied mascara to my upper eyelashes with a minute brush. When she had finished, she sat back to view her handiwork; I studied my face in the mirror intently, too. The effect was certainly striking, almost extreme, but stopped just short of being garish. Most important to me, the effect was unmistakably feminine; it proclaimed my gender in no uncertain terms. "It makes a statement," I said, fluttering my exaggerated eyelashes. "I think I can live with it, but I hope the sisters of Lesbos don't read me as a drag queen." Jan giggled; "It's not that bad," she said. "A queen, certainly." "I hope I won't outdo you," I said, "or are you planning on something in dyke mode?" "Certainly not, I shall try to make myself as feminine as you are, if that's possible; it's up to them to figure us out."
She sat down at the vanity and started work on her own face. She followed the same sequence, almost exactly as she had for me; when she had finished, there was a remarkable similarity between us. Our features were quite different, but the common style of makeup made us seem related. It was a nice feeling; Jan was my lifetime companion, and lover, but we also were sisters now; that was an idea that I found very comforting.
We set off for Sappho's; it was a bar, casual and quiet, and they served quite good meals. There were tables, set up for small groups, mostly couples, and about half of them were occupied. My first quick glance at the clientele made me think it would be very interesting to study them in some detail later, hopefully without making my curiosity too obvious. We sat down at a table in the corner. One of the servers came over and smiled at us. She (I assume) was androgynous in appearance, almost boyish, with short hair, and dressed in unisex shirt and pants. Looking closely, there was a definite indication of a bosom, and she spoke in a female voice without any attempt to disguise it. "Can I get you something to drink?" "We should get a bottle of wine," said Jan. "What do you think, Rita?" I summoned up all my skills in voice modulation and said "Oh yes; let's get a dry white." The server didn't register any surprise, and suggested Sauvignon Blanc. "That's good," I said, "and we'll take a look at the menu." Jan smiled approval at me as the server left to get our wine; "You really are doing quite well," she said. "It's hard for me to judge, knowing you from a previous life, but it's obvious that people do find that your voice is quite consistent with your appearance. It's low, not deep exactly, and it does sound like a woman's voice." "Just as well," I grinned, "since that's what I am."
We looked at the menu, and were ready to order when the wine bottle and glasses appeared. "Who would like to taste the wine?" asked the server. "My friend," I said, motioning to Jan; "she's the expert." Jan took a sip, and pronounced the wine satisfactory, then we sat back to take a look at our surroundings. There were couples at all the nearby tables, most of them appeared to be pairs of women, more or less like us, but in some cases one of the two had a severe cultivated masculine appearance. There were some obvious 'femme' women there too. We could hear snatches of conversation from the neighbouring tables, and I heard one voice that clearly sounded like a male. I looked quizzically at Jan, who had obviously heard it too, and she winked at me. I arranged to turn my head casually, as I sipped my wine, and tried to get a look at the source of the voice. It was one of the most obvious 'femme' types, very elegantly dressed and with makeup so exotic that it even put Jan and I to shame. The speaker saw my glance, and gave me a friendly smile.
Jan and I sipped at our wine, waiting for the food to arrive. We chatted together, talking about the place, its ambience, and the clientele. It was very pleasant there; there was a nice feeling, hard to define, and I came to the conclusion that it had a safe, non-threatening atmosphere. I remarked on this to Jan, saying that it might well be because the people there were exclusively female. At least, I thought correcting myself, they were all presenting themselves as female. Apart from myself I did pick out one or two others that I suspected were transgendered males of one sort or another. As the evening progressed things got a little more lively; more people came in, just for a drink, and to pass the time with their friends, and people were walking around and chatting with one another. The deep voice at the neighbouring table had paid one or two visits to friends at other tables, and passed by ours. "Hi!" (s)he said, "I don't think I've seen you here before. I'm Annabelle." "Hello," I said, "I'm Rita, and this is my partner Jan." Jan smiled her greeting. "You look very good," said Annabelle to me, winking, "I'd say much better than a passing grade." I was a little taken aback, but not upset, and smiled back; "Thanks, I hope your reading skills are better than average." "Why don't you join us for a minute or two," said Jan, to my surprise. "Well thank you, I will," Annabelle said, taking the vacant chair at our table. "If you're wondering what gave you away," she said, "the answer is not very much. It's just that people who are 'in the game' develop a sixth sense. I got a very faint signal on my antenna, and confirmation when I saw you looking at me." "You look very good, too," said Jan; "that's a fantastic dress. But I'm curious about what you make of me." "You're the real McCoy, honey," Annabelle said. "No offence, Rita." "I'm working on it," I said with a grin. "Good for you; I think you'll make it with top marks. I'm just a simple CD, out for a fun evening. I like it here, because they are very accepting and don't hassle me." "It is a nice place to be," I said. "Jan and I thought this would be a good place to check out, and I think we're qualified. I've now realised that I am TS, and I have just started my RLT. It's a challenge, but I am enjoying every minute of it so far." "In a way I envy you," said Annabelle, "there are times when I think it would be great to just switch over, and live in a nice femme world all the time, but there's another side to me that won't give up." She smiled again, and went on her way to visit another of her many friends.
"Interesting!" I said to Jan. "It's fascinating what variations there are across the gender spectrum. I hope it didn't bother you that I opened up like that, but it's always good to make contact with others in what I call gender space." "It's fine my love," said Jan. "I like you all the more for what you now are, and I did do some active encouragement. You are being very courageous in dealing with the consequences, and the least I can do is try to do the same. We both have to live with it, and it's something that has to come out in the open." "You're just wonderful," I said and hugged her. She put her arms round me and kissed me. None of the good people in Sappho's seemed the least bit concerned, or even interested.
Thursday, July 15th. My first appointment with the laser clinic was the next morning. I was very tempted to go there in drab, since it was necessary to go without shaving, in order to present enough stubble to be picked up. I couldn't disguise it with makeup either, since it was also necessary to present my naked skin. I struggled with myself for a few minutes, then decided I had no choice but to go as Rita; I felt I had made a commitment to myself when I started my transition. I was somewhat more apprehensive than usual, but I hoped that the wig and skirt would be sufficient to declare my gender, without anyone peering too closely at me. Fortunately it was early in the morning, and I carefully found a parking spot right outside the clinic, then ducked in through the door as quickly as I could while the sidewalk was free of passers-by. I breathed a sigh of relief once I was inside, and smiled at the receptionist. "I'm Rita Opal." "Yes," she said, "we're ready for you right away, but it took me a moment to recognise you." "I'm sure," I said; "I'm afraid I am not too presentable at the moment, but I was told to come in this state." "Oh, that's normal," she said kindly; "it's the hair and the clothes. You look very nice." A very professional looking young woman came out to the reception area; "Rita?" she said. "I'm Melanie; I'll be looking after you today." She took me into a room at the back, and got me to sit down in a reclining chair, beside an impressive looking machine. "We shine the beam on quite a small area of your skin for a minute or two, and gradually work our way over the whole surface. Just to be absolutely safe, please wear these dark glasses." The glasses she handed to me were very dark indeed, and I could hardly see, even in the bright fluorescent light. "It might be better if you took the wig off too, if you don't mind," she said, in a completely matter-of-fact manner. "It will keep your hair out of the way." She took my wig, and set it carefully down on the counter. I was glad of the dark glasses, and hated to think of the strange hybrid picture I must have presented. She started the machine, I felt a slight tingling on my chin; it wasn't pleasant, but was well below my tolerance for pain. I hadn't really known what to expect, and this certainly seemed better than what I had heard of electrolysis, where some people even took novocaine injections to get them through the sessions.
It was not pleasant, though, and as Melanie worked her way over my cheeks, chin and throat I began find it less and less pleasant. The areas which had been treated felt odd, as though they had a mild sunburn, and I wondered if I could last out the whole session. I did, but not without having to summon up all the fortitude I could muster. I was there for an hour and a half, and after what seemed like an eternity, Melanie said "We're finished now; you've been wonderful to work with." She took the dark glasses, and passed me my wig; I felt happy to get it on again, and finally dared to look in the mirror. There didn't appear to be any stubble on my face any more, but the whole area was a blotchy red colour. "It will be a little sore for the rest of the day," Melanie said, "but the redness should be gone by tomorrow morning. Please call us if you experience any problems." She helped me up out of the chair, and squeezed my arm as I left. "I admire what you are doing," she said; "It's wonderful. And you will be happy when you find how beautiful you can be." I thanked her, and went out to the reception area. "It doesn't feel too nice, does it?" said the receptionist. "But you'll feel better quite quickly, and you'll be very happy with the results. There will be some small amount of regrowth, and we can deal with that the next time. In a month, I think?" I made a follow-up appointment, and left, walking out to my car without even thinking about what anyone passing by might think.
When I got home, Jan was waiting for me, and she looked concerned; "How was it?" "Not very pleasant at all," I said, "but they tell me that I shall probably live, and may even look reasonably normal by tomorrow." "You're a brave girl," she said, and cheered me up immediately with the feminine appellation. "What do you want to do?" "I think I'll lie down for a while. I'm sure it won't take me too long to get over it." I went into the bedroom, and couldn't be bothered to take my clothes off; I just flopped down on the bed. Jan knew just what to do; she followed me, and lay down by my side, taking my hand in hers. I began to feel better immediately.
I always enjoyed being close to Jan, and lay quietly with her for a long time. I finally decided that I didn't really feel too bad, and started to rub my nylon clad toe against her leg. She squeezed my hand, and turned to face me. "No regrets?" "Not at all," I said. "It really wasn't too bad an experience, and they claim that after three sessions there will be nothing left to cause any concern. It will be good to have it out of the way, though." "You are really taking on everything all at once," Jan said. "Do you think you might be going in too much of a hurry?" "No," I replied. "Now I'm certain about what I want to do, and I want to be able to live fully as a woman. I understand what was going on all those years, and I feel as if they were wasted; I don't want to spend any more time in games and fantasy." "That's what I hoped you would say," Jan whispered. "But those years weren't wasted; we had a wonderful life together, and I needed them to catch up to you." I rolled over too, and we snuggled together.
Friday, July 16th. The next morning the world did seem much better. I woke early after a long night's sleep, and when I looked in the mirror I saw that the redness on my face had almost disappeared. I dressed happily, enjoying my basic pleasure in putting on feminine clothes, and decided I would wear the dress. It was a lovely dress to wear, but I knew I would have to go shopping soon; it wasn't possible to survive with just one decent dress. I brushed my hair carefully, and wondered how long it would be before I could venture out with my own hair arranged to suit me. I sat down at the vanity, and started to work on my face. The redness vanished under a light application of foundation, and I thought that my skin felt smoother already. I decided to try using some of the eye makeup, and tried to fashion my eyebrows into a more pleasing shape. I carefully outlined my eyes with the liner, just as Jan had done, and even tried just a hint of shadow on my eyelids. I decided that trying mascara wasn't a good idea. I heard Jan stirring then, and turned round to see that she was watching me with great interest. "Hello, my love," I said. She smiled; "Eye makeup already, at this time in the morning!" "Of course," I said. "A girl has to look her best. I also need a lot of practice." "You look nice," Jan said. "I don't think I shall be able to keep up with you once you get into your stride."
She took her time getting up, while I went to the kitchen and started the coffee going. When she eventually appeared, I saw that she was ready for anything; she had a very smart skirt and blouse on, with pantyhose, and had done a very careful job with her makeup. "You look wonderful, Jan my love," I said, kissing her very carefully so I wouldn't spoil her efforts. "Are you going out this morning?" "I thought I might," she said, "but only if I can persuade my special girl friend to come with me." We sat down to coffee. "She would love to," I said. I felt silly referring to myself in the third person, but did so because I could refer to myself as 'she'. We sat drinking our coffee, and I thought about the journey I was taking, and the progress made so far. There were still some aspects of it that I was quite worried about, the main one being the matter of coming out to all the people who knew me. But most of the steps I was taking now were no longer causing me any concern, and I felt quite happy in the progress I was making. I was certainly enjoying being Rita full time, and in public. My mind went through the things that still needed to be done; "Maybe we could go shopping this morning," I said to Jan. "I need some more things now, like dresses and a range of different ensembles. I'm also not too well prepared for cold and wet weather; sooner or later I shall need a decent coat." "That's a good idea," said Jan. "We could walk over to the local stores, and see what they have. It'll be nice to look round a bit, and we don't need to get everything today."
After a few more sips of coffee she said "And you really need to get some accessories. We could look at jewelry too." That gave me an idea; "I really want some nice earrings," I said. "I've always wanted to wear them. Maybe I could get my ears pierced." "You can get them to do it at the jewellers," Jan said. "It's a good idea. Earrings will look nice with that hairdo." I was all gung-ho to go now, and I wanted to look in all the stores selling women's things; I thought that my voice would just about get me by, and I was no longer too concerned.
We set off down the sunny street, and I enjoyed the feel of my dress moving as I walked, and the sound of our heels clicking on the sidewalk. I took one of Jan's purses, and though it wasn't overflowing yet, I had put a few essential makeup items in it. I was no longer afraid to talk, and we chatted as we walked along. I still watched to see how the people we passed reacted, and none of them seemed to find us too unusual. "I'm a bit stuck now with these credit cards," I said. "I think it's time to face up to that challenge; I'll have to go to the bank next week, and explain things to them. I'm sure I can simply change the name on my account, and hopefully they will give me a card in that name." "I'm sure they will," said Jan; "after all you have been a good customer of theirs for a long time." "That's the trouble," I said; "I think they are going to find the transformation a bit strange. But I'm beginning to realise that if they do, it's their problem, not mine."
We got to the stores, and walked slowly along the block, looking in every display window that featured anything feminine. There was a jewelry store, and I saw a sign in the window saying that they did ear piercing. "This I have to do," I said, and we went inside. I made a bee line for the display of earrings. They had some very nice ones, and a couple caught my eye because they were ornate and dangling. "What do you think about these?" I asked Jan. "I like the metallic one," she said, "and I think it would suit you nicely. I thought so too, and when one of the clerks came over to us I told her that I was interested, and that I wanted my ears pierced. She asked me to follow her into a room at the back of the store, and got me to sit down. "We use this punch," she said; "it's really not painful at all, but you may be startled by the noise it makes." She took what looked almost like a gun, and carefully slid a slot at the end of the 'barrel' over my right ear lobe. "Could you just hold your hair back?" I did, and heard the punch go pop. She rubbed some ointment over the hole, and said "Now the other side." Another pop, and I was ready for earrings. "I didn't really feel anything," I said. "If I had realised it was that easy I would have done this a long time ago. But I just fell in love with those earrings." She smiled and led me back into the store. "You'll need some keepers too," she said. "It's important to keep the hole open all the time; they do tend to close up." She sat me down at the counter, and carefully fixed one of the earrings, then the other. There was a mirror on the counter, and when I looked at myself I knew it was a good choice. "What do you think, Jan," I said. "They are very nice," replied Jan. "They do suit you, and they work with that hairstyle." "I'll wear them," I said to the clerk. "Put them on my card, please," said Jan. She was thinking fast; I was so taken with the earrings that I had completely forgotten about the name on my credit card.
Back out in the street, we continued our walk. There was a variety of stores, smaller than the big ones downtown, but some of them seemed to have quite a variety of stock, judging by the window displays. I realised that although I knew the area quite well, there were many establishments that I had never paid any attention to before. There was one in particular that caught my eye as we passed; it had a beautiful display of dresses, with a silky green print that grabbed me the moment I saw it. "Look at that dress!" I said to Jan. "I have to have a dress like that." Before she could respond I was walking in the door. We were greeted by a very helpful saleslady, who smiled happily as I told her I would like to try a dress like the one in the window. They did have it in my size, and very soon Jan and I were in one of the changing rooms. I quickly took off the dress I was wearing, and stood there in my slip for a moment savouring the prospect of enveloping myself in the silky material in my hand. Jan helped me ease it over my head, and as the material slithered down over me I was almost overcome by the delicious tactile sensations. It did fit me quite well; it was a little more full in the bust than I was, but I thought hopefully that in time that would be remedied.
"It's a must," I said to Jan, "and I think I'm going to wear it, right now!" She smiled at my enthusiasm, and said "It is nice, and I think it really does work with your hair." We left the changing room and I told the saleslady that I had to have the dress, and I couldn't bear to take it off now that I had tried it. She laughed: "I'm glad you like it; I must say that it really does suit you. Now is there anything else you would like?" "We'll take a look around," I replied. Jan and I wandered around the racks, and I found two more dresses that I couldn't resist, even though they didn't have quite the same impact on me as the one I was now wearing. Living my new feminine life to the full, I tried both of those on too, and decided they would help to fill some of the gaps in my wardrobe. Finally I put the silky green back on, and we went out to deal with the saleslady. This time I was ready; "I've think I've forgotten my card," I said to Jan; "would you be a real darling and lend me the money until we get home?" "Of course," Jan said, with an amused smile, and she reached in her purse for her credit card.
Outside again, with our packages, we decided it was time to have a cup of coffee, and sat down at a table in the little coffee bar next-door. "Maybe that's enough for now," I said. "I don't want things to get out of hand, and I should probably give some thought to planning my wardrobe. Impulse buying is fun, but it doesn't always result in one being prepared for all situations." Jan agreed; she was obviously enjoying the new experience of being out with a girl-friend, and she was happily sharing my pleasure in the occasion. "I must look at lingerie, too, one day soon," I said; "there are a lot of nice things that I would like to get." "The house is almost filled with your lingerie already," Jan said; "I couldn't start to make an estimate of how many garments there are with suspenders." She was laughing at me, in a kind sisterly way, and I responded in kind. "But you have to understand that in one respect I haven't changed at all. My tastes are exactly the same, and now I have to deal with some changes in shape and size. What I need in bras is quite different now, and I will never have enough slips and panties." Jan laughed out loud; "No, you haven't changed after all."
Monday, July 19th. I decided to go to the bank on Monday morning, and I realised that this would be the first of many occasions where I had to 'out' myself. I would have to explain to people that I was now planning to live as Rita, instead of my former self, and deal with their reactions. I knew that most of them would not be familiar with the phenomenon of transition, and there would be a variety of reactions, most likely surprise and curiosity; there was no guarantee of a sympathetic response like that of the professional people I had dealt with. I hoped I would not run into outright disdain or hostility.
I looked very carefully at my face as I was getting ready, and there certainly was much less evidence of beard. I decided the residue was not sufficiently recovered from the laser treatment for shaving to be effective, and made myself up fairly heavily. I wore the new green dress, and set off with my purse over my shoulder. I felt happy about the way I looked, and the way things were going, but I was a little apprehensive about how my meeting would turn out. I went into the bank, and walked to the customer service area at the back. "Can I help you?" asked one of the women who was free. "Yes," I said. "I have a rather confidential matter to discuss in connection with my account; I think it would be best if I could see the manager." She looked a little surprised at my request, and was on the point of asking me another question, but went off to the manager's office. She returned quite quickly, and said "Ms. Pendleton is free now, could you come this way?" I followed her over to the office, and the manager greeted me with a smile, and asked me to sit down. She closed the door, and went back to her desk; "What can I do for you?"
"Thank you for seeing me like this," I started. "I didn't give the clerk my name, and I appreciate the fact that she took me at my word that the matter was confidential. The point is that it involves my name. I have an account here, and I have dealt with this branch for over twenty years; you'll find that the total amount of my various deposits is quite substantial. Here's the account number, and you'll find that it is in the name of Reginald Opal." She looked at me with some surprise, and began to put two and two together. I smiled, and continued; "That is no longer very convenient, as I plan to dress and present myself as you see me. The fact is that I am transsexual, and I am now living full time as a woman. The complication is that my legal status and name will not be changed until later." The manager was very interested, but she didn't seem particularly upset by what she was hearing. "What would be most convenient," I went on, "would be for me to open an account and get a credit card in the name I now use. I have ID of course, but everything refers to me as male, and with the wrong name. My question is whether you can help me do that before I get my documents changed." She thought for a moment. "I don't see why not," she said. "You can open an account in any name you want, and we can use your former self, if that's the correct way of putting it, as the guarantor. Of course, there would have to be a cross-reference on our records, and we would use your existing social insurance number." "That sounds good," I said. "of course the connection has to be known, and will be a matter of public record in due course anyway. I could probably continue to use my existing account without too much trouble, but I do need a credit card in the name I actually use." "That's not a problem," she said; it would be backed up by the bank account, and obviously the credit is established by your existing deposits."
"What I'll do then is simply open another account, and apply for a credit card, both as Rita Opal," I said. "That will be fine," Ms. Pendleton said. "I'll go and get the forms, and you can fill them out here." She came back in a moment, and I filled out the forms; she wanted me to sign in both names. "There's no need for this to be secret," I said, "and realistically it can't be. I thought it best to ask for you, rather than spring the complicated situation on an unsuspecting teller." She smiled; "You're welcome," she said. "I don't know how many people there are in your situation, but there are enough of them that there have been some references in our various instruction manuals; the situation didn't catch me completely unprepared." "In any case, I very much appreciate the considerate way you have dealt with it," I said. "Thank you very much." "I'm happy to be of service," she said. "It has also been very interesting to talk to you. If I might make a personal comment, I must say I found you completely convincing in your new role. Once you had identified yourself, and I looked closely, I think I could see traces of someone familiar, and then it did seem that there was something a little odd about the voice." "I'm working on that," I said. "Thank you so much once again." I walked out of the office, and through the central area surrounded by the tellers' wickets. I knew there would be some juicy gossip running around there very soon, and that I would excite a considerable amount of interest at my next visit.
As I drove home, I reviewed the logistics of the many legal and bureaucratic matters that had to be dealt with. Ideally a legal change of my name would be the matter to deal with as soon as possible; many of the other things were dependent on that. With my name legally changed, I could renew my driver's licence, and they would take a current picture. If I could persuade them to put an 'F' designation instead of the 'M', then I would have a useful piece of ID to use for changes to other documents. The most difficult would be to get my passport changed, and that probably would be impossible until I had SRS. It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to get some legal advice, and I was certain there would be a lawyer somewhere in the city that had some experience dealing with transsexual people. I decided to try and find one as soon as possible.
Back home, I told Jan about the helpful bank manager. "It turns out to be quite easy to get my own money," I said. "I am the guarantor, using my old signature, for a new account in the name of a person who is very real to me, but is still legally a fiction. On that basis, they will give me a credit card. I didn't ask, but I assume that means I could also give them as a reference." "That's wonderful!" said Jan; "I have always been happy with the service there, and this is certainly a plus for them in my book." "I've been thinking about the other things, too," I said. "There's the driver's licence, and a legal change of name, for starters, and some of the steps depend on others being done first. It might be a good idea to find a T* friendly lawyer." "Good idea," said Jan. I sat down at the computer, to see what I could find on the web. Given the right contacts, there is an enormous amount of useful information and advice, accumulated by many of the people that I knew, electronically at least, from the transgender mailing lists and web pages. Sure enough, I found the name of a lawyer in the city who specialised in handling transgender issues; she was a transsexual herself. I called and made an appointment to see her.
Wednesday, July 21st. The appointment was a couple of days later. I took a great deal of care getting ready; I knew in this case it wouldn't matter, but I felt it was a matter of honour to do my best when I was going to meet one of my 'sisters'. I wore the green dress again; there was something about it that felt just right, and it was becoming one of my favourites. In the lawyer's office, I introduced myself to the receptionist, and gave my name. "Take a seat," she said, Ms. Johnson will see you in just a moment." I had barely sat down when a strikingly beautiful woman came out of the inner office, and held out her hand. "You must be Rita," she said. "I'm Sarah Johnson. Please come into my office." She indicated a plush chair, and sat down behind the large immaculate desk. With a very pleasant smile she said "What was the matter you wished to discuss with me?" "Something quite straightforward, I hope," I said; "Rita Opal is not presently my legal name, but I would like to adopt it legally." "What is your name now?" "Reginald Opal." "Aha!" Sarah said, with a friendly smile. "I was almost certain. What stage are you at, now?" "Just about the beginning," I said. "I started RLT about a week ago, and this morning I persuaded a friendly bank manager to allow me to spend my own money, signing my name as Rita. That's all so far, and I know there are some other matters to deal with; I thought it would be a good idea to get some advice from someone who knows the ropes." "You are TS then?" "Without a doubt. I'm free and well enough off that I can choose my own path; I am very much enjoying changing myself from fantasy to reality, and I see SRS as somewhere about a year from now." "I like your attitude," said Sarah; "unfortunately reality involves some legal matters, but things are not too difficult; this society is relatively enlightened."
She took a notepad, and started to write. "The change in name is probably the thing to do first," she said. "There shouldn't be any difficulty, and as you say it makes a lot of other steps easier. There are no legal restrictions on anyone taking any name they choose, but a judge has to be satisfied that the name change is for a legitimate reason; the only real prohibitions are to do so for fraudulent purposes, such as avoiding debts. The procedure is to file an application; it will be posted in a court gazette for three months, and then if there are no objections from any interested party, a judge will hear the application. The reason given would be that you are transsexual, living full time as a woman, and you wish to have a name consistent with your appearance; in most cases a ruling to allow the application is made immediately. We can file the papers right away. Once your name change is approved, then you are free to use it on any documents, such as applications for credit cards, opening bank accounts, signing contracts, and so on. The driver's licence is a good idea too; getting it changed avoids minor bureaucratic problems if you do happen to be stopped by the police, and of course it is a useful identification, complete with a picture. The problem there is the designation of sex; strictly speaking the rules say that can not be changed until your legal status is changed, which is only possible after SRS. But an application for a driver's licence doesn't require supporting documents; the procedure there is to go and apply for a new licence, taking the official change of name; they take your picture at the DMV office, and you can then ask them to correct the obvious error on your file: the 'M' clearly should be an 'F'. Whether the clerk will do that or not depends on how fussy they are, and how they interpret rules which are somewhat vague, but there's a TS woman who works at one of the offices, and the trick is to arrange that you deal with her. She has been very helpful in letting us know how to make sure one of us can get to deal with her."
"It seems to me that covers all the immediate matters," I said. "Right," she replied. "Of course getting records fixed after SRS, and getting your passport changed have to be dealt with eventually. As regards SRS, this isn't strictly a legal consideration, but unless you are planning to submit yourself to the mercy of a surgeon in some exotic foreign country, you will need to get letters from psychiatrists. Have you seen a shrink, yet?" "No," I said, "though I realise that it is necessary." She smiled; "A necessary evil. I suspect you don't need to have your motives and mental state examined at great length, but you do need the letters. It's a good idea to get one as soon as possible; I recommend that pre-op people carry a letter from a shrink stating that they are transsexual, living as a woman, and should be treated as a woman. That can be useful in dealing with bureaucrats who are looking for an excuse to hassle you -- it could help going through customs, for example. In your case, I would go and see someone who is knowledgeable about gender issues, and supportive, as soon as possible. I would recommend Wexler; at the appropriate stage he can refer you to someone equally helpful for the second letter."
"It begins to sound as though things are not too difficult," I said. "We seem to be treated reasonably well by the legal system and the bureaucrats." "That is true, now," she said; "it wasn't always that way, but there are enough of us for society to be aware of the issues, and there is more tolerance for 'alternative lifestyles' these days. The most difficult part is how to deal with friends, relatives, neighbours, and all the people that knew you as you were. I'm afraid I can't help you there; all I can do is give moral support. You will probably find that it isn't too horrendous, once the word is out; there will be the odd person that just can't handle it, but those are the sort of people that you are better off without, and it helps to find out who they are." "I'm not looking forward to that aspect of things," I said, "but it has to be done, and soon. Thank you for your assistance; you have been very helpful." "You're welcome," said Sarah. "I'll call you when I have the name change application ready for you to sign." She got up and came round the desk, and hugged me; it was a wonderful feeling -- I knew that I belonged to a community, and my sisters there would be supporting me all the way along my path.
I wasn't sure whether Dr. Wexler would require a referral from my family doctor (another 'outing' to worry about); I called his office, and explained to the receptionist that I was transsexual, and needed to get assessment from a psychiatrist. She seemed to take it as a routine matter, and was very friendly. She told me that the doctor was on vacation, but would be back after the August holiday; she was able to give me an appointment at the end of that week. I felt that things were moving at quite an acceptable pace now, and I was enjoying my new life to the full. Everyday matters no longer caused me any undue concern, and Jan and I went out together frequently; we went out shopping, and to restaurants, and as the good summer weather continued we did a lot of walking. The speech therapy really seemed to be helping me present myself convincingly; it wasn't second nature yet for me to speak 'as a woman' but it was certainly becoming less difficult. The subtle changes in my body were more noticeable, to me at least, and there was no doubt that I was developing something of a waist. My breasts were still small, but very definitely there.
Sunday, July 25th. One fine evening Jan and I had been for a walk, and as we came back we passed one of the neighbours, a widow who lived next door. We were not close friends with any of our neighbours, but we did get on quite well, and usually passed the time of day, and had the odd conversation over the backyard fence. The lady saw Jan, and said "Hello." then looked at me slightly puzzled. Jan returned the greeting, and I decided it was time to make myself known. "Hello," I said. "you're wondering if you know me or not. I've been your neighbour along with Jan for twenty years, but there's been something of a change in me this last month. It's been happening for a long time, and finally I decided to accept the fact." She looked at me in surprise; "You're Reginald!" "Yes," I said. "It's more accurate to say I was; I'm Rita now, and I hope we can carry on as good neighbours." "I see the resemblance now," she said; "so you have changed your ..." "I'm a transsexual," I said. "These things don't happen overnight, but I realised that I wanted to be a woman, and over the next few months I shall gradually become one more and more." "I've seen one or two on TV," she said, "but it's quite a surprise to find one living next door; I don't quite know what to say." "You'll get used to me," I said; "believe me, I'm the same person inside, but I finally came to realise my true nature." We went up to the house, and left her standing in her front yard, with her amazement still showing on her face. "There goes the neighbourhood," I said to Jan when were in the house. "The word will be all over the street in no time. It had to be done, and I'm curious now to see how people will react." Jan squeezed my hand; "We can't keep it secret," she said. "The sooner people know about it the better. You're happy, and I'm happy, and if they realise that, then it will hopefully just be a topic for gossip for a few days."
An hour or so later the phone rang. Jan answered and said "It's for you," with a smile. It was our next door neighbour; "Hello Rita," she said. "I was taken by surprise when I met you just now, and I wasn't very polite -- I must apologise." "There's nothing to apologise for," I said. "It isn't something that happens every day." "Maybe not," she said, "but as I told you there was a similar story on TV a while back. You remember that policeman?" "Yes." "It was a very interesting story, and he -- I suppose it's 'she' now -- explained about his feelings and why he decided to do it. I was quite impressed, and I think you're being very brave. I hope everything works out well for you." "Thank you," I said; "I appreciate that very much. Things were just like that for me; I had this feeling inside that I was really a woman, and it got stronger and stronger; one day I realised that there was no good reason for me not to admit it to myself -- and to everyone else." "It must be very difficult to meet people, and explain things to them," she said. "I guess so. I haven't figured out the best way to do that yet, but it's now time. The fact is you are the first person to know." "Well, I never!" "But it isn't a secret," I said, "so don't feel that you shouldn't say anything to any one else. It would probably be helpful if you did talk about it to other neighbours; I say that because I appreciate your understanding. It was very kind of you to call." "Oh not at all," she said, "I did want to apologise for my rudeness in the street. I'll have to get used to calling you Rita now; that's a lovely name."
"If everyone responds like that, then things aren't going to be too difficult," I said to Jan. "Fortunately we don't know too many fundamentalist christians or gay bashers; my guess is that most people will be polite and even pleasant to our faces, but one or two will have real problems dealing with it. They may feel sufficiently awkward that they won't want to talk to me. C'est la vie." "It's hard to tell," Jan said. "The problem is that it is relatively rare, so people have not encountered it, or thought about it. But there are enough news stories, nowadays, so at least it isn't something completely unheard of." "A lot of people will think it's a symptom of being gay," I said. "That doesn't bother me too much, but the irony is that I was heterosexual through and through, and I'm changing my gender to become lesbian." Jan grinned; "I'm the one that is weird. I'm sure they are all wondering about me too."
Wednesday, July 28th. An envelope came in the mail from the bank, and I opened it eagerly; as I hoped it contained a new credit card with the simple name Rita Opal embossed on it. I felt an immediate urge to go out shopping and use it, and it seemed appropriate to make this the occasion to look at lingerie. Jan had been quite right when she remarked on the enormous selection that I had accumulated over the years, but lingerie in general, and foundation garments, particularly those with suspenders, were a special delight of mine, and my taste for them was as strong as ever. It was a sign of the times that the yellow pages no longer contained any reference to girdles, and there was very little under the heading bras; lingerie seemed to be much more promising, and some of the advertisements in that section did seem to hint at the items of special interest to me. One in particular was for an establishment called The Feminine Mystique; it claimed a large selection of feminine lingerie, loungewear and sleepwear, and even made specific reference to foundations, bras and girdles.
I decided it was a place to check out, and told Jan what I had in mind. She decided it was a good idea to let me go off on my own, to enjoy myself with things that catered to my own very personal definition of femininity, so I drove over to the shopping mall where the store was located. It was quite large, and there was a variety of items in the display window that made me catch my breath, and I realised that I had come to the right place. Inside there was a very large area of racks justifying the claim made in the advertisement, and on some of the display counters in the corner I saw an enticing display of girdles and corselettes. I started to wander around happily, looking over the vast selection of intimate feminine garments; as I walked up and down, feeling as if I were in paradise, a saleslady came up to me. "Are you looking for anything in particular?" she asked. She was quite elegant, very friendly, and I felt an empathy in her manner. "Not really," I said. "I am interested to see just what things you do stock, and I am impressed by the selection you have. I'm sure I shall find something I just have to have." She smiled at me; "We do try to cater to all tastes," she said. "I see that you do. I happen to like wearing stockings with suspenders, and I enjoy wearing a girdle; it seems to be an old-fashioned taste, and I didn't think there were many of us left." "You'd be surprised," she said. "They certainly aren't to the taste of many women these days, but there is a very definite market for elegant foundation garments. Let me show you some of the things we have." She led me over to the counter, and I was staggered by the display of garments. The variety of girdles, panty-girdles, corselettes and basques would have been impressive even in the 1950s. "I'm not sure I can do justice to this display at the moment," I said, "but I assure you I shall be back. I need to take stock of what I have, and I have had something of a change in my size recently, so I'll make a long visit one day soon. I would like to look at slips, though, and I definitely need some panties."
She had a wonderful selection of slips; they were silky and smooth, and many were elegantly tailored in the style I loved, also unfortunately somewhat outdated, with lacy hems and cups, and slim elegant shoulder straps. I selected two, a black one and another in white, and then went to look at panties. The choice was large, with a variety of colours and styles; I chose some with 'sissy' frills and flounces. They appealed to me, and I had not really worn any in that style before. The saleslady wrapped my purchases carefully, and took my new credit card to process the sale. "I am very fond of things that strike me as feminine," I said; "exactly what that means is quite personal, of course, but there are particular things, hard to describe, that appeal to me for some reason." "I know what you mean," she replied. "I think it is one of the pleasures of being a woman, and I enjoy working in this business. Thank you, and I hope to see you again soon."
I knew that she would, as I realised that the place would be irresistible to me. It would always have been a delight to me, but now I could wander around freely, as a woman, accepted as someone who belonged there, and take my time savouring the many delights that were on display. It was a wonderful feeling to be accepted in such an environment, and to find that my appreciation for lovely feminine things was regarded by those I encountered there as completely natural.
Friday, August 6th. The morning of my appointment with Dr. Wexler I went through what was now my daily ritual. I dressed, and once again couldn't resist the green dress; I brushed my hair, and then sat down to do my makeup. I was getting much more skilled at the task now, and I took great care; I wanted to make an emphatic statement about my femininity, without going to excess. I used some eye liner and chose the bright crimson shade for my lips. "Good luck," said Jan, as I left; "I hope he isn't going to commit you." I drove over to the hospital area; the office was in a nearby medical building. As I rode the elevator up to the tenth floor, I felt quite at ease, and noted with interest the odd male glance in my direction. I introduced myself to the receptionist, and she immediately ushered me into the doctor's office. He was seated at his desk, and got up to shake my hand; "Good morning, Ms. Opal," he said, "please sit down." He indicated a comfortable looking armchair. I sat down, and with some deliberation crossed my legs, and carefully smoothed the skirt of my dress. He watched me with interest, obviously sizing me up. "I understand you are a transsexual," he said.
"Yes," I replied. "I started presenting as a woman about a month ago; I have had hormones prescribed, I am attending speech therapy three times a week, and I am having laser treatment for removal of my beard." "It sounds as though you are quite serious," he said smiling; "it would probably be helpful if you told me something about your history, and what prompted you to come to this conclusion." "I have been a fetishistic cross- dresser for my whole life since puberty," I said. "I was fortunate in finding a partner who was happy to accommodate my desires, and we spent a very happy thirty years together in a comfort zone. About three years ago I had prostate surgery, and found myself unable to achieve erection; I became very frustrated when I realised that ejaculation was also no longer possible, and therefore I could not experience a male orgasm. I went through a very bad few months, and had an overwhelming fixation on cross- dressing. My partner was very helpful, and we experimented in attempts to produce erections. That didn't work, but I did discover that my penis was still very sensitive, and began to experience great pleasure when it was manipulated. I began to experience orgasm again, but of a different kind, and I realised that it was very similar to female orgasm. That realisation enhanced my pleasure, and I eventually discovered that sex was better than it ever had been if I identified myself as female mentally. My partner was excited with what happened to me, and played along with my fantasy; things got so good that we had a second honeymoon. I found myself more and more interested in feminine clothing, and ornamentation, and got great pleasure from my mental identification. Eventually, I realised that I wanted to make my fantasy into reality. I wanted to wear feminine clothing all the time, and present myself in public, and I also wanted my own breasts. My female sexual identification now makes me desire penetration.
"I wouldn't presume to second guess your professional opinion, but my self-assessment is that I was probably transgendered all along, and the sexual frustration after prostate surgery knocked down some barriers in my head. It seems significant to me that sex is now better than it ever was, as a male, and I found myself wanting more and more to explore the feminine side of myself, eventually to the exclusion of anything else." "That's very interesting," said Dr. Wexler; "and how has your partner responded to this?" "That is the absolute joy of my present situation," I said. "The notion that I was transsexual had been in the back of my mind for some time, and I didn't want to deal with it. Jan was the one who raised it. She told me that she had been doing some self assessment too; she had realised that the more feminine I became, the closer was our relationship. She came to the conclusion that she had shifted in her orientation, and become lesbian. She told me that she wanted me to become a woman!" "Indeed!" he said. "On the face of it, there doesn't seem to be too much to explore. Both of you are happy with your current lifestyle, and there's no obvious reason why it shouldn't be facilitated. You understand that I do have to satisfy myself that what you say is not wishful thinking or part of an extended fantasy?" "Of course," I said. "To be completely candid, my visit to you is prompted solely by the need for an assessment confirming my transsexual nature; I need that in order to have surgery. But I appreciate that it must be your professional assessment, and I shall be happy to do whatever I can to convince you that I am representing my situation accurately. As I see it there is no 'problem' to deal with since I am happy, and presumably well adjusted, following my desires. I certainly have no desire to be 'cured'; I'm now very happy where I am."
"Your case is very interesting," Dr. Wexler said. "You have reached a definite conclusion, and have well thought out desires, but it has happened at a relatively late stage in life. I think your idea about your transsexuality being present from an early age, but dormant, may well be valid. There was no stimulus to awaken it until your previous 'comfort zone' became uninhabitable. Of course you were exhibiting some cross gender symptoms previously. I am also quite intrigued by the role your partner has played, and I would appreciate an opportunity to talk to her, too. Maybe I could see both of you on your next visit."
He then started to ask me questions about my previous cross- dressing phase, and the critical period after my prostate surgery. He was interested in my responses on a whole range of topics, what my feelings were, how I reacted in various situations, and my attitudes to life in general. It wasn't clear to me what the point of some of his questions was, but I realised he was attempting to check my veracity, and look for other indications that would justify my conclusions about myself. He kept me for almost an hour, and finally smiled at me. "I think I have sufficient information now," he said. "It seems fairly clear to me that you are transsexual. Whether you comply with the rigid rules laid down isn't really significant; as I see it you wish to follow through with a certain process, you have come to that conclusion with a full understanding of its implications, and there is no reason why you should be prevented from doing so. Please make an appointment for next week, for you and your partner. I'm sure I'll be prepared to write a letter for you then, but remember that the SOC does require that you have been consulting me for a period of three months." He shook my hand and followed me to the door.
I arranged an appointment for the same time the following week, hoping that Jan wouldn't have anything booked that would conflict with it. On my way home, I reviewed the session; my conclusion was that it had turned out very well.
When I got home Jan was very interested to hear what had happened. Dr. Wexler's assessment of me was vital to my ultimate goal, and neither of us had any previous experience with psychiatrists. "It went very well," I told Jan. "I think he agrees with me that I am TS, but I told him that it was really all your idea, so he would like you to come along with me next week." "You did, did you?" she said. "I might have guessed this would happen. Transsexuals are ten a penny now, and you can't look at a talk show on TV without seeing one. For real weirdness, you have to examine a genetic female who cohabits with a TS." She hugged me lovingly. "It's a good idea, though. I'd be happy to see the good doctor and give him my side of the story."
Thursday, August 12th. Each morning now I went through a daily ritual of making up my face, and had a great deal of fun experimenting with various different looks. The basic skills were becoming natural to me, and no longer presented any difficulty; I happily fixed my lipstick during the day whenever I thought it was necessary. As I examined my face, it was clear that my beard was recovering from the laser treatment, though the growth was very much reduced. My rough estimate was that the 30% figure I had been told at the clinic was a good description; it seemed their claims were quite valid, and I hoped that would continue to be the case. The problem was that I still had to shave every day, and I sometimes repeated the process later, if we were going out for the evening. I was fortunate in a related matter, though; I had very little body hair. There was virtually none on my chest, and the fine hair that grew on my arms and legs was dealt with easily; I don't think I had to work any harder at removing it than Jan did with hers. It also seemed to me that it was less of a problem than it had been, and I attributed that to the effect of hormones. This particular morning, I had my second appointment at the laser clinic, so I did not shave, and I cleaned my face carefully, so that there would be no residue of makeup. I set out feeling strangely naked, and hoped that my appearance wouldn't excite too much attention.
It was quite early in the morning; I was able to park right outside the clinic, and I walked across the sidewalk without any concern for passers-by. The receptionist greeted me warmly; "Hi Rita. You look very nice; the treatment seems to have worked very well." "I think so," I said; "I'm really hopeful that there will be very little left to worry about after today." Melanie was ready to see me, and led me into the room at the back. She looked at my face intently, and said "It looks very good; we really did achieve a large reduction last time. After today, we shall almost be there!" She gave me the dark glasses, and said "Let me take the wig." She took my wig, as she had on the last visit. "Your hair is getting longer," she said; "next time we'll have to tie it out of the way. It's filling out too; I think you should get it styled -- your hair would be shorter, but it could be arranged to look very attractive." "I hadn't even thought about that," I said. "It's a good idea, though; thanks." Melanie got to work, and I steeled myself for a fairly unpleasant hour. I felt the tingling sensation on my chin, but it didn't really seem too bad. "I still have to cover the whole area," she said, "and I'm afraid it will take just as long." It did indeed, and by the time she had finished, I had really had enough. The whole process seemed a little more bearable, though, and I think the fact that it did appear to be working effectively helped me to put up with it.
I took off the dark glasses, and looked at myself in the mirror. My chin and throat were quite red, but it didn't seem quite as bad as it had the previous time. Before I put my wig back on, I took a long look at my hair. It was getting quite long, and almost covered my ears; what I did notice, though, was that it really was quite profuse on the crown of my head; instinctively I ran my hand through it, and discovered that it had a fine texture. The colour wasn't particularly attractive, but I thought to myself that it could easily be altered. I put the wig back on, and realised that it was getting tricky to fit it over my natural hair, in fact some was showing over my ears. "Thank you," I said to Melanie; "and thank you very much for the comment about my hair. I'm so used to looking at myself and fixing makeup with the wig on, that I hadn't really thought about what was happening underneath." "It really could be fixed very nicely," she said, smiling; "then you'll have two different ways to present yourself!" As she led me back out to the reception area, she said "Make another appointment for next month; I think that will complete the treatment. You're a very patient client, and it's nice working with you. Bye." "Goodbye," I said, "and thank you once again." I made a date with the receptionist, and after a little chat -- girl talk that gave me a nice feeling inside -- I left. I stood outside for a moment enjoying the sunshine; a woman passed by and looked at my face with some curiosity; I smiled at her, and realised that I didn't really care what she was thinking about me.
I took a long drive on the way home. The weather was beautiful, and I felt very happy about the way things were progressing; the scenery was as wonderful as ever, and I was in a mood to enjoy it. Some times my present state seemed natural, as though I had always been there; at others I found myself suddenly being aware of the changes. I drove along the sunny roads, looking at the mountains, and felt very happy that I could do so wearing my beautiful green dress. I got home finally, and Jan seemed a little concerned about my lengthy absence. "I'm sorry, my love," I said. "I wasn't thinking. I felt so good about the way things are going that I decided to enjoy the sun, and take the long way home." "You were quite worn out the last time," Jan said; "was it easier?" "Not really. But the woman who looked after me made some comments about my hair, and it really bucked me up. It's grown quite long, and she suggested it might look nice if I got it styled." Jan hugged me. "You really are starting to react like a woman," she said. "I like it!" For once I didn't react with my usual banter; Jan's acceptance and encouragement of me was sometimes overwhelming, and I had a squirmy feeling inside me at the thought of being feminine, and having her happily reinforce the idea. "I'd like to go to a hair stylist and see what they suggest," I said. "I really do feel good with long hair, and I can't wait for mine to grow long enough, but it would be fun to see what could be done by somebody really skillful." "Gloria, who does mine, is very good," Jan said. "Why don't you go and see her?" "I think I will. Shall I just go as is, or do you think it might be a good idea to explain what I am?" "I don't know," said Jan. "I do have an appointment with her in a couple of days; I could raise the subject of drag, and even TS, and see what her reaction is -- just as a hypothetical question, of course." "Of course," I said, "you're capable of doing that, too. Seriously though, it would be interesting to find out if she doesn't recoil in horror."
Friday, August 13th. The next morning my face had almost completely recovered, and when I sat down at the vanity, I saw no trace of beard at all. I felt my skin, and it did really feel pleasantly smooth. That didn't prevent me from doing my daily routine with makeup, but I tried to go fairly easy with the foundation, and I attempted to get a much more understated effect. I still used a prominent colour of lipstick, since I had come to regard that as one of the symbols of my feminine state. I also used the eyeliner, very fine, and was finally quite pleased with the overall results. I still had not established a well defined image for myself, but I was having a great deal of fun experimenting. Jan watched with interest as usual. "You look very nice," she said, "and you really are getting good at doing it. I'll have to put in some practice to keep up with you." "Well," I said, "now's a good time. We have to see Dr. Wexler later on this morning, and you should consider how to present yourself. I don't know what he expects, but I think natural femininity might work well." "I think I could manage that," she said; "it's comfortable, and I feel at ease with it, almost as much as you do."
As we drove across town to the medical building, Jan and I chatted happily. "I think this will be very interesting," I said; "I hope you aren't worrying about it." "Not at all," she said. "I feel really much the way you do. Things have changed, quite dramatically I suppose, but I am very happy with the way they have worked out. It took me a while to realise what had happened, but looking back it was obvious. It's up to the doctor to decide whether we are well-adjusted, but he seems to have the right attitude; why put road blocks in the way of people who know what they are doing and are happy about it?" I smiled at her; "It's still wonderful how we both changed, in step all the way. It's something most people would be very envious of." We took the elevator up to the tenth floor, and the receptionist smiled at us. "Rita Opal," I said, "and this is Jan; Dr. Wexler wanted to chat to her too." "That's Jan Opal," put in Jan. "Oh, thank you," said the receptionist, making a note. I didn't detect any reaction from her.
After a few minutes, Dr. Wexler came out of his office. "Hello, Rita," he said. "This is Jan," I told him. "Hello, Jan," he said. "I'm pleased you could come too. Please come into my office." He had two chairs set across from his desk, and we both sat down. I repeated my performance of crossing my legs and smoothing my skirt, just as I had on my previous visit, and I saw with some amusement that Jan was doing exactly the same. "How are things going, Rita?" he asked. "Very well," I said. "Every day I feel more at ease, and things seem to be slowly fitting into place. I had my second laser treatment yesterday, and the woman there was kind enough to remark on my hair, without the wig. She suggested it might be ready for styling now." Dr. Wexler turned to Jan. "I had quite a long chat with Rita last week," he said. "She told me basically what has happened over the last few years, and explained the way she feels about things now. I asked her a lot of questions, and my feeling is that she knows what she is doing, and is very happy with her current path; so there doesn't seem to be any reason to put obstacles in her way. Many of my transsexual clients have had great difficulty dealing with their existing relationships and attachments, and very often their desires are not understood or welcomed by those close to them. From what Rita told me, you are reacting very differently. I would like to hear your assessment of what has happened to her, and your reaction to it."
Jan thought for a moment. "You know the basic facts," she said, and Dr. Wexler nodded. "Rita has always had an interest in feminine things. It was primarily clothing to start with, but her desire was sufficiently strong that she felt it necessary to tell me about it very early in our marriage. I didn't find that cause for concern; it just didn't bother me, and if anything it added excitement to our love-making, though I didn't understand the feelings that caused it. After her prostate surgery, when it became clear that our previous happy sex life was no longer possible, she went through a very bad time, much worse than I realised. All I saw were the symptoms; she seemed preoccupied, and spent hours and hours typing away at the computer. I didn't know what it was all about, and I began to wonder if I was losing her. She told me about an email correspondent, though I had no idea what they spent so much time chatting about. One day my curiosity got so great that I asked her point blank about the person. She answered, but her remark that it wasn't easy to say whether it was a man or a woman provoked further questions from me, and she answered all of them and opened up completely. We talked for the whole weekend, and it continued for months after. I had two reactions: the first was relief that I hadn't lost her at all, and the other was a wonderful feeling of empathy for someone who was able to lay bare her soul so completely. It brought us very close. An almost immediate result was an incredible second honeymoon; we couldn't bear to be apart, we spent the days making eyes at one another, and we made love several times a day to our mutual satisfaction. That lasted the whole summer; in a sense it still continues."
"Obviously you had found a means of satisfying her sexually," said Dr. Wexler. "As she described it, a female identification became an essential part of her enjoyment of sex." "It did indeed," said Jan. "I responded positively, and got drawn in to what she called her fantasy. We had always enjoyed life together, and we had a happy marriage, much better than most, but things got better and better. Rita was very happy to feel uninhibited about talking to me about the things that were exciting to her, and she began to explore her feminine inclinations more and more. Each time she 'pushed the envelope' my response seemed to be that things got even better. Eventually I began to make her fantasy mine, and I even thought of her as feminine; I started calling her 'Rita' quite happily, even naturally. Our love making necessarily involved mutual manipulation, by hand; Rita thought that it was essentially lesbian, and I suddenly became convinced one day that it was precisely that. I took great delight in it, and also realised that it would be even more delightful if she were a woman physically. I felt that would add even more to our relationship, and the events of the last month have certainly born that out."
I was utterly fascinated to hear Jan's lengthy discourse. She wasn't given to the kind of self-analysis that I had got into since my recognition of my transgendered state, so to hear in her own words what I only knew of indirectly was a new experience. Dr. Wexler seemed equally fascinated.
"That is a remarkable statement," he said. "It's all the more remarkable, and certainly opportune, that your conclusions about yourself match the changes that Rita has gone through. It's almost too good to be true; I wonder if there is such a strong bond between you that it transcends gender and your orientation simply reflects an acceptance of the situation you are confronted with. You were normally heterosexual as a young woman?" "Yes," said Jan. "I dated in the usual way, and even had one or two short liaisons, before setting my sights on Reginald." "And how do you react to males now?" "With interest, on occasion, but much less so than before. I find myself looking at other women in a different way, now, and in some cases I find them attractive. I have also had some indirect contact with males that are transgendered to some degree, as a result of Rita's interests. I find myself very much in tune with them; I have a sense of satisfaction in being a woman, and it seems natural to me that men might want to attain that state themselves. I have never been attracted to the macho stereotype; when I first met Reginald, as he then was, he certainly showed no sign of being effeminate; he seemed to be natural enough as a male, but he was considerate and kind, rather than being an overbearing he-man. We really became close friends." "Let me add to that," I put in; "being one another's best friend is precisely the way I describe our relationship. We happened to be man and woman so sex was more of a very nice side benefit, rather than the main purpose of our life together. We relate as people, and I sometimes think the relationship does transcend gender as you say." "How would you describe your sex life now?" asked Dr. Wexler. "If anything, more intense than before," said Jan. "There was a heady period when we first got together, but things settled down and became fairly routine. It was probably more important to Reg than it was to me. When Rita came out completely to me, it became more intense than it had ever been, and things are still very good. I think they get better as more and more of Rita emerges."
Dr. Wexler sat for a moment in contemplation. "This is really the most remarkable situation I have encountered," he said. "Rita is following a path that in many cases can be very difficult; she seems convinced that it is what she wants to do; both of you seem in complete agreement, you have clearly thought the whole process through, and you seem to get happier together as she proceeds along the path. It's almost irrelevant whether she is a transsexual as defined by the professional guidelines; what is more to the point is that there is no reason why her course should be impeded. I appreciate you coming in, Jan; I must confess that I was curious to hear what you had to say, after Rita's account of your relationship. It is much more common to meet lack of understanding, denial and even hostility from the partners of people starting transition; very few relationships survive after one of the partners has been identified as transsexual. Fortunately your case is an exception; it is very gratifying to see. I'll give you a letter, Rita, stating that in my opinion you are transsexual; it will be useful in case you run into any bureaucratic problems. Maybe you could come and see me in three months' time; then I can give you a formal letter recommending sexual reassignment surgery, and refer you to one of my colleagues for a second opinion." He shook hands with both of us, and wished us well as he said goodbye. After a brief consultation with the receptionist to book the appointment, we rode the elevator back down to the street level.
"I was very touched by the things you said," I told Jan. "Since things got stirred up for me a few years ago, I seem to have got very much into self-assessment and figuring out why certain things appeal to me. I seem to want to understand what is going on in my head, but I haven't really heard you doing it." "I've been thinking about things too," said Jan, "particularly in this last year. I could see what was happening to you, and I welcomed it; eventually I started to wonder why, and I began to think about my own mental processes. My conclusions are quite recent, though I am convinced that they are valid." She squeezed my arm lovingly as we walked across the parking lot.
Tuesday, August 17th. Early the next week, a note arrived from Dr. Wexler. It contained a formal 'to whom it may concern' letter, using his official letterhead. It stated that I was a patient of his, that in his professional opinion I was clearly transsexual, and that I was living full-time as a woman as a required part of my treatment prior to surgery. It concluded by saying categorically that I was a woman, and that I should be treated as a woman. I was very happy to see this in writing, and thought that the letter might come in useful if someone wanted to argue the case with me.
Later that evening, wearing matching filmy nightdresses, Jan and I lay side by side in bed. It was a favourite part of the day for both of us, and we often got into discussion about where we were, and how the universe was unfolding for us. "That letter from Wexler marks another milestone," I said. "I have been following my inclinations for the last month or two, but it represents a sort of seal of approval from society at large. I see myself as a woman, and the role becomes more natural to me, and as enjoyable as always, every day that passes. Now I have an official request, written by a qualified professional, that I be treated as a woman by society." "Congratulations!" said Jan. "You're right, though; it is an important step. May I be the first to recognise your status; welcome to the sisterhood." I hugged her. "It does mean a lot, Jan," I said, "and when I think about the way you have reacted all along, I am as amazed as Wexler was." The topic started a new train of thought, and I continued: "Society at large is now instructed to treat me as a woman; hopefully a large section of it does so anyway, because they see me as I present myself, and don't find reason to decide otherwise. But I think this precipitates the next step I have to take, and that's the one I don't relish." "You have to come out to those who have known you all along," Jan said. "Precisely. I have to do it now. The question is what is the best way?" "You've read a fair amount of the experiences of others," Jan said. "What do they do?" "A variety of things," I said. "In a workplace they often send a detailed letter to all their colleagues, and then follow it up by trying to meet with them one on one. Most often people talk to their relatives, parents in particular, one on one; sometimes they give them a letter to read too. The advantage of that is the arguments, the description of the medical condition, and all the facets of transsexuality can be carefully presented, hopefully with the optimum spin." "Does it work?" "Results seem to vary," I said. "More often than not, people do find a measure of acceptance and understanding; on the other hand, it's not at all unusual for them to find they are estranged from old friends and the odd family member. They can find acceptance where they least expect it, and run into problems with long time bosom friends." "Have you thought about what to do?" "Not as much as I should have. It's been nagging away in the back of my mind, and I still can't decide on the best course." "There aren't too many people really close to us," said Jan. "We are fairly antisocial, and we don't have that many relatives -- none of them live anywhere near, and we don't see them too often." "The largest group is at the university," I said; "there's a very large number of people I know there, though I have allowed myself to drift away. I think that I should send a letter to them, and maybe that's the way to deal with everyone who knew Reg. Once the basic facts are stated, then I can contact the more close friends and relatives and give them whatever further explanation they need." "That's the best way," said Jan. "Write a letter that covers the whole story, and send it to everyone we can think of. You may find that they want to contact you. I'll talk to my sister."
Saturday, August 21st. I spent most of the rest of the week struggling with the letter. I looked at the various examples that had been posted on transgender mailing lists, and got some ideas. The basic description of what transsexuality was, and how it manifests was relatively easy, though I took a lot of care with the wording, and worried about getting just the right phrases. The difficulty for me was that I had not really been gender dysphoric; if I had been able to refer to a well defined medical condition like that, I could then have said simply that I was diagnosed, and follow up with the traditional treatment. I also thought that people might have a hard time understanding how I had come to such a radical realisation about myself so late in life, after living very happily as a male for most of it. I decided I would use my prostate surgery as the significant factor; I thought I could create some sort of rationale based on the effects of that, and of course it was based on the truth. An advantage of that was that I had changed my lifestyle after the surgery; after being on sick leave, I took a year's sabbatical, and then retired early a year later. I wrote an account based to some degree on my experience: I explained that I found some impairment in my ability to function as a male as a result of the surgery, which had given me severe problems, pushing me into a state close to nervous breakdown. In getting treatment for that, I had come to recognise a feminine side to myself, and as the months went by, that part of me became stronger and stronger until I finally realised that I wanted to accept it completely. I dwelled on the fact that doing so brought me an incredible sense of relief, and made it obvious that I should follow the path of transsexual transition. Without getting into any details, I did say that it seemed likely that this aspect of myself had been present in my subconscious all through my life.
I asked Jan to look at it, and give me her reaction. Her response was very positive. "I think that's very good," she said. "It is essentially the true story, and only differs from the whole truth in that it doesn't dwell on certain things that nobody else needs to know about. You do give a good account of your distress, and the relief you felt when you realised that there was a mechanism for dealing with it. How else could you handle the story?" "A good question," I said. "There is always a difficulty in understanding what goes on in someone else's mind, and realising the depth of their feelings; I guess 'empathy' is really the capacity for doing that. Some people will be completely mystified, no doubt; most will be vaguely sympathetic without understanding fully; hopefully there will be a few that do appreciate the depth of feelings that result in such a course of action, and at least understand that they can't be resisted." "It's very good," Jan said. "Go with it."
I did, but not until after much more struggling with attempts to find exactly the right word in various places. I then merged my personal story with the basic medical facts, creating what I hoped was a reasonably coherent document. I spent a long time with the word processor, getting everything as close to perfection as I could. Finally I produced three versions; they differed slightly in the introductory paragraph, and the idea was to make them suitable for close friends, more casual acquaintances, and those who knew of me, but with whom I had very little interaction. I printed out sample copies of each, and gave them to Jan to look at.
Sunday, August 22nd. Jan spent some time reading through my final versions. "They tell the essential story," she said. "I don't see how you could present it any better. Hopefully it will give people some idea of what was going on in your mind, and even if they don't understand, the essential facts are there. You consider yourself to be a woman, and you wish society to treat you as one. If people can't deal with that, there isn't very much we can do about it, and ultimately it's their problem." "I don't see what more I can do," I said. "As you say, when the chips are down, I am simply saying here is what I have chosen to do, and this is how I would prefer to be treated. It's happened. But what do you think about the reference to you?" "It's fine," she said. "Again, it's the way things are; it's the way they are going to be. If people don't understand me either, there isn't much I can do about it. I am utterly happy with the way things have turned out." "I appreciate that, my love," I said, " and that is what has made it possible for me to deal with this situation as easily as I have. What worries me is that people are going to be as mystified by your actions as they are by mine. You may find old friends no longer want to see you, too." "Too bad for them," Jan said. "If that happens, then they weren't real friends anyway, and it will be nice to know that." Jan's support for me was invaluable at times like this, and I choked up thinking about how much she meant to me. What I had said in the letter was that Jan had been a great support to me through a difficult period in my life, that she and I felt the same way about one another as we always had, and that she and I planned to continue living together. It was the simple truth.
I ran off a vast number of copies of the letter, and Jan and I sat down with our address books. I also looked at the university directory, and dug out just about any name I could find of someone who might have known me, or who might remember me. It seemed as though we spent the whole day addressing envelopes, and I felt exhausted and spent by the time we finished. "It's far worse than christmas cards," I said in an attempt to cheer things up. "I'll go to the post office tomorrow and see if I can get them all franked. After all this effort, I don't really feel like spending another day licking stamps." "That's probably the worst part of the whole process," Jan said. "It had to be done, and now all we can do is sit back and wait for the fallout. Let's open a bottle of wine." We sat down and relaxed, both of us emotionally drained.
Monday, August 23rd. I went to the post office early on Monday morning, carrying a box containing several bundles of envelopes. It turned out that they were still prepared to frank bulk mailings, and fortunately I had sorted everything by postal code. I went outside into the sun, feeling much lighter -- not just because of the weight I had just unloaded. I had mixed emotions; I felt relieved because a difficult task had been done, and things were now out of my hands. But I also felt apprehensive, thinking of the response there would no doubt be. I knew it would range from disbelief and disdain, through tolerance without any real understanding, hopefully to acceptance. Whatever the response, at least people would know what had happened to me, and I would not have to deal with the embarrassment they might have if it was sprung on them suddenly by accident. I also knew that my letter would provoke curiosity and gossip about me, and I almost felt my ears burning in anticipation.
Later in the afternoon I drove off to my regular speech therapy session. I was greeted as usual by the lovely contralto, and as always I was warmed by her happy enthusiasm. For the last week or so she had been getting me to read quite lengthy passages, then playing the tape back and making comments about my phrasing and modulation. She chose passages by female authors, and typically they featured heroines who chatted away about what they were wearing, how they reacted to their male admirers, and emoted about their girlish interests. As a genre, it didn't inspire me, and I hoped that the choices didn't reflect my therapist's literary tastes. I realised of course what she was doing; the idea was to get me to speak stereotypical feminine phrases and sentences, and persuade me to do so in a manner that didn't sound unnatural. I didn't always identify very well with the ladies whose words I had to say, but I did get something of a charge from being cast in an ultra-feminine role.
This session she carried this strategy to the ultimate; she gave me a Harlequin romance, and asked me to read a long section from it for the tape recorder. The feather-brained heroine, no doubt wearing little pointy shoes, and frilly petticoats, was emoting about the travails of her unhappy life; she was devastated by the lack of attention from a man she secretly admired, a paragon of masculine charms and virtues. She was speaking to a friend, and also recalled in great detail their many girlish activities and pleasures. I read, and attempted to play the role for several minutes. Before she played the tape back to me, the therapist asked me to try to forget that it was I reading; "Try to listen very carefully to the modulation, and take in the overall effect; I'll play the tape right the way through, and then ask for your reactions." She started the tape, and I tried to do as she said. I listened to the phrasing quite carefully at first, but the content intruded, and I began to find it irritating. The tape came to an end, and I reacted immediately; "Why couldn't that stupid girl understand what was happening to her?"
"Girl?" asked the therapist. "Did it sound like a girl to you?" I was taken aback; "I suppose it did," I said. "I wasn't really listening to the voice, and I just reacted to what was being said." "Did it ring true?" I thought for a moment; "It didn't strike me as false," I said, "but I wasn't really aware of the characteristics of the voice." She smiled at me. "This tape is a beautiful illustration of what I told you when you first came to see me. The person on the tape doesn't have a squeaky high- pitched little girl voice, but listening to it, one would have no doubt that it's a woman speaking. If we did an accurate measurement of pitch, it might very well be somewhere in the usual tenor male voice range, but that doesn't come across. The voice is somewhat lower than the usual range for female voices, but that isn't unusual; it has a characteristic feminine character, and a casual hearer would have no doubt that the speaker was a woman." I looked at her in some surprise, and she continued: "My point is that you have done very well; I think you have really managed to master the inflection, and the result is that people will not find any incongruity between your voice and your appearance." I was gratified to hear this, and realised that I had not really thought very much about my speaking recently. After the first week or two, when I was very concerned, and tried very hard to control the way I spoke, I hadn't really had any difficulties in everyday conversation with strangers.
"I'm very pleased with your progress," the therapist said, "and you have been very dedicated in your approach. I don't think that there is any need to continue these sessions. Your voice isn't completely second nature yet, and you may give yourself away if you are caught by surprise, or startled. The only way to avoid that is to keep working. If you can, I would try to read a passage every day out loud and get someone to listen to you carefully. If you can bear it, it might help to read something like you did today; the overstressed, stereotypical feminine content does help to get you speaking properly. It would sound even more ludicrous than it is if the speaker weren't obviously feminine too; the point is that after practicing an overstated femininity intensely, the fallback from that becomes what you do instinctively. That will be recognised as female by those who listen to you."
I gave her my heartfelt thanks, and left feeling very happy about the way things were going; I was even tempted to sing as I walked down the street to the car, but decided that might be pushing my luck. Jan picked up on my high spirits when I arrived home; "Things went well?" she asked. "Yes, I seem to have graduated; she doesn't think I need to carry on with the sessions any more." "That's wonderful, my love," said Jan, hugging me. "She did give me some ongoing work," I said. "She wants me to read Harlequin romances, out loud, and attempt to emote like the silly little girls they feature. You have to be my sounding board, and detect any false note." "That might be fun," Jan said. "If we find we can't take it too seriously, then we can practice giggling together."
Sunday, September 5th. A week or so after I had mailed all the letters, we started to get some reactions. There were a fair number of cards from friends and acquaintances which wished me well, but were really quite non-committal. They were almost like get-well cards, though the odd one did have some reference to 'my new life' or 'new beginnings'. I couldn't guess what the senders really thought about what had happened to me, but at least they weren't overtly hostile, and more to the point gave an indication that people knew, and would not be freaked out if they ran into me, or heard references to me. I got a few letters, from close acquaintances, and they made attempts to express their understanding of the difficult time I must have had. There were even a couple of phone calls, and I appreciated the motivation of the callers; they were a little awkward, and neither of us knew exactly what to say. All my relatives were in the UK, and I was no longer very close to any of them; most of them responded, with more or less superficial messages, and there did not seem to be any general desire to talk about things in any detail.
Jan had a number of phone calls from friends of hers, and I could tell that some of them were trying to elucidate interesting details, and probe for her reactions. She handled them very well, and I heard her repeatedly talking about why I had made the decision, and assuring everyone that both she and I were very happy about things. She was quite close to her sister, who lived some distance away, and decided it would be a good idea to call, rather than wait for a reaction. They had a very long chat together, and when it was all over, she came to sit by me. "That was difficult," she said. "It's very hard to deal with 'how could he do a thing like that?' asked about something that seems a natural evolution, when you have watched the person in question change and grow, and found that you loved them even more than before. I tried to explain that to my sister, and I think I finally got through to her. I told her we were very happy together, and that things had actually got better once we realised what needed to be done. She finally conceded that was what really mattered." "I'm really sorry, my love." I said. "It's bad enough that you have had my problems thrust on you, and you've played a major part in helping me sort them out; what you don't need is any extra hassle on your own account." "It needed to be done," she said. "The fact is I am coming out myself in a way, and it will make things easier if people realise that, too."
Monday, September 6th. It was a long weekend, just prior to the start of the academic year, and a time I enjoyed particularly now that I was retired. I relished the feeling of being free, and no longer having to contemplate starting work in earnest the next day. This year I felt especially good about things, thinking back over the events of the summer. It had been over the long weekend in May, the traditional starting point for summer activities, that I had made my decision; as I thought about the events that followed from that, I had to concede that it was my best summer ever.
I was used to presenting myself as a woman, and having people I met deal with me as a woman, and that had become completely natural to me. There was some ambivalence in my feeling, though, because the newness of my situation added to my enjoyment; my state felt natural, but it had not become normal in the sense of being mundane; every day there were little incidents that I enjoyed because of their novelty. There were still 'feminine' activities that were new experiences for me, and that gave me great satisfaction -- many of them would have been of no significance to a woman raised from girlhood to accept them as everyday matters never given a passing thought. It was hard for me to take stock of myself objectively, so I am not sure that I really felt differently about matters unrelated to gender; I was still given to a pedantic style of talking that was more academic than masculine, and my interests in general were much the same as before. It wasn't obvious to me that my moods were very different, though I had been on a continuous high through the whole period; that related more to my happiness in finding myself, than having a more feminine view of the world. I did seem to take more delight in little things, and get carried away in my enthusiasm; quite often I would say things like "Oh, look at that wonderful dress!" when Jan and I were shopping, and it was an almost instinctive reaction.
There were real changes in my body. My beard still grew, but there was not much more than 10% of it remaining now after the two laser treatments, and it seemed to me that the hairs were finer. I still had to shave, but the shadow was not a serious problem, and certainly didn't show through my makeup. My skin seemed softer, and my hair was growing -- it was now quite long and profuse; I thought it was time to see what could be done with it. My hips seemed a little more full now, and I very definitely had a waist; my girdles seemed to fit much better, and I couldn't resist getting some new ones; I loved the firm sense of containment round my hips which was now possible without excessive pressure at the waist. My eating habits had changed somewhat, with my dramatic change in lifestyle, and I did a lot of walking with Jan; both these factors helped the female hormones as they worked on my system. My real joy now was the development of my breasts; they had grown dramatically, and the nipples had enlarged somewhat and become deliciously sensitive. I took great delight in the feminine figure that I could now display, without any artificial assistance, and had indulged myself in buying bras that were 'my size'; they had B cups and fitted my body, as it now was, naturally. I had bought them on one of my many visits back to The Feminine Mystique, and I had been fitted properly by the very helpful lady there.
My voice seemed to be acceptable to people that I talked to. On occasion I would notice that somebody was looking at me oddly, and realise that I had been read, but that was quite unusual. I still worked quite seriously at making a feminine inflection second nature, and was following the suggestion of the speech therapist. I had now read a couple of Harlequin romances; I usually read a chapter each night to Jan just after we had gone to bed. This turned out to be a great deal of fun; Jan found the stories so assinine, and the traumatic concerns of the helpless prissy ultra-feminine heroines so ludicrous that she was frequently reduced to uncontrollable fits of giggling. On one level, I had the same response as she did, and this proved to be very useful, as I got quite a lot of practice in developing a believable girlish giggle. To my amazement, though, on another level I found myself identifying quite strongly with the heroines, and getting myself very concerned over their predicaments and misfortunes. I began to realise that my personality did have two sides to it; there was an intellectual side that involved itself in my interests in music, science and technical things like computers. That part of me was unchanged, and it was my feeling that it encompassed interests and activities to which gender was completely irrelevant. I was discovering another side to myself, which began to emerge at the time I recognised that I was transgendered to some degree; it manifested itself in my feminine identification, particularly in my sexuality. That part of me was almost a classic stereotype of a submissive feminine creature, who wanted her partner to take the active role. I realised that there was an obvious connection between this conception of femininity and my preferences in clothing, and my delight in feminine adornment.
The two sides of myself were almost contradictory; my intellectual side was strongly feminist, but my sexual identity and my love of feminine adornment would have caused any self- respecting feminist to recoil in horror. The dichotomy didn't bother me in the least, and I enjoyed both 'modes' of behaviour. I often chatted with Jan about this apparent contradiction, and she saw it as quite characteristic of the female condition; she cited quotes from quite militant feminists, who criticised the artificial constructs of gender in our society, but who also had to take their shoes off when they really wanted to feel comfortable. The marvellous rapport we had allowed her to delight in my ultra-femininity when we made love, and also to appreciate the intellectual companionship that had been the basis of our relationship for over thirty years; that continued unchanged, but when we got to bed we were now both lesbian, and there was no doubt that she was a 'top' and I was a 'bottom' -- and we loved it!
I was of course taking female hormones daily, and realised that I would have to do so for the rest of my life. My glandular system was still male, and had to be inhibited by anti-androgens; that would no longer be necessary when I finally had sexual reassignment surgery, and my testicles were no longer present. Anatomically I was still a male -- a male with uncharacteristic development of his mammary glands, which were a source of extreme pleasure to him(!); ironically, though the sensitive glans of my male penis was the source of my 'female' sexual pleasure, I looked forward to the day when it would be relocated inside a vagina, and outward appendages of masculinity would be gone. I visited the endocrinologist regularly, and she made careful checks on my medical condition and the effects of the hormone therapy. Fortunately my system seemed to be showing no adverse reactions, and I was very happy with the desirable effects that became more evident as the months passed.
Tuesday, September 7th. Jan had an appointment at the hairdresser's on Tuesday, and went out mid-morning. She came back at lunchtime, and her longish hair had been quite elegantly styled; it looked nice to me, and I told her so. "I have always been very pleased with Gloria," she said. "She seems to have a good feel for what I like, and she doesn't insist on changing something that I'm happy with." She grinned at me across the table, and went on: "By the way, I had a most interesting conversation with her. We were talking about the number of clients she has, and she was telling me about some of the more interesting ones. Out of the blue, she told me that she had two male cross-dressers in to get their hair styled just recently. She told me they looked very good, and she thought it was wonderful that men could take an interest in presenting themselves as women that way." "A refreshing attitude," I said, "but of course they do also add to her clientele." "That's very cynical," Jan said, smiling. "She also told me that one of her clients was a transsexual woman; she obviously found her very congenial, and enjoyed working with her." "We're everywhere," I said, "if things continue the way they're going, we shall soon be taking over." "I hope you don't mind," Jan went on, "but I thought it was an opportune moment to tell her about you." I was actually quite pleased: "What did you tell her?" "I said that I had a good friend who was transsexual, and she had only started transition at the beginning of the summer. I said my friend had been wearing a wig, but that her own hair was now quite long and she was thinking about getting it styled. Gloria was very interested; 'I'd love to meet her,' she said; 'please tell her I would be very happy to create a nice hairstyle for her.'" "And you would recommend Gloria?" I asked. "Yes," Jan replied; "she's very good, and you would enjoy meeting her." "I'd like to try it," I said. "Could you make an appointment for me? It would probably be best, if you take me there and introduce me." "Yes, ma'am!" said Jan.
Friday, September 10th. Jan had made an appointment with Gloria for me, so we walked over to the shopping area where the hairdressing salon was located. "This is new territory for me," I said as our heels clicked along the sidewalk; "is there anything I should know about?" "I don't think so," Jan said; "just be your natural self. It may take quite a long time, but there are piles of interesting magazines. You can read about the latest styles, and makeup; how to improve your sex life, and make the man in your life happy." She winked at me. We arrived at the salon, and Jan led me inside. A young woman with an exotic hairdo saw us, and came to greet us, smiling. "This is my friend, Rita," said Jan. "Hello, Rita," said Gloria. "Come and sit down." "I'll see you later, Rita," said Jan; "why don't you meet me at the coffee bar in about an hour and a half?" She waved, and went out.
"Jan told me a little bit about you," said Gloria. "What exactly do you have in mind?" "I'm not sure," I replied, "and I would appreciate your advice. I usually wear the wig, as my own hair isn't really very long, but I would like to see what might be done with it." Gloria carefully removed the wig, revealing a rather incongruous picture; my carefully made up face was topped by a head of hair that looked quite nondescript, though it did give a vaguely male impression. "I haven't done anything to it since the beginning of the summer," I said. "I want it much longer, and until it grows out I don't really want to interfere with it." "Lots of women have shorter hair than that," Gloria said; "we could give it a very severe style, short, but quite feminine." "I really don't want to lose any of it," I said; "do you think something can be done without trimming it?" "We have to trim it here and there," she said, "just to shape it and get it tidy, but the main body of it will be the length it is now." She picked up a brochure that illustrated several quite different coiffures; "How about something like this?" She pointed to an elegant model whose hair was swept back, and gathered in a top- knot at the back of her head, leaving her neck bare. "Do you really think it would work?" I asked. "It would expose my ears, and I think they are better covered up." "We could try a fringe at the front," she said, "and comb it down at the sides. There is quite a lot of body, and I could try to fluff it out as well." "That sounds better," I said; "I really like the way the wig is styled, and I hope I can grow it to that length."
Gloria set to work, rinsing my whole head with shampoo and conditioner. She did trim my hair at the front with her scissors, and I held my breath, hoping the effects wouldn't be too drastic. She combed it out, and then brushed it; at the sides it did partially cover my ears, and it extended down over the nape of my neck at the back. As it dried she continued brushing, and did some fluffing out and primping; to my amazement, it started to take on a much more feminine appearance. She teased it up just a little on the top of my head, and used some hairspray. I watched the transformation in fascination. The density and thickness, and the length, of my hair was no different than when she had started, but it was amazing how subtle ways of shaping it with a brush and comb could change the gender signals. I wasn't completely convinced that the person I saw in the mirror was me, but I had to concede that it did look very much like a woman.
I sat there for over an hour, as the transformation gradually took place, and finally Gloria smiled at me and asked "What do you think?" "It looks very nice," I said, "but I think I shall have to get used to it. It's quite different from what I see every morning in the mirror." "Why don't you see how it goes for the rest of the day?" she said. "If you really decide you don't like it, there's always the wig. But if you want to stay with this style while the hair grows, you'll have to do some work every morning, and use hairspray on it" "I will try it," I said. "It will be an interesting experience, and it will be fun to see how other people react. Thank you very much." "It was my pleasure," Gloria said; she packed the wig carefully for me in a box, and walked to the reception desk with me. "I hope to see you again, soon."
I walked the half block down the street to the coffee bar; I felt just a little apprehensive, but nobody who passed seemed to find my appearance too strange. I saw Jan sitting at a corner table, and walked in to join her. She looked up at me; "Do you mind if I join you?" I asked. "Sorry, but I am expecting somebody," she said; then she smiled. "I couldn't resist that." "I'm not sure whether I like it or not," I said; "what do you think?" "It looks very good," she said, "but the problem is I'm used to you with long hair. It's a bit disconcerting when someone you know very well appears different." "Do you ever recall having someone say that to you?" I said. "Yes, I know, my love. Touche!" "I like long hair too," I said, "and I hope mine really does grow down to my shoulders. But it might be interesting to try this for a day or so." "Why not? It's a woman's perogative to change her mind -- also her hairstyle. And it does really look nice; Gloria did a wonderful job."
Tuesday, September 14th. I thought it would be fun to show Melanie my new hairdo when I went to the laser clinic, so I left the wig off for a few days. Fortunately I had the weekend to practice styling my hair; I spent a long time each morning, and had a great deal of trouble getting it to look anything like it had after Gloria had done it. I was almost in despair on the Saturday, and had to get Jan to help me out. I learned quite a lot about using hairspray (mostly what not to do) and eventually got myself to a state that didn't seem to scare the passers-by too badly when I went out in the street.
By the time Tuesday came, I felt a little bit more confident about it, and I was also getting used to seeing the strange woman look back at me from the mirror. She looked quite odd that morning as I hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and I had no makeup on. Fortunately my appointment was first thing in the morning again, and I was able to park in my usual spot right outside the door. Melanie was already waiting for me, and looked me over with a smile. "I took your advice," I said. "I'm still not convinced, but it will be useful experience when my hair grows out more." "It looks very nice," she said. "You'll get used to it, and you might find you prefer it." "No," I said; "I really do love long hair."
I sat down and put on the dark glasses she held out, and braced myself for the ordeal. I must have been getting used it, as this time it didn't seem anything like as bad as before. The whole process seemed to be proceeding quicker, too. Melanie worked away, and I felt the little jolts as she moved over my chin and cheeks, then finally my throat. At long last, it seemed much longer than an hour, she finished and took the glasses. I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw some redness on my face, but it too didn't seem as bad as on the previous visits. "There should be very little left, now," Melanie said. "Some of the hairs were quite light, though, and they might recover. If that happens, I would recommend treating them with electrolysis. See how things go in the next week or so, and please give me a call if you have any questions at all." I thanked her, and said goodbye; as I was settling the bill at the front desk, the lady whom I assume owned the business came out to see me. "You look very nice," she said, "and it's certainly a change since I first met you. I hope our treatment will help you continue on your path. I'm sure it's the right one for you." "I'm certain," I said, "and there's no doubt you and Melanie have helped me; I really appreciate your accepting attitude. Thank you very much."
I left the salon, and drove home, thinking how much easier my transition was than those of the first transsexuals, not very long ago. People like my many new friends who provided the services we needed made things so much better, and their acceptance was wonderful moral support. In quite a few cases, these people were transsexuals themselves, and their professional help was accompanied by active encouragement.
Wednesday, September 15th. The next morning my face had cleared up, and I took great pains over my makeup. I decided to stay with the hair for a while longer, and I spent a long time teasing it and fluffing it to my satisfaction. Fall was definitely in the air, and I decided it was time for a shopping trip; I needed a raincoat for sure, and I would probably need a warm winter coat. I thought of all the items in a complete feminine wardrobe, and realised that there were also things like scarves, sweaters and even shoes or boots that would handle rain and snow. I went to one of the big department stores and spent the whole morning looking at things. It was much more of a chore than shopping for lingerie and dresses, which had become a real pleasure. I did find a coat that I liked, which wasn't too heavy; it fit me very well, so I added it to my purchases. They included a woolen sweater and a raincoat; I looked at winter shoes, but none of them impressed me at all, so I gave up, and decided to finish with something a bit more pleasant. I went to look at earrings and necklaces; I bought a pair of earrings, and also a very nice necklace of glass beads, which would go very well with my blue open neck dress. I drove home having spent a fair amount of money, but I was not enthused as I was after visiting stores like The Feminine Mystique.
Sunday, October 10th. The weeks seemed to be going by very quickly now, and as the summer weather turned to cloud and rain, with the odd fine day here and there, I found myself spending more and more time with the interests and projects that had occupied me for most of my life. My gender identity didn't seem to affect these things at all, but I was always pleasantly aware of it, and when I sat working at the computer, it was still a delight to pause for a moment and realise that I was wearing a dress that I was particularly fond of. As I got up to look for a book, I would hear the rustle of my stockings against my slip; I had moments when I became very much aware of the delicious things I was wearing, and my pleasure in doing so was if anything stronger than ever.
Jan and I still tried to go out walking fairly regularly, and the new raincoat became an essential item of outer wear. After a few heavy showers wearing a plastic rain hood, I decided I should probably look for a hat that would be more pleasant to wear, and serve the purpose. My hair was definitely growing, and I visited Gloria quite regularly, to get it styled. I now wore the wig very rarely; my ambition was to grow my own hair to the same length, and I took delight in watching its progress, and gradually changing my coiffure to emphasise its growth.
Apart from these little things that kept reminding me delightfully of my adopted gender, Jan and I had settled into a day to day routine that was really quite similar to what it had been a year before. Our daily activities were not very different, but my costume was a continual reminder of the dramatic events of the summer, and I was always 'Rita' now; neither of us ever used my former name, even by accident when we were preoccupied. One new activity was our interest in the art of makeup, and both of us had fun experimenting with new products, and making changes, which weren't always too subtle, to our presentation.
There was one delightful aspect of our life together that did continue; sex remained as wonderful as it always had been, and we enjoyed making love frequently. My fears about how my system would react without the testosterone, that I had assumed was driving it, turned out to be unwarranted. Things had changed in a subtle way, but my delight in femininity obviously was reinforced by the female hormones now in my system. There probably wasn't quite the same physical response as there had been, and it no longer seemed to matter so much what part of me was stimulated. I thrilled to Jan's touch anywhere on my body, and now had a more emotional response to it; it was as strong and enjoyable as ever, though, and the gradual build of excitement up to a moment of absolute bliss as release came was utterly captivating. Jan obviously experienced great pleasure in her role as a seductress, taking gentle control of her passive feminine partner's passions; very often I would return the favour and excite her passion physically. There is no doubt that we were both lesbian in our orientation; a major component of our pleasure in love making was the similarity in our desires and responses; we both experienced ecstatic pleasure in mutual caressing of our breasts. We experimented from time to time with various other means of stimulation, and tried different approaches to our scenario, but we were most happy when we accepted the simple fact that we were both women, and we both thought of ourselves as feminine, but Jan was the active partner. She enjoyed that role more and more, and I wallowed in allowing myself to sink into euphoric feelings of passive femininity; neither of us found the idea of domination exciting at all, but I was passive almost to the point of being submissive.
Monday, November 1st. I got a phone call from the lawyer; she told me that the legal notice for my change of name application had now been posted in the legal gazette for the required three months. The application had been filed a few days after I saw her in July, and the notice had been posted on the 27th. She told me that she had been able to arrange a court appearance on Friday morning at 10:30; it was almost certain to be just a formality, she thought, so she arranged to meet me for coffee a half hour before. She said she would be there anyway, in case of any difficulties, but she would tell me precisely what to say.
Friday, November 5th. At 10:00 I met Sarah Johnson, the lawyer, in a coffee shop just across the street from the court house. I decided to wear the wig, for maximum effect, and had to pin my hair up carefully on top of my head. The wig looked as good as ever, and I carefully combed and brushed it. I spent a long time on my makeup, and went to a great deal of trouble on my eyes; I pulled out all the stops, and shaded my eyelids lightly, and used two coats of mascara on my upper lashes. I used bright crimson lipstick, and had used all the tricks Jan and I had been learning, shading my lips first with liner. I wore long earrings, and my dark blue dress, with dark stockings and what I thought of as reasonably high heels. Sarah laughed when she saw me: "You look wonderful," she said. "I almost called you back, to remind you to be sure to present yourself in as feminine a manner as possible. Obviously it wasn't necessary." "I don't have too much experience of courts," I said, "but I could figure that out. Do you think I will convince the judge that I don't look too much like a Reginald?" She giggled. "Yes."
She gave me a quick briefing. "Don't be worried by the dignified term judge," she said; "they are all called that now. This guy is much more like what would have been called a magistrate or even justice of the peace. I doubt if there will be anyone else there, other than those who are also appearing. You will be called before him -- as Reginald Opal -- and he will ask a few questions. The most likely is 'why?'." "And the answer is?" "A simple statements of the facts: you're TS, you are living full time, as required, and you plan to have surgery. Tell him you are a patient of Dr. Wexler, and just in case, have the letter ready to produce. If anything else happens, I'll jump in a do an 'on behalf of my client' routine." "That doesn't sound beyond my simple skills," I said. "We better get over there, it's 20 after," Sarah said.
We crossed the street, went into the courthouse, and found the small courtroom. It was virtually empty; we joined a couple of people seated at the back. The judge was hearing some application involving payment of maintenance costs, and made his ruling. The man standing in front of him turned and left. The clerk sitting at a lower desk next to the bench looked at a sheet, and called "Reginald Opal." I stood up and walked to the front of the courtroom, my high heels clicking on the wooden floor. The judge scrutinised me, not surprised, but with what I thought was an air of suspicion. "You are Reginald Opal?" "Yes, your honour." I was asked to confirm my address and date of birth. "An application has been filed on your behalf to change your name to Rita Opal. Is that correct?" "Yes, your honour." "And you normally appear as you do now?" "Yes, your honour." "I think I understand why you might prefer not to be called Reginald," he said, unbending with a slight smile; "would you explain why you normally appear dressed this way?" "I am a transsexual, your honour. I am being treated by Dr. Elderton, an endocrinologist, and Dr. Wexler, a psychiatrist. The treatment involves living full time as a woman, and I will eventually have sexual reassignment surgery, and seek a formal change in my legal status from male to female." "Aha! I see no reason why your application should be refused. Granted, and so ordered. And best wishes to you, Ms. Rita Opal." "Thank you, your honour." I bowed slightly, as I had seen the previous appellant do, and turned to walk back to join Sarah. Outside the courtroom, she said "You were great! He was obviously impressed by you." "I'm glad; I wouldn't have fancied a real grilling." "I should have the official papers on Monday," Sarah said. "Then it's done; you're legally Rita Opal, and you can use the official document to change all your records. I'll give you a call about who to see for the driver's licence." She had to rush off and see another client so we said a quick goodbye.
I drove home, thinking that another step had been completed. Jan was eager to hear what had happened. "Very little," I said. "It was almost as simple as telling the judge the basic facts, and waiting thirty seconds for him to say 'so ordered'. Sarah thinks he liked me." "That I can understand," said Jan smiling sweetly; "I would say he had very good taste." I had a bit of work to do now, and I spent the afternoon making a list of all the credit cards I had, and all the agencies of one sort or another that I dealt with, so that I could send them notification of my official change of name.
Monday, November 8th. Dr. Wexler's office had phoned me the previous week to remind me of my appointment; it was now just over three months since I had first seen him. I appreciated his attitude very much; not only was he 'T* friendly' but once he was convinced that I knew what I was doing, and approved of my course of action, he had left me alone. He could now report that I had been under his care for three months, and clearly saw this visit as a mere formality to comply with the SOC; it struck me that he would be better described as 'T* supportive'.
He greeted me as usual, and indicated the large leather chair opposite his desk. "Well, Rita," he said, "the improvement in your presentation is quite striking, and I am really impressed with your voice. I assume that I can conclude that you haven't had second thoughts about your gender identification?" "Not at all," I said. "I think this summer was the most wonderful time of my whole life. I had a lot to learn, and think about, but I enjoyed all the new facets of life as a woman. There's no doubt in my mind that I made the right choice." "And your partner, Jan?" "She has been a fantastic support to me, and she is still as enthusiastic as I am about each step I make." "You are a very fortunate woman," he said. "There's no doubt in my mind, either. Even if there had been, your presentation today would be enough to convince me. I'll be happy to write a letter for you recommending that you undergo sexual reassignment surgery." "Thank you. I am very grateful for the sympathetic and understanding way you have dealt with me." He smiled: "Now to comply with SOC it is necessary for you to get a second recommendation; if I might suggest one of my colleagues, I think it would be a good idea for you to see Dr. Ruth Nilson. She is quite familiar with gender issues, and I am certain she would confirm my view of your case; it would probably be best if you contact her office yourself." "I'll do that; thank you," I said. "By the way, there's one thing I didn't tell you: Friday was my court hearing, and my change of name is now legal." "I'll change my records to reflect that," he said, making a note.
I left the office, after saying goodbye, and thanking him once again; I felt pleased that another of the formal requirements was dealt with, and thought that I would soon be able to enjoy life as a woman without having to comply with any further requirements to prove myself. I paused to chat to the friendly receptionist, and she too was quite complimentary about my appearance.
As soon as I got home I phoned Dr. Nilson's office. I explained to the receptionist that I was transsexual, and was planning to have SRS; I told her that I had been seeing Dr. Wexler, and I now needed a second opinion. She was friendly and dealt with me in a completely businesslike manner; she told me that there was a free space on Thursday the following week, and made an appointment for me.
Tuesday, November 9th. In the mail was a note from Sarah, and the legal notice of registration of my change of name. I walked over to the local shopping area where there was a notary public, and got several certified copies made. The woman who dealt with me was quite polite, and didn't show any obvious reaction when she read the document, but I noticed that after she had visited the copier one or two of the other people working in the office managed to find excuses to walk by the front desk and take a good look at me. I knew the gossip would be very interesting after I left. Back home I sent letters to just about every company and organisation I had listed -- the simple test was anyone who an account or identification number for me -- and notified them of my change of name. I simply requested that they change their records, and enclosed a certified copy of the legal notice. I began to wonder if postage costs ought to be included among all the items that people added up when they wrote stories on the monetary cost of transition.
Friday, November 12th. On Friday, Sarah called. "You got the change of name notice?" "Yes," I said, "and I have sent certified copies to just about every organisation I can think of." "Good girl! Here's the routine for the driver's licence: there's a TS woman, Jessica Bentall, who works at one of the small suburban DMV offices. She will be there on Monday morning, with only one wicket open, so you won't have a problem with worrying about which line moves at the right speed. You won't mistake her; she's quite tall, but good looking, and has beautiful long chestnut hair." "So far, so good," I said. "And I simply ask for a new licence in my new name?" "Yes, there's a standard form for you to fill out. But when you hand it to her, tell her that there seems to be an error in their records; for some reason they have you listed as male. She will know the score, and she can access the main database and make a 'correction'." "Thanks very much, Sarah," I said; "I really appreciate your help and advice. As far as I know, there isn't too much left on the agenda." "You have the letters from two shrinks?" "I will have, next week. Then I can take my time checking out surgeons, and start thinking about contacting them sometime in the spring." "Go into that very carefully," she said; "that's a vital step. But there isn't anything else to worry about legally until after SRS; then you can get the passport changed. In the meantime, if there's anything else you need help or advice on, please give me a call." "I will. Thanks again."
Monday, November 15th. I got up very early as I wanted to get to the motor vehicle office first thing; I wanted to look my best, as the driver's licence would have my picture on it. I was fairly convinced that long hair would be my choice, so I decided to wear the wig. I pinned up my hair, and then brushed and combed the wig so that it looked its best. Then I did a painstaking job on my makeup; I was carefully groomed, but I avoided any exotic effects. I did colour my lips fairly prominently, thinking that would show up in the picture.
I had to drive way out into suburbia to find the district DMV office where Jessica worked. I parked outside and went into the building, which turned out to be completely free of other clients. It was much smaller than the one downtown; there were three wickets, two of them with notices saying 'position closed'. At the third was a striking woman with long chestnut hair. She smiled at me as I walked over to the counter; "What can I do for you?" "I need to change my driver's licence," I said; "I just had a change of name approved by the court." I gave her my licence, and a certified copy of the legal form. She copied out the information, and passed a form over to me; "Please sign here." I signed 'Rita Opal' and handed the form back. She paused for a moment, expectantly, and I said "Oh, there's an error in the system too. It says 'M' on my licence, and obviously it should be an 'F'." "So it does," she said. "It must have been entered wrongly; I can fix it right now." She had me go over to two footprints marked on the floor, in front of a camera; "I'm going to take your picture," she said; "please wait until I check whether it has transferred properly." She looked at the computer screen for a moment, and said "Fine. The licence will be mailed to you in about two weeks; in the meantime you can use this temporary one." I paid the fee, and she gave me my temporary licence. "I should also change the car registration," she said; "we might as well do that now, too. Is there just the one vehicle registered in your name?" She busied herself at the keyboard again, and the printer started running; finally she said "Here's a copy of the registration, you can replace the old one." "Thank you very much." There was still nobody else in the office; after a surreptitious look round, she said "You're very welcome. And you look wonderful; it was nice to meet you."
Thursday, November 18th. Prior to my appointment with Dr. Nilson in the afternoon I had a lazy morning, and just before lunchtime I took a long hot bath. Then I started preparing myself for the interview. I didn't really know very much about Ruth Nilson; I assumed from Dr. Wexler's recommendation that she would be sympathetic and helpful, but I thought it would be best to present the most feminine impression I could. I dressed carefully, and chose the silky green dress with a fairly narrow skirt. I spent a long time on my hair, and though I still couldn't match Gloria's skill, I did work it into a convincing feminine coiffure. I was fairly confident about my skills with makeup now, but I still worked very carefully, and decided that understatement was probably best. As I put my coat on, and took a last quick glance in the mirror, Jan squeezed my arm and said "Good luck, Rita, my love. You've almost crossed all the hurdles now."
As I drove across town to Dr. Nilson's office, I felt quite relaxed; I wasn't apprehensive at all, but it was a hurdle to get across, as Jan had said, and I knew I would be relieved when it was done with. The office was in an old frame building, on the ground floor. I went into the reception area, and the woman sitting behind the counter looked up at me. "Rita Opal," I said. "I have an appointment with Dr. Nilson." "Oh yes. She's still at lunch, but I expect her back in a few minutes. Please have a seat." I sat down, and looked at the pile of magazines, expecting the usual selection of ten year old copies of National Geographic. Instead, there were some quite interesting popular medical journals, and one caught my eye immediately; it had 'Transsexuality' in heavy type on the front cover, and a picture of a particularly attractive looking woman. I was about to pick it up, when the door opened, and a woman came in; it was the woman on the magazine cover! She saw me and smiled, then took my hand briefly and said "You must be Rita; please come into my office. I followed her into what looked more like a comfortable living room than a doctor's office. There was a bookcase filled with textbooks and journals, and a small desk in the corner, but the rest of the room was furnished with comfortable armchairs. She sat down in one of them, crossing her legs and smoothing out her skirt in an easy feminine gesture; "Please make yourself comfortable." I sat down, too, and decided for the moment to sit primly with my legs together; I wasn't always at ease crossing my legs because of certain appendages I preferred not to be reminded of, and I couldn't have matched her elegance. I did tug at my skirt, though, in what I hoped was a feminine gesture. "What brings you to see me?" she asked. "From my point of view, a simple request," I said. "I am a transsexual woman, and started transition and living full time at the beginning of the summer. I have a letter from Dr. Wexler recommending that I undergo sexual reassignment surgery, and I need a second recommendation." She smiled: "I see. That's directly to the point. From your presentation, I would assume that you are well aware of what you are doing, and have gone to considerable effort to make yourself acceptable to society as a woman. What makes you feel that you are a woman?"
I thought for a moment. "The way I react and desire to be treated sexually," I said. "That started a chain of events that led me to decide to transition; I had always enjoyed feminine clothing, and that pleasure has expanded to include all forms of feminine adornment. The most significant fact is the joy and happiness I have had ever since my decision was made. I feel at home, now." "So your sexuality was the main motivating force? Do you have sex with men?" "No. I never have, and I don't think I have any desire. My sex life is very important to me, but I identify myself as a lesbian." "Are you married?" "Yes. My present partner and I have been together for over thirty years. All those years were very happy, but things became even better when I finally got things straight in my head." "They became better for you; what about your partner?" "When things came to a head, and I came out to her completely, we became closer than ever, and we had an idyllic second honeymoon for the whole of one summer." "You came out to her as a transsexual?" "No. I explained my cross-dressing desires to her, and the depth of my feelings. Things quickly progressed to me identifying myself as female in my fantasies, and she accepted and even encouraged me. As I continued to explore the feminine side of myself, I eventually realised that I really wanted to make my fantasy into reality. I wasn't quite ready to really bite the bullet, but things were precipitated by my partner. She suggested that I was TS, and told me that I should follow through."
Now it was Dr. Nilson's turn to pause for thought. "How did she put it to you?" "She said that she had fallen in love with my feminine side, and that things got better the more it emerged. She said that she had been doing some self-analysis, as she was well aware I had, and she had come to the conclusion that her orientation had changed. She told me that she was lesbian, and said point blank that she wanted me to be a woman too." "Did she, indeed? You don't have too much choice then, do you?" She smiled at me. "I wouldn't put it that way," I said. "As I see it, her choice coincides with mine, and we are happier than ever together because of that. She has been a tower of strength in her support for me since I started to live full time."
She smiled again, and seemed to approve of what I had said. "Now let me tell you about the games shrinks play," she said. "I'm sorry for all the rapid-fire questions, but I find that it is very useful as a technique for getting people's immediate reactions. They may not be as carefully expressed as they might be, but they usually indicate how they really feel about things." "No problem," I said. "I came to you with a specific request, and I am completely convinced that it is something right for me, but I understand that the purpose of this exercise is for you to come to an independent conclusion." "That's it exactly. It seems fairly clear to me that you are not deluded or misguided, and more importantly, there's no reason why you should be prevented from doing what you wish to do. I don't really like the idea of being a 'gatekeeper' at all, but it does seem reasonable to me that some assessment should be done to prevent people from following a course of action that might not help them, and even be injurious to their mental health." "I appreciate that," I said; "it is a fairly radical course to take (I don't think I would say 'drastic'), and reversing it isn't really possible." "Right. As I see it, we have some obligation to ensure that people seeking surgery are not misguided or fooling themselves."
She paused for a moment, and looked at me; it wasn't exactly an inspection, but I felt she was taking in all the detail she could. "Your presentation is very convincing," she said, "and you have obviously done a lot of work on your voice. You seem quite self-assured, and it's fairly clear to me that you are happy. You are particularly fortunate in your relationship with your partner, and it would be interesting to speculate about your progress if you had to deal with lack of understanding, or even hostility. I would really be interested to meet her." "I don't think she would have any objection," I said; "she did visit Dr. Wexler with me." "I would like to chat to her; please don't think I am trying to check out your version of the story, but her attitude is so amazing, refreshing even, that it piques my interest." She paused for a moment's thought. "I am quite convinced that Dr. Wexler's opinion of you is correct, and I'll write a letter to that effect. That being said, I would appreciate a chance to talk to your partner, one-on-one. How about asking her if she'll meet me for a drink tomorrow? I just have to meet a woman with her wonderful attitude. Could you ask her to give me a call, later this afternoon?" "Certainly," I said. "I would appreciate that. My best wishes for continued progress and happiness in your transition." She saw me out to the reception desk, and said goodbye.
As I drove home, I thought about the session. I hadn't really been there long at all, and it did strike me that either Dr. Nilson was very skilled at making rapid assessments of people, or she was favourably disposed towards anyone who decided they were TS. Then I remembered the magazine I had been about to look at, when I met her; there's no doubt the picture on the cover was of her, and the featured article was on transsexuality. "She's TS herself!" I thought. Maybe there is a sixth sense, as Annabelle had told us in Sappho's; maybe it takes one to know one. That would explain why she didn't seem to require any in depth probing of my psyche. I told Jan about the interview, as soon as I got home. "She would like to meet you, for a drink!" I said. "I think I would find that very interesting," said Jan. "OK; then maybe you could call her office. She asked me to get you to do that; I assume she'll want to talk to you personally, so I guess you just tell the receptionist who you are."
Jan went to the phone right away, and I heard her say "I'm Jan Opal. I believe Dr. Nilson wanted to talk to me." I thought it best to let her talk privately, so I went into the other room to check my computer. She came in about five minutes later; "That was very interesting, and she seems like a nice person. She said she would just like to chat, woman to woman, and suggested meeting at a bar tomorrow at 5:30. Maybe we could have dinner in the hotel afterwards; I could call you when we're finished."
Friday, November 19th. In the afternoon, Jan went off to her date with Ruth Nilson, and she promised to call me when they were through, so that I could drive over and join her for dinner. I got myself ready, and then sat down to do some work at the computer. I didn't pay too much attention to the time, and when the phone rang it was after 7:00. It was Jan; she told me that Ruth had to leave in about ten minutes, so I might as well drive to the Hotel Regal where she was. She said the dining room looked quite reasonable, so she suggested I meet her there. When I got to the dining room, I didn't see Jan anywhere, so I got a table and said that I was expecting someone to join me.
Jan appeared soon after I had settled down; she spotted me, and came over to the table. "Let's order," she said as she sat down; "then I'll tell you about it." We ordered some wine, and our choices for dinner, then settled down to chat. "You must have found a lot to talk about," I said. "Yes," said Jan; "it was very interesting. Ruth was really friendly, and I thought it would be a good idea to ask her to have dinner with us. She told me that she would really have enjoyed it, but she thought that it might be better if she didn't because she was technically seeing you as a patient." "Too bad," I said. "I would have liked to talk to her off the record, but she's probably right. I got the impression that she was completely on my side, and her discussion with me didn't really get into too much probing; but she was obviously concerned to follow the rules of the game." "That's right. She told me right away, that was why she wanted to chat to me over a drink, and after she had told you that she would write the letter for you. I don't think I told her anything that made her regret her diagnosis." "So what did you talk about?"
"Relationships, I suppose," Jan said, "and how transgendered people deal with them. She's TS herself; she told me that she transitioned in medical school, before she started to practice, and specialising in gender issues was an obvious course to follow." "I thought she might be," I said, and told Jan about the magazine article. "She's completely convincing," Jan went on, "and we got into an intimate female conversation quite naturally. She told me that she realised very early on that she was lesbian, and she has a partner now who is also a TS woman. She really wanted to find out how I felt about my relationship with you, and how things had progressed. It felt very good to go through the whole story with a friend, rather than a professional, knowing that I didn't have to withhold anything." "I'm glad, my love," I said. "It's probably good that I wasn't there. You've been so wonderful about me, and what I've got myself into; I'm sure it was good to be able to chat to someone else for a change, and you could be completely free without me." "I didn't say anything I haven't said to you," Jan said, "but it was nice to unload a bit. In the old days, I might have said I enjoyed the chance to have an intimate talk with another woman, but you have usurped that role now." "You really feel that way about me?" "Yes, I do. I see you as another woman, completely, and that's what I like best about what has happened to our relationship." I held her hand under the table; "I'm so glad. I really feel the same way, and I relish the idea of belonging to the sorority."
We ate a very leisurely dinner, and continued chatting. Things felt very good between us; they always had, but it was nice to take stock once in a while, and Ruth Nilson had helped both of us.
Saturday, December 18th. As we approached the christmas holidays, just about everything on the check list that I had drawn up was ticked off -- with one very significant exception. I had received responses from all the organisations, companies and agencies that I had notified of my change of name, and they all had updated their records. I had already received one or two bills addressed to Rita Opal. I had gone to the bank again; this time I simply went to the service desk and presented the legal document, telling them I wished to change the name on my account. They didn't seem too surprised or mystified, as the news had presumably circulated round after my original visit. I changed the name to be simply what was now my legal name, though I asked them to keep the previous signature on file just in case there were any outstanding transactions. I changed everything there, including term deposits, and the safety deposit box, and finally closed the account I had opened at the beginning of my transition, transferring its balance back to my original account.
I left feeling quietly satisfied; there was just one item left on the agenda, and it was the major one; as far as I could tell, everything else had been taken care of. I decided that I would make it my New Year's project to start checking on surgeons seriously, and start making arrangements for SRS.
Actually there were a couple of concerns apart from the crucial and final step of my transition. My hair grew noticeably as the weeks went by, but it was not long enough to satisfy me. It did seem to be filling out, though, and the body and texture were certainly much improved. I was hopeful that when it did get long enough, I would be able to reproduce the styling of my wig, and I looked forward to that prospect. The remnants of my beard were very sparse; there wasn't enough growth to make a convincing male face, but unfortunately there was still a little too much for an elegant feminine one. I pulled some of them out with tweezers, but there were enough of them to make that quite painful; it looked as though I would have to get some electrolysis done to completely eliminate the ravages of testosterone on my system. Those two matters dealt with, and everything would be taken care of; I determined that the new year would be the year of Rita's emergence. She would be a woman in all respects, and as beautiful and feminine a woman as I could possibly make her.
Sunday, January 16th. Jan and I had a very pleasant and relaxed time over the year end holiday season. Quite often we travelled south at this time of year, seeking the sun and escape from the rain, but for once we stayed at home, more often than not curled up in front of the fire. We had both been unusually lavish with christmas presents to one another, and seemed to have been thinking along similar lines; we both had acquired some very pretty items of jewelry and I had a wonderful new silk dress. It was dark red, a favourite colour of Jan's, and it provided a wonderful addition to my wardrobe. We did dress up and go out to dinner a couple of times, and I still got high wearing my delectable and exclusively feminine finery in public. We had received a few more christmas cards than usual, and most of them addressed me as Rita; I could only guess what people thought about my recent actions and behaviour -- many of them probably saw it as an early onset of senility -- but I found that I didn't really care, and simply felt better knowing that the word was out.
There was a lot of information on the web on people's experiences with SRS; one site had collected almost all of what was available, and had some quite explicit pictures of results. There was some attempt to provide an exhaustive comparison, in the form of 'consumer reports' but it seemed that most people in the TS community were convinced that the surgeon who had operated on them was by far superior to all the others. Without going overseas, there were three surgeons who made a real specialty of doing SRS, and all of them were highly regarded by their former clients; I went through the information again and again, trying to decide for myself which one would be best for me. Each of them seemed to have points in their favour, and it was very difficult to make an assessment of their relative merits. I talked to some of the TS women that I knew personally, and found that they varied in their opinions, and more or less reflected the overall impression I had gleaned from my research.
I talked to Jan quite often about this critical step in my transition. In the earlier part of our married life, she enjoyed sex, as she still did, but had been quite reluctant to talk very much about it; since I had opened up to her, and continued the habit of being completely candid about my desires and feelings, she became more at ease in talking about her own experiences and feelings. This lessening of inhibition was obviously aided by the fact that she now related to me as another woman, so one day I decided to broach the subject directly. "I'm really having trouble deciding where to go for my surgery," I said. "There's a wealth of information about the three top specialists in the field, but the choice seems to depend on precisely what features are most important. That's quite difficult for me to assess. Do you have any thoughts on the subject?" "I'm not sure exactly what you mean," said Jan. "Well, it's probably not something you have thought about," I said, "but to be blunt, what aspects of female genitalia are most important to you?" Jan didn't recoil in horror at this rather blatant question, wonderful person that she was, and thought for a moment or two. "I came with the equipment already provided," she smiled, "and that's a tough question. I suppose one should think about what the purposes are, and how best to satisfy them. In the present context, what really matters is how the genitalia function in sexual attraction and fulfillment. In fact that's the only thing that really matters, provided that the external appearance is not so strange as to require explanations to doctors, or to cause embarrassment in changing rooms." "That's right," I said. "I want to pass, on the rare occasions when others see me without my clothing, but what really matters is to be able to function sexually as a woman, and hopefully to enjoy sex as much as possible. What are the requirements for that?" Jan smiled again. "It isn't something I have thought much about. I enjoy sex very much, but I haven't considered precisely why." "But what do you really want when you are stimulated?" "Apart from contact with my lover generally, and affection, I suppose there is a desire to be penetrated; and when that happens the stimulation is enjoyable; when things are right, it can be utterly ecstatic."
Jan didn't seem at all embarrassed by this topic of discussion, but she had never tried to analyse what it was that made sex enjoyable, which was hardly surprising. "I have never been particularly impressed by the esthetic appeal of genitalia," she said; "I don't think appearance matters too much." "What about the sight of a male erection?" "I'd say esthetically it isn't attractive at all; it indicates arousal of your partner, and that is a signal which is very infectious; it also indicates that the equipment is in a fit state to provide the pleasurable sensations -- that is a turn on too. But I get turned on by you, my love, without those indicators. When people are as close as we are, one can pick up the excitement and the desire, and it provokes a response." "I think what you're telling me is that functionality is more important than appearance," I said. "For that one needs a vagina of appropriate dimensions; for maximum pleasure it must lubricate to some extent, and be sensitive. The clitoris is really important I would think?" "Yes," Jan said "that is really where the most wonderful sensations come from."
The discussion had helped me to focus a little bit better, and when I thought about it, the conclusion was obvious. Enjoyment of sex was a very important concern for me; I now enjoyed sex to a large degree by imagining that the sensations I felt originated in my clitoris, and the ideal consequence of SRS for me would be to experience pleasure from real rather than imagined clitoral stimulation. I felt the same desire that Jan had spoken about for penetration, and thought with eager anticipation about having a clitoris myself, located inside my vagina. I decided to look through all the material I had access to, and see which surgeon was best able to create a fully functioning clitoris.
Many of the TS woman that reported on their experience during and after surgery were motivated by a desire to escape from the world of masculinity, in which they felt they did not belong; they wanted their bodies to match their personal sense of gender, so that it would be accepted by society at large. They were relieved to be free of physical reminders of their former status, and very happy to avoid inadvertent effects of male stimulation that were distasteful to them. There were others, though, who very much wanted to experience sex as females, and some of them had developed normal heterosexual relationships which they found immensely satisfying. It was noticeable that many TS women described themselves categorically as lesbian; they had escaped from the world of masculinity, and apparently wanted no further interaction with it. To some extent that described my feeling about sexuality and orientation, so I was interested to see what they said, if they said anything, about physical satisfaction. Most of those reporting delight in sexual fulfillment as women, whether they were lesbian or straight, found that they did have a sensitive clitoris after surgery, and that it was an important source for the sensations they enjoyed. It struck me that a majority of these women had been operated on by one surgeon in particular, and I had also seen postings from him on one of the mailing lists, which dealt with his technique for clitoral construction. I decided to write to his office and ask for any information provided.
His name was Dr. William Strong, and he had a private clinic down the coast, about 500 km south of us. Apart from his obvious qualifications, it was by far the most convenient location, about a five hour drive on the freeway. I wrote to him, explaining my current situation and what steps I had taken so far; I said that I hoped it would be possible to have SRS in June, just about a year after starting living full time, and asked for any information that he could provide.
Tuesday, January 25th. Just over a week later, a thick envelope arrived in the mail from Dr. Strong; it contained a brochure and various pages of information of one sort or another. He provided general information about sexual reassignment surgery, and details about what his requirements were for his patients, what was involved, what should be done in preparation and what was required during the convalescent period after the operation. He also gave the fees involved, for surgery and the stay in his private clinic. It was expensive, but not outrageous, though I was not used to paying anything directly for medical treatment; fortunately it was well within the amount of my accumulated savings (set aside for a 'rainy day') and a reasonably fancy new car would likely be more expensive. He also suggested that prospective patients should visit him for a preliminary interview as early as possible.
I had a chat with Jan, and showed her the pile of information; "I think my best choice would be to go with him," I said, "and I'm tempted to call his office right away and start the ball rolling." "A good idea, my love," said Jan; "I haven't checked through all the material you have, but I'm sure you have made a good choice." I phoned immediately, and told the receptionist that I was contemplating having SRS done by Dr. Strong in June, and asked for a preliminary appointment. They were able to give me one on Thursday, the following week. It was in the morning, so I suggested to Jan that we might make a trip of it, and drive down the day before.
Wednesday, February 2nd. Jan and I drove south down the freeway, starting after breakfast. The weather was still quite wet, and there wasn't too much in the way of visible scenery. I didn't know precisely what the doctor would want to do, other than talking to me, but it did occur to me that he might want to do some sort of physical examination; with that in mind, I gave some thought to what would be the most appropriate attire, and planned my overnight bag accordingly. We checked into a motel near the clinic early in the afternoon, and then thought about what we might do to occupy our time. Shopping seemed like a good idea in a different city, with a different choice of items, and we spent a happy time in one or two of the big department stores; one of them was in a mall, and there were also some interesting small stores and boutiques to look at. Jan found some things that she wanted, but it was clear that my special interests weren't catered to. When I remarked on this to Jan, she said "The real problem you have is wanting things that reached their peak in popularity in the 50s; we could look in the yellow pages for theatrical costumes." She smiled and squeezed my hand; she rather enjoyed my tastes, provided the garments were for me to wear, but she couldn't resist teasing me. It was one of the nice little verbal games we played, so I felt it necessary to respond, "Maybe my time as a male wasn't completely wasted; at least cross- dressers keep the demand alive, and they haven't sacrificed their love for feminine things." I did see a nice pair of gold hoop earrings, so I didn't come away empty-handed.
We had a pleasant relaxed dinner in the dining room attached to the motel; it was the kind of quiet evening involving just the two of us that we both enjoyed more and more. "I don't suppose that Dr. Strong normally sees the spouses of his patients," I said, as we walked back to our room; "I'm afraid I shall be all on my own tomorrow morning. What do you plan to do?" "I hadn't really thought about it," Jan said. "There's some literature in the room, maybe there's an interesting museum." We agreed to meet back at the motel for lunch. Though it was still quite early, we went to bed fairly soon, and lay quietly side by side in bed; even when sex turned out not to be on the agenda, it was one of our favourite things to do together, and we chatted endlessly.
Thursday, February 3rd. I got up early the next morning, and decided to have a long hot bath; fortunately the motel room did have a tub, which was my preference. Freshened up, and dried off, I gave some thought to my ensemble for the morning. Underwear always mattered to me, but on this occasion it was probably a good idea to be prepared for the doctor's inspection. I had brought a light girdle that sat quite high on my tummy, and I wore that, along with a matching bra that was fairly easy to remove. I enjoyed my normal ritual of putting on stockings, and fastening suspenders, and as often happened, looked up to see that Jan was stirring and watching me with amused interest. "I was mean to you yesterday," she said. "So long as I can wear what is comfortable for me, I get a great deal of pleasure from the sexy things you wear." "I know, my love," I said, "and that's the only reason I do it." She sniggered, but her comment had given me some nice squirmy feelings, for a good start to the day, and I knew that she made it for that reason. I continued dressing, choosing a jersey top and a nice full print skirt; I wore a white half slip under the skirt which was full enough to spread it out a little. I sat down in front of the mirror then, and started to work on my hair; it was certainly long enough now to be feminine, if styled properly, but it still wasn't long enough to satisfy me. I brushed and combed, and teased it out a little, and finally decided that it was good enough. I thought it best not to overstate my makeup, though I did use some eye liner very carefully; I gave my lips the full treatment, using liner, lipstick and gloss.
By the time I was ready, Jan had almost caught up with me, and after a quick session at the mirror, she suggested we walk over for breakfast. My appointment was quite early, so she drove me to the clinic, and went off with the car. I walked inside, to a very nicely appointed reception area, and was greeted cheerfully by a woman sitting behind the low counter. "I'm Rita Opal," I said, "here to see Dr. Strong." "Ah yes," she said, checking a list on her desk; "he isn't quite ready, but please come into the consulting room and have a seat there." I followed her into the room, which looked much like any doctor's office, though it was pleasantly decorated, and had some nice pictures of the local mountains and coast.
I had been waiting for about five minutes when the doctor came in; I remained seated, as I was almost used to doing now, and extended my hand. He clasped it and said hello, in a very friendly manner, and then sat down at the desk. He already had a file for me in front of him, and consulted it briefly. "You are considering SRS later this year?" he asked. "Yes." "Just to familiarise myself with your situation, could you give me a short history of yourself?" I related the basic facts, and told him that I now had letters from two psychiatrists recommending that I undergo surgery. I also recounted the details of my history with the endocrinologist, and told him that I had taken some voice therapy as well as laser treatment for my facial hair. He nodded as I recounted my story, and then looked at me carefully. "You seem to have dealt with all the essential matters," he said, "and you certainly present yourself as a woman very successfully -- an attractive woman, if I may say so. You have also complied with the SOC rules that I follow, and I am prepared to accept the recommendation of the two psychiatrists that have worked with you. I would like to do a physical examination, just to check that there are no problems that we might run into, and I would like to get a report from your family doctor on your general health, before the procedure is scheduled. I'll leave you to get changed; please put on the gown there -- it fastens at the front."
I could guess why, knowing what parts of my anatomy he would be interested in, and I realised that my efforts to present myself as attractively as possible beneath my skirt and top were in vain. I undressed, and wrapped the robe around me, and sat on the bed to wait. A few minutes later Dr. Strong returned, and asked me to lie down on the bed. Like all such medical equipment, it was hard and far too short, but I lay down with my legs extending over the edge. He gave me an extensive examination, mainly in my genital region, probing the area behind my testicles very carefully. He also felt my testicles and penis, and gently squeezed the glans; I didn't find the manipulation too disturbing in such a clinical session, but he did notice my instinctive reaction when he touched my pleasure centre. "This area is still very sensitive," he said. "Yes; my partner and I are still very active sexually, and at present that is the main source of my pleasure. It's my hope that it can be successfully used to form an equally sensitive clitoris." He smiled; "The prospects are quite good. Do you still get erections?" "No, I have not had erections since prostate surgery several years ago." "But you do orgasm?" "Yes. After the prostate surgery I eventually discovered that intense orgasms were possible; it was the realisation that they resembled female orgasms that reinforced my identification as a female. There seems to be a positive feedback loop there, and the physical pleasure and the female identification seem to intensify one another." He smiled at my technical metaphor; "Very interesting. My first reaction is that you are an ideal subject for SRS." This comment was music to my ears. He examined my breasts; "You show significant mammary development, which is also a good indicator; I would expect some further development to occur." He carefully touched my nipples, and they responded involuntarily. "Excuse me," he said, "but it is necessary for me to check the effects of hormone therapy." "I understand," I said; "it so happens that my nipples were always sensitive and responsive -- that's another of the many indicators that led me to finally conclude that being a woman was the right decision."
Dr. Strong seemed quite satisfied with the results of his examination. "I'll leave you to get dressed now," he said; "then we can talk about the logistics of the surgery." He left me in the consulting room again, and I put my clothes back on, somewhat more hurriedly than usual. I was ready, sitting in the chair, when he knocked at the door and came in. "As I said, all the indications seem to be very good for the procedure," he said. "The hormone therapy is having a more significant effect than often is the case, and the structure of your pelvic region seems to allow ample space for the reconstruction in that area. Your existing genitalia are still in very good shape, in spite of the effects of hormones, and that is an important factor in creating the best possible vagina, clitoris and labia. When were you thinking of having the procedure?" "As early as possible," I said. "There are no doubts in my mind that it should be done, and it is the last step in a process that started last June." "The Standards of Care do suggest that candidates for SRS should have lived for one year in the role that they wish to adopt; what are the precise dates?" I had made notes, in case I was asked specific questions, and looked in my purse for the paper. "I started taking hormones on June 8th last year," I said. "I wore female clothing in public for the first time on July 12th, complete with a wig and proper makeup; I have only worn female clothing since then, and I have lived a normal life in public, shopping and dealing with businesses, and so on." "So your year of Real Life Training, would strictly take us to the middle of July," he said. "I was hoping to take a vacation around then, and I notice that there is a convenient slot available in the second half of June; I think we could assume that you have satisfied the requirements at that time. It would be over a year from the time you started hormones." "That would be suitable for me," I said. "OK, then we'll make the booking. The actual date of surgery would be June 19th; that's a Monday. You would check in here on the Sunday afternoon, and if all goes well you could be discharged two or three days later; you have to stay in town though, because we need to do the final tidying up, removing the catheter and so on, after eight days. One option is for you to stay in the hospital in a private "VIP" room." "Do I need to see you again before then?" I asked. "It's probably a good idea for me to take a look at you a week before; that will just be to check that everything looks as good as it does at present. If anything changes between now and then, please contact me."
He took me out to the reception area, and shook my hand. "All the best," he said; "I look forward to seeing you again in June." I had to spend some time with the secretary, giving her my address and other particulars, and she wanted full details of the endocrinologist and the two psychiatrists. She told me that Dr. Strong would contact them to get their recommendations directly. Finally she discreetly pointed out that this was a procedure not normally covered by medical insurance; there was a charge for the consultation, and that would be offset against the bill for the surgical procedure and hospitalisation. I used one of my new credit cards to settle the account; it would be billed to one Rita Opal, and I thought that was quite appropriate. She told me that they would be in contact with me over arrangements for the operation, and pointedly reminded me that payment was required in advance. That was the way of the world in private medical practice, and this was now the top priority item on my agenda, so I didn't let it bother me. After a friendly goodbye, I left, and since the weather didn't seem too bad, after the previous day's rain, I decided to walk the few blocks to the motel.
I saw the car there, and Jan was waiting in the room. "I arranged for a late checkout," she said; "I thought we could have lunch here, and then drive back; we'll be home for a late dinner." That sounded fine to me, so we walked over to the restaurant. Once we had ordered, and started on our meal, Jan was eager to hear how my meeting with the doctor had gone. "It was quite straightforward," I said; "he's congenial, and happy to do surgery on me, now that the shrinks have said it's OK. He wanted to know something of my story, and he did a physical exam of the appropriate areas." "You poor thing!" "Actually it was quite exciting." I winked at her. "Seriously, I am really very pleased, because he went so far as to say that I was almost an ideal candidate. There doesn't seem to be anything in the pelvic structure that might cause him difficulties, and he remarked on the effect that hormones are having. I guess some unfortunate people don't have the same response." That's good news!" Jan said. "I just knew I had you figured out properly; you really are cut out to be a woman." "Not quite the best choice of words," I said, "given why I was visiting the good doctor, but I happen to think you are right." Jan started to giggle, and she got me started too; I was thankful for the practice my evening reading sessions had given me.
We didn't delay too long over lunch, and were soon started on our drive north; we were back home quite early in the evening, and had a light dinner almost at our regular time.
Monday, February 7th. Dr. Strong had asked me to get a check on my general health from my family doctor, and I thought that should be done right away. I realised with some self-reproach that it should have been done right at the start of transition. The prospect bothered me more than many of the other tasks that had been required by transition; I felt awkward because I had not done any consultation in connection with the medical decisions that I had made, and for some reason I didn't relish being examined, in my present intermediate state, by someone who wasn't involved in dealing professionally with transgendered people. I even considered changing doctors, but I felt that would be a real cop-out, and Dr. Joan Caxton had always impressed both Jan and I because of her skills and her friendly manner; she had always treated us as fellow professionals, and that was a relationship we both appreciated. She had of course been notified of my change of name and 'plans', along with all the other friends and acquaintances, in the letter I sent out.
I decided I had no choice but to see her, and with more trepidation than I usually experienced these days, I phoned her office for an appointment. There was a slot free that afternoon. When I went to the registration desk, and said "Rita Opal, to see Dr. Caxton," the staff did seem more than usually interested, but they didn't show any untoward reaction. I was eventually called, by name, and ushered to one of the offices; as usual my file was placed in a slot outside the door, and as I sat waiting for the doctor to appear, I wondered what there was in the file now.
Dr. Caxton came in, and looked at me with some interest. "Hello," she said, in a very friendly manner; "what can I do for you?" "The quick answer is a general check-up," I said, "but obviously there is a long answer, and it is probably appropriate to get into it. Things have changed very much since I last saw you, and to start with I should really apologise for the way I have treated you. I have been seeing medical specialists in various areas relating to matters of gender, and I did so without consulting you first, or even informing you. Believe me, it wasn't because I didn't want you in the loop; the real reason was my desire to contact people who were known to be 'T* friendly' as we describe them in the transgendered community, and I sought out those who were rated highly, using the vast accumulation of information that now exists on the web." Dr. Caxton smiled: "Don't worry about it," she said. "I am not an expert in the field, but I do understand the concern people have to deal with members of the medical profession whom they think will be sympathetic. Unfortunately it still seems to matter very much just whose advice is sought. The fact is I would appreciate learning more about your situation, and the phenomenon of transgenderism, so that I am better prepared to deal with patients who seek my advice."
"I appreciate that very much," I said; "maybe I should give you a brief summary of the facts of my case." "Please do." "OK, then. You're aware of the basic medical facts of my prostate cancer, and the radical prostatectomy; that left me incapable of achieving erection, and of course unable to ejaculate. When my testosterone level built up to normal after the surgery, I became very sexually frustrated. Now it so happens that I was one of the one percent or so of the male population that has a fetishistic interest in female clothing, and in retrospect I think that was indicative of more profound feelings about gender. After a period of intense sexual frustration, and experimenting with my partner, I discovered a form of sexual activity that became more and more satisfying to me, which for want of a better word might be described as lesbian. I now think that my transgendered brain rewired itself to give me sexual responses that I identified as female. Miraculously this stimulated my partner, Jan, to be more responsive than ever, and it turned out that the stronger my female identification became, the stronger was her response. The logical conclusion eventually became obvious to both of us: we both were happily identifying ourselves as lesbians, and it made sense for me to make the fantasy into reality. That's what I have been up to this last year; I've been taking female hormones and anti-androgens, I've been taking care of facial hair, and I've been getting voice therapy. I've been following the standard rules prescribed for diagnosis and treatment of transsexuals, and I now have two professional opinions from psychiatrists recommending sexual reassignment surgery. I have arranged for that to be done by Dr. Strong in June; he would like to have a report on my general health from my family doctor, to satisfy him that there are no medical conditions that might contra-indicate surgery."
"That's very interesting," said Dr.Caxton; "I really would appreciate getting detailed information from you, particularly about resources on the web where I can learn some more. The first thing is terminology: how would you describe yourself, now?" "I am a transsexual, that is a person who is physically male, but whose gender identification is female, and who seeks to make her physical sex correspond as closely as possible with her innate sense of gender. In the jargon of my sisters in the 'community', I am a pre-op transsexual. I suppose medically I might be described as a genetic male, with abnormally high levels of female hormones, and with abnormal mammary development. In the words of one of my Australian friends 'a bloke with boobs'." She smiled at that. "I assume there might be less 'desirable' effects of what the male system would detect as a serious hormone imbalance?" "Indeed. Anyone with any sense realises that one should only take hormones under supervision of an endocrinologist; they do regular blood checks to monitor things like liver function. I feel very bad about this, because you should really have been kept informed of what I was getting done to myself, and what the medical effects were. I'll contact Dr. Elderton and get her to send you all the information." "Thank you. Now I have a bit better idea of what to expect, so I'll take a look at things."
She proceeded to do a normal physical examination, and when it came to listening to my chest with the stethoscope she remarked on the bosom I exposed, clad in one of my exquisitely feminine bras. "To all appearances obviously female, consistent with your general appearance. Without knowing who you were, or having heard the story, I would assume that you were female." "There still are some indications to the contrary," I said, "and I don't think that I could fool a gynecologist quite yet. But they tell me that after surgery, that could well happen." "Would you mind if I examined your genitalia?" she asked. "It isn't really necessary for our current purpose, but I am interested to see the effects of your hormone treatment, and it will also make an interesting comparison with the situation after your surgery." "By all means," I said, and I removed my very feminine panties to expose my male accoutrements; they looked very much as they always had to me. Dr. Caxton remarked that there seemed to be very little atrophy; "They are still very much in use," I said. "In fact that is a requirement for the surgical procedure, as a fair amount of what is there has to be re-cycled." "Interesting!" she said. "I must really read up on the surgical procedure." "It can be very successful," I said; "'sexual reassignment' isn't just wishful thinking, and can be the simple reality. The reverse process, female-to-male is much more dubious."
Dr. Caxton gave me a clean bill of health, and told me she would write to Dr. Strong; I realised that I had made a mistake in not talking to her very early in the game, but I felt much better about things as I left her office. She was obviously empathetic, non-judgmental, and interested in the situation simply as a fascinating medical phenomenon.
Monday, May 22nd. We had fine warm weather over the holiday weekend, and sat happily in the sunshine, looking forward to the summer and all the associated activities that started around this time. This summer was going to be marked by a special event for me: the surgery that would complete my process of transition. It was interesting to review what had happened since the same weekend the year before; that was when I had made my decision, and it started the chain of events that had got me to my present state.
It was hard to think it was only a year, as I took that state to be normal; it was simply me, the way I was, and I sometimes felt as if I had always been a woman. Looking back at the things I had done, as a woman, made me remember that in many cases I had actually been doing them for the first time, sometimes with nervous anticipation. After my early shopping forays, I had become more and more at ease visiting women's clothing stores, makeup counters, hairdressers and other places exclusive to the female world. I had acquired an extensive feminine wardrobe; I was well equipped with cosmetics, and implements for applying them; and I regularly had my hair styled and coloured. I was now at ease in all the interactions involved, making choices, discussing styles and generally indulging in girl-talk.
Of course many of the events of the year were related to my transition, and were steps necessary to becoming a woman, both in the eyes of society, and to my own satisfaction. I realised with a sense of achievement that all the necessary steps were completed, and all that remained was my rapidly approaching date with Dr. Strong. There had been one final step, just in the previous week: the laser treatment to remove my beard had been very successful, but there were still some annoying remnants of it, so I decided to complete things once and for all, and visited my good friend Melanie for electrolysis. It took three long sessions, and was quite as painful as I had been told, but the final result was completely gratifying, and she assured me that I would never have to shave my face and throat again. This was an attribute of womanhood that appealed to me immensely; apart from eliminating an annoying chore, it provided a much more pleasing canvass for me to work with when I did my makeup. I was honest enough to realise, wryly, that what was a chore and what was a labour of love depended very much on one's point of view; I now spent a much longer time each day on makeup than would have been involved in shaving.
Sunday, May 28th. Because of various complications that might occur, prospective SRS patients were required to stop taking hormones three weeks prior to surgery. It was the eve of this deadline, and I took the pills that had created such a change in me for the last time, at least in their current dosages. It was almost exactly a year since I had started HRT, and I had been seeing Dr. Elderton regularly over that period. She had regular blood tests done, and did various other checks on the way my system was responding to the inhibition of its naturally produced male hormones, and their replacement with female ones. I was fortunate, once again, in that there appeared to be no evidence of any adverse effects on the regular functioning of my body.
There were of course effects on my secondary sexual characteristics, and after a year they were significant. I now had fully developed breasts which were not quite as prominent as I would have liked, but were very definitely female, and well within the normal size range for genetic females. If I was honest, I would have to admit only to a B cup size, but I was tempted to use padded bras, and I even thought vaguely about getting my breasts surgically enhanced. In fact, they were more than adequate, as were other more subtle changes. My skin was definitely smoother, and there was less growth of body hair; there had also been some redistribution of fatty tissue, notably around my hips, and though I was by no means shaped like Venus de Milo, I was feminine enough in proportion to wear garments that required something of a waist without any difficulty; my appearance was satisfactory enough, that I noted that my figure was better than those of some women I saw.
My hair had grown long enough to allow a variety of feminine styles, and its texture and appearance were really pleasing to me. It was below my jaw now at the sides, and only my passion for long hair prevented me from being completely satisfied. Looking back over the year, it was gratifying to realise what significant progress had been made in the feminisation of my body, and its external appearance no longer presented any impediment to completely convincing female presentation. I hoped that there wouldn't be something of a relapse in the next three weeks, as my genetically male system, temporarily recovered from being shut down, attempted to correct the changes that had been induced.
Many TS people talked about the effects of hormones on their mood and disposition; I can't say that there were any on myself that really made themselves noticeable. I had been particularly happy, and I was possibly more given to express emotions than I had been in my early life. I did have a sense of well being, and satisfaction in my new role, and it could well be that there were subtle changes in my mein and personality that contributed to this; it was quite likely the case that they contributed to my self-confidence and success in presentation. As far as I could discern, I was very rarely read these days, and appearing in public as what I considered to be my normal self no longer caused me any concern; it was no longer a preoccupation.
Thursday, June 8th. We were finally starting to get some summer weather, and it was very pleasant to take our walks in the sunshine without having to wear coats. It was still a great pleasure for me to go out wearing a dress, and I enjoyed the feeling of freedom as the skirt swirled around my legs as I walked. I liked the motion of the material in response to the breeze too, though I had learned that things could get embarrassing when the wind was too strong. As Jan and I came back from a walk through the park, the weather reminded me of the previous summer, and the events that started my transition in earnest. After my first fearful foray outside, following almost the same route, almost a year ago, I had never worn anything other than dresses and skirts. My role as a woman seemed completely natural to me, though it was still a continuous source of enjoyment; I loved the clothes I wore, and the way most people interacted with me reinforced my feelings, and were a source of pleasure too.
The phone rang just as we got back home. It was Dr. Strong's office, and they wanted to check that things were still proceeding according to our original discussions. They reminded me that the surgery was scheduled in a little over a week, and asked me if I could visit for a final check the following Tuesday. I told them that the suggested time in the morning was convenient, thinking that although it was possible to do the round trip in a day, it would be a fairly busy day, and I would spend the whole drive down worrying about whether we would be on time.
Tuesday, June 13th. Jan and I had driven down the previous day, and checked into the same motel. When I got up in the morning, I thought once again about what would be most suitable to wear; it was quite warm, and I decided to dress as simply as possible, recalling my last visit to Dr. Strong. I decided to forego my usual pleasure in wearing stockings and an appropriate foundation, and wore just a bra and a pair of control panties under my blouse and skirt, though I did decide that I needed a half slip. I wore flat slip-on shoes too, but I made up for things by working quite hard on my makeup, spending a lot of time with eyeliner and a light touch of shadow.
After breakfast, Jan drove me over to the clinic, though it wasn't more than a few blocks, and I told her I would see her back at the motel. The woman in reception greeted me warmly, and asked me to wait; she asked me to confirm various items from my record, and then took the file and asked me to follow her to the consulting room. I only had to wait a few moments there before Dr. Strong appeared, with a cheery "Good morning." He looked me up and down, and smiled approvingly; "I don't detect any indication that you might have changed your mind," he said. "Not at all. Looking back over the past year, and how I have enjoyed almost everything it brought, I realise that I have never been happier than I am now. There's one final step which will complete the process, and I am eager for it." He looked through the contents of the file, somewhat larger than it had been on my first visit. "I have the two letters from psychiatrists," he said, "and also a report from your family doctor on your last physical. She doesn't report anything that is a cause for concern, and we have a green light to proceed. Are there any concerns you have about the surgery?" "No," I replied. "In one sense I am not really looking forward to it, because I know that I won't feel too good afterwards, but that will be offset by a sense of fulfillment. I want to get it done with." "I understand," he said. "One of the rewarding aspects of this field of specialisation is the determination of the patients I see, and their satisfaction when they feel that they are finally physically and mentally in harmony with themselves.
He asked me to undress again, discreetly leaving the room while I did so, and his examination followed the same course as it had on my previous visit. "You have been taking hormones for over a year now," he said; "the effects are really quite pronounced, and your general appearance is unequivocally female; when the genitalia are reconstructed, you will be completely convincing as a woman." He was chivalrous enough to add "Of course you are now, in your external presentation, but in six months' time you will be able to visit gynecologists without them suspecting anything of your medical history." "How about performing the dance of the seven veils?" I asked. "That too," he smiled. He told me I could get dressed, and said I could go to check with the secretary in reception when I was ready. "I'll see you on Sunday. Goodbye," he said as he left.
The secretary gave me a sheet of instructions for preparing myself for the surgery. I had checked with Jan, and we decided that staying in the hospital for the whole period was the best plan, even though we would have to spend the nights apart, so I made the booking arrangements. "You should check in here on Sunday afternoon," she said, "fairly soon after two. Don't take anything except clear fluids after midnight on Saturday." "I'll be hungry," I said, "but it is in a good cause." "It is," she said. "You look wonderful, and I know you'll be very happy when everything has been taken care of." I said goodbye, and started on my walk back to the motel.
Saturday, June 17th. The rest of the week passed fairly quickly. Surprisingly, I was not apprehensive about the rapidly approaching surgery, and Jan and I spent our time much as we normally did. I did of course have some idea what to expect; my prostate surgery had been similar in many respects: it was abdominal surgery, and involved fairly severe interference with the uretha. Sexual reassignment would be much the same in terms of the trauma to my system, and I knew that the first few days afterwards would be quite painful, and I would be connected to a catheter. There was an important difference, though, in that this would be constructive plastic surgery; some external organs would be removed, but they would be replaced by new internal ones. My desire for this change was stronger than ever now, and I actually looked forward to the operation. Jan insisted that she would stay in a motel near the clinic, so that she would be close, and could visit me frequently. We would be away for just over a week, so we both gave some thought to what we needed to take with us; in my case there wasn't too much need for clothing, but Jan suggested that having a cardigan, and my fluffy slippers, might be useful during my recovery period. I took some nightdresses and a robe, and I also packed one change of clothing, thinking of the trip back, and of course made sure my makeup kit was in the suitcase.
We checked though everything after dinner, my last solid meal for a couple of days, and decided that we had thought of everything. There didn't seem to be much else to do then except go to bed early, since we had to make an early start in the morning. In bed we snuggled together, and talked quietly for a while; neither of us was in the mood for love making, and we both realised that once the surgery was done, and I had recovered, things would be quite different, and hopefully much better.
Sunday, June 18th. We were up very early, and I had not slept very well; in spite of my apparent equanimity, there was obviously something churning away in my subconscious mind. Jan had a quick bite to eat, and I followed my instructions and just drank a glass of apple juice. We were soon on the road heading south, and reached our destination not long after noon. Jan checked into the motel, and by that time I decided I might as well go over to the clinic and get admitted. Jan took me over in the car, and waited while I dealt with all the filling out of forms, and signed releases. That didn't take too long, and a nurse came to show me to the hospital room which would be my home for the next few days. She wanted me changed into a hospital gown, and in bed, as there were various preliminary checks and tests to be done. "There's no need for you to wait any longer, my love," I said to Jan. "I'm going to be in jail here for the rest of the day, quite bored, but it's in a very good cause. Tomorrow, when I come round, I shall have other things to deal with." "I hate to leave you," Jan said, "but I know you're right. All the best, my love. Tomorrow you will be a new woman, and it's what we both want." We clung together, and kissed quite passionately, then she smiled at me and left. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said.
The rest of the day was something of a bore, and I was reduced to watching television, with a choice of programs that I didn't find inspiring. They did all the usual measurements of blood pressure, temperature and pulse, and also an ECG and blood test; then it was time for the purgative. That came in two cans of rather unpleasant tasting liquid, taken an hour apart, and as I was required to drink a whole litre of water with each of them, I was kept busy filling glasses and drinking. After about half an hour, I was kept busy running to the bathroom for the next hour or so. Finally my flushed out inside settled down, and I lay back in the hospital bed thinking about what was in store. Dr. Strong paid me a brief visit in the evening; he was cheerful and optimistic, telling me that things looked very good. He told me that the surgery would be first thing in the morning, and he expected it would take about six hours. After a while in the recovery room, I would probably be back in my private room by the end of the afternoon.
Jan called in the evening, and I told her what the schedule was; we chatted for about half an hour before I told her to go and get some dinner. "I miss you," I said, "but we'll be together again soon, and we'll be real sisters as well as lovers." That was a pleasant thought to have running through my mind as I lay in the hospital bed, hearing unfamiliar noises, as I tried to relax completely and get to sleep.
Monday, June 19th. I did sleep, but somewhat fitfully, and I was awake long before they came to wheel me down to the operating room. A porter came eventually and chatted cheerfully to me as I was trundled down the hallway. I was not apprehensive, and took great interest in the various items of equipment being set up, and the conversation of the team there as they argued about which channels displayed my heartbeat and blood pressure. Quite soon the anesthetist approached me and said "I'm going to start feeding you some gas now, and quite soon you will fall asleep."
When I regained consciousness, my brain seemed to start functioning exactly where it had left off. "So this is the recovery room," I thought; I knew exactly where I was, and I knew exactly what had happened to me, and my immediate reaction was that now finally I was a woman in body as well as mind. One of the nurses saw me stirring, and said "So you're awake now. We'll keep you here for another hour or so to make sure that there are no reactions. Everything went very well, and Dr. Strong was very happy with the operation; he'll be visiting you later on when you are back in your room.
I lay there surrounded by whirring and clicking machinery, intrigued by the unfamiliar noises. I didn't feel any pain, or particularly uncomfortable, and I wasn't particularly sleepy either. I thought over the events of the past year, and what might happen in the future, and relaxed in a pleasantly languid state. Eventually the nurse decided that I was ready to be returned to my room, and the bed was wheeled back down the corridor. I was hooked up to IV, and there were also temperature and blood pressure monitors connected up; I was vaguely aware of the pipe from the catheter running over my leg. I saw the telephone by the side of the bed, and fortunately it was within my reach, so I was able to pick it up and call the motel. Jan answered; "Hello, Jan," I said; "it's a girl." "Rita! I didn't think you would be calling me so soon. how do you feel?" "Quite good," I said. "I imagine I am still under the influence of the anesthetic, and in a little while I won't be feeling too good at all." "It's wonderful to hear you; did everything go alright?" "That's what they told me, but I haven't seen the doctor yet." "Can I come and see you now?" "I don't see why not; I'd love to see you. I love you, Jan."
The nursing staff were all very friendly and cheerful, and quite a number of them were in and out. They checked the catheter, and looked at all my vital signs; they checked the IV flow, and they explained how the system worked for self administration of morphine. I heard a "Hello, my love," and there was Jan with an enormous vase of pink flowers. She leaned over to kiss me, and said "It did seem appropriate. How are you now?" "Good," I said, "but things are starting to ache, so I think the anesthetic is wearing off; they have already set up the morphine for me, so it will probably be fairly painful later on. It's in a good cause, though." She smiled: "Yes, my love; it is." She moved one of the chairs over, and sat by the bed, holding my hand.
She sat by my side for over an hour, and we said very little, but I finally suggested that she should go and get herself some dinner. "Hospital visiting is not a lot of fun," I said; "come and see me again this evening." "I will," she said, and kissed me again.
Dr. Strong came in soon after Jan left. "Everything went very well," he said; "there were no complicating factors at all, and you were a very good patient. There is every indication that the results will be very satisfactory. I'll be in to look at things tomorrow; we'll watch your progress for a week or so, and then we can take out the catheter, and tidy up; then you can be on your way home."
Jan came to visit again in the evening, and by then I was beginning to feel some pain. It wasn't unbearable, and I told her what Dr. Strong had said. "I don't feel too good at the moment," I said, "but I do know roughly what to expect, thanks to my previous experience with surgery. This is the low point, and I'm quite cheerful about things, because I know they get better and better from now on." Jan smiled and squeezed my hand. She stayed for a while, but I wasn't really taking note of the passage of time. After she left I tossed fitfully for a while, then the nurse came with medications for me.
Tuesday, June 20th. They had obviously given me a sleeping pill, and I woke the next morning after an undisturbed sleep. Things were quite painful now, and I reached over to push the magic button. It fed a measured amount of morphine into the IV, and I fancied I did feel a little bit better after a few minutes. The nurses were in and out, looking after the various devices attached to me, and they also gave me juice to drink. Dr. Strong came by, and examined his work; he smiled at me and told me that things looked good, and that they would start me on solid food. I enjoyed the meal, but most of the rest of the day was fairly blurred; I do recall Jan being there several times when I looked up. She chatted to me quietly, and I may have responded, but I have very hazy recollection of the conversation.
Wednesday, June 21st. After another night's sleep, I felt considerably better; my head was clear, and I was almost in the mood for doing something to stop me from being bored. Dr. Strong visited me again, briefly, and told me he was very pleased with my progress. I got out of bed with some assistance from the nurses; I realised then that I was still very weak, but I felt very much that I was on the mend. I couldn't resist using the mirror from my makeup kit to take a look at my genital area; it appeared badly bruised, and was encumbered with drains and a catheter. To my uneducated eye there were unmistakable female labia, though they were firmly closed by large sutures. Though things were very uncomfortable, the confirmation that changes had really taken place gave me a sense of achievement, and when they brought me lunch, I was ready to do it justice. I decided I was quite hungry, and finished everything. After lunch, I was ready to find something to read, and the world seemed a much nicer place.
Saturday, June 24th. As the days passed, I felt progressively better, and the pain eased to a tolerable level. I could walk more easily each day, and I was able to freshen up by taking showers. On Jan's frequent visits we chatted happily, just as we always had, and we even went out into the sunny grounds for a walk. The pain was still present, and the drains and catheter were something of an irritation, but the feeling that recovery was clearly under way made me quite cheerful, and I began looking forward to getting home, and back my regular daily life. I thought about what had happened in the last several months, and realised that what I had been preparing for was now a reality. A dramatic change in me had now taken place, but in the unreal atmosphere of the hospital its full impact had not really registered.
Sunday, June 25th. Following the schedule he had originally given me, Dr. Strong came by early on Sunday, my sixth day of post- operative care. He removed the two drains, and then the labial sutures; the process was uncomfortable, but not painful. He then proceeded to remove about four metres of gauze packing from the opening! He smiled at me, and said "You see there definitely is a cavity there. Things are beginning to heal quite nicely now, and it is important to make sure that the new structure doesn't collapse, so regular dilation is necessary. The nurse will be in to give you instructions, and get you started later on."
I still had the catheter connected, but I found things much more comfortable now, and I was enjoying the feeling of freedom, walking up and down, when Jan came in. "You really do look chirpy today, my love," she said. I told her that things seemed to be progressing exactly on schedule, and we went out into the grounds for a walk; I felt much more like my old self, though I realised wryly that the whole object of the exercise was not to be my old self -- in one significant respect at least.
We had just got back when the nurse came in, with a set of packages and some written instructions. "I want to show you how to do the dilation," she said. Jan got up, but I asked her to stay; "Jan is my companion," I said to the nurse; "I have nothing to hide from her, and it might be a good idea for her to know what is involved; she might even check up on me."
The dilators came in different thicknesses, and the basic idea was to start with the slimmest, and gradually work up in size. They seemed surprisingly long to me; they were probably the same thickness as an average erect penis, something I had not seen for a long time. They were long enough to hold, and were graduated with depth markings; the nurse explained that they were to be inserted to the correct depth and then held in position. She got me to raise my knees, and very carefully inserted the end of the slimmest dilator into what I realised were my labia; it was quite painful, but not unbearable. She gradually worked it in, up to the required length, and it was brought home to me that my body really had been changed; the feeling wasn't very pleasant, but I did have a small thrill of excitement thinking about what was happening. I was given detailed instructions about how often to dilate, and for how long, and she told me that the instructions were also written out in detail on the material she had brought for me. "That's probably enough for now," she said; "I'll come to see you this evening, and have you do it yourself, just to make sure you're doing everything properly."
Jan had been watching the procedure with great interest. "Did it hurt?" she said after the nurse had left. "Not really. But it brings home fairly graphically that my anatomy has changed." "It certainly has," said Jan. "You are unequivocally a woman now, and I'm so happy for you. I'm looking forward to our life together; I know it will bring us closer than ever." She hugged me.
Tuesday, June 27th. Dr. Strong came to see me in the afternoon for the final step in the process. He busied himself with my external plumbing, then stood back with the end of the plastic tube in his hand; he had removed the catheter without me even being aware of it. The next step was to remove the retention sutures, then "All done," he said; "I'd like you to go to the bathroom now, and see if you can pass water." I walked over to the bathroom, and I realised with a strange sense of pleasure that it was now essential for me to sit down. I did so, and felt a burning sensation inside me; it became almost too painful to bear, then suddenly there was relief, and I heard some water pouring into the toilet bowl. I also got rather damp and messy, and realised that I would need some practise; there was no doubt, though, that the basic bodily function demonstrated explicitly that what I had desired was now an accomplished fact. Dr. Strong smiled approvingly; "Very good," he said, as though I was a small baby being toilet trained. It occurred to me that in a sense, that's exactly what I was. "Things seem to be working properly," he said; "in a day or two, you'll find it quite comfortable."
He said that I would be able to leave the next morning. He impressed on me the importance of continuing the dilation of my new vagina, on a regular daily schedule. He foresaw no complications, but told me to phone if there was anything I was concerned about. Assuming that everything progressed properly, he wanted me to visit for a final checkup in three months. He told me that the recovery from the surgery would take about three weeks, so during that time I should refrain from any strenuous activity. "Once again, until things have settled down, dilation is very important," he said. "It is probably wise to abstain from any sexual activity, too; but you should be ready for that after the three months. I'll see you tomorrow morning, just before you leave." I thanked him, and told him that I was very happy with what he had done for me.
When Jan came to visit, later in the afternoon, I told her that I was going to be sprung in the morning, on schedule, and asked her to bring some clothes for me. "You're a tough girl," she said; "there will be no stopping you once you get back home."
Wednesday, June 28th. I woke the following morning feeling very good; there was still a dull ache between my legs, but it was certainly bearable. Jan came soon after they had given me breakfast, with a small suitcase; she was also carrying a paper bag. "I went shopping yesterday afternoon," she said; "I thought it would be nice to get you a welcome home gift." I opened the package, and found a lovely pair of pink frilly panties; "Thank you, my love," I said. "I couldn't think of anything nicer. Let me put them on." I sat on the edge of the bed, and Jan steadied me, though I didn't need any help. She eased the panties up my legs, and pulled them up round my waist. "They're beautiful!" I said. Even though I still needed to wear padding because of blood oozing from areas that were not completely healed, it was another reminder of my new shape, and I couldn't resist looking at myself in the small mirror in the bathroom; they looked right, even though they were a little bulky. In spite of that there were no conspicuous bulges in the wrong place, and they felt right; I was a woman finally, and garments designed for women were exactly right for me!
I put on the bra and half slip that Jan had brought, and then the skirt and top; the weather was quite warm now, and that would be all I needed for the journey. "You can get back to your stockings, when we're back home," she said. "I wasn't sure that a girdle was a good idea just yet, and I knew you wouldn't want to wear pantyhose." "I'm almost tempted," I said; "at least they would fit very nicely now." Dr. Strong came in just as I had got dressed, and told me I could leave when I was ready. I thanked him once again, and we said goodbye. After a quick check with the woman at the reception desk, we walked out into the sunshine. Jan had already checked out of the motel, and had everything in the car; I got myself in, without too much difficulty, and we were on our way back home.
Monday, September 4th. The rest of the summer was pleasant, and Jan and I eased back into our regular way of life, enjoying the good weather. The only physical effect of the surgery, after leaving the hospital, was that I was quite weak, but my strength recovered quickly, and there were no apparent side effects.
I had restarted taking hormones, immediately after my return home; the dosage was now changed, and there was of course no longer any need for anti-androgens. I was quite satisfied with my body generally, and I thought it had an adequately feminine appearance, even though I might not have won any beauty contests. Further changes in the direction of feminisation still seemed to be occurring; they were apparent to me, though they were very subtle.
In one respect my lifestyle was very different now. I was conscious of the change in my anatomy, and I got a thrill from its obvious feminine external contours whenever I dressed and undressed. I also practiced dilation four times a day, and that gradually brought home to me the reality of what had happened. Four times each day I inserted the lubricated dilators into my vagina, progressing from the slimmest to the thickest, and I still found it startling to realise what length could be accommodated inside me. Though the activity was not particularly pleasant, I found that sexual feelings were beginning to be excited; they were as much mental as physical, as it became more and more evident to me that I was now a receptor, capable of being penetrated. It was a thrill to appreciate that I now satisfied the most basic fundamental definition of the term 'female'.
As the weeks went by I did find the penetration more and more exciting, and I finally got carried away to the point where I started to manipulate the dilator, and slide it in and out. To my delight, there was a physical response, and I experienced feelings just like those I had when Jan made love to me. My happiness was unbounded at the realisation that my new equipment was performing precisely as I had hoped that it would. My pleasure with the medically successful results of sexual reassignment surgery had been tempered by the absence of sexual activity with Jan. That was a very important part of our life together, and abstinence for almost three months was making me quite desperate to resume; the awakening of my physical responses as a direct consequence of penetration made me even more desirous of love-making. I knew now for certain that it would be better than ever, as my previous fantasies had indeed become reality, and waiting for my complete recovery from surgery created a frustration that grew as the days passed.
It was a physical frustration, but I could console myself mentally with the thought that there was a well-defined end in sight; at least in that respect things were very different from the sexual frustration, as a male, that had provoked my journey into womanhood. I was frustrated now because I knew how good things would be, and because I had to restrain myself for just a week or two longer.
Thursday, September 19th. The time did finally pass, and the day before my post-operative checkup with Dr. Strong arrived. The appointment was early in the morning, so we followed what had almost become a routine, and once again drove down the freeway, checking into our conveniently located motel near the hospital.
It was a strange evening. We went out for dinner, and had an enjoyable meal, then we went back to the motel room. We chatted together, but both of us felt that the following evening was going to have special significance, and as if by mutual agreement we didn't dwell on what was to be. We snuggled in bed together finally, and talked about anything we could think of, other than what was really on our minds. We finished up with an exhaustive discussion about makeup, and some of the more exotic things that we had not tried yet; that was fun, and did finally get us into a state where attempting to sleep was possible.
Friday, September 20th. After a fitful night, we had breakfast, and went over to the hospital. The receptionist greeted me like an old friend, and Dr. Strong appeared promptly. He examined my genital area thoroughly, but did not take very long. "Everything seems to be just as it should be," he said. "You can now live your life as a woman without any medical restrictions." He smiled, a smile that was almost a wink.
I thanked him once again, and told him that I already had indications that things would work out exactly as I had hoped. After goodbyes to him, and the receptionist, Jan and I started the drive back home. The fall weather was clear and warm, and as we sped along the freeway there were crystal clear views of the snow-capped mountains. I was in a euphoric state anyway, and wouldn't have cared if the snow was down where we were; Jan was happy and cheerful, as she drove, and from time to time we chatted about things we passed by. We got home early in the afternoon, and as we parked the car, Jan said "We really do have to celebrate today; let's start by going somewhere nice for dinner." "I'd love that," I said, "but don't make it too late. There's a private matter on the agenda, and after this long time I'm getting quite impatient." "I know, my love," she said very tenderly; "it's very important to me, too." We hugged one another, and I thought I had never felt closer to my wonderful partner. In the sixteen months or so since I had started my incredible journey, most of my experiences had been happy, and I remembered them fondly; I realised it would have been a very different story if I had been on my own, without Jan's loving support.
She made a reservation, and we started to get ourselves ready. I decided to celebrate in style, so after a quick bath, I got into my favourite black corselette, now a perfect fit, and put on a new pair of dark charcoal stockings with all my usual care. I wore black lacy panties, and also chose a black slip that always made me feel my best. Finally I put on my dark blue floral print dress, the one with the marvellous silky feel, and sat down to work on my hair and face. I spent a long time on my makeup, and fussed with all the little details that Jan and I had such fun learning. I was finally satisfied with my face, and with my hair, and chose the most ornate dangling earrings I had to complete the picture. Jan had watched my preparations with some interest, and she wore her finest too; she wore an absolutely beautiful long dress, dark green and silky, and spent almost as long as I had sitting at the vanity.
We were finally ready, both of us, and none to soon; it was very close to the time Jan had told the restaurant. We drove off, and were soon there, and being ushered to our table. It was a very nice steak house, with elegant decor, subdued lighting and a quiet but friendly atmosphere. We ordered a bottle of Beaujolais, and sat back to enjoy our meal. The service was good and friendly, and we ate quietly, chatting quite casually; again, as if by previous agreement, we didn't talk about the significance of the occasion, though it was very much on my mind. Jan was happy and cheerful, and I had no doubt that her mind was running along a similar path. After a delicious meal, and both of us having eaten far more than was good for our figures, we had espresso coffee and a liqueur. Jan lifted her glass as if to toast me; "Well, Rita, my love," she said, "it's been a fascinating year, and I can't tell you how happy I am that everything has worked out so well. It's a long time since I first fell in love with you, as a person, but a few years back I started to fall in love with your feminine side. It has been an absolute delight to see that part of you take over, and watch you becoming more and more confident and happy in your undeniable femininity. We're now celebrating the occasion of your physical self catching up with what has been the real you for a long time." She paused, and took a sip of the liqueur. "You are a woman, now. I'm more happy than I can say, to welcome you home; you're one of us now, and you are where you belong."
I choked up, and felt tears in my eyes. "I'm happy too, Jan," I said. "This whole year I have felt as if I was coming home, and what makes home such a nice place to be is having you there, by my side, all the way through. I love you." I couldn't say any more, and I smiled through my tears at her. We finished our liqueurs and coffee, and after settling the check we made our way outside; we walked holding hands and had no concerns whatsoever about what anyone might think.
We were soon home, and inside the house. Jan hugged me, and whispered: "Now I want to give you your real welcome; let's go to bed." I could think of nothing I wanted more, and meekly followed her into our bedroom. I undressed slowly, gradually removing all the sartorial witness to my feminine state; I took off my dress, hung it up carefully in the closet, and then removed my slip. I saw Jan was doing just the same, unhurriedly, and had a squirm of excitement as I saw her standing there in her bra and pantyhose. I sat on the bed and slowly undid my suspenders, then rolled the stockings down over my feet; I pulled off my panties, and finally undid the corselette, releasing myself from its firm, constricting but exquisite embrace. Finally I stood completely naked, and faced Jan who was undoing the hooks of her bra. She slipped it off gracefully, and pulled her panties down; she stepped out of them and faced me, naked herself. She gave me a quick kiss and led me over to the comfortable big bed; we rolled the sheets back, and lay side by side on top. It was a wonderful moment of anticipation for me; I was desperate for Jan to make love to me, but I was shy, like a bride on her wedding night.
We both realised that we should take our time, savour the occasion, and do justice to it; Jan was in no hurry, and she rolled towards me to snuggle close; I responded, and we clung together, blissful in one another's arms. "This is the moment we have both been waiting for," Jan whispered; "I can feel your happiness in real womanhood, and you have brought out exactly the same feelings in me; it's something wonderful we can share." "Oh, Jan," I said. "I love you so much. I wish I could tell you how I feel. I am a woman, and I feel so feminine; I'm all squirmy inside, and things are so comfortable here with you. I want you to take me; I just want to lie back and give myself to you completely. Be gentle with me, Jan, but take me."
Jan squeezed me tight, then she started to stroke my breasts. It was absolute bliss to feel my own wonderful breasts being caressed by my loving partner; I felt my nipples stiffen, and stand up in response to her gentle touch. She felt the response too, and lay over me, and started to suck on my nipples, gently stimulating them with her tongue and teeth. She worked on each of them in turn, and caressed my body with her fingers. I felt my excitement building as her hands worked down over my stomach; my whole body responded to her, and I felt new and delicious sensations deep inside me. They became stronger as she moved her hands over my thighs, and I squeezed my legs together in delightful anticipation. I desperately wanted her to explore the area of my vulva, but I was wallowing in a delicious feminine feeling of submission which required her to make the moves. As a woman herself, she understood better than I did what was happening to me, and began to push her hands between my legs; she was gentle but insistent, and worked both her hands into position. My anticipation grew as I realised that she was pulling my legs apart; as I felt what she wanted, I was overcome with an urge to surrender to her, and I spread my thighs open. She caressed my vulva, and I thrilled as she explored new pleasure centres that I was not familiar with yet; I felt her gentle fingers probing my labia, and my anticipation and excitement grew.
Suddenly I felt the lips part, and had a sense of exhilaration as I realised that Jan's gently probing fingers were now inside me. Then I felt them, delicately exploring my vagina, and I was overcome by the new exquisite sensations. I moaned in delight, overwhelmed by the essentially feminine experience of being penetrated by my lover. It was a wonderful moment as my feelings about myself and my sexuality were at last confirmed by my direct physical experience. I felt the fingers probing deeper, and I enjoyed an indescribable thrill as I realised that my new physical femininity was now in tune with my desires and yearnings. The fingers pushed upwards, and I became aware of a different sensation; as I realised that Jan was now stimulating my clitoris, my whole body quivered with shudders of ecstasy. I pushed my pelvis up towards her, and she started to move her fingers back and forth, pushing upwards, and maintaining her caressing motion. "Jan!" I gasped, "that's so good!" She kissed me, and increased the motion of her fingertips, rubbing them over my newfound source of pleasure. As she continued, I felt my excitement rising, and my whole body responded to the stimulation; the intensity of the sensations increased and increased until the pleasure was almost unbearable, and I lost all consciousness of anything other than my primal submissive receptive nature. Then a massive shock wave engulfed me, and a feeling of ecstatic release flooded over me. I cried out, and fell back, feeling wave after wave break over me; as they gradually subsided, a warm glow of euphoria spread itself throughout my whole being.
I knew that I had been right; I knew that Jan had recognised my true nature, and I rejoiced in my femininity and my initiation into womanhood.
Jan understood the depth of my feelings, and cuddled close to me, letting me lie quietly and savour the wealth of feelings she had released in me. I lay quietly by her side for what seemed a very long time, feeling happy and fulfilled. Eventually the real world began to intrude into my reverie; I squeezed Jan's hand, and kissed her. "I didn't realise it could be so wonderful," I said. "I have been looking forward to this for over a year, probably longer in my subconscious mind, and I'm absolutely convinced now that I was right." "Of course you were, Rita, my love," Jan said. "It became very clear to me, and when I realised that it was what I wanted, too, our path was inevitable." She held me close, and continued: "You are a very sexy woman, now; I got very excited showing you the wonderful pleasure of being a woman, and I know we shall have a lot of fun together."