Celebration Center

by Carol Clark

 

I sat waiting in my car, in the back parking lot of the meeting hall of Celebration Center, a local church which catered to people who did not feel welcome by mainstream churches. I had recently learned that this church hosted twice-monthly Friday evening gatherings of crossdressers, transsexuals, and their supporters. I had come here last Friday evening, but had lacked the courage to get out of my car and go inside. Tonight, as I was then, I am dressed as a woman. I was trying to muster the nerve to go inside. Last week I had driven away, but tonight I forced myself to go inside and join the group.

As I opened the car door and the interior car light came on, I glanced into the rear-view mirror to check over my makeup one last time before going inside. After being sure I had my car keys and slipping them into my purse, doing so carefully with my long, polished fake fingernails. I looked around a bit but saw no one nearby. There were a number of other cars parked near mine but I saw no one in any of them.

With the strap of my handbag draped over my shoulder, I began walking to the open side-door of the church meeting hall. I felt the cool night breeze against my nylon-covered freshly-shaved legs. I was wearing a favorite pair of shoes, a classic pair of black pumps; their three-inch heels were slightly unstable on the pavement of the parking lot but I was used to wearing them and I was reminding myself to "walk like a woman." Under my ladies' jacket I was wearing a slim black skirt and a fancy white blouse which my wife had buttoned up my back at home. She was nervously cautious about my going here tonight. I invited her to come but she chose not to. She said she would consider going with me another time, after I had found out what the group was like.

My heart was pounding as I reached the side door and looked inside. The room seemed to be a cafeteria-style dining room. Small tables with four chairs at each were scattered around the room. Most of the people were standing in small groups. There were about fifty people milling around, a larger group than I had expected. As I slowly walked into the room, a woman walked briskly toward me and announced, "Hello, dear, you must be new here, I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you!"

The warm welcome set me a bit at ease. This nicely-dressed "woman" had a man's voice, although she attempted to speak in as feminine a tone as possible. She said she is "Stacie," and asked if I would care to state my name?

"Yes. You're right," I told her. "I'm here tonight for the first time. I came once before but was too scared to get out of my car."

"That is not at all unusual, my dear. Many of the girls tell how they came here many times before coming in that first time. And of course, guys are free to come here "in drab," you know, in male clothes, if they are too uncertain about coming here dressed as a woman. And we have changing rooms for those people who cannot dress at home for one reason or another."

I smiled and told Stacie, "My name is - Karen. I don't think I've ever announced that to someone. Other than to my wife. She has come a long way in accepting me this way, but she still has many concerns. When I first told her my alter-ego name is Karen, she was concerned that maybe I was kind of schizophrenic, living as two people. I assured her it was just a way to differentiate things and to add to the female fantasy by having a girl's name.

"May I get you a drink? A soft one, of course, maybe tea or coffee or punch?"

The question was asked by a tall "girl" dressed as a French Maid, she was really getting into her role, trying to be cutely mincing and exaggeratedly feminine.

"Black coffee would be fine, thank you," I replied, then she turned and walked away, mincing her steps as she went.

"That was Lorene," said Stacie with a smile. "She is a fun girl; she likes to live out her maid or cocktail waitress fantasies here. She and some of the other girls like to be our maids and servers, it works out well for them and for all of us. People here are free to indulge in their fantasies, but we ask that it be kept "clean" so as not to offend the GGs and young folks who come here too. I'm sure you may know that GG refers to Genetic Girl, women who were born female, unlike those of us who just pretend to have been."

I was feeling more relaxed as Stacie explained to me the history of the group. They had been meeting at one place or another for almost ten years, and had been welcomed to this location a few years ago by the congregation.

While talking with Stacie, my eyes wandered around the room. It seemed that the women in pretty dresses or skirt outfits were taller, and the shorter women, mostly in comfortable looking pants, were the GGs, who seemed to be with their husbands or boyfriends. Or dads or brothers? I was curious about what the GGs would think of my appearance. My mental question quickly turned to reality a moment later. Stacie left to greet another girl who had just entered the room, and I was momentarily alone.

"Well, hello, pretty Girl!"

I turned in the direction of the obviously-real feminine voice to see a beautiful blonde woman smiling at me.

"Hi. I'm Evelyn Parker. Dr. Parker, but you can call me Evelyn. I'm a local psychologist who sees a few of the people here as clients. I like to come by occasionally to say hello. Of course I cannot disclose which of the girls here see me in my office but I like for people to know I am available if they need to see me or to get a referral elsewhere. When I saw Stacie talking with you, so close to the doorway, I assumed you were new. Do you have any questions?"

"Pardon me, but you are so beautiful. I hope you don't mind me saying so."

"Thank you. A girl can never receive too many compliments! And you look pretty too. You must have had some help from a wife or a girlfriend. It really shows; I mean the girls here who have GG female help, it really helps in their appearance."

"I see that you have met Dr. Parker!" said another tall woman who came up from behind me, gave me a little hug, then hugged Dr. Parker, turned back to me, and announced, "We like to make people, especially new people, feel most welcome here. If you have any questions, someone here will be sure to have an answer for you. If not, we can help you find and answer."

"The main question I have always had," I replied, "And one I'm sure most of us have pondered, is why I like to do this. I mean, why would a regular guy want to risk so much, and maybe subject himself to ridicule, by wanting to dress and behave as a female?"

Dr. Parker looked at me with a smile, and said, "Honey, none of us have the answer to that million-dollar question. I have long-since given up on the "why," I just concentrate on making people happy with the way they are. We cannot change many of our characteristics. I believe that people who are transvestites or transsexuals will always be who they are. My goal is to help them come to terms with their thoughts and desires, and of course to help them fit into the "normal world"; please excuse me for using the word "normal" if it has any meaning at all!"

A bit later my attention was diverted to another tall "Lady" who entered the room, laughing with one of the "girls." As they walked into the room, they seemed to be sharing a joke and were quite animated. Walking in with them was a group of five teenage girls, who looked around the room with restrained "gawking" looks. I could hear the one "lady" announce to Stacie that, "This is my daughter and some of her friends. They are going to a sleepover at her friend's house and begged me to allow them to come with me tonight so they could see the group. Angela, my daughter, has known about "me" for a while, and most of her questions have been answered. Her friends wanted to join her tonight to see what we do and who we are!"

"Hi." One of Angela's friends made her way over to where I was standing. My mind was racing with thoughts about what this pretty girl would think of my appearance.

"You look real pretty!" she said with a sincere smile. This girl, with blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing faded denim overalls over a tee shirt, and running shoes, leaned toward me and said, "I really hate wearing dresses; so it seems interesting to me that guys, like you guys, would want to wear dresses and dress up like this when you don't have to. When Angela told me about her dad, of course she asked him if it was ok to tell us, I really didn't know about crossdressers. I knew there were guys who like to dress up as women, and one time my brother had to dress as a girl at school. But I didn't know there were guys who were really into it like you guys are. Lots of you guys look really good. Would you want to be a woman if you could be?"

"Thank you for the nice compliments. I can't speak for everyone, but in my case, I have been interested in dressing as a girl since I was a small child. I was fond of my older sister and I enjoyed seeing her in pretty dresses. When I was a kid, girls wore skirts or dresses every day, not like today, when so many, if not all of the girls dress like you are now. All my life I have dealt with my desire to dress as a girl or woman, and I have adjusted pretty well, I think. Actually, this is my first time here, tonight."

"Do you wear - everything? I can see you are wearing nylons or pantyhose and high heels, and I see your bra through your blouse; but, do you wear - don't you have something to hide?"

I smiled and said, "I better not get into this too deeply, due to your age, but yes, we try to wear everything a woman would wear. And we do have something to hide. A regular girdle works well enough most of the time."

"Angela, hi, this is Karen," said my new teenage acquaintance as she turned to introduce me. "She has been telling me about her story. She is married and her wife knows about all of this. Did you know that guys who do this are usually hetero and not gay? Funny that guys would want to be with women and also dress like women. Could you just imagine some of the guys at school, and wonder how many of them might like to dress up as girls? Just imagine. If we knew a teen guy who was like these guys, we could take him to our slumber party and make him into one of us, sort of!"

After a while of mingling and meeting new people, I stepped outside to call my wife on the cell phone. "Honey, I'm doing fine. Yes, things went better than I would have expected. The people in the group are wonderfully friendly and helpful. No, my drive over here was uneventful. After pulling out of our garage and not seeing any of the neighbors, things went quite well. I was afraid to make eye contact with cars next to me at stoplights, and driving while wearing high heels took a bit of adjustment. No, I did not kick off the shoes, I wanted to be like a real woman, and drive the car just like a woman would do, when she was wearing heels. I'll call again when I'm ready lo leave. Bye now, and remember that I love you. Thanks for letting me do this."

I went back inside. One of the "maids" refilled my coffee cup. I admired the lipstick marks I was leaving on the rim of the cup. So many nuances of being like a woman.

It was often difficult to distinguish between the "girls" and the GGs. Many of the pseudo-girls would blend into a crowd well, and be accepted as real women, if it were not for their sky-high spike heels, tight short skirts, exaggerated bustlines, and sometimes hooker-like makeup. But the people were here to live out their fantasies. Many of the guys here did not want to dress like women their age if they could dress up like young sexpots!

On a display table near the coffee bar was an assortment of business cards and brochures from local businesses who had been checked out by the group and were friendly to the group. Hair and wig stylists; nail salons; dress shops; and Dr. Parker and other therapists. I took several of the cards. I looked longingly at the one from "Nails by Karen," and thought about one of my long-held fantasies; to have a professional pedicure, complete with brightly colored polish on all my toenails. I decided that next week I would call Karen for an appointment.

I wandered over to the restroom area. A sign on the ladies' room stated there was another restroom in the main building if any GGs preferred not to use the facilities along with non-GGs. I pushed open the door marked "Ladies" and walked inside. I had never before been inside a real Ladies' room. There was a row of toilet stalls; no urinals of course. And a long row of sinks, most of them were occupied by primping ladies; surprisingly, a few were GGs.

"Hi there!" announced one of the GGs as she walked toward me. "I saw you inside but did not until now have a chance to say hello. How are you enjoying being one of the girls? Sometimes it's difficult to remember who has what inside her panties, you are one of them. How often do you go out to public places like this? I'm sure you could easily pass without being read!"

"Actually, this is my first time out of the house dressed like this."

"Naw. Really? When we go over to Harry's after this, an all-night coffee shop where the group is a regular on Friday nights, they will probably think you are one of the wives! They certainly would if you were in pants and flats. Have you noticed that all the people here in pants are GGs? Seems like you guys never want to wear pants, even ladies' pants, when you get to wear dresses!"

"Is your husband here?" I asked.

"Actually, he couldn't make it tonight. But Jeanette was coming with her husband and I tagged along. They are good people. You will find that everyone who comes here regularly are good people. Some fringe types come a time or two but drop out if they find it is not their kind of group."

As the evening progressed, I noted a number of people had come and gone. Some of the more advanced or serious girls checked in for a while, met friends, then went on to other places like lesbian bars. I had really not known what to expect, but the group was largely just regular folks, some of which were guys who wanted to dress like gals.

My first evening at the Celebration Center was a success.

I went outside again to talk on the cell phone. "Honey, I'm leaving now, but I'm not going home yet just now," I told my wife on the phone. "The group is going over to Harry's. I want to see how it is, then I'll call you when I'm ready to leave there. Thanks a bunch!"

Minutes later, I was in my car, following Stacie on the way to Harry's Coffee Shop. What would it be like, going into a public place, a restaurant, for the first time dressed as a woman? In a few minutes I would find out.

- end -

    

    

    

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