I hope the girls like my dress. I can’t believe that I didn’t want to wear these a year ago. There were so many things I thought that I’d never get used to, but it all seems pretty normal now. I can still clearly remember being a guy, but I just don’t connect with that identity anymore. I remember the first time that mommy tried to get me to wear a dress, I was so angry I almost started crying.
“I’m your son! You can’t make me wear a dress!” I screamed
That seems so silly now. I really did resist for a long time after I caught the feminine flu, almost a full six months. I wore boxers, refused makeup or to do my hair. I event tried to lower my voice even though it sounded ridiculous. Now that I’ve met more women in my positions I’ve learned that for most of us the breaking point came when the first boy started to pay them some attention. However, boys being boys most people gave into their female identities within a month of their physical transformation.
I was determined though. Boys would talk to me, place their hands on my knee and I slapped them. This didn’t happen to often though, I hardly went out and when I did my clothes were so baggy that my gender was hard to determine. It was a serious case of denial, I was becoming more and more attracted to boys but I could not stand the thought of giving in that way, so cliché.
“Oh Randy! Of course I’ll be a girl for you!” –gross-
No, for me it was something different.
I was with my mom and little sister at the mall. My mother was determined to get a nice Christmas card.
“I just want to show off my two gorgeous daughters and show everyone that we don’t need no man!” she laughed, we’d caught my father in an affair six months ago and had hardly seen him since.
Because my mother was so determined she had managed to get me into a dress with minimal makeup. I could not stop blushing or swearing under my breath. The very worst part was that I did look pretty good. I walked over to the raised platform where women try on dresses and observed myself in the mirrors. There was no man there, only infinite women staring back at me. I moved my lips and she moved her lips, I moved the edge of my dress and the infinite shes did the same. That was the first time that I had really looked at myself for any extended period. I was shorter than I used to be, I slipped out of my high heels and stood no taller than 5’ 3”. I stood maybe 5 inches from the mirror, observing every change in my face, my newly plump lips (with light red lipstick), my eyelashes (with light mascara), my soften jawline that lead down to my cleavage, my cleavage. It was at that moment, lost in a trance that one of the women in the store stepped next to the platform.
“You really should buy that dress, it looks really pretty on you” Read more