Beverly's Auto-BIOgraphy
First of all, I want to preface this bio by saying that some of the names have been changed to try to hide my male identity; however, if you think that you do know my male self, please do not "out" me. I don't care really about myself, but you will be hurting some innocent people who don't need to be dragged into this. So if you think you know me, please come up to me in private, and I hope you'll say, "I read it and I understand."
I guess I need to give you a little back ground which explains virtually everything. No one forced me to wear girls' clothes when I was small (although I sometimes wished someone had) and no one adbused me. From everything I've read and learned and after 40 years of guilt and denial, I have come to accept that I was born TG. I have always been TG and I will die TG. I have come to believe that TG means Trans-Gifted, but it hasn't always been like that.
As far as gender and sexuallity and all of the labels associated with them (I hate labels but that is how the human mind works, by catagorizing everything into neat little compartments that it can analyze), I am a human being and therefore I deserve the dignity and respect that every other human being deserves; it just so happens that I am also transgendered. I do not know where I fall on the scale between TS and TV. When it comes to sex, I am old-fashioned in that I believe that sex is the ultimate act of sharing between two consenting individuals who love and care for one another; I don't believe in casual sex. Be they male, female, TS, TG, TV or whatever, love transcends sex and gender. As for me, I am attracted to GG and T-girls, I love feminity in all forms.
THE EARLY YEARS
I was born in 1953. My mother was very loving and protective, and my father, while loving, was very reserved who showed anger better than tenderness, so it was only natural for me to bond more to my mother than my father. I have a brother who is four years older than me. I know that he crossdressed at least twice, once as a child for Halloween. I remember kidding him, but secretly, I was very envious of him. The other time was with his wife for some marital fun. They were explaining it to my Mom when they threw away his wig when we moved them from their apartment to their new house. (I rescued the wig from the trash to add to my collection.)
My first TG experience was a fascination with my mom's high heels. At age 3 or 4, I would secretly try to walk in her heels. Even at that early age, I knew that what I was doing was not acceptable and was already trying to hide my feelings. I would continue to hide these feeling for the next forty years. I had no playmates my first 4 years; my brother doesn't count, we fought like cats and dogs all the time up to high school. He had the friends and freedom to do things, and I wanted to be included, too, but who wants a little brother tagging along. So, I grew up with very few social skills and when I was in contact with other children my age, I kept to myself. No one ever came over to invite me to join in their game, so I had no friends growing up, and I retreated into my own little world. All of this re-inforced a feeling deep in me that I was different from everyone else. I could not place this feeling, but my growing inferiority complex is deeply rooted here. I know now after years of self examination that the difference was my Transgenderness and the confusion I was already suffering from it.
I did asked for a tea set for my 4th birthday. My dad asked my brother to try to talk me out of it (I know, I overheard their conversation), but I was stubborn and my Mom got me a cute little china tea set. I remember having several tea parties for one; they were always for one.
While at kindergarten at age five, I enjoyed playing with the girls in the kitchen area. I remember a couple of the boys dragging me over to their area where the trucks and blocks were, saying that this is where boys play; but, once there, they wouldn't let me play with them either. So, I ended up sitting by myself alot in kindergarten. To try to get some form of acceptance, I began to become a class cut-up, which got me into a lot of disciplinary problems. One event does stand out in my mind. An older girl up the street, "Karen," I played with whenever possible (I was lonely and would play with anyone). She often would put makeup on me. I don't remember why, but she did it often and I was very happy when she did.
There were no other children of my age in my neighborhood. There were a couple of older boys who took great pleasure in beating me up and generally terrorizing me whenever they saw me. I often spent days inside my house in fear that they were out there, waiting. Nothing better than a couple of juvenile delinquents to drive down an already low self esteem.
A girl two years younger than me did move into the house across the street and we played together often; it is through her that I met two sisters who lived two blocks up the street. I was eight years old when I met "Cindy," who was eleven, and her sister, "Cathy," who was six. They had a playroom at the end of their garage. While playing in there one day, I looked in the toy chest and my heart stopped. There, wadded up in the corner, was a turquoise blue tutu. It must have been one of "Cindy's" old ones. I was mesmerized by it. I quickly closed the lid as if there were nothing there and went to other parts of the playroom; however, I must have looked in that chest a dozen times that day and touched this magical garment. Now, I had not crossdressed, except for the shoes and a pair of Mom's hose or a pair of her panties while she was hanging out the laundry, but now I had this urge to somehow get into that tutu. My chance came a week or so later when "Cindy" and her family were going to be gone for a day. I planned this like Patton taking Sicily. I had a route that I could get to their back yard without being seen so no one would see me come or go. On the day before their trip, I unlocked the window since they kept the playroom locked. The next morning, I snuck in the window. I slowly opened the toy chest to find the prize. After holding the tutu up and closely examining it, I stripped my clothes off and donned this garment that had so ensnared me. And for the next fifteen minutes, I danced my version of Swan Lake. But as the music in my head fadded, guilt took its place, so I quickly removed the tutu, returned it to the toy chest, got dressed, and left as I came.
I had other opportunities to wear girls' clothing, mostly trying on things from the clothes hampers at my cousins' houses; however, I don't consider any of these early events crossdressing because it was more of an unconscious impulse or drive than a conscious decision.
All this time, I am denying to myself that this is happening, and if anyone were to suggest that I do anything remotely feminine, it was met with an instant and often violent "NO!" I joined the choir at my church, and we practiced for months for the big Christmas recital. But when it came recital time, and we were given our choir robes for the first time, I went balistic. I did not see a white choir robe with a big red collar. I saw a white dress with a red collar. I refused to go on and sing and quit the choir. No one was gonna make me wear a dress!
One other event happened to make me more self-conscious and doubt myself even more. I began to develop breasts around age nine. Not just enlarged nipples or aureole, but very fleshy breast. Just by folding my arms across my chest produced cleavage. I would not go swimming, or wear pull over shirts (I still don't), or go shirtless (which I still dob't) because of my embarrassment. I mean I had bigger breasts than most girls had three years my senior. (Today, I am a natural A-cup to A/B, depending on the bra, and I love them; but, while growing up, they were another reminder that I was different, I was a freak.
THE MIDDLE YEARS
I was in the seventh grade when I consciously decided to crossdress. I was always facinated by anything dealing with the subject, and one evening I was home alone watching the Monkees. This episode was the one where Davy dresses as a girl so the group can compete as a mixed band. Something snapped inside me and I went to my Mom's lingerie drawer and put on a pair of her panties. The orgasm, thou dry, was immediate, intense, and frightening. I quickly put the panties back. But I was never the same after that.
Several weeks later, I was staying at my grandparents' house. There, I experienced my first wet-dream, and yes, it was about crossdressing. The room I was staying in was used by my grandmother to store her clothes (she was a real clothes horse), and I tried on every article of clothing in there. I even got a chance to try on my cousin's wedding dress that was stored there.
My crossdressing really began to escalate from that point. Every opportunity I had was spent in my Mom's chothes. I never got caught, but came close once when my father came home unexpectedly and I just got my pants and socks on over a pair of pantyhose. He asked what I was doing in their room and I answered, "Just messing around". Well I went back to the den to watch TV, but as soon as he left, I was back in there. My father immediately came back in the front door and into the bedroom. I was zipping up my pants. He yelled at me to get out of there and stay out. I don't know what he saw, or thought, but it reinforced in me that what I was doing was wrong, and it made me very careful as to how and when I would continue to dress.
My dressing at this stage was not complete, in that I seldom wore complete lingerie and outer clothes. It only took one or two items for me to receive a sexual thrill. My cousin did visit us once and she brought with her a fall hairpiece. Oh how I wanted to try it on! I turned down a dinner with her and the family so I could stay at home and do my "homework." Her hair color and mine were very similar and when I put the fall on, I saw Beverly (I didn't choose this name until later in college) for the first time, and was in love with the girl in the mirror.
Junior High School was not a fun time for me. I was lousy in gym; always the last one picked on any team, so I sat out most of the activities. I was an easy target for the bullies (individuals who proves their "manhood" by picking on those they knows won't challenge them) thus they can fight (very one-sidedly) and win. If you ever had thoughts of taking up the challenge to fight back, the bully usually has two or three friends as a back up; you, on the other hand, have no one to come to your aid because it was not cool to be seen with me. My only defense in these contests was to do nothing; if I got hit, there was no contest, and no glory, for the bully. I did get some notariety as being a comic, but it also got me into trouble with the teachers. I did discover the word "transvestite" after watching "Psycho," so, my first role model was Norman Bates -- that's something to boost a sagging ego.
High School proved to be a little better. I got lost in a class size of 900, and girls were turning into young women. I would sit in class an fantasize about being some of the girls in class. When I would see a girl, I would analyze what she was wearing and how she complemented it with makeup and hair style. I think some of the girls did like me because I often complemented them on their clothes or shoes, which their boyfriends never noticed. I did not date in high school. I built walls in junior high to keep from getting my feelings hurt, and in high school, I built them higher. If you let someone get close to you, then you become vulnerable, and then, if you let your guard down, they might see someone else behind your eyes that you are desparetely trying to deny exists. I had no close friends and have never been to a class reunion (there would be no one there that I knew). I continued to dress whenever the opportunity occurred. I did develope very good library skills in high school. I researched every article and book on the subject of transvestism I could find. I exhausted the public library, then a university library, and then a medical school library. A few years later, I went to the Library of Congress and almost got arrested (but that is another store).
College was a mixed blessing. It offered me new freedoms, but I got hurt emotionally; it expanded my views on life and made me suicidal. I was a day student because it was cheaper, so I missed out on all that dorm, roommate, partying stuff that college is famous for. I studied my butt off that first year, and thats all I did. My only outside activity was working on the concert committee of the Student Union. My sophomore year was very transitional. I got a P.O. Box on campus and started getting sexually-oriented material sent to Beverly Barnes. From my library reading, I found that keeping initals and names similar made for easier use of a pseudonym, and a Beverly Barnes did graduate the year before so I came to be Beverly by stealing her identity. This P.O. Box lead me to Lee Brewster's Mardi Gras Boutique and Drag Magazine, and I learned that there were other people out there and not just the ones in the medical journals.
I met a girl named "Carol," who was the most uninhibited person I had ever met (she was a junior and a biker chick whose current boyfiend was doing 8 - 15 in Central Prison). I thought that maybe she might be open-minded about such things as crossdressers. WRONG! I put out a couple of feelers about the subject and she let me know in no uncertain terms that they were sick people (now this is coming from a girl who got VD from sleeping with a roady after a concert we were putting on).
I began hanging around with a group of students, but was never part of the core group. I was tolerated as being a peripheral member, but was never truly a part of the group. I would sit back and observe the social dynamics of their interpersonal relationships develop, but was excluded from many of their activities. I often remember everyone getting up and leaving to go eat, all except me. I was not invited, and I would never invite myself. If they had only asked, I would have been there like a shot. As I was excluded more, I became very withdrawn and almost committed suicide that Spring; everyone was happy but me, and I could not understand why. I now know that the walls I had so carefully built to protect me also prevented anyone from getting close.
My junior year was fairly uneventful. I was still dressing at home when conditions allowed, and stole a majorette's costume from the band. I came very close to having an affair with my best friend's fiancée. I had to call it quits because you don't do that to your best friend, no matter how much in love you are with his girl. I believe in loyalty and put great stock in that virtue.
My senior year was only one semester. I had crammed extra course loads into my junior year so I could graduate in 3½ years. I started dating "Susan" that fall and we began to get serious about each other. This lead to my only purge, thinking as we all do that the right girl will cure us (I wonder what the librarians thought when they found my entire TG library in the return book box). I guess I wasn't man enough for her because we broke up on Valentine's Day. College was a big disappointment for me socially. I graduated and went to work the next day. I left no friends behind.
LIFE AFTER COLLEGE
I went to work for a ladies' sportsware manufacture as a purchasing agent the day after graduation. Once again, I did everything I could to distance my male self from anything remotely feminine. I purchased everything from tractors to thread, books to buttons, everything but fabric, which was my boss's responsibility. I learned some valuable lessons there, like how to spot quality in a manufactured garment, how to plan and order stock a year in advance (remember that winter clothes are designed in the Spring, sold in early Summer, sewn in late Summer, shipped in early Fall, and in your store by late Fall. But more importantly, a company is no better than the people who work there and in many cases the people are a lot better than the company. I left there after I became a pawn in an office power struggle that got my boss fired, and I got a new boss who was the classic asshole. He felt that I should follow his example, which I refused to do. I had a good rapport with my suppliers, and we worked as a team to keep the inventory at optimal levels. When the asshole hired a new guy, I knew I would soon be replaced, so I beat him to the punch as gave him my two-week notice, which turned into a three-month notice because the new guy, even though the boss's neighbor, was a tad slow in learning my system of advance ordering. I did miss the people there. While I worked there, I slowly began to build a new wardrobe. I had a hard time finding hiding places at home but I managed.
I went to graduate school and took a job as a shipping cleck, something that would not interfere with my schooling. Within 12 months, I was the production supervisor over 2 shifts of 45 women. I learned two valuable things there: (1) a work ethic. A very nice black lady had it, and I have adopted it -- she said, "I came here and asked them for a job; they didn't come to me and ask me to work for them." So simple and so true. Lesson (2): never, ever, get in the middle of two women in a cat fight -- you can get hurt!
I left there to take a cut in hours, and a raise in pay, to work for the telephone company. My career with the phone company began as an installer. Yes, I was the guy who come to your house to run wires and climb poles, a macho job. I took the job for a couple of reasons; tradition, all of my family had ties to the phone company; but probably the real reason was I wanted my father to be proud of me. So I took the job in the hope that, deep down, he would be proud of me.
While working in this job for the next decade, I had several interesting experiences, like being electrocuted, chased by a knife-welding woman, being mugged, being covered with a gun in drug houses, plus your normal animal escapades (dogs that climb fences to eat you), insects (over 100 yellow jackets stings one pleasant afternoon), and weather (worked hurricanes, tornados, sub-zero cold, 100+ degree heat, and rain that never ended). Some fun; but it did provide me with opportunities to pick up discarded items of clothing, even a couple of wigs.
I foldly remember installing a line for an elderly lady who told me that I was as pretty as a girl. I wearing work clothes, a tool belt and I'm hot, dirty, and sweaty, but this sweet woman pays me a complement like that. It made my day, heck it made my month. I did thank her for the complement.
All during these years, I would dress when ever I had a chance. I lived at home and was able to enjoy myself four or five times a year when my parents would go on a trip. I acquired more and more clothing and bought a good 35mm camera to capture the moments. I slowly began to use makeup, and over the years I would study women and read articles and try to increase my knowledge of how to look more and more like a woman.
I promised my father before he passed away that I would take care of my mother, so I have remained at home. I finally got an opportunity to advance in the company, which got me behind a desk and out from the elements. My dressing opportunities had decreased, and as I approached my 40th year, the desire to dress and make contact grew stronger. Someone pointed out to me the early 40's is when most of us emerge (ever notice how many 40-something TG people there are on the Net). I had never had any contact with anyone until the day I got my nerve up to subscribe to LadyLike magazine. I wrote to the publisher, JoAnn Roberts, and sent in a picture. I cannot tell you how much nerve it took to drop that letter in the mail box. Within two weeks, SHE WROTE BACK! I read and re-read that letter; she was so kind and understanding and she said that I was attractive. Attractive! How I longed for someone say that. I had my pictures, and yes some where better that others, but no one (other than the guys in the photo labs) had seen any. I had no source of feedback, so I would look at them with a super critical eye and low self esteem; I never saw attractiveness, only disappointment.
Over a few years, JoAnn published several of my pictures and two of my letters (hey, I'm famous, I'm in print). However, my TG feelings were continually growing. I began shaving everything which helped me feel more womanly and I started doing a lot of overt things. Like growing my nails longer, to the point that only one GG in our office had longer nails. Even had a customer make a negative comment about them. But I also got a complement or two from women who thought it was nice to see a man take care of his nails.
The big change came when our office got InterNet access last year. I put in "transgender" in a search engine and got over 500 hits. And suddenly, I needed a computer at home because big brother watches the LAN. After shopping around and finding the best deal, I got a PC and 50 free hours with AOL and I went surfing. I became hooked and still am. What a wonderful outlet for my TG feelings, and there were thousand of us out there living their lives, beautiful and gorgeous. I was so envious (and still am) that they could go out, meet, and have fun, while I sat there reading about their wonderful adventures.
JUNE 23, 1997 THE DAY MY LIFE CHANGED
One of my surfing activites is to check out the new web-sites on GeoCites. I came across one called Tiffany's Ballet Studio. It had no pictures, but the biograghy really moved me. Here was a story that was very honest and sincere, and there were several parts of it with which I could identify. Also, she was from North Carolina, like me, so I sent her a fe-mail complementing her on the start of a great web-site. I felt it would be like the other fe-mails I had sent to countless others that were never acknowledged. Well, the next day, I had mail! Tiffany wrote to me! Her letter was funny, articulate, and above all, I got a feeling that she was talking to me and not just a formal thank you. I wrote her back and within a week's time we were sharing our life via fe-mail. I discovered that we have a lot in common and she would often stir up memories in me that had been long forgotten, ignored, or denied.
Then, the fateful day when she said she was coming to town on business and wanted to know if we could meet for dinner. I have to be honest with you, I must have sat there staring at the screen for an hour, trembling as to what to do. In my heart, I was shouting, "Yes, yes," but, my head was full of fear. If I go, then someone will know me as male and as female, everything I had built in life could be in jeopardy. What to do? Finally, I replied with YES. I spilled all of my fears to her, as I had come to realize that Tiffany would never ever do anything to hurt me or anyone. She's just not that kind of girl.
I spent the next two weeks on an emotional roller coaster. I lost my appetite, got violent chills, and cried more freely than normal. It was a combination of stress from work and the excitement, anticipation, and fear of this first meeting. We planned to meet for dinner at a resturant that could offer some privacy (big booths). And the day before our scheduled meeting, Tiffany wanted to know if it was alright for another T-girl to meet with us. Another? I was just getting used to the idea of meeting one, but I told her that I had trusted her with my deepest secret and I would trust her decision. The new girl was Renée, who happened to be in town that very same night, oddly enough, on business and had linked up with Tiffany in a chat room.
I was on pins and needles that day and hurried from work to the meeting. And there she was, Tiffany. Over to one side stood Renée; we exchanged pleasantries since we were all in drab and went in to eat. Over dinner, we exchanged pictures of ourselves and I was very impressed with Renée's and Tiffany's pictures. Tiffany could transition on the spot, while Renée was totally different from her male self. We shared our fe-mail addresses and business cards (how un-female). My only regret was that I so wanted to give Tiffany a hug for everything she had done for me and for this meeting, but it was too crowded and public for me to express this feminine trait. The evening ended far too soon for me, but there was something cosmic about this day. Too many coincidences fell into place that there had to be some divine intervention; I mean, I had waited over 40 years to meet someone like me, and now I had met two on the same day, and even more cosmic was that Tiffany (this also being her first meeting) met a TS in a Wal-Mart on her way home! Coincidence, I don't think so. There is a God and She loves TG's.
Well, I hurried home and sent both girls a long thank you note that I had a wonderful time, even if my hands were shaking all through the meal. I got a response back from Renée, and we also began to correspond regularly. Then a new challenge, Renée had another business appointment scheduled and wanted to know if Tiffany and myself would join her at the motel for a dressup party and girl talk. No one had ever seen Beverly "live" before, and since Renée already knew who I was, I figured that I had nothing to lose. Needless to say, I again became an emotional basket case. The meeting was a lot of fun. Tiffany could not make it but Renée and I shared makeup tips, took pictures, and had hours of girl talk. It was wonderful, and then she sprang the next step on me -- going out dressed. Continue to Part 2 to read about my first date!
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