It's a Women's World

by Lorraine Roberts

 

Stepping Out

"Pretty, smart, and professional – possibly; confident – no way," I thought as I nervously pulled a pair of my favorite jeans on over the plain white cotton panties. I had mulled over what to wear on my first venture beyond the confines of my apartment. Like any woman, I wanted to look sexy and feminine, but I feared drawing attention to myself. Besides the jeans, I had chosen a pink cotton tank top and a black cardigan sweater. The springtime weather was just right for wearing a light sweater and it would hide my arms which I felt were still a little too developed for a young lady's.

I had taken a shower that morning and carefully shaved what little body hair I had allowed to grow back since I last shaved. I shaved my body pretty regularly so that when I dressed I wouldn't have hair hanging out all over the place and it would look okay; but the last time I had been home for the holidays, my unusually observant younger sister had noticed the lack of hair and questioned me about it. I think she had her suspicions but I simply told her that I had joined a swim club back home and that all of the guys in the club shaved to cut down on resistance. I had prepared the response well in advance in case anybody did ask about that, and on the surface it seemed credible. I don't think she really bought it though. In any event, she didn't press me about it any further.

I spent a good hour on my hair trying a couple of different styles. Gelled up, it looked too butch, so I started over gave the ends a little flip up with a curling iron in sort of a modified page boy. More or less satisfied, I began to apply my makeup. I realized that I had never really given that much thought to my cosmetics before. I had chosen colors that appealed to me and that I thought complimented my features without really knowing whether the shades were "right" for my coloring. I knew that a lot of women had their colors done at department store make-up counters, but since I had never been out dressed as a woman that would have been rather difficult for me. I tried to choose carefully, not knowing whether what I chose would be a dead giveaway or not. I ended up choosing a light pink lipstick and went easy on everything else – better to have too little than too much, at least based on the pictures of some of the drag-queens I had seen.

Over the years I had become accustomed to the feelings that come with the application of makeup. The cool silkiness of the foundation, the gentle butterfly kiss of the blusher touching each cheek, the sleek smooth strokes of the eye shadow being applied, the sometimes maddening insistence of the mascara brush, lifting, separating, and enhancing each delicate lash, and the steely touch of the eyeliner pencil carving out an impeccably arched brow. Now the feeling was intensified as if each carefully choreographed move would be the difference between ultimate success or failure.

Finally I was done, and I stepped back to admire my work. I had done an excellent job, or so I imagined, but there was still something missing. Of course, jewelry. No woman I knew would ever leave the house without at least a pair of studs in her ears. Although my ears were not pierced, I had made arrangements for this. A rather clever fellow traveler through the world of cross dressing suggested that by clipping off a bit of the post of a regular hoop earring and filing it down, then using it like a clip on would not only hold the earring on an unpierced ear, but actually appear to pass through the earlobe. I completed the ensemble with a delicate gold chain from which hung a beautiful filigree gold heart.

With growing apprehension about what I was about to do I slid my feet with their pink painted toenails into a pair of black Chinese Laundry slides with kitten heels. At least those were sexy. Purchased for $60 in better financial times, they were one of my favorite pairs of shoes. How many times had I lounged around the apartment, my legs hanging over one arm of the sofa as these cute things dangled from my toes. I dreamed of one day being brave enough to wear them somewhere else. Well, that day was finally here, I told myself as I took a deep breath and reached for my black bag and walked out the front door.

I was especially conscious of the sound my heels were making as they clicked on the pavement and was relieved to find that there was no one in the parking lot. My neighbors were undoubtedly all at work. Oh, I'm sure there were one or two busybody old maids in some of the nearby buildings looking out the window at this very moment wondering who the perky blond coming out of apartment 306 was, but that didn't bother me. I opened the door and slid into my black Mazda MX6 wondering briefly if it was an appropriate "chick car". I certainly didn't think so when I bought it, but now I wasn't so sure.

My drive to the mall was uneventful for the most part. I thought I saw a few guys take a good long look, and I hoped it was because they liked what they saw rather than because they were unsure of what they saw. I began to wonder if this heightened sense of awareness that men were looking at me was something that all women experienced or if it was just because I was new at the game.

Getting out of the car and walking up to the main entrance, I was again acutely aware of the clicking of my heels on the pavement. Now, however, it was a source of comfort, it made me feel more "womanly". I was sure that would be needed for the big test I was facing. As I walked up the few stairs toward the entrance, I shook my head in a most feminine manner as if to shake out my hair. It seemed like the thing to do. A few people, mostly women, passed me along the way without a second glance. So far, so good. As I entered through one of the glass doors, I noticed one of the women stare at me a bit longer than usual. She appeared to be about 20 and was fairly attractive, in an earthy sort of way. She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt over a ribbed white tank top. Probably a student from the nearby university. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail and she didn't seem to be wearing any makeup. After she passed I stopped briefly to check myself out in the reflective window of a formal wear store. Did she see something I missed? Everything seemed to be in place.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. She was checking me out! The severe hairdo, the flannel men's shirt, the cap toe black oxfords, I should have guessed. I didn't mind really. After all, who was I to judge? I was suddenly drawn into a vision, she and I entwined on a sofa in a passionate embrace. Her soft skin against mine, silky underthings strewn about on the floor. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be a woman, a real woman.

Realizing that I was standing there like an idiot staring into a window full of tuxedos, I willed myself out of my trance. "Way to go," I thought. Not a good start for someone who doesn't want to draw attention to him (or was it her) –self. Fortunately, no one seemed to take the slightest notice. Adjusting my purse – how odd that felt – I continued on.

I had come with the intention of buying nothing. This was merely supposed to be an experiment to see how I would fair in public as a female, but I was sorely tested as I passed shop after shop featuring the latest in ladies summer fashion. I knew my budget really couldn't handle another hit, but I consoled myself with the thought that if I could find a suitable job in my new persona, I could return and go on a full-fledged shopping spree. The prospect was titillating. "So that's what women see in shopping," I thought. The realization that I had actually gained an insight into one of the psychological aspects of womanhood that men find the most incomprehensible almost overwhelmed me. I was actually beginning to experience those emotions that make women unique – or at least it seemed that way. That was enough to give my confidence a boost that I never could have achieved by any other means.

I was now strutting through the mall with a spring in my step and a slight sway in my hips. "God," I thought, "can this really be happening?" I had to be careful not to get too carried away, I thought … but, but, but … as I passed the Frederick's of Hollywood.

I was suddenly struck with the strangest desire to buy just one outfit that would make me look totally slutty, mini skirt, fishnet stockings, 4 inch clear Lucite heels, the works. I couldn't explain why. I had certainly never gone in for that sort of thing. I steeled myself against such thoughts. No way, no how … at least not now … plenty of time for that later.

I hurried out of the mall before my emotions got the better of me. I had credit cards, but was always faithful about paying them off at the end of the month. No reason to set a precedent now. I was happy enough in the knowledge that I had walked all the way through that damned mall and not one person had read me. One or two guys looked like their eyes were going to pop out of their heads, but that was alright with me. In fact, I mused to my great astonishment, I kind of liked it.

I knew I was ready to return to the workforce as Kelly Norris, pretty, smart, professional, and definitely confident woman!

  

  

  

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ฉ 2005 by Lorraine Roberts. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.