The Homecoming 1 – Ready, Steady, Go!

By Amanda J.

I’ve just come back from visiting my home town in the north of England.  The town where many of my ancestors lived in centuries gone by.  The town where my parents met and married.  The town where I was born and, after a brief absence living elsewhere, grew up.  The town where, on a fateful day in the mid-1970s, I became a fully paid up, albeit for a long time unwilling, member of the crossdressing fraternity (or should that be sorority?).  Back in the day I passed through the town centre more or less every day as I travelled home from school and even now, nearly half a century since I last lived there, it has an air of familiarity that no other place really has.  But my parents are no longer with us and, as a result, I no longer have any real ties to the town; other than periodic school reunions, visits are now a rarity.

My recent posts have covered the severely diminished opportunity I now have to spread my feminine wings.  Even when my daughter is at work, I can’t shed the nagging feeling that she will return home early and catch me in flagrante so to speak.  It certainly does nothing for the euphoria when every single noise outside evokes a split second of panic.  And having only missed being caught by my wife by 11 minutes thanks to a text about an impending delivery a couple of years ago, I know only too well that I have to respect my fears.  But out of the blue came an opportunity to return to the stamping ground of my childhood for an overnight stay and the opportunities that came with that were not lost on me!

I’ve taken an ‘extra’ bag full of goodies with me on nights away before, initially just to take advantage of the privacy of my hotel room and more recently to be able to go out without any of the worries of being spotted by neighbours which are a constant risk when going out from home. And as I said in a recent post, the idea of closeted CDing no longer cuts the mustard with me; I want to CD with a proper purpose, not just to spend a few minutes in front of the mirror before thinking ‘now what?’.  So a trip out was a necessity but the idea of walking round my hometown en femme was taking things to a whole new level as far as I was concerned.  As a result, there was a high degree of nervousness about the whole thing but the more I thought about it, the more it was something that I not only wanted to do but also couldn’t wait to do.

Now, the reputation of British weather is well known throughout the world.   It rains throughout summer and, in particular on public holidays and that is largely the story.  If the sun does come out, there are two things that can be guaranteed.  The first is a proliferation of strappy tops and shorts barely preserving the modesty of the flabby white bodies they are supposed to be covering (and in many cases completely failing in that quest) and the second is that the TV and radio weather forecasters will be heralding the advent of climate Armageddon with blood-red coloured weather maps, at least until the temperature drops and it starts raining again a couple of days later.  But, as April turned to May, the weather warmed up considerably and I started to wonder what would happen if, against all the odds, it stayed warm until my visit.

I love women’s winter styles not least as they are highly effective at covering up the effects of six decades of testosterone.  To me, there is no more elegant style on a woman than a tailored dress, sheer hosiery & heels and that is how I’ve approached CDing for a long time.  Even as I started to tone down the glam to blend in more in the outside world, I gravitated to roll necks, jumper dresses and long coats – fantastic for a winter outing to the shops but not so fantastic to swelter in during what could be a couple of warm days in mid-May.  And whilst I do have a dress that is in theory appropriate for summer, when I’ve worn it out previously, I’ve felt very self-conscious as it became apparent that other women had decided against a dress and heels for their outing (and coincidentally, a week or two before I left, I noticed an older woman similarly dressed on the train and it hit home how different she looked to the other travelers).  If I was going to walk the streets of my hometown as my fabulous alter ego, something needed to be done!

After a quick Google image search confirmed that boots could definitely work with a more casual summer dress (apologies to those enthusiastic sandal wearers amongst the readership here but I have a particular aversion to the idea of any toes being on show, particularly my own, so my new heeled boots were a necessity for the outing, particularly as despite their height, they are quite comfortable to walk in), I looked on the websites of a couple of the local chain stores and started to formulate an outfit in my mind.  I’ve learned the hard way that putting an outfit together in my mind and then trying to bring it to life is fraught with difficulties, not least because my mind tends to be about 3 years behind current trends (meaning that shops have long since stopped stocking the items I want) but perseverance can pay off so I jumped in the car and set off for the first shop (Matalan).  Sadly, the first couple of things I thought could work when I was browsing their website were non-starters as they seemed to have every size except mine but then I spotted a dress that I thought could work, found that they had stocks in pretty well every size so found one in the right size and into the basket it went.  Unfortunately, the only denim jacket they had (I decided that denim would boost the outfit’s casual credentials) was hideously expensive (i.e. more than £20) so I passed on that and after throwing a couple of bracelets into the basket, I paid and left.  I had some errands to run for a friend who was in hospital but once I was finished I called in at a second shop (Primark – yes, I know, the stuff is poor quality but it’s relatively cheap and it’s not as if I’m wearing the things daily, much though I sometimes may wish that I was) and while I was looking for the jacket, spotted another dress in my size that I felt could work – I decided to buy it on the basis that I’d try on both dresses, decide which one worked better and get a refund on the other.  So now, with the denim jacket and two long summery dresses, I had the outfit more or less sorted.  It was now just a case of trying the items on, checking that the overall effect was what I was looking for and deciding which dress to keep.  But, due to my daughter’s presence at home that day, that would have to wait for another time.

Trying on clothes is hit and miss, particular when I need to buy them first rather than just trying them on in the shop.  Sizing varies between shops and a size that is loose and baggy from one can be too small to put on from another.   And on many occasions, I’ve found that the promise of the outfit when it was on a hanger in the shop failed to materialise when it was on me.  But when I was finally able to try the first dress on, it felt absolutely right.  I knew straight away that there was no way that I would be returning it for a refund.  On to the second dress – a different colour and a little bit longer & more flared than the first – and it was a similar story.  I went back and forth between the two and decided that a compromise was the only answer.  Or to put it another way, I decided to keep both!

And so the scene was set.  I packed my suitcase and hid it in the garage where it would remain until the morning of my departure and I have to admit that in the ensuing days, the excitement mounted.  Of course, there was trepidation too – having moved away from my hometown over four decades ago, the chances of anyone recognising who lay beneath the exterior were remote at best.  Even so, and particularly as there was one important thing I wanted to do that would link my male and female sides, there were still feelings of doubt although, in my heart, I knew that those feelings were not sufficient for me to call off the adventure particularly as experience has taught me that once that ‘switch’ has flipped I am ‘her’ through and through and, these days, ready for pretty well anything.

-o-O-o-

After checking into the hotel and taking what probably seemed to the receptionist to be an unnecessarily high amount of baggage into the room, I set to work with my transformation.  The main focus of my outing that day was a trip to the shops, a wander round the town centre where I grew up and get something to eat.  I’d already decided which of my two new dresses would be better for that and with my new boots and denim jacket, it had a suitably casual vibe and felt ideal for the occasion (see above).  I should also make passing mention of the slits up each side giving a tantalising view of my legs to anyone so interested!  Unfortunately, in my haste to get ready, I learned one lesson the hard way.

There’s a definite order for getting ready.  Some things are obvious – unless you are superman/ superwoman, you put your underwear on first and foundation goes on before blusher & lipstick.  Other things are less obvious unless you get it wrong – try undoing the tiny sprung clasps on jewelry with fake nails in place!  It’s hard enough without them on but nigh on impossible when your nails are unfamiliarly long.  I’m sure women eventually get the hang of it but I ended spending far longer than necessary (and made sure that when I got dressed the following day, the nails went on last!).

Anyway, with everything ready and handbag packed with essentials – room key, car key, credit card, cash, spare nails & sticky pads, tissues, hairbrush & lipstick – and my bug-out bag (guy clothes and makeup wipes in case of emergencies), I was out of the privacy of my room with just the gauntlet of walking past the receptionist (who, of course, had seen male me just over one hour before) to run.  Fortunately, she wasn’t around – a pattern that would repeat each time I went through reception until the final time when I had reverted to male me – and I was out and about once more.

Let’s face it, a shopping centre is a shopping centre regardless of where it is and whilst there was a particular air of familiarity walking around the town I was born and grew up in, it was just nice to once again be able to browse the women’s rails without any of the hangups that are a feature in male mode.  One thing I did notice though was a feeling that far more people seemed to ‘read’ me than normal.  Perhaps this was a product of being in a northern town with a far less diverse population than the London suburbs where I live these days and just standing out more as a result.  Whatever the reason, no one caused problems, and I didn’t feel intimidated as a result.

One place I wanted to visit was the cathedral.  I’d been there many times as a child – four school services per year over 9 years – that’s 36 times plus many more for various reasons – and whilst I’m not a religious person, I thought it would be nice to sit quietly for a few minutes to contemplate how far I’ve come in this side of my life.  As I entered, I was immediately hit by the sound of my heels on the stone floor and found a seat close to where I had particular memories and  listened to the choral music being piped over the cathedral’s PA system – I’m not sure whether it was a recording or whether there was a service going on in one of the side chapels but a very pleasant sonic backdrop to my thoughts all the same.

After spending 15 minutes or so with my thoughts, I made my way back to the car where I learned my second lesson of the day – no matter what you are looking for in your handbag, it will always find its way to the bottom and so it was with my car keys.  After plunging my hand in and rummaging around with no joy, I realised that I had no option other than to start taking things out until I could find them.  And that’s when I heard

‘Are you leaving?’

I turned round to see a guy looking at me with his car window down.  There would have been a time when I would have frozen to the spot, but I just answered ‘yes’ in a slightly higher than usual (but still unmistakably male) voice before returning to the problem in hand – finding my keys which I eventually did.  No doubt the conversation with the other occupants of his car centred around the mismatch between my presentation and presumed chromosomal combination while they were waiting for me to get my act together but so be it.

And that, I thought, was that.  I just needed to get some dinner and had no idea that I was about to have an experience that would eclipse everything I’d ever gone through in my feminine persona.

Don’t miss the next thrilling instalment…