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By Chris Holden, Transvestite
I hopped off the Express bus from
Manhattan and turned down Fingerboard Road. My adrenaline was running
high.
This was going to be such a delight! I could see 198 Fingerboard Road directly ahead. The bus from Manhattan to Staten Island had taken a mere 15 minutes. This was closer than many places on Manhattan.
I stopped in front of 198
Fingerboard Road. A sign, placed prominently against the sidewalk fence,
announced in bold letters:
FAIRPLAYTV. In smaller lettering, but fully visible, the sign announced that FAIRPLAYTV was a male transformation salon.
In other words, a cross-dressing
salon.
I adore Rain, the Transvestite
behind FairplayTV, for being so open about his business on this quiet
street in the quiet borough
of Staten Island. Rain isn’t out to fool anyone. And why should he? What’s the big deal? So a lot of guys – I mean, a lot of guys, like to wear make-up and dress as women! What is the big deal?
For sure, I’ll admit that I
didn’t always act so glibly casual about my own cross-dressing. In fact,
it was quite some time before I actually acknowledged that I’m a
Transvestite. And it was longer still before I actually whispered – “I’m
a Transvestite”
– to myself, much less to another person. But here I was, standing next to the FairplayTV sign, barely able to control myself about the pleasure and satisfaction awaiting me inside.
I went up the steps and buzzed. Rain
answered the door and opened his arms and we embraced.
“How are you, Chris? Come in, come
in!”
“Hi, Rain. Been a while, but
it’s great to be back.”
And it was. As Rain led me into the beautiful century-old
house, I felt as if a pair of two-ton bricks had fallen from my shoulders.
It’s so banal, this feeling of relief that trannies experience when we shed our masculine persona. It’s like we walk around with a hollow shell hiding who we really are. As if our male self were only an act, a pose, masking our true feminine selves. And perhaps it is, because there’s no doubt that I so very much welcome the shedding of the male me in becoming the female me.
We chatted as we walked down the
graceful hall into a large room filled with women’s clothing. I am
forever awestruck when
I enter this room. I’m like the kids in Charlie And The Chocolate Factory. I grinned at Rain, who stood back and watched me as I headed for the wide line of chemises against the far wall. I ran my hand along the dangling chemises, loving the feel. A darling chemise caught my eye, bright purple laced in black. I took it down and spun around, facing Rain. He had his doubts as I held it up to my chest.
“Say yes, please, Rain! Tell me I
can wear this. Please, be a dear.”
He shook his head, unyielding. I
exhaled and hung it back up. As I turned, a long,
pleated black skirt caught my eye.
I took it off the hangar and turned to Rain. I held it at my waist. It was gorgeous! I’d look divine in it. But Rain watched without favor. I spun, rising on my toes as if I were in four-inch pumps. The skirt swirled wide.
God, I was in Heaven!
Surrounded by all these stunning
outfits, I could have spent the day trying on every single item.
And this, too, is so banal. I’ve never met a Transvestite who didn’t admit that he hated to go shopping in his male guise. Me, I’m in and out in a New York minute if I have to buy a pair of slacks or a shirt. I hate it. And yet, put me into a woman’s boutique, put me around feminine fashion, and I can’t get enough. I could try on outfits all day and all evening. I never tire of it.
Which leads me to wonder if I’m
not more natural in my femme persona? Or perhaps that’s just wishful
thinking.
Whatever the case, I wandered the huge room, reveling in the awesome line of femme clothing Rain had here in this room. A bridal gown, white and stunning, hung from a high hanger. I fingered the hem, feeling an odd rush. What a thrill to walk up the aisle wearing this, I thought.
“Chris?”
I turned around and Rain was holding
up an off-white strapless gown, floor length. Oh, my God! It was
beautiful, so very,
very beautiful. I crossed over and Rain handed it to me. I swished away, the gown held against my chest. It reached my ankles. The perfect length. I had to wear this! I just had to. I curtsied, the gown tight to my chest.
“Please don’t say no, Rain.
I’ll hate you if you say it isn’t me. Don’t you dare!”
Rain laughed and shook his head.
“Aren’t I the one who picked it out?”
I laughed with him and clutched the
gown to me, catching myself in the long mirror. Rain came over and slipped
his arm around my waist.
Holding the gown with one hand, I slipped my free arm around Rain’s waist. Together, we crossed into the shoe room.
And here I am again, back to the
banality thing. As a guy, if I’m in a crowd, at the bar, say, watching a
ballgame, or at a party,
I’d never slip my arm around another guy’s waist, nor would I really want a guy doing it with me. Wouldn’t feel right, somehow. Yet, here, with Rain, both of us Transvestites, utterly relaxed about our feminine selves, and I don’t give it a second thought. Feels perfectly natural.
Rain searched for heels which would
match the gown, while I prowled the area, enrapt by the pointed toes,
the stilettos, the pink boots--, pink. Always pink with me. Strange, after so many years of dressing, that pink remains such a dominating presence. I know I’m not the only tranny with a pink obsession, most of us have it.
I’ve long since learned that
there’s no point in wondering why. Why ask why?
Rain found the shoes to match the
gown and led me into the bedroom. He tossed me a large robe and winked as
he walked out.
I stripped and donned the robe. I looked at myself in the mirror, as if memorizing my face. For I knew that when Rain finished working his magic on me, I’d not recognize myself. Twenty years would be erased from my face and all signs of the masculine would be gone.
God, but I was enjoying myself. Oh,
don't get me wrong, doing my own make-up, dressing for myself, is
certainly a delight.
Anytime I lose my male persona and become my feminine alter ego, it’s wonderful. But I’m no magician when it comes to make-up. More precisely, I’m no Rain. Who is a licensed cosmologist and an absolute genius at feminizing the male.
I’ve done Before and After fashion
shoots with Rain and am never less than flabbergasted at the results.
I literally do not see any resemblance between Before and After. It’s one reason why I don’t do fashion shoots – and you’d best believe I luuuuuuuuuuuuuuv vamping for the camera en femme – unless Rain does my make-up.
I came into the make-up room and sat
in the chair. Rain stood over me and smiled down. I chuckled:
“I wonder if you know how happy I am at this moment, Rain?”
“You forget that I’m a TV, too,
Chris. Besides, I wonder if you know how happy I am at this moment, doing
what I most love,
turning men into beautiful women?”
I rested my head back and Rain went
to work. His touch was light, his fingers barely brushing my skin.
I felt tingly as he gently applied the foundation to my entire face. What a soft touch, Rain has. All fingertips. I almost drift off, so luscious is the feeling as Rain slowly transforms me.
Okay, last time with the banal. But
I hate going to the barber, cut my own hair mostly. Who needs some guy
pawing over my head?
And yet, here I am in delicious bliss as Rain works over my face.
All of this has pretty much
convinced me that my female self is far the more natural for me.
I am, quite simply, more content when responding to my feminine drive. I have taken various gender tests, and while I know that they are hardly scientific, it’s telling that I score very close on each of them – 70% to 75% female in my results. Which, to be perfectly honest, is reassuring. I’d be outright lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being feminine. The wonderful truth is that I am more content inside my female persona.
Rain held up a mirror and I let out
a gasp. No matter how many times I have been feminized by Rain,
I am still stunned at what he has wrought. I couldn’t take my eyes off the strange, gorgeous woman staring back at me.
“Hold the mirror, Chris, while I
try out wigs.”
Before long, I was standing, wig on,
as Rain tightened my corset. I thought my chest would pop,
so tight he had it. But seeing my feminine figure in the mirror, thin waist rising out to swelling hips, banished any resentment I had for the corset. I almost go weak each time I see myself corseted, breasts and thin waist and hips.
What a marvelous thing is the female
figure!
Rain zipped up the back of the
exquisite gown. I looked in the mirror, thankful I’d removed all hair
from my upper chest.
I twirled, glancing over my shoulder at my image in the mirror, my bare upper back looking sexy, indeed!
“You need a necklace, Chris.”
“Whatever you say, Rain. You know
best.”
Rain clasped a lovely necklace
behind my neck. He stood and watched as I glided around the room, feeling
like an
18th Century courtesan. I swished over to Rain, smiling.
“I know we’re supposed to go
shopping later. I don’t suppose I could go in this gown?”
Rain didn’t bother dignifying the
question with an answer. Rain called the local deli and ordered takeout
for us.
I adore Rain for this, too. Because he doesn’t hide any of the locals from what he does. And I adore it because I get to answer the door and pay the deliveryman in my gorgeous gown. When the buzzer rang, I walked to the door and opened it. The deliveryman’s eyes almost popped from his sockets. I took the bags and asked how much. He simply gaped at my face while I waited him out.
After he managed to clumsily shove
the bill into my hands and I’d paid him, he turned away, only to turn
back.
He was nervous, unable to get any words out. And I knew immediately what was happening. My smile was gentle as I waited him out. He shook his head, but he couldn’t get the words out.
“Relax, relax. It’s alright.
Take your time.”
He let out his breath, turned and
almost stumbled as he walked away. Disappointed in himself.
“You’d like to try this,
wouldn’t you?”
He turned back, staring at me. Again
he exhaled and nodded, his head down, embarrassed.
I motioned for him to come inside. He passed by me, his head down, as he walked into the century-old house. One more guy letting his better self out of its cage.
“You’re about to become a very
happy young man. You’ll never regret what you’re about to do. Rain,
I’d like you to meet--,
what did you say your name was?” I shut the door behind us. |