Member-only story
Recently, when I met friends at a local brew pub for brunch, I needed to walk the distance of what was called the “great hall” to meet the group.
Once again I needed to make sure I was standing up as straight as I could, while throwing my shoulders back and faced the reality all transgender women face, was I going to be spotted as some sort of a gender impostor and even laughed at. I didn’t and even though the brief walk felt as if it went on forever, I made it to our table without incident. At that point I thought I had it made, until the young server called me “sir”. Which is another sad experience I have previously written about.
For some reason, when I transitioned into a feminine transgender world, I didn’t think the public would share the same fascination with studying other women as I did. I can’t tell you how many times my old guy self aggravated my second wife (and others) by trying to sneak a peek at an attractive woman. For whatever reason, I couldn’t explain to them I wasn’t looking because I desired the woman, it was because I wanted to be the woman. At the time, I was having a difficult time wondering if I could ever achieve my dream of cross dressing out of my old unwanted male self. There were so many working parts of a woman to duplicate, the whole process seemed impossible. I needed to fashion my own hips, breasts and hair just to arrive at a point where I could…
