Psssst........Gather Round, I Need Your Advice

I live approximately 45-50 miles from town, where I lived for over twenty years in apartments, before the quest for privacy drove me to buy a house out in the country, 17 years ago.

During the seventies, and for the first two years of the eighties, I would go out dressed a couple of times a year. Usually just to go to a salon, to get my hair and nails done. I know……that probably sounds pretty lame to those of you who have been out and proud for a while, but there was no trans scene here back then, and being an isolated TG girl, that was my only outlet. It was easy for me to do that then without being outted, because I lived in a suburban apartment complex, where literally everyone worked a day job. All I had to do was take a day off, and I could come and go, without any of my neighbors ever seeing me dressed.

Although they were few and far between, I really used to cherish those days. Unfortunately that all came to an end in the early eighties, when I moved from the apartment complex, into an apartment in the inner city. There, the streets were lined with a mix of small apartment buildings, and single family dwellings, and unlike my former neighbors in the suburban apartment complex, who all had traditional 9-5 jobs, my new neighbors were a mix of students, professors, housewives, day workers, and retired people. There were always people out and about on the street, so coming and going without notice, was out of the question. Because of this, I retreated entirely back into the closet, but even that became a problem, because I lived in a 3rd floor flat, in a 100 year old apartment building, with virtually no privacy. There was no insulation in the walls, or between floors, so you could hear everything your neighbors said and did, and they could hear you just as well. I had to lay carpets throughout the apartment, just to muffle the sound of my heels on the hardwood floors, and I had to make sure the shades were drawn when the sun went down, because the neighbors across the street could see directly into my windows. I bought most of my clothing through mail order, but because I worked full time, deliveries were left on the front porch of the building, where all my neighbors could see them. And of course there were the constant knocks on the door, by people dropping in unannounced, and me inside in a dress, having to play opossum until they left.

Out here in the country, although isolated, at least I could come home from work and be myself in relative privacy. And that’s what I did for the next 16 years, until I retired last year. Since then, I have lived entirely as Melissa, except for when I have to go into town to visit family, or shop for groceries, or hardware, etc. But now I have received an invitation from a friendly TG girl I met on Pink Essence, to join her, and members of her TG support group, for dinner at a local hangout they meet at twice a week, back in town. It is a popular lesbian restaurant and bar, and she said they have a very accepting attitude towards TG people. She said I could come either fab, or drab. Either way would be OK with them.

Now, I would really love to do this, but if I do, I would want to go as Melissa. I mean what’s the point of going to dinner with a group of out trans women, and not presenting as a woman myself? Naturally, I’m very apprehensive about this. It will involve going out in public, for the first time in over 25 years, and driving nearly 100 miles round trip on the interstate, dressed as a woman. Naturally, the gears in my head are spinning over this, and producing many little negative thoughts. What if my car breaks down? What if get pulled by the police, or run into a sobriety check and have to show an ID?

I’m also insecure about how I will look. Some of you have been very sweet, and complimented me on the way I look in my pictures, and I just love you for it, but those are, well…..pictures. I can assure you that up close, I am not nearly as pretty. I’m 60 years old and I look it. I’m big too, over 6 ft. tall. The only part of my beard on which I’ve had electrolysis, is a small strip on my lower neck. Although most of it has turned white, even with beard cover and an opaque foundation, you can still detect a shadow. I realize that everyone there will know I am TG, and they won’t care, but let’s face it, I’m a girl, and I admit to a certain amount of vanity.

I really want to do this. I even bought a purse for the occasion, but every time I start seriously considering it, I become bombarded with all of these negative thoughts, and I get discouraged. Where is that overriding drive to go out, which helped me to overcome all of these insecurities when I was young?

Melissa

Sigh.......

Sigh........I have to switch back to being a boy tomorrow. Every Monday evening I have to go to my mother's for dinner. I don't mind going, because it's the only day of the week that I get to see my two sisters. I just hate having to go in boy mode.

I had such a relaxing week. I gave myself a fresh new pedi, and painted my toenails with L'Oreal After Hours. I just love red toenail polish! I can go without polish on my fingernails, but I have to wear toenail polish.

I also got a new wig this week, the one I'm wearing in the picture above. It's from Paula Young's Jaclyn Smith collection. (Can you believe how gorgeous she still looks, at 64?). It's called Kris. The color is Coffee Latte, and the color number is B12-28. I'm sorry these pictures aren't very good. It's really too dark in this room for my computer cam. One of these days, I'm going to break down and buy a real digital camera.

Oh! I also got this absolutely adorable little blue Swiss dot blouse this week. I love it! Here is a better picture of it, but it's really closer to the color in my picture.

How Not To Deal With Your Kid's GID

I was still seventeen when I graduated from high school. I was an Army brat, and we had just returned from a two year tour in Germany. For whatever reason, my parents left me with my grandmother in Pennsylvania, instead of taking me with them to the D.C. suburb of Beltsville MD. While in Pa. I got a job working for a bedroom slipper manufacturer, packing their shoes in boxes, and loading those boxes onto trucks, destined for the stores that sold their cheap ass shoes. You've all seen them; cheap crummy fabric slippers, with rubber soles, sold in discount stores. I think I was one of the few high school graduates, working in the warehouse. This was very possibly, the most boring job I ever had. So boring in fact, that I spent most days fantasizing, and of course being transgendered, I spent those days fantasizing about being a girl.

I had my own room in my grandmother's house, and being a totally naive teenager, I thought a closed door meant true privacy. I began to experiment with cross dressing. I had a regular ride to work in the morning, but after work I had to walk back to my grandmother's house, a couple of miles up the hill, on the east side of town. The town square was only a few blocks off my route home, and I would sometimes stop at some of the stores on the square, to shop for girly things.

Back at my grandmothers, I would draw a bath in her deep old fashioned free standing tub; the kind with the feet on it. It was in that tub, that I shaved my legs for the very first time. I absolutely adored the way they looked, and how silky they felt without hair. Back in my room, I painted my toenails. Not for the first time though. Several times while I was growing up, I would sneak into my sister' room when no one was home, and paint my toenails with her polish, but this was the first time that I painted them with my very own nail polish. I had bought girl's shoes, hosiery and lingerie as well, and while in my room, I would put them all on. I even bought a set of artificial nails, and painted them with the same pretty peach nail polish that I put on my toes.

Of course I couldn't stay in my room forever, so I had to hide my things. I put my shoes and clothing in the bottom of a gym bag in my closet, and for some lame reason or other, I chose to peel off my artificial nails and hide them between the mattress and box spring. I didn't even think that my grandmother would eventually come into my room to change my sheets, when I was at work.

One day I returned from work, and went up to my room. To my horror I discovered that my bed had clean sheets on it. I lifted the mattress, and lying there in a neat pile, were my ten artificial nails. I checked the gym bag and things I had haphazardly thrown in there, were neatly folded. My grandmother had discovered my secret. She never said a word, and acted like she knew nothing. Several days later, I came home from work and my mother and father were there. They never let on that they knew anything either, but said they wanted me to quit my job and come home with them. I knew my grandmother must have called them, but I didn't say a thing. I quit my job, and a few days later I traveled back down to Beltsville with them. They didn't say anything on the way down to Maryland, or that night when we got home, or the whole next day, but the next night after dinner they confronted me. My mother lied, and said she came up to Pennsylvania to clean my room, and discovered my stuff. I knew she was lying to protect my grandmother, so I didn't say anything. Besides, what could I have said? She was sitting in the cat bird's seat. In a very angry, self righteous, and accusatory tone, my mother demanded to know what I was doing with this stuff. I felt like a cornered animal. I was scared to death and totally speechless.

My father looked at me with a look of bewilderment, and said, "Ricky, what's wrong with you? You're a man, not a woman!" He then gave my mother an order to book me an appointment with a psychiatrist at Walter Reed Army Hospital in D.C.

A few days later, my mother took me to Walter Reed. Now bear in mind, this is 1966 and the Walter Reed psychiatric clinic was not exactly transgender central. The Army shrink I wound up seeing, was totally clueless about gender identity issues, and he treated me partly as someone with a perversion that needed to be cured, and partly as a curiosity that needed to be studied. I spent our first half hour session, not voluntarily pouring out my soul, but being interrogated by him. What kind of clothes did you buy? Where did you by them? What were you thinking when you bought them. What were you thinking when you put them on? Did you masturbate when you put them on? Did you ejaculate? When our session was up, he told me to come back the following week. I wasn't looking forward to it.

A week went by, and my mother took be back to Walter Reed. We took a seat in the waiting room, and shortly my name was called. I walked into his office, and to my horror, I discovered that completely without my permission, he had invited six other Army shrinks to sit in on our session. I sat there with those six men in white coats sternly staring at me, as he resumed his interrogation. I was terrified and humiliated. I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. On the way home I asked my mother, "How could you do this to me?" Her response was to once again become angry and accusatory. I became enraged. At the next stop light I told her to go to hell, and I got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and started walking down the road. She hollered at me to get back in the car, and I said no, so she drove on home without me. I walked and hitchhiked the rest of the way home, and the next morning I called a cab, and had it take me to the bus station in downtown D.C.. From there I went to Columbus, Ohio to stay with a friend I went to high school in with in Europe. It would be 16 years before I would ever trust a psychiatrist again, and then only because my GID had me so depressed, that I couldn't stop crying, and I was contemplating suicide.

This time the doctor I saw, was a real mensch. He listened patiently, while I sobbed and poured my heart out, interrupting only occasionally with a reassuring word. At the end of our session, I felt much better, and the tears stopped flowing. He asked me to come back for another session and I did. I really enjoyed opening up to him, and just before I left, he told me that he had been practicing psychiatry for 14 years, and I was the first person to come to him that he truly believed was transsexual. Those words were like magic to me. For the first time in my life, someone understood. I was elated. Unfortunately, he did not specialize in Gender Identity Disorder and didn't know anyone in the the area who did. Very kindly though, he gave me an address at Duke University Hospital, where he thought they were still doing GRS, and told me to write to them, which I did. They sent me back some information about what qualifications I needed to meet. They wanted me to be under the care of a licenced psychologist specializing in gender identity disorder, and be on hormone therapy and living as a woman for at least 18 months, before they would even consider GRS, which they called SRS back then. I wasn't ready for GRS, and I couldn't find any transgender care in this area then. My job was not trans friendly and my insurance would not cover transgender care. I resigned my self to living with my GID as best I could, but at least now I had a confirmation of who I was, and that helped rid me of the shame and guilt heaped on me, by my parents and that ignorant Army shrink.

Funny Video For Friday Night

My sister sent me an email, directing me to go to this video. It' s pretty cute. I hope it doesn't offend anyone. I don't know how to download it to embed it here, so you will have to go to this link to see it. Rubber Cement

If the link doesn't work, just copy and paste this address into your address bar. http://www.culturepub.fr/videos/rubber-cement-colle-les-nonnes.html

Melissa

I Just Did Something Liberating

I'm Melissa full time at home and around my property, but until now I haven't ventured off the property in daylight as Melissa. All of the mail boxes for this little country subdivision, are out on the main highway, in front of the entrance to the place. To get to my mail box, I have to drive about a quarter of a mile up the hill, past a half a dozen houses. I knew by the time of day, that the mail had been delivered, and I wanted to go get it, because I was expecting a new wig in the mail today. The trouble was, I was wearing a cute little white top with puff sleeves (pictured at left) and a pair of pink denim shorts. It had just rained and I didn't think anyone would be out and about, so I decided to go for it. I walked out and hopped into the truck, and up the road I went. About half way up, I spotted the mail lady driving down the road towards me. She was entering the subdivision to deliver someone a package, that was too big to fit in the box. She knows me as my male self, and at first I was afraid she was going to recognize me, but I checked myself pretty good before I went out, and was satisfied that I looked pretty good, at least from a distance, so I just continued to drive past her. She didn't seem fazed at all. On the way back from the mail box, I passed her again, and once again, no strange looks. It's been 30 years since I have gone out in daylight as Melissa. I know this wasn't much, but I was feeling pretty low for the past 24 hours, and that made me feel pretty darned good!

Eeek! I've Been Overun With Mice!

I live in the woods, so I expect the occasional rodent in the house. As a rule, I keep several bait trays strategically located throughout the house. When I first moved out here, I used to keep mouse traps baited with peanut butter, but after witnessing the cruel results of their evil intent, I switched from those medieval devices to poison.

Yesterday, I noticed that the bait trays I laid out several weeks ago, where completely empty! That's a sure sign of a new mice infestation, so I put out several more brand new trays. Well..........I got up this morning, and lo and behold, the bait tray in the kitchen was completely empty! So, into the utility room I went, only to discover that one was totally empty too! I've never seen them emptied so fast. Now I'm worried, because mice infestations attract snakes, and out here in the woods, besides the occasional harmless black snake, that means copperheads! Last spring, I read about the son of a local resident, getting bitten on the foot by a copperhead inside of his house, as he descended the stairs from his bedroom one morning. His father hearing his screams, was bitten too, as he descended those same stairs, and encountered the fangs of the very same serpent at the bottom of the steps!

I've yet to see a copperhead in the house, but I have seen the shed skin of a huge black snake, hanging from the vinyl siding on the corner of the house. Later, while cutting grass one summer, I saw him! He was black and shiny, about three inches in diameter, and at least six feet long! Still.....a black snake is harmless, unless you mess with him, and then he can deliver a nasty bite, but a copperhead on the other hand, will lie there looking just like a fallen branch, and strike without warning, when you get too close. Copperheads have a very nasty venom. A few years ago, a local woman nearly lost her leg, when she was mowing her lawn with a lawn tractor, and the tread of the rear wheel picked up a copperhead, and rolled it up onto her thigh.

On a lighter note, let us all rejoice!, For the weekend is at hand, and our dear Chrissie is off to her first Sparkle, after 20 years in drab! Oh, how I wish I could be there with her!

Have a wonderful weekend everybody,
Melissa

Home Laser Hair Removal, Boon or Boondoggle?

I was reading my email this morning, when I came across an ad for Silk'n SensEpil home laser hair removal system (right picture). You can see it at this url : http://www.skinstore.com/p-10105-silkn-sensepil.aspx. Sorry but you'll have to copy and past the link into your browser's address bar, because I still haven't figure my way around this Byzantine system.

Has anyone had any experience with this device, or is it just another scam, like the radio frequency home electrolysis kits (left picture) that proved to be totally worthless? The ad says that results are comprable to professional laser hair removal, but I have my doubts that anything safe enough to be used at home, would have the power to be as effective as a professional device.

I Think I Need To Start Wearing A Bib!

I'm such a slob! I can't seem to drink a glass of red wine, or a cup of coffee, without at least some of it winding up on my bodice. This always seems to happen, when I am wearing a brand new top for the first time. It's never a big splash mind you, just a nasty little drip here, or there. Just enough to be noticeable, and ruin the look of the garment. If I'm lucky, I will notice it before laundering, and know to pre-treat it. This usually, but not always takes out the stain. But many times, I don't notice it, until after I have washed the garment, and by then the stain is set. That's what happened today. I washed a new white summer, sleeveless tee, and when I pulled it out of the dryer to fold it, that's when I noticed the evil coffee stains. I cursed like a sailor! (I really need to learn to curb that hateful language, but after 60 years of gender frustration, it flows so easily. I often wonder if orchiectomy would calm that demon?) Granted, I only bought this top to to cut the grass in, but still it's so aggravating. Oh, well.....no big deal, life goes on.

On another note, I watched some of Michael Jackson's Memorial on TV today. I was big MJ fan, when he first ventured out on his own. I'll never forget his Billie Jean and Thriller videos. I thought he was so cool then! I even loved the way his physical appearance began to morph, at least at first. He actually reached a point in the mid to late eighties, where he had achieved a truly androgynous beauty. I knew he had to be a kindred spirit. Unfortunately, he wasn't satisfied, and continued his surgeries, until sadly, he finally resembled The Joker. By then I had long ago lost interest in Michael Jackson. I was particularly troubled by alligations of pedophillia. In spite of his acquital. I'm still not convinced he was innocent. Still, his death, and the circumstances surrounding it troubled me, and I couldn't help but feel empathy for this poor troubled soul.

I never thought I would shed a tear for Michael Jackson, but today I was move to tears. Especially by the sad innocent faces of his beautiful children. Michael, I hope you have finally found the peace that so elluded you in life. God love you child.

Melissa

Such Splendiferous Reports!

Ahh yes! Now I can hear them! Down by the pond! Neighbors celebrating the 4th of July! Bottle rockets! Lady fingers! M-80's, cherry bombs and ash cans! Of course they're all totally illegal, but who cares? It's Independence Day! Besides, we're all way out in the country, and the county Sheriff's Dept. has better things to do, than to comb the county, looking for residents lighting off fireworks on America's Independence Day.

So, my girlfriends, HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY! And that goes for all you Brits too. No hard feelings. :) I mean after all, it's been over 200 years! ;)



Love,
Melissa

Arron Copland's Appelachian Spring

Why do I ball, every time I hear this wonderful composition? I think for me, it's because it represents dreams that I know deep down inside, will never be fulfilled.

Melissa