Minutes Of The April 22 Meeting Girl Talk, by Becky Adams Ellen's Scouting Report, Vol. 2, by Ellen Yeti Random Musings: Piercing the Bubble,
by Nicole Thomas The Millenium March on Washington,
by Nicole Thomas
Lucy's Window, by Lucy Stone The Women's Pavilion, by Paula Evans The Choice, by Mary Alice Barret My First Time, by Yvonne Martin
This past February, my wife and I went to see the play, "The Hostage" at Centre Stage,
with the other CES sisters and spouses. While it was fun to get all dressed up,
go out, and see a play with everybody, it wasn't the first time I had done that.
In fact, one of my first experiences going out dressed en femme
was to the Kennedy Center.
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Page Created: May 7, 2000
From the Editrix
My Dear Sisters,
Through your efforts, The Wild Rose of the Chesapeake keeps getting better. This month we are including pictures for the first time. See Yvonne Martin's article. And we have gotten the suggestion that we include a Classified Ads section. Several of us have extra "things" we no longer use, but others might find would fit right into their wardrobes. If you would like to advertise some items for sale in our Classified Ads, send them in and we will see if we have enough interest to make this an on-going feature in The Rose.
This newsletter is a labor of love for each of our contributing editrixes. Please join the staff by submitting your own insights into the world of crossdressing. You can send your input to RRBoyd@aol.com
, or R. R. Boyd, P.O. Box 2252, Ashburn, VA 20146-9152.
Rachel Rene Boyd
Newsletter Editrix
Minutes Of The April 22 Meeting
CHI EPSILON SIGMA
The April meeting of Chi Epsilon Sigma was spontaneous and fun. Due to a series of mishaps and misadventures, we did not have a formally prepared program. The subject was to be a report on the SPICE (Spouses/Partners International Conference for Education) conference last fall. But our presenters could not make the meeting. So Vicki and Linda pitched in for an impromptu discussion of SPICE. Vicki, Linda, Cheri, and Yvonne had been to previous meetings of SPICE.
SPICE is that part of Tri-Ess that seeks to provide support and education for the spouses and partners of crossdressers. The annual conference offers sympathetic comfort to women distressed by what they perceive as a threat to their marriage. It is true that many problems cans be complicated still further when an unforeseen or unusual change occurs. SPICE's major goal is to help people to reasonable solutions that will work by offering education
The conference is open to all women who are partners are wives of heterosexual, gender-gifted men. The programs are designed specifically to help build self-esteem and self-respect, to help partners deal with the many issues inherent in a gender-influenced relationship. Well-known, skilled and compassionate professional counselors will present programs as well as lead wives and partners from local and nationals support groups.
A hallmark of SPICE conventions is that NO CROSSDRESSING IS ALLOWED. Men are welcome to attend, but the "no dressing" rule is designed to provide comfort to the women attending.
The next convention will be SPICE VIII, 2000: A SPICE Odyssey
, July 12-16, 2000 in Houston, Texas. Your Spring 2000 edition of The Femme Mirror had a yellow insert in it that describes SPICE VIII and provides registration information. If you have misplaced yours, you can provide Rachel (rrboyd@aol.com) with your fax number and she will fax you a copy.
Our chapter is considering hosting SPICE in the Baltimore area in July 2002. If you would like to participate in the planning for this meeting, contact a member of the Chi Epsilon Executive Committee (yvonne@netrax.net, grace-gardener@home.com, beckyxd@hotmail.com
, sloopjjb@aol.com, terrilynna@hotmail.com, victoria.frost@erols.com). The decision has not yet been made about hosting SPICE. Much will depend on how
many volunteers we have to host the convention.
Girl Talk
By Becky Adams
Really, as far as accepting crossdressers go, society ought to go to the dogs.
We have had quite a few canine members as part of our family for a good number of years and to the dog, they have never seemed the least bit fazed whenever I would appear en femme. Now I do have to admit that the first time I did "come out" to the family pets, I was sure they would bark or at least show some interest as to "who" this stranger might be!
Did they? Not in the least! The Labrador--true to the breed merely came up and sniffed to see if there was any food in the pockets of my skirt and the Siberian (once again true to the nature of the "Siberian Princesses") never even gave me a second look. It was as though she always saw her alpha male in a dress, hose, heels, and a wig.
Giving this some thought, it now appears to me that the canines and felines, too, as there have always been one or two around the house who deign to acknowledge us as being there are not impressed one way or the other by what is on the surface. They are far more interested and involved with what the real person is, not what attire that individual might be wearing. And there are all too many cases in society where we ignore that old adage about not telling a book by its cover and get hung up on what the individual is wearing and not who the individual really is beneath those clothes.
So, as I said at the start, maybe society ought to go to the dogs (and cats, to be PC) and take a lesson or two from them in terms of acceptance.
Ellen's Scouting Report, Vol. 2
By Ellen Yeti
Saturday, April 15th: As Marsha, Doneene, and I were getting ready to go out for a bite to eat and drinks, I gazed at the clock and realized I was infecting other people. Eight o'clock had come and gone and we weren't ready yet.
As we left the house at 9:30 and headed to Poloma's in downtown Baltimore, I figured as late as we were, the dining room would be closed. Parking is at a premium, but there are several parking lots in the area along with the street parking. There was a $3.00 cover to get in because of the live band.
Poloma's had a really nice atmosphere, casual but friendly. The crowd included straight couples, lesbians, gays and a least two crossdressers after we got there. The dress varied from very casual to two couples in very expensive dresses and tuxedos. No problems, no attitudes no unrest.
There were two couples who came in later and sat next to us, and after about 30 minutes Marsha overheard the statement "you're in Baltimore, you should expect all types around here". (Those of you that know me well, may want to sit down now!) I made no comments, nor did I go over sit on her lap and give her a kiss on the cheek, even though the thought was over powering!
Poloma's reminds me of a 60's place. When you enter there are couches, chairs, and recliners for sitting and chatting. The large dining room had several different levels and mostly smaller tables. There was, of course the bar, and another sitting room near the bar with couches, coffee tables, and chairs for a comfortable relaxing chatting area. There were several smaller dining rooms in the back away from the stage and dance floor area. The band was good and we really enjoyed them. The dance floor varied but was fairly busy most of the time. The entertainment changes nightly from skits or small plays to poetry readings and music, with live bands on Fridays and Saturdays. The after-hours menu and the main menu were more casual than fancy, and varied from pastas to stir frys and cordon bleu to shepherds pie. The portions were huge and very good, with prices in the very reasonable range. The staff was very nice and helpful, and one of the owners came by to ask how we enjoyed evening and chatted for a few minutes. She seemed very nice. It was an enjoyable evening and we had a good time. I believe Marsha and Doneene are planning another trip back some time soon. Me, I'm looking for a new place to check out. Maybe in DC this time. Well, we will see what I can come up with.
So ends Ellen's second scouting report of places for the sisterhood to go out to. Hope that you enjoy the report as much as I have checking it out and writing it.
Random Musings
By Nicole Thomas
Piercing the Bubble
Monday May 1, 2000 was one of the most stressful days of my life. Not as stressful as Monday December 14, 1998, the day I told my wife about my cross dressing, but way up there. It was the first day I went to work with pierced ears. I've never considered myself to be a trail blazer, but I'm now the only guy at my office with earrings.
I've been thinking about getting my ears pierced for a while now and had set a target date of the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. I picked this date for two reasons. First, with the long weekend it would give me an extra day to figure out what to do at work, and second, it would come after my performance review at work. Last week I started thinking about moving this up in honor of the Millenium March on Washington. But I still wanted to wait until after my performance review. In the middle of the week, my supervisor (the company owner) asked if I had completed the performance reviews for my subordinates. I told her that I had, and mentioned that I hadn't seen my evaluation yet. She informed me that she hadn't done them yet. This got me to thinking that I couldn't be sure when she'd get them done. Would she do them before Memorial day? With this uncertainty, and the March coming, I decided that the time was now.
My wife had the kids this week, but I had to be at my son's baseball game Saturday morning and then drop the kids off at my parents' house. So, my revised plan was to "ditch the kids" and then run some errands and hit the mall. I got to the mall around noon and started looking for the right place for "the piercing". I didn't want to go to one of those middle-of-the-mall-kiosk stands, in plain site of EVERYONE. I chose a store called "Icing" (turns out to be a sister store to Claire's). Imagine my surprise when I found out that their "piercing station" was right in the window! However, I wasn't about to back out now. I picked out small gold ball studs. The woman who did the piercing was wonderful. Made me feel comfortable before and told me how good they looked afterwards. It hurt less that I thought it might.
While I was still in the planning phase, I talked to some of the girls at TGEA. Debbie Hahn told me that when she had hers done she used the "fishing line trick". Basically, you leave things as they are for a week (preferable done while on vacation), and then replace the studs with short pieces of 50# test fishing line. She assured me that this is virtually invisible and that no one would notice. I thought that this could work, but didn't think that I could swing the one week thing. Would a weekend be long enough?
After the piercing, I finished running errands (including shopping at my regular grocery store) and then took off for an overnight stay with Mary (so that we could leave from her place early Sunday morning to go to the Millenium March-see separate story). It took her almost an hour and a half to get around to mentioning the earrings. I could barely contain myself that long.
Sunday night I was really unsure about what to do about work on Monday. Should I just go in and see what would happen, or try to do the fishing line thing? I really didn't want to deal with them at work, but I am also very concerned about infection. If I decided to wear the earrings, it also meant having to explain them to the kids. After much debate, I decided to try the fishing line. Unfortunately, it was way too soon and I was unable to get it all the way through. When I tried to put the stud back in, it would only go about 2/3 back in. OH MY GOD! Now what! Think, think! I didn't want to give up and only have one earring. What good is one earring for a cross dresser?!? After, much pushing, and prodding (and some real pain), I finally got the stud back through. I washed everything down with alcohol, and then slathered the area with Neosporin. Now I'm waiting for the infection to set in. (It's now Wednesday, and no sign of infection. I think I dodged a big bullet there!)
I got into work on Monday bright and early at 8:30. Said "Hi" to the receptionist (no comment), put my lunch in the fridge, and entered my office. I share my room with three coworkers (the "subordinates" I had to review). We refer to one of my coworkers as "Mama" because she's always chiding one person for smoking and always thinking about hamburgers when he needs to watch his cholesterol, and always has some comment about another's clothes or hair or weight, etc. She comes to work at about 7AM, so I knew I'd get my first comments really early. I said "Hi", asked about her weekend, and took my seat. No comment. Weird. She must have noticed! The only direct comment I got was when another office mate wanted to verify that the earrings were new, and not something she hadn't noticed before. Later in the day, "Mama" was complaining that the room was cold and put on a jacket. At the same time I was hot and sweating. I said that there must be something wrong with her. Her retort was "There's definitely something wrong with you. I've been good and haven't said anything all day. I think I'll wait until we're alone".
Monday is the day that we have our "Project Managers" meetings. Lately, we've cancelled about two out of three. Of course, today we had one. So now pretty much everyone at work, including my boss and her husband/co-owner has seen my earrings. No comments yet!
Having made it through the day at work, I still had to face my kids. I had barely entered the daycare when my son saw me and rushed over. It took a mere moment for him to notice the earrings. He asked "Why Dad?". I replied that I wanted to, so why not. I asked him what he thought. After a moment of thought he grinned and said "Cool!".
So, I survived Day 1. I'm sure there will still be some comments, snickers, jokes to come.
Most of Tuesday also passed without comment. In the early afternoon a woman from the office next store stopped in to chat. As she was leaving the room Mama asked "Aren't you going to say something about his earrings?!? I've decided that I won't say anything!" She pronounced them small and tasteful and just wanted to know when I had them done. So far, nobody has asked why.
This morning I bumped into a friend while dropping the kids off at daycare. I had to ask her about a scout meeting, so I'm sure she saw, but she didn't say anything. I bumped into her again at McDonalds this evening and ate dinner with her. Still she said nothing.
At my son's ballgame this evening my wife said that they look nice.
So, I've now finished three days at work and really have not had comments on my earrings. I am so surprised. I don't know if people are talking behind my back. Perhaps those that know about my home situation figure I'm going through "a phase". I just don't know. I find it a bit baffling and disconcerting.
I'm now glad that the fishing line thing didn't work out. With that I would have always been wondering if people had noticed. It would be like hiding in the closet. I will be surprised if my supervisor leaves it uncommented on.
I still need to face my parents. That will happen on Saturday. I'll let you know how that turns out.
The Millenium March on Washington
By Nicole Thomas
The Millenium March on Washington took place on Sunday April 30, 2000. It was a Gay, Lesbian, Bi-sexual, Transgender call for equal rights. I first heard about it at the TGEA meeting in March. I thought it would be cool to attend. I was very disappointed when I checked the calendar to find that I would have the kids that day. Last week I looked at the calendar again and realized that I was mistaken and would be free. Mary and I planned to attend.
The march was scheduled for 10AM. This meant having to leave the house around 8:30AM, needing to start dressing at 7AM, so I decided to stay overnight with Mary. We Metro'ed down with many "interesting" couples. Most seemed to have come in for the festivities that started on Saturday. The weather was wonderful (especially after all of the cool rainy days last week) but the morning started out cool and windy, so
I regretted not bringing my jacket.
If you estimate that cross dressers are about 1 in 20 males in the general population, then at the march we were even a smaller minority. From what I could see, we were outnumbered about 1000 to 1. In spite of this, nobody cared, and I felt proud to be there representing for all of us.
There were groups from all across the country. We decided to march with the Maryland group, as we couldn't find a Transgender group to join with. Although the march was to start at 10AM, we didn't actually hit the street until after 11:30. The waiting was quite a drag. The actual march was a very strange experience. The supporters lining the streets were numerous, but there were a good number of (mostly "religious") protesters (we have all been "Dammed to Hell") . I never actually felt threatened, but it was still hard to really relax. The experience was a bit surreal.
Following the march there were speakers on the Mall and a festival in the streets. There was a $5 admission charge to the festival. We would have gone, but the entrance line was very long. We caught the speeches by Ellen DeGeneres and Ann Heche. Okay, but no too inspiring. We found ourselves at the national art gallery and took the opportunity to wander through. Most of the people there were from the rally. Mary said that she felt sorry for all of the "normal people" who happened to pick this weekend to visit Washington. What a story they'll get to tell their friends and neighbors!
All in all, I am glad that I went. It was neat to be able to walk around the Mall and through the museums while dressed and not have to be concerned about anyone caring. But, it was pretty weird to see everyone flaunting their sexuality. I am grateful that the GLB groups are willing to take up our cause and tie it to theirs and I'm glad to have added my voice and presence to the effort. Although accepted at the march, I don't feel a part of that world either. We truly have no place to call our own.
Lucy's Window
By Lucy Stone
Why Passing is Important to Me
Since the first time I went out crossdressed, twenty four years ago, I have always wanted to pass. Now, I expect to pass. But why is passing so important to me? Is it as some have suggested, the only reason that a CD wants to pass is because she either does not enjoy her masculine side, wants to be a girl, or has a secret desire to engage in liaisons with other males? For me, the answer is an emphatic none of the above. Ever since I discovered the difference between boys and girls, I have always enjoyed being a heterosexual male with a feminine side.
Being able to pass in public is important to me because it gives me far greater freedom to go forth crossdressed in public. Others are more at ease because nothing appears out of the ordinary, and I am at ease because I know I am being perceived as the lady, who is the personification of my feminine self. And while I am very much aware of my increased vulnerability when I am dressed as a woman, it is somewhat comforting to know that my vulnerability is the same as my wife's and not increased by the potential for being attacked because I appear to be a man in a dress.
Like all crossdressers, I very much enjoy wearing women's clothing, but my opportunities to dress are limited. However, as my capability to pass has developed, the amount of time that I have been able to dress has increased. While not my wife's favorite way for me to accompany her, she has gotten more comfortable as my emulation has gotten better. Ask her what she thinks about Lucy, and she is always quick to point out that she and Lucy have had, and continue to have, many fun times together.
Of course, being able to pass is far from being the only factor that determines the frequency with which each of us can dress. Occupational vulnerability, workload, wife's degree of acceptance, children or other unwitting family members and family crises are but a few of the determinant factors. However, many times, it is a crossdresser's limited capability to pass that ultimately is the constraining factor. Now that I am retired, and have no unwitting family members in the home, the number of other complicating factors is greatly reduced. How awful it would be, at this time in my life, if my enjoyment of crossdressing was severely limited because I had listened to our sisters who say that passing is an impossible illusion; or I had been dissuaded from trying for any number of other reasons; or I had been too lazy to apply myself.
I am not saying that everyone wants to pass or should want to pass, and I am very much aware that it much easier for some of us to pass than for others. Rather, I am saying don't let our naysaying sisters convince you that no matter what you do you will always be a "man in a dress", and you can never appear to others as anything else . While it is true, that when we are crossdressed each of us is still a male, there is nothing to prevent us from developing a convincing emulation of a woman unless we are incapable of closely observing genetic females and adapting what we learn.
If you have a way to go to become truly passable but have the desire to develop a passable presentation, go for it. But don't be discouraged if it takes you a long time. Every crossdresser starts out with a huge disadvantage over genetic females. They have grown up learning their female roles, while most of our focus and coaching has been on dressing and functioning as men. However, if you have a long-term commitment to developing a passable you, you can over time develop the capability to convincingly personify your feminine self. For me it took a very long time, but every time I go some place crossdressed I am very glad that I made the effort.
The Women's Pavilion
By Paula Evans
Last Wednesday night at 11:00 p.m. I was sitting in my car outside a local hospital waiting to pick up my sister-in-law, Janet. I had brought my mother-in-law, Maria, to assist and she was inside trying to find Janet who had just suffered a miscarriage. Janet had called me around 10:30 p.m. and told me she needed a ride home. She was crying on the phone and understandably upset. She had lost the twins she was carrying. I figured recruiting my mother-in-law to go was a wise choice since I had little experience with miscarriages. I've never even been the parent of a girl all my children are boys.
I waited on the parking lot for about an hour. The building I was parked near was called "The Women's Pavilion". Through the windows I could see an extended family group celebrating a birth that must have just happened. For some reason I didn't want to go in yet. I waited longer and they finally exited, along with several pregnant women and their partners.
I still hesitated to go inside. Was it because I didn't want to encounter happy or hopeful people on this sad occasion? Or was it the name of the building? Did I feel that, as a man, I didn't belong there? Wasn't this women's territory? I don't know if it was one or both that caused my delay, but when my mother-in-law came out and urged me to go to the waiting room I accepted and finally entered the building. By now it was past midnight.
Inside was a large, recently-outfitted waiting room that was thankfully empty of people. I sat down on a couch and studied the environs. The furniture was new, quite attractive and coordinated. On the wall was a detailed mural with a playful motif for young children. Scattered about were brochures on women's health, pregnancy and mothering.
As I sat there alone for over an hour, I poured over in my mind just what it meant to be female biologically, completely female. I began to think that as a crossdresser I was an inadequate fraud. I would never truly know the pain, trials and tribulations that the women that passed through this room went through. How much my sister-in-law had just suffered by losing the twin babies she was carrying. And conversely I would never know the joy and bond that accompany successful childbirth. Imagine - carrying another life inside you for 9 months. To give life to another person.
No matter how much I try to outwardly mimic and, in my mind, live the life of a female, I will never experience what it really is to be a woman. Even my transsexual sisters will never menstruate or carry a child. Even as I try to stay true to myself and my internal identity, all I will ever be is an imposter.
Sometime after 1:00 am in the morning, my sister-in-law finally appeared and after giving her a long and heartfelt hug, I drove her and my mother-in-law home. They were both very grateful for my support, but were unaware of just how inadequate I actually felt.
EPILOGUE: It's now been a month since my visit to "The Women's Pavilion". I want to assure you I'm not as depressed today as I was that night. And if you know me, then you are aware I'm actually a rather upbeat person - rarely "down in the dumps". In retrospect, I just want to express my deep respect for women and in particular mothers. I wish them all a very happy Mother's Day.
The Choice
By Mary Alice Barrett
(This is a work of fiction, inspired by a Lucy Stone article. I hope it will resonate
with you.)
The letter arrived, mixed in with a bunch of bills and catalogs I didn't really notice it until I sorted out the junk mail. It was a plain white business envelope, addressed to my femme name. This in itself was a bit unusual as my femme correspondence goes to my P.O. box. There was only an embossed logo in the return address corner, which had become damaged in mailing and my name and address neatly printed. It was postmarked in a local city. I slit it open and unfolded the heavy bond paper within. At the top was the name of a clinic and a doctor's name followed by many qualifications and degrees along with a phone number in the Philadelphia area code, but no address. The letter was an invitation...it read as follows:
Dear Sister,
It has come to our attention, through you participation in Tri-Ess and other transgender organizations, that you may be interested in hearing about our services. We wish only to offer you an interesting evening at our expense, including dinner. We assure you that this is in no way meant to embarrass you or cause you discomfort. On the contrary, we have a great deal of sympathy for crossdressers and the problems that they experience. We are a philanthropic organization and never charge for our services. We assure you that you will have a pleasant evening as our guest and we hope you will accept .
There followed the name of a small, but high quality restaurant and the address, along with the reservation card, which said "7:00 p.m., Saturday, Feminine attire requested."
Interesting, intriguing, also a bit frightening, but it was in a public place, away from my home area, a high quality restaurant with an excellent reputation. I decided to go.
I spent that Saturday afternoon getting ready. Had to select a "dressy" dress. A lot of preparation (makeup takes me a long time); jewelry and accessories had to be right. I told my wife about the invitation. She was disappointed that it wasn't for two, but was as curious as I was after reading the letter. After a few changes, I found the "right" outfit, got everything assembled correctly and got in the car. I took the cell phone just as a precaution. I arrived at the restaurant about 10 minutes early. The valet came to the car door and asked if I was there to meet with a doctor for dinne. I said yes and he indicated that he would park the car. I got out as gracefully as I know how, handed him the keys and walked into the lounge/reception area. The young lady who greeted me also asked if I was in the doctor's party. As I was escorted to a small table for two in a quiet alcove I was very aware of the sound of my heels clicking across the tile floor. The table was exquisite; white tablecloth, polished silverware, candles and a single rose in a crystal vase. On the dinner plate was another envelope like the one I received at home. The young lady, as she seated me, said "The doctor called and he is running late, please order anything you wish. There is a small package for you, as well as the envelope. He wishes you to open them both." She then handed me a menu and a wine list and indicated that she would return ..
I had to open the envelope, I slit it open with a polished nail and the notepaper within fell to the table .I unfolded it and read:
My Dear Sister,
I will be unable to join you this evening, however, please order whatever you wish. In the box on the table are two pills. These have been developed and tested quite thoroughly, I assure you there are no side effects other than a slight dizziness as they take effect. The first pill has the letter "G" on it
At this point the waitress interrupted with a wine list, I ordered a split of a nice California Blush and resumed reading
When taken, it will, within 24 hours, completely erase and remove all desire to crossdress and you will have no memory of this part of your life ..
The wine arrived .The waitress filled a small flute and waited for me to approve it, as she left, I resumed reading .
The second pill, which has the letter "W" on it, has a more startling effect. Within 24 hours of its ingestion, after a period of sleep, you will awake transformed, completely and permanently, as the woman you picture yourself as in your mind's perfect eye, with every feature, curve and nuance exactly as you would want .
My mind was reeling as I contemplated these choices. I took a deep breath, took a sip of wine and attempted to become calm. After a few minutes, and a second glass of wine, I started to contemplate this offering ..If I took the first pill, I would be free. But would I? Perhaps not. I thought of the long and painful road that had brought me here, dressing furtively as a child and teenager, hiding it from my wife, the guilt, the shame, the purging. I also thought of the realization and discovery of the pleasures of crossdressing after I began to understand who I was and who this "other woman" in my life was. How supportive my wife was after I revealed my "secret", how much closer it had brought us, the new friends and Sisters I had met through Tri-Ess and Chi Epsilon Sigma, the richness of understanding the feminine side of me and the celebration of that femininity that was now possible. I smoothed my skirt and thought about the second pill
I would gain the ultimate in femininity, no more clothes that didn't fit ..NO! To gain this, there would be too much to give up. First and most importantly, my wife! My job, my friends, my sisters all would be sacrificed. I then realized how seductive this was, but I had the answer for ME ..I really don't want to be FEMALE, just FEMININE! I am quite happy with things just as they are. Here I am, dressed as a woman, enjoying a glass of wine, free to be whichever and whomever I want, (almost) whenever I want. I have friends, sisters, family and a wonderful wife and a second self, Mary Alice.
The waitress came back, asking me if I was ready to order I said, "No, just the wine, and tell the good doctor, thanks for an interesting evening" I asked her to have my car brought to the door. I folded the napkin, took out a mirror and freshened my lipstick. I finally realized that I liked what I saw in that mirror. I got up, picked up the two pills and held them in my hand, slung my bag over my shoulder and walked to the door which was held for me. I said "goodnight" to the doorman and the valet, tipped them and walked to the open car door. Just before I got in, I dropped the two pills on the ground and crushed them with my shoe. As I saw the powder that was left I realized that there never was a real choice to be made. I had made my choice long before I opened the letter.
My First Time
By Yvonne Martin
For her Christmas present, my wife wanted to see a play. I found out "Damn Yankees" was playing at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC. So, I got us tickets to see "Damn Yankees" starring Jerry (Hey, Laaaady) Lewis as "Mr. Applegate a.k.a. The Devil." But it was her suggestion that we go see it with me dressed as Yvonne. I was dumbfounded at first, then I smacked my head and readily agreed. The only other times I had been out in public dressed, was on Halloween and once to go shopping at a local mall.
On the day of the show, we left our kids at Grandma's and went home to get dressed. I shaved my legs and arms, then did a close shave on my face. My wife helped me shape and polish my nails. I put on a waist cincher and a longline bra, filled with my foam breast forms; a pair of thigh high off-black stockings and a pair of 3-inch suede heels that I got from Payless shoes. I then proceeded to put on my makeup. Not too heavy, but elegant enough for the Washington nightlife. I put on a black cocktail length black dress and a string of faux pearls, a pair of real pearl and diamond stud earrings and topped it off with my Paula Young President's Lady wig. My wife wore my red button-down dress with a black jacket.
We left our house in plenty of time to get to the Kennedy Center before the play started. My first test, was when I paid the parking fee for the Kennedy Center Garage. That was easy, the hard part was finding a parking space. It took at least ten minutes driving around before we got to the empty spaces. We left our heavy coats in the car and started toward the escalators. It was a rush to feel the cool December air flow between my stockinged legs and up my skirt. When we got up to the main floor, we made our way in front of the Opera House where the performance was being held. While waiting we had a glass of champagne.
After finishing our champagne and having some time before the show started, we decided we should go to the restroom. We walked through the Grand Hall into the Hall of States. While walking through the crowd, I heard a young black female voice say, "Draaag!" My first instinct was to turn around and see who said it, but I pretty much ignored it and went on our way to the restroom. We stopped at one where the line was not yet out the door. I've heard stories about how women have to wait in line at the restroom and seen it at different venues, but this would be my first time to experience it. I stood patiently in line and waited with the other women for at least 15 minutes. There were about six or seven stalls in the restroom, but one of them was missing a door, so nobody used it. I only made occasional eye contact with other women as they left and just checking to see if they could tell I wasn't exactly the same as them. When I finally got to a stall, I calmly closed the door and made sure I sat down. I had no problem going because I wore thigh highs and didn't have to remove my waist cincher. After going, I washed my hands, checked my makeup, and walked out, noticing that the line had gotten longer.
We made our way back to the Opera House, where they were ready to start letting people in. We presented our tickets, and looked around the lobby a little. Our seats were on the upper level, so we ventured upstairs and looked around. When we got to our seats, they were in the last row and next to the door, so there was minimal contact with other folks (i.e. letting them in to get to their seats). The usher told us the performance was sold out. The show was very entertaining and funny. It seemed to be tailored to highlight Jerry Lewis, with a stand-up routine woven into one of the musical numbers.
At intermission, we immediately went to the nearest women's restroom, which was across the lobby. Since we were near one of the exits, we got there early enough so that the line was only three or four people deep and there were only four stalls. While in line, I noticed that you could see partially into the first stall on far side. So I hoped I didn't have to go into there. Also, women were getting paper towels because it seemed that there was no toilet paper in one of the stalls. So, I picked up a paper towel also. I got to the stall and found that the end of toilet paper had gotten rolled up into the dispenser so I took a few moments to get it out. After I finished, I washed my hands and on the way out I made eye contact with another woman, who then smiled and I smiled right back at her. I checked my makeup in another mirror, fixed my eyeliner and headed out the door, noticing that the waiting line had grown to at least 20 women.
When I got out to the lobby and looked around, I couldn't find my wife. So I walked hurriedly back to our seats, hoping she was there. She was walking behind me and told me that a couple we had passed looked at me with a strange look on their face. I guess I didn't have that ladylike walk down yet. We sat down and waited for intermission to end I was looking around to see if anybody could "read" me. I did notice the lady next to us gave me a suspicious look and a man a few rows in front of us kept making slow turns around to look at me. But then again, I was probably paranoid about it. But other than that, I didn't notice anybody pointing at me saying, "Hey, that's a guy!"
After the show ended, we made our way to the parking garage. As we were going down the escalator,
my wife commented that there was some guy behind me who gave me a strange look as he watched me walk down.
By the time the show was over, most of the other events at the Kennedy Center were over also. So going to the car was easy. We got to our vehicle and drove out of the Kennedy Center and headed toward the Memorial Bridge. I got just a little lost heading back to the George Washington Parkway and ended up driving through Rosslyn, but it was only a minor detour and we got back home without further incident. All in all, I had a terrific experience going out and was glad my wife suggested it.