It's a Womans World

by Lorraine Roberts

 

Chapter 1 – The Beginning

I had just about reached the end of my rope when I got off the phone with the latest in a string of prospective employers. Sorry, they had said, but they had filled the position with another applicant. I knew that the final selection had been down to a choice between myself and a young woman with similar experience and qualifications, and as usual, the woman had gotten the job. I was aware that employers these days are looking to fill available spots with female employees. It just makes good business sense. A staff with a good leavening of women makes for good PR, plus, oftentimes women are willing to work for a little less just to prove they can do the job.

I didn't begrudge the women their shot at business success; after all, they had been held at a disadvantage in the business world for quite some time. Still, it was getting to the point, at least at the lower levels, that the white male was the new minority.

I mulled these thoughts over in my head as I smoothed my skirt and slowly turned from side to side in front of the mirror admiring my handiwork. Not bad. I was indulging in my secret hobby once again, and it felt good to be back in the feminine attire I loved. Not bad at all. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that if I really was a woman I might have a new job by now. Looking as convincing as I did now, I could surely pass as a woman to the casual observer. Unfortunately, there were far too many barriers to attempt to actually live as a woman full-time, and once again discarded the notion.

I had been cross-dressing since I was a young teen, borrowing my mother's and younger sister's clothes when I was home alone. I was pretty sure that neither one knew about my activities. I had been fortunate in that my features had always been quite delicate and I had managed to maintain a slender build throughout puberty. While that had caused me a little trouble with the tough kids in school, it was worth trouble in that I didn't look ridiculous when I put on my female persona. I had certainly never ventured out in public dressed, there was simply too much risk. I lacked confidence in my ability to be convincing as a girl; not to mention the fact that it was a small town, too many people knew who I was. If someone were to recognize me beneath the wig and makeup …well.

Now that I was out on my own and in a big city, those youthful, small town insecurities inexplicably remained ingrained in my psyche. My personal and economic freedom did, however, allow me to dress more frequently and expand my meager wardrobe. With a credit card and my personal computer, I was able to go on a shopping spree for the things I most desired – and all in complete privacy. Yet, in the public arena, at work and at play, I played the consummate male. While I laced up the Nunn Bushes or Cole Haans, I dreamed of slipping into a pair of Kate Spades or Jimmy Choos.

Woman often speak of the crosses that they are forced to bear, but I would have taken on a million crosses just to live for one day as under that weight. Besides, I thought, men bear certain crosses of their own of which they rarely speak. Forced by society to refrain from allowing emotions or sensitivities considered effeminate to show through, men live through life prisoners of their own pride. Most men never get to experience the cleansing effect of a good cry or the sheer decadence of a warm candlelight bubble bath. The question that nagged at me was whether I was just a guy really in touch with his feminine side, or was I psychologically a female who just could bring herself to admit she had been cheated by God and given a male body. I was on the fence on that one. Sure, I was sexually attracted to women exclusively, but then so were lesbians. What a curse that would be. Bad enough to be considered a pariah by a prudish society for being transgendered, how much worse to be doubly condemned as a lesbian.

As I considered this tempest of emotions, I thought of the old cliché, "nothing ventured, nothing gained". If I eventually wanted to take the plunge and see what it was like to live as a woman, there may be no better time than the present. After all, I had no job. It wasn't as though I would be walking out of the office on Friday as a man and showing up on the following Monday as a woman. But, oh the difficulties that still remained.

I was lucky in one respect. My mother's family was as Irish as a shamrock and had chosen – over my father's objection – a nice gender neutral name. As Kelly Norris, I would be able to dodge the name change bullet. My credit cards and Social Security card would not have to change. Picture ID on the other hand, would be a problem. But, those were only documents, easily changed … or forged. The larger issue was how to erase my male past. After all, the reason I had decided to make the transition at this time in the first place was that I didn't have a job. Sure, I thought it would be easier to get a job as a woman, but any company worth working for would doubtlessly check my references. I could see it now, "Oh yes, Kelly worked for us. Yes, he was a wonderful employee." He?? Perhaps I could call some of them and break it to them that the great guy they used to know was no longer living as a guy. But some of them would not be very understanding.

Problem number two was pulling off the act, if "act" was indeed the proper word. Adopting a feminine walk was easy. I had been walking in heels for years and had plenty of practice. I even had video taped myself and watched it to see if it looked "ladylike". I certainly thought it did. The difficulty would lie in not allowing myself to get so distracted that I would forget what I was doing and inadvertently slip back into a male stride. I found that pencil skirts with their snug fit tended to limit my movement and force me to take smaller, more dainty steps. I'd have to remember to wear them often; that way I would gradually train myself to walk like a lady without a second thought.

My voice was more difficult to remedy. I was sure that I could eventually change it as well, only I didn't know how to go about it. Then, I remembered something I had seen on a website that instructed men on how to go about feminizing their voices. As I eagerly searched for that site, I was surprised and delighted to discover that there were actually several resources devoted to the issue. Most of them, as it turned out, had the same advice. It was not the pitch of the voice (high or low) that mattered, but rather the way words are annunciated and the vocabulary that is used. With practice, I was assured, things would fall into place.

Since I didn't have much time to lose, I worked night and day at becoming the woman I was convinced was inside me. I also invested some of my dwindling cash reserves in a very nice black pinstripe skirt suit and a pair of very businesslike pumps with 3" heels. It was not as if I had a wardrobe full of flamboyant clothing. Unlike some of the cross dressers I had encountered on the web, satin and latex were not my thing. On the contrary, when I was at home dressed, it was more often than not in a pair of comfortable jeans or a denim skirt and a tank top. Maybe I'd throw on a thin cardigan in the winter. I also had quite a few things that would be suitable for everyday office wear, but I didn't yet own an "interview suit". And since I had paid nearly $200 for the outfit, I felt that I had invested to much to turn back now.

I practiced almost non-stop for a week, walking, talking, and just being a woman in general. Things were beginning to take shape. My voice had definitely changed. Admittedly, it was more Bebe Neuwirth than Annie Potts, but a high-pitched voice with my natural pace and inflection would have sounded fake and affected. I had also learned to style my own hair, which since my unemployment I had let grow down to my collar, in a feminine style. I had several wigs in my closet, but I dreaded the idea of wearing a wig all day, everyday. My female walk had now become second nature.

I was ready to go out in public as a woman for the first time, and even though I knew in my heart that no one would give me a second glance, I was terrified. I had always been self-conscious, but this was something entirely different. It finally occurred to me that this was my chance to beat that self confidence problem. I was no longer Kelly Norris, insecure, introverted computer geek, I was Kelly Norris, pretty, smart, and confident female professional.

  

  

  

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