Biography
June 25, 1997
I'm a totally heterosexual male to female crossdresser. Like most other crossdressers I've read about on the web; I've been doing this as long as I can remember. In fact, I only know crossdressers on the web. I think most CD'ers are very private, dressing only in the bedroom or at home and would never mention their crossdressing in public. I dress almost every evening and weekends, but only at home, and only in private with the drapes tightly pulled. Of course, you see drag queens, and female impersonators in shows; but that's not me. Anyway, I've decided to write this home page for any other CD'er; who may find my experiences useful or interesting. I'd like to take this spot to thank GeoCities for the free Home Page to express myself. I only wish that web pages like these were around thirty to forty years ago, what additional fun I could have had. Everyone my age says it, so I will to. I wish I knew then what I know now. I could be jealous of all the gorgeous, dazzling, young CD'ers I've found on the net. But turning green doesn't become me, except above my eyes, so I'll get on with my bio.
One of my first memories along this line is when I was probably 5 or 6; my parents were watching a Miss America Pageant on television. Girls are always so cute and pretty and beautiful as compared to boys. The contestants wore such wonderful looking clothes with skirts swishing around their nyloned legs, their feet in high heels, their tiny hourglass waist, their flaring hips, their rounded breasts, their fingernails so long and nicely painted, their hair long and flowing, their faces all dolled up. I thought how nice to look so special and that maybe someday I could be a pretty Miss America to. I mentioned something about this to my parents; and they told me that I could never be a Miss America, because I was a boy. Not a girl! Ergo: boys can never be pretty, they can only be boys. If you want to be pretty you must be a girl first. The seed had been planted.
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice; That's What Little Girls are Made of. Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails; That's What Little Boys are Made of.
That's what little girls would sing to me when I was young. Who wants to find out they're made of snakes and snails, with a choice like this, what would anyone pick. Now days, with the politically correct speech in our culture; I can't help but think, one of my X chromosomes is segment deprived; turning it into a lowly Y chromosome. If only I had that missing segment I'd could be all sugar & spice to.
During my childhood, my parents only had a wringer style washer, requiring the freshly washed clothes to be pinned on a line in the backyard. I remember seeing my mom's panties hanging on the line, looking so soft, and silky, and colorful. She had pastel pinks, blues, greens, and yellows. I just had to touch them. They felt as great as they looked. The seed had been watered.
We used to have Sears catalogs, for reading and wishing. I lived in the country, but we did have indoor plumbing and didn't use the catalog in that other way. Anyway, I remember looking through the women's wear section and reading all the benefits of some particular piece of clothing and how to measure yourself in the bust, waist, and hips to make certain the clothes would fit. And the very important measurement; how to determine your brassiere cup size. I wished I could have all the beautiful lingerie in the pictures. Most lingerie that I knew of, was in fact - nylon, not silk. I think most of us should thank DuPont for such a wonderfully silky fiber. But I stray, back to the bio.
Occasionally, the family would go shopping downtown. I loved looking in the store display windows at the womannequins, and their lovely clothes. Of course, by this time I knew better than let someone see me looking at women's clothes. Back then, before shopping malls, the department stores had service elevators that would rise up mysteriously, out of the sidewalks; in order to restock the basement warehouses below. I would fantasize about walking downtown alone at night. An elevator coming silently up out of the dark sidewalk, just after I had crossed. Then being captured by some unknown group, and taken back down on one of those elevators into the awaiting cavernous basement. There to be stripped, bathed in delightful perfume, and turned into a womannequin. My fate, to be displayed, in the front window, in some glorious gown with lots of petticoats. At least, then I could wear those nice clothes. The seed was growing.
Some while later, my parents had to go into town for the entire afternoon, and I would be home, all alone. After they drove off in the old brown Hudson Hornet, I rushed into their bedroom; to try on some those beautiful clothes of my mom's. I got out a pair of those silky panties, a plain white latex girdle, plain white bra, seamed tan nylons with reinforced toes, and a white slip with lace at the top and hem. I had no problem with the bra, putting it on backwards so I could hook it; and then pulling it around frontwards. Then pulling the straps up my arms. Stuffing the cups with extra pairs of nylons, I looked into the mirror above the dresser, wondering if I had the proper lift and separation that I had read about in the Sears catalog.
The latex panty girdle was snug, but pulled up without too much problem. But those pesky nylons were a different story. I thought they were like long socks and held them at the top and tried to stuff my foot and leg down into each one. It must have taken 15 minutes each, stretching, tugging, pulling, smoothing, trying to inch the crazy things up my legs. And then looking and trying to ease the seams over straight. Finally I had them as best as I could; all wrinkled and twisted up my legs. The garters were pretty obvious, but the back ones were difficult. The girdle must have had 6 or 8 garters,; women in those days weren't about to let their precious nylons get away. Probably for a year, every time I put on nylons they looked terrible and took forever; I wondered how women could put them on every day and not go crazy. Then, while watching, what now days would probably be only a 'G' movie, I saw an actress actually put on a pair. She slipped one up her arm, rolled it down to her wrist and then put her foot into it and unrolled it up her leg and hooked it in seconds. I was learning the facts of life.
Anyway, back to the story. I slipped the nylon tricot slip over my head, found a skirt that fit, put it on backwards, zipped it up, and pulled it around like the bra. I found a white blouse, put it on and discovered the buttons were all wrong, the holes were where the buttons were supposed to be! I didn't know how to button something with the buttons on the wrong side. I thought it must be a scheme to keep boys from wearing girl's clothes. Maybe that's how girls got pretty. After a bit of fumbling, I managed to get it buttoned. Then I found a jacket that matched the pale green skirt and slipped it on. Finally a pair of black high heels shoehorned onto my feet. I looked in the mirror and thought I had done pretty well for a young boy with a flat top haircut. As each item of clothing went on, it felt as good as it had looked. This was wonderful. I walked about the house for a while; practicing walking in heels, even then, enjoying that delicious way they click on the floor.
The seed had taken root and broken through to the sun.
Once during early childhood, I remember seeing some now long forgotten movie about a ship that sinks, maybe the Titanic, but I still remember the line: "women and children first". By the time I saw this movie, having dressed in my mom's clothes; I remember thinking. If I'm ever on a sinking ship; I'm going to find some woman's cabin, raid her closet, dress up, and join the girls in the lifeboats.
I know I'm dating myself, but when I was in junior high school, all the girls wore poodle skirts with scads of pretty, colorful, crinoline petticoats underneath. I wasn't keen on the poodle skirt, but the thought of those petticoats certainly intrigued me. I don't think a girl ever wore just one. They were like status symbols, the more the better. Three to four petticoat minimum seemed to be required. And they all had to be different colors, in order to show off how many they were wearing. Of course, just enough of these lovely petticoats would show beneath the skirt to flash all the colors and tease the boys. It sure teased me, I enjoyed seeing the petticoats, and wished I could wear just one. My mom didn't own a petticoat, which presented a problem. So one year, I took my Christmas money and bought her a petticoat as a present from me. Then she had one; that I could secretly try on. My dad had been a pettyofficer in the Navy during the second world war. Somehow I got the twisted notion, that meant he wore a petticoat, the Navy sounded pretty good.
One day while riding my bicycle, I spotted a pair of white strap high heels stashed in some ivy beside a tree along the road. Who knew how or why they where there. Why would a woman throw out good looking shoes like that. At any rate, they were mine now. I couldn't take off my shoes there on the road to try them on. So I stuck them under my shirt to hide them from view and rode on home to see how they fit me. Going into my bedroom, sitting down on the bed, and untying my tennis shoes, peeling off my socks; I felt like Cinderella and the glass slipper. Unfortunately I was more like the ugly step sister, the shoe didn't fit. I could barely get my toes into it. Sometimes life just isn't fair.
My family would often go to the drive-in movies. Typically, the kids were never asked what we wanted to see, the choice was my folks. Anyway the movie one night was "Some Like It Hot". What a great movie for a young kid like me. The only problem I had with it, was if you could pass as a woman, play in an all girl band, live with all the girls on a train, and wear those great clothes; why would you ever want to stop dressing the part.
During graduation from junior high, I was shocked to see many of the girls I knew; wearing nylons, some even wearing high heels and looking so adult. Were these the same little girls that went to school with me. I remember thinking, at the time, how nylons and high heels seemed to transform these little bobby sox school girls into young women. For most of the girls, these were probably their first pair of nylons. Ha ha, by this time I'd been wearing nylons for years.
During my high school years I continued to dress in my mom's clothes, but they were rapidly becoming too small for me as I grew. So I would occasionally buy some dainty items from the local department store. Some one must have noticed a boy browsing through the women's section. But nothing was ever said. I generally would always sleep in a slip or silky nightgown and matching panties.
Immediately after graduating from high school at 17, I joined the Navy as a kiddy cruiser and had my first purge. Dumping the scanty items, obtained over the previous few years and kept hidden under the mattress. Naturally by now I knew better, but I still hoped I'd be a pettyofficer and be issued a petticoat. Well the Navy certainly didn't do that. Instead, I got cotton boxer shorts, an itchy coarse wool uniform, and heavy boondockers for my feet. I had never worn boxers before, and after months in boot camp, they were the first items to be thrown away, after boot camp graduation. I replaced them with regular cotton BVD briefs. But after those boxers, BVD's almost felt like nylon panties, in comparison.
If you are unfamiliar with Navy uniforms, the trousers have 13 buttons, one for each of the colonies, no belt, and a shoe string laced up on the back to adjust in order to keep the pants from falling off. When removed the suit must be folded inside out, to keep the inverted creases. The top, called a jumper, has no buttons except on the cuffs; and is worn over a white T shirt. A rolled neckerchief tied in a square knot goes around the neck. A white hat, everyone called them Dixie cups, finished off the uniform. Many women's clothes are styled after the Navy uniform, but after wearing the real thing for four years, I'd never buy a dress that looked like one.
Of course, joining the Navy and especially wearing that uniform doesn't end the desire to crossdress. After a couple years, on long weekend liberties, I would rent a hotel or motel room. Having the pay of a third class pettyofficer, I would purchase one or two items of lingerie for the weekend: bra, panty girdle, and nylons. Of course, these were tossed out before going back to my ship. Another year of advancement; and I was making enough pay to afford a small fourth floor walk-up apartment in San Diego. This time I got a wardrobe, buying a complete outfit from the skin out. White bra and girdle with garters, pink lace slip, black pumps, lime green dress and suntan seamless nylons. No wig, no makeup, no jewelry, no accessories. I would just go to the apartment, dress up and watch the black & white tube television, until it was time to return to the ship. Then take everything off, and climb back into that uniform.
Luckily I didn't spend much money on my femme clothes, because in several months the ship was headed back to the western Pacific for another battle with the Vietnamese. I had my second purge, quitting my apartment, putting all my sexy clothes into a paper sack and dropping it into an alleyway dumpster on the way back to base.
One evening on the base, I and a friend went to the base movie, and saw "Good-bye Charlie". I sat there watching and thinking what a great movie plot, and wishing I could be Debbie Reynolds. After the movie, I asked my friend what he thought of the movie. He said. "Only bearded women would like it". I promptly dropped the topic.
Sometime in this period, pantyhose were invented, or at least I discovered them. What an idea; panties and hose together, no garters, no girdle - what a concept. I remember buying my first pair and driving around in my old 59 Chevy, waiting for sunset, finally it got dark enough, that I could pull over, remove my pants & underwear, and try the pantyhose on. What a glorious feeling, no lumpy garters or tight girdle, just nylons that went everywhere. Sadly, I had to go back to the ship to sleep that night; so after an hour or so, off they came and back into uniform. Funny thing, now I think hose & garters are sexier, but only on shaved legs!
Once on liberty in San Francisco, I came across an adult book shop that carried stories about transvestites. Wow, I wasn't the only one who enjoyed dressing in women's clothes. I bought several paperbacks there that day. I forget their titles, but my favorite one must have been titled something like, "Panty Raid". It was about some poor hapless college student who must go out on a panty raid to the girl's dorm. He gets caught by the girls, and as punishment is forced to wear their clothes, or else. What a surprise ending. He learns he likes wearing panties and bras.
After an honorable discharge from the Navy, I moved to the San Francisco Bay area, got a small second story studio apartment and started buying a femme wardrobe again. A year later; and I had my first downsizing, or as it was called then, a layoff. A friend from work, who was also laidoff, suggested we could move out of our mutually small second story apartments and rent a large house together, saving money to boot. So now my third purge, hauling all my goodies out to the dump, and tossing the bags as far up the pile as I could. I still remember looking in the rear view mirror, as I drove off, at the scavengers climbing the hill of trash to get whatever was in those bags.
After rooming with my friend from work for about a year, and not doing any crossdressing, I met my future wife. I moved to a small rental house and was soon married. By now I hadn't CD'ed in a couple years, although I knew I would like to. While going with my fiancee, I would occasionally bring up the subject in a joking manner, to test the water. But I didn't have the courage to tell her outright, and I thought that maybe I could give it up after marriage. Naturally being married and having all of her sexy things in the house; does test ones will. My will lost and I sampled some of her clothes, which is really hard, she is a lot smaller than me. I wear size 11 shoes, she wears size 7 1/2. After a year, I knew I had to tell her, and bring my CD'ing into the light.
She accepted the notion, but wasn't very pleased with the concept. I would buy and wear negligees and some panties. She decided that my boy name wasn't right when I was dressed, and asked me what girl's name I should have. I've never thought about a girl's name when dressed before. Until then, no one else knew. I thought a moment and said Barbie, because Mattel's Barbie loved to dress up as much as me.
One of the problems at the time, was that I wasn't actually sure what I was, either. There certainly was no web sites, or support groups, or news groups on the subject as can be found so easily now. All I knew was, I liked women, but I also liked to wear their clothes; I must be weird.
As time went on, I gained weight and my collection no longer fit, so out they went - to Goodwill. This happened more than once, losing weight, buying clothes, gaining weight, junking clothes or buying clothes, losing weight, junking clothes. At least, I never bought back the same dress that I had previously donated. With the passage of time, our silver anniversary was several years ago, my wife has accepted my CD'ing and is fully supportive. Now we both go out shopping for Barbie. And if Barbie gets something, my wife gets something also. If she wants something, she'll mention that maybe Barbie would like it also. We both enjoy shopping. The seedling has leafed out.
In fact she has bought me items, that I would not dare consider for myself. For example; she bought me some thong panties. There was no way I could possibly wear one of those skimpy, tiny, delicate, pieces of near nothingness. Where would I hide IT; in them. Well to please her; I tried on a pair, knowing full well, they just would not do. There's not much to them, but they can be confusing to the novice thong wearer like me. As you know, panties are cut to have more material in the back than the front. I naturally didn't think about that and pulled them on the same way. With the larger of the two pieces of fabric in the back. They felt sort of tight and yet baggy. I went to show my wife how impossible they would be on me. She proceeded to tell me, that I had them on backwards, and to take them off, turn them around and try again. Boy, how stupid could I be. Of course it made sense they went the other way, once I thought about it.
Well surprise of surprises; they actually held me in; better than my panties, keeping my you-know-what up and out of sight as good as a panty girdle would. And as an added benefit they're cut lower than my panties, which meant they would not show above the waist of my pants at work. I could wear them under my baggy boy's pants and no one could tell. So I do. Now; I've purged my boy's underwear and didn't even shed a tear!
My wife often will lay out the panties; I am to wear for the day at work, and insists that I wear a shirt to match.
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I've always been fascinated by flying, and one year to decided learn to do it. After hours of practice, my instructor decided I was ready to cut loose and I soloed. Soloing isn't the way I read about in the books. The instructor was down on the ground praying to God I wouldn't crash and ruin the instructor's record. It was only when I would go out for an early morning practice, and I knew my instructor was at home, in bed asleep, that I felt like I really soloed. After you solo, you still need to do another 20 hours or so of solo flight, doing cross countries, practice stalls, steep turns,chandelles, lazy eights, and on and on.
Flying at that time was, and still is, pretty much of a guy thing. One day while I was preflighting my rental airplane, I saw a woman preflighting some low wing airplane nearby. There she was; all dressed up in a dress, nylons and heels; crawling under the wing to sample the fuel. That image stayed with me, and I thought; if she can be dressed and fly, at the very least I could wear some pantyhose. So during some of those solo flights I wore pantyhose. I thought if I crash, my pantyhose would become a Federal case at the FAA. Then I decided, that if I crashed, I probably be burnt to a crisp; so I stopped worrying about the pantyhose I was wearing and instead concentrated on learning to fly the plane.
We bought our airplane shortly after I got my pilot's license, a score of years ago. We have flown across the US in it, and nearly to Alaska. A decade ago, we bought a small cabin in the mountains, across
the state from the bay area. I try to have pantied weekends up there once a month. The cabin is secluded and I can even leave the blinds open, while dressed. That is something I never do; back in the suburbs down here. When up there, we often raid the local thrift shops, and usually fly back with more than we took up.
A year and a half ago, I bought a computer capable of accessing the Net, and you can guess one of the first things I used the browser to search for. After exploring the sites, and seeing all the really great looking TV & CD's, I have decided to improve my dressing and appearance. One of the things I noticed, on most home pages with photos, was the smile. Perhaps I'm reading something into it, after all, most people smile for pictures. But I think, most CD'ers are actually happier dressed and the smiles reflect their true happiness.
I've never been one to smile much, and was typically happier with a frown. It seemed to be the male thing to do. Its that segment deprived X chromosome acting up again. Most men don't go around smiling, its bad for the business image, but most women seem to have a nice smile. So I decided; I needed to smile more. I put a 18" square mirror next to my home computer to view my smiling exercises. I practice smiling while dressed as Barbie and waiting on my slow 28.8KB modem. When my wife asked what the mirror was for, and I told her; she laughed. See how easy it is for women. It was difficult for me and took a lot of practice, my smile muscles had atrophied, and needed lots of exercising to re-establish the required strength to warp my mouth into a upward smile from the nearly permanent downward frown. I hope I have a nice smile in my photos. If not, I'll practice more.
Several years back, I decided to learn skin diving, so my wife and I signed up for lessons, and proceeded to buy all the equipment needed. Wet suits, gloves, fins, weight belts, masks, knives, underwater flashlights, booties, gear bags, the works. During the lessons, my face mask would leak water and fill up. The instructor said it was because of my mustache, and that I should shave it off, to provide for a better seal of the mask against my face. You can imagine my astonishment, when they also said I should wear pantyhose under the wet suit; to help ease it on and off. Could this be true, a hobby that requires me to shave off my mustache and wear pantyhose. Or were they just pulling my leg. I never did wear any, thinking it was just to close to my secret, but the mustache disappeared.
I had never owned or wore a wig when I dressed. There was no way that I could possibly be mistaken for a woman, even an ugly one; so why try. The look wasn't important to me; just the wearing of the clothes. Well, after viewing so many good looking CD's on the web I decided a wig was required. I bought one on clearance from Fredericks of Hollywood. They didn't have my first choice of color, brunette, so I ended up with what they did have, blonde. I have never considered myself a blonde, but I really enjoyed it. And it gave me an excuse when I did something really DUMB. To bad I didn't have it when I tried on those thongs. I found that wearing a wig helps the image, so I bought a second one, a Nicole in dark auburn. Then another in black. Then a Brittany in light brown from Paula Young. I liked the Brittany so much I got another in light golden brown\blonde frost.
Of course, for every wig Barbie got; my wife got one in her choice of colors and styles. I tried on her Leading Lady, loved it and bought one like it in light brown with dark roots. She bought a Lilli, in Irish red, but it didn't look right on her so I got it in trade for one of mine; that was too small on my head. I have shaved my sideburns up to the top of my ears so the sideburns don't show beneath my wigs. And I'm letting my hair grow longer so maybe someday I can dress wigless. Another reason for longer hair, is that my wife insisted I give her a verbal warning every time, before pulling the wig off. "Warning, warning wig removal will occur in 10 seconds." The instant transition back from femme was just too radical for her, after seeing me all dressed up for a while. Maybe longer hair will ease the transition. But I confess, that my wigs look far better than my own hair does. I thought I'd quit buying wigs when I got to seven, one for each day of the week. But the wigs are just too much fun! Maybe I'll stop at 31?, 365?, or when I'm broke. Maybe when they're coming out of every drawer and cabinet in the house like the episode "Trouble with Tribles" on the old Star Trek series.
I now have two pair of 5" heels, white & black pumps and two pair of 5" white & black open toe sandals, all from FOH. Proportionally a 5" heel on my foot is like a 3" on my wife; so 5" heels have become my first choice. Now I don't wear my 5 pair of 4" heels very often. And of course, I could probably part with my dozen 2" & 3" heels from Payless Shoes and not even frown. They're like flats to me. I even own one pair of white patent leather 6" heels, but they're real killers, and I'm afraid I don't wear them much. When I do, I .. have .. to .. hold .. on .. to .. the .. walls .. and .. take .. one .. step .. at .. a .. time.
I am amazed by women's purses. My wife carries everything in hers; flashlight, needle nose vise grips, pepper spray, makeup, tape measure, hankies, billfold, coin purse, hair brush, checking book, calculator, keys, signaling mirror, emergency water, fire starter, fire extinguisher, you name it. It's like Batman's utility belt, you never know what'll pop-up next. With four pants pockets; guys can only carry a wallet, keys, handkerchief, and comb. Well I just had to get a purse to. Now, I even have two purses for the thrill. But I will never need to carry anything in them, since I never go out dressed. I'm just too big.
I used to have some cheap foam rubber falsies, but recently purchased full silicon breasts from FOH. At the time, I thought they were outrageously expensive, but having used them for 6 months; I would buy another pair without hesitation; if something happened to these. The only drawback is, that now, I must pay attention to my bra cup size, D. Before; any size: A, B, or C would do; just as long as the bra fit around my hairy chest, I could always stuff the cups as required. Also, now the bra must be underwire, for the support of the weight (nearly one pound each). Otherwise they try to escape down the front. A nice mail order collection of bras is available from One Hanes Place. With an underwire bra, the mass, the jiggle, the bounce, the shape, the warmth, and the general feel; would be hard to do without. In the winter time I store them under the electric blanket on the bed, so they're nice and warm for me, after coming home from work. The silicon seems to be able to transfer touch and feel down to the chest. If I brush them against something, it feels as though my chest was brushed against. And it goes the other way as well. If I flex my chest muscles; the breasts wiggle and move in response. I sleep with them on, but now I must sleep on my back. Poor me. I only wish my nipples could be on the outside, instead of the inside of the silicon. Without having surgery, that is.
Most all of my outer femme clothes are purchased at the thrift shops. After all, I did give them a lot during my purges and weight changes. And its hard to say no to 10 each $5 dresses versus 1 each $50 dress from a catalog. And if one doesn't fit or look right on me; I'm not out much. Although I enjoy dressing and shopping for femme clothes, my maleness creeps in. When my wife and I go into the shop, I can make all my selections in under five minutes and go back out to the car and listen to the radio. She'll be in there for another hour enjoying the femaleness of clothes shopping. One glimmering ray of hope when I buy clothes in the thrift shop, is that despite how big I am, some real woman wore this dress first. And it fit her, or she fit it. Ergo: I must be the same size as some real woman somewhere. Unless of course, all the clothes I buy, are hand-me-downs from another CD'er. Oh dear me!
I'm learning to apply my makeup and would suggest the Cover Girl Home Page to anyone interested in makeup tips.
You log in and they'll keep track of your makeup wishes. And its nice to browse through the selections on their pages and find what products are available, how to apply them and what colors are right for your skin tone. Again, I never wore makeup before, but I'm finding that putting it on is almost as much fun as the wigs, lingerie, and high heels.
I've always been hairy. When a wee lad of ten, my dad would pull up my pants leg to show people how hairy my legs were. Good thing I wasn't shaving them back then. Once, I pulled a hair off my back; it must have been four inches long. I suppose if I were macho; I would like all this hair. But I'm not and I don't. I once shaved my entire body, but the bristles were terrible; and I only would shave my legs afterwards. But a hairy chest in a nice lacy bra just doesn't fit the image. I've read about Softlight, a laser scanning electrolysis method, that can do entire body sections; but after inquiring I found the price too steep. About $1500 per session, just to do my back. And they said at least four sessions were typical.
So I compromised; I bought an electrolysis wand tweezer (Forever Free by KMC) about $120 and promised myself to use it everywhere I could reach until the hair was GONE. The tweezers used Radio Frequency to kill the hair at the roots without a needle needing to be inserted next to each hair. This sounded promising, just squeeze the tweezers on each hair, leave it on for 10-15 seconds and presto the hair comes out. They say that regrowth will occur, but that each time the hair will be finer and blonder until its no more. Well I proceeded, and tweezed out every hair that I could reach and was nice and smooth for about a week until it grew out again. I repeated this process for a couple months. The problem is that it took about a week just to get all the hair on my tummy out and then the chest needed it for a week, I never could catch up and get it all, and be done all over at once. I found I was spending all my free time tweezing out hairs, to look right in the clothes, but now had no time to wear them. Sort of defeated the purpose. And of course, the hair never seemed to diminish.
I had bought my wife an Epilady years ago; that she never liked, because it hurt. I tried it, didn't mind the pain too much, but was not satisfied with how few hairs it would actually pluck out versus simply pull. I read a report from someone else about Braun Silk-Epil. Available at Comtrad Industries 1-800-469-7417. I bought one, and am reasonably happy with it. It takes about 3 hours once a week to do my entire body. The only place that really hurts is when my wife does the fur on my back. OUCH. She loves to torture me with that gadget! To help offset the pain, I have several glasses of wine until I get a buzz, and almost feel no pain. And in fact, after several months of use, the hairs are finer now and there is no stubble for a week or slightly longer. The hair is more like heavy peach fuzz. I use it on my hands, wrists, and arms to thin the hair to an acceptable level. I'd prefer to do the hair on Friday nights, but the hair doesn't grow back on a precise weekly schedule. So you can never plan ahead for when you would like to be all smooth. At least now, I'm nice and smooth all over, most of the time. And while it grows back; it is softer with no stubble. I also got the small battery version and use it on my eyebrows. The hair there used to grow half way up my forehead! But now I have reasonable eyebrows and even use eyebrow pencil to lengthen them laterally. I won't mention what I have to do about my nose hair.
With my body hair gone, I had to do something about my tan line. Typically I would wear Bermuda shorts, when laying in the sun in the backyard. But the white skin down to my hairless knees, just looked wrong. So now when I sun bathe, I wear a pair of satiny thongs; and have gotten a sexier tan line. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. My wife takes her bikini top off to even her tan; I wish I could put one on, but that's too daring for me.
I recently read about a loofah sponge on one of the user groups. Either alt.support.crossdressing or alt.fashion.crossdressing. I bought one and tried it. Now let me say that I've never even used a wash cloth, to wash with. I figured soap and a hand was all that was required. That's all that guys used in the showers in high school gym class. That's all the Navy would permit; they considered a wash cloth was for sissies. I tried the loofah sponge and fell in love with it. It has enough roughness to scrape off the top layer of dead skin and leave you pink and fresh and helps stop ingrown hairs. One pump of gel soap onto it, will do from head to toes. I told my wife, and bought her one, she loves it.
I used to not worry about my fingernails, and would actually bite and chew them off, when they got a little longer than a guy should have. Now with my desire to improve my dressing talents, I have let my fingernails grow out to a nice length beyond my fingers and file them to a soft rounded shape. My nails could almost look feminine, but no one has mentioned anything about their length. We have always had emery boards, but I never thought they were very good. While shopping for cosmetics at the grocery store I spotted some professional nail boards for only a couple dollars. They're great., Although my nails are long, I'd prefer even longer and more pointed. On long weekends, I'll glue LaJoie Press & Go Nails on; but they're a bother to get the glue off for Mondays.
For my photos for the home page; I wanted matching nails and lipstick. So I brought my one tube of lipstick down to the store to match the nails. None of the nails were very close, so I was going to compromise and just buy the closest color available. Then my wife suggested, that instead, I pick the nails I liked and go over and buy a second tube of lipstick.
I would have never thought of that; I had one perfectly good tube. Why would I need a second. Boy is she clever.Must be time for my blonde wig again.
To compensate for my fingernails, I leave my toenails painted. What a thrill, every time I look down and see them in bright dazzling red. It's hard to believe they're really mine. That's one reason I bought the FOH 5" open toe sandals. I wear clip-on earrings when I dress, but the constant pinching tends to mark my lobes. I'll even get a scabs that probably are more noticeable than holes would be. I just found a pair of clip-ons that have little plastic tips that broaden out the pinch, and are more comfortable; but I plan to get my ears pierced in the future. Besides there's a bigger selection of pierced earrings than clip-ons. I've read about the Texas 'T' Party; and have seen some of the photos posted. Perhaps one year, I'll be brave enough for us to attend. It does look like a fun time. By the way, now I hook my bra behind my back; the way women do, not the amateurish way I did the first time. The seedling has blossomed.
Isn't it amazing that nearly half of the human population doesn't know what they're missing from a few ounces of silk and nylon, a few inches of heel, some silicon, and a wisp of powder and creme.
Addendum
After writing my biography and pondering the situation; Barbie took a giant step, yesterday. Having dressed all my life, but never stepping past the invisible barrier at the threshold of my my home. Barbie made her debut into our backyard veranda. How could I even consider something like the Texas 'T' party, if I was afraid to even venture about in the open and relative safety of my own backyard. After work, I put on my make up and dressed in a green sheath dress, my brunette wig, and white 5" heels. I carried out a bottle of champagne and two stemmed glasses to celebrate Barbie's freedom with my wife.
My pulse must have still been at 150% after the first glass full. But after a second, and stepping back into the house for strawberries for the champagne; I started to calm down and really enjoy the new sensation of the early evening cool breeze blowing up my nyloned legs, another first. I had to record the event on the camcorder, but the battery needed charging. I kept having to get up and click my heels way across the patio, to check if the battery was finished charging. I must have gone in and out ten times. But after the first time, the fear was shattered. I had broken through the threshold. I even opened the blinds in the living room, and walked about like I owned the place. I do. Finally the battery was charged; and my wife took some shots of Barbie's debut.
After it got too cool to stay outside, Barbie went into her computer room, to try an upgrade, downloaded at work. Although it was cool outside, inside the house was still like an oven. Barbie opened the drapes, and pulled open the sliding door from the computer room to the patio, letting the cool air in. How wonderful to be able to open the stuffy room, while dressed.
The next morning, Barbie had her coffee, newspaper, and English muffin back out on the veranda. Boy; are those heels noisy in the quiet of the morning air. My wife wore her heels to, and we both clattered about. I realize that if Barbie continues to dress up and go outside, eventually a neighbor is bound to see her. But what can they do, spank her?
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