This blog post is going to be a little different from the normal ones – don’t worry, I’ll intersperse the text with pretty pictures as per normal, but the content, as the title says, is from a vastly different angle than normal.
So, I’ve always had the standard CD/Trans fantasy of going out for an evening with a man. There, said it. It’s always been one of my top five, maybe ten given the number of fantasies, but has always been pretty unachievable because a: I am a serious wuss when it comes to braving the real world in stockings and a frock and b: photos are photos – I look good (yeah, yeah, modesty is my second biggest fault) in pictures but in real life my size and inherent need to fall back on a masculine defence makes it hard for me to be out and about.
Pictured – although I do scrub up nicely, if I may say so myself
A very dear friend of mine offered me somewhat of a half-way house in terms of realising this fantasy though – she would be the girl, I could be the bloke. I thought about it for, oh, say 0.00001 of a second before saying ‘absolutely’ (well, not entirely true, I asked if she would like a meal out and then took every opportunity not to get femm-ed up for it, but this explanation sounds way less pathetic).
And last Monday we did it. And it was one hell of an eye-opener for so many reasons.
I love the idea of being out and about as a woman, it ticks all of Sarah’s urges and fantasies, but I lack a couple of critical things that make it nigh on impossible. I have no confidence in my look as a woman, for a start, and because I don’t I fall back on the hyper-realised masculine attributes for no apparent reason (drinking heavily, actively not making eye contact, all the normal anti-social shields I use). And more importantly, I can’t let myself go completely into the role. I so want to, with all of my heart, but I just can’t. The ingrained behaviours and internal shyness means I always fall back on humour – I’d love nothing more than submitting myself to a full femm personality, if only for an evening, but I just can’t.
Pictured – although give me some money and a chance to shop and I’ll give the whole woman thing a big try
My friend is and was something else. She wants to transition, and when dressed as a woman she *is* a woman. It was a pleasure to be around her for the evening, which is a standard understatement (I spent the entire evening squeeeing quietly to myself); she exuded female confidence, she looked stunning, and to be honest it put me to shame. She was bubbly, had all the mannerisms. She wasn’t pretending.
And that’s the crux of it. Sarah is part of me, a wonderful part of me, but she is pretend. At the end of the day I’m me, gender-fluid but 97% of the time I’m a man. Sarah is my goto girl for stepping out of reality for a while and embracing and enjoying something so radically different from my day to day life that it is intoxicating, but come the end of a session I can’t wait to get the makeup off and slink back into my drab shell.
And during the evening, which encompassed a really nice meal at one of my fave restaurants then drinkies at my favourite bar, it became apparent the difference between myself and someone who lives the life. I couldn’t do what she does or did, I’d love to say I could but it’s not in me.
Pictured – also, living the life would require a large expense of makeup and gorgeous 1950’s style frocks….
And that was an epiphany. Both good and a little sad – I’ll never be the kind of trans-girl who can embrace the role entirely. Even when fully made up and in the most gorgeous of outfits I’m still me really, and me is, and I hate labels but it seems appropriate, a cross-dresser.
My friend was gorgeous. Every second of the evening she was a complete woman. I was in awe of her bravery and her ability to embrace the role. In the meantime I drank myself silly, managed to pour a glass of Prosecco all over my trousers (while amazingly not getting any on her gorgeous floral frock), blustered like a teenage man and overall managed to play the testosteronal idiot very well.
And I enjoyed it immensely. My lack of courage was actually a bonus in that I could see what it was like for a trans-girl to have an evening with a male friend without the hassle of me shaving, squeezing my body in ways it was never meant to be squeezed, not having all the social worry of being out and about in a big city with nothing to protect me but a purse and thin undergarments. It felt a little like cheating but it’s the nearest I’ll get to the experience, and my friend was gracious and lovely enough to tolerate my company.
It was enough to live vicariously through my friend. I’ll never do what she did that evening, it’s not part of the complex web that is me and Sarah. I may (will, probably) have nights out in the future, and more than probably with other girls like me, but the fantasy of being the female part of a couple in the real world isn’t something I can do.
Pictured – although if you give me my favourite beer and an unlimited amount of straws I could possibly last an hour or so in the real world.
It’s a bittersweet revelation, but not one that is overly surprising. On the plus side, and there is a plus side, I feel I was the perfect gentleman for the evening, and although that annoys Sarah it makes me feel good.
And my friend? Just wow, I really need to up my game as Sarah to get anywhere near her league. And I’ll take that as a femm-fashion challenge….
Stay beautiful sweeties, and remember that you are you. There aren’t any people keeping score in this life, so be who you want to be, not a label.
Pictured – label: ME