Fitting In

When my company was bought out by another company, a reorganization followed resulting in my boss (a male) reporting directly to a female about 20 years his junior.

It was no big surprise since my company was “old school” with very few females in charge, whereas the new company was more progressive with many females in charge in various departments.

One month in, there was a lay-off. My boss was let go. A male and a female co-worker in my department were also let go. Another reorganization followed and my new boss was now a female about 20 years my junior. Also they hired back the female co-worker who was let go, but none of the males were rehired.

My profession was a male bastion for ages. Now my department was run by a female and most of my co-workers were female.

When my profession was a male stronghold, the females in my profession tried to fit into the “old boy’s club.” In most cases, they wore little or no makeup, their hair was in a short style and they wore tops and slacks – never a skirt or dress. Their only feminine accoutrements were a purse and maybe some stud earrings.

As my profession became a female stronghold, the old boys were gone with the wind and the women were empowered to dress anyway they pleased. Skirts, dresses, slacks, heels, flats, whatever they felt comfortable wearing.

I thought about trying to fit in with my female co-workers and my female superiors were on board. But then I received an offer to retire that I could not refuse.

Who knows if I would have gone to work en femme in order to fit in if I had not retired? I’d like to think that I would have, but I’ll never know.

Anyway, a week after my last day at work, my female superiors (my supervisor and manager) took me out to dinner to celebrate my retirement. I was the first to arrive at the restaurant and was seated at our reserved table in the bar. I ordered a drink and waited for the girls to arrive. 

About 15 minutes later, I saw them enter at the opposite end of the bar and I could see that they were looking around the room trying to find me. As they got closer, I waved and caught their attention. 

When they recognized who was waving, they both squealed with delight and were happy to see me presenting as a woman. They both complimented my presentation and admitted that if I had not waved, they would never had found me.

I guess I fit in, better later than never.

Wearing St. John

Italian girls femulating in Genoa, circa 1960.

Someday Funnies

Wearing Elisabetta Franchi

Caty Ryan in her “Scarlett O Catyl” replica Civil War ball gown at the Carrington Hotel in Katoomba, west of Sydney Australia. The event was Transformal 17, the-one time Australian equivalent of conferences such as Keystone and Diva Las Vegas. Click here to read the full story about the event.

What’s on your mind?

Did my waiter think “typical crossdresser”
when I asked him to take this photo?

Reflecting on an evening out en femme during a business trip a few years ago, I realized that I tried to read the minds of everyone I encountered while I was out.

This was not a one time occurrence. Rather, it occurs any time I am out en femme.

Reviewing the evening is a good example of what I do.

The Smoker

As I exited the hotel to drive to the restaurant, a young man was smoking a cigarette outside the exit. As I walked out the door, he gave me the once-over and I began trying to read his mind.

Why are you checking me out? Do I look pretty to you or do I look pretty bad? Am I the first crossdresser you ever saw? Just in case, I will sashay to my car to try to affirm my womanhood in your eyes.

The Maître d’

Entering the restaurant, I encountered a 30-something maître d’. He smiled, welcomed me, and asked to take my coat.

As I removed my coat, I began mind-reading.

Do you think I am a woman or a man in a dress? Are you treating me nicely because you don’t care what I am, as long as I have money to spend or are you treating me nicely because I am an attractive female customer?

After he took my coat, he asked me to wait a second while he checked to see what tables were available and I continued mind-reading:

Are you looking for a table in a dark corner to hide the crossdresser or are you just looking for a table for one?

Turned out that the table was on the veranda amidst other customers.

The Busgirl

After the maître d’ showed me to my table, a pretty 20-something busgirl came to my table to remove the extra place setting. She smiled broadly as she said, “Good evening.”

After I returned my “good evening,” I tried to read her mind.

Why are you smiling at me like that? Are you on the verge of laughing at the man in a dress or are you just being very cordial?

The Waiter

Next, a 20-something waiter arrived to take my drink order. He also had a big smile on his face and was very cordial.

Are you on the verge of laughing at me, too? Has the word spread amongst the whole restaurant staff that a crossdressing customer is in their midst?

The Rest of the Waitstaff

It seems I had the only male waiter in the restaurant. The other two that I saw were female and were young and pretty to boot. When I caught their eye, they smiled and said, “Hello.”

Are you checking out the crossdresser, too, or are you just being cordial?

The Two Women

Two women customers sat opposite me at a table situated 90 degrees to mine. If I looked straight ahead, I looked at them. I did not want to be rude, so I tried looking out the window to my left or into the restaurant on my right, but my vision always reverted back to them and I am sure they were aware of my predicament.

Finally, the younger of the two looked my way, caught my eye, smiled and asked me, “How are you?”

That broke the ice and we three made pleasant small talk for awhile and they seemed to accept me as another woman, but that did not stop my mind-reading.

Was my voice too low when I last spoke? Did I give myself away? Did I put some doubts in their mind about my womanhood? Will they kick me out of the “girls’ club” now?

If they had any doubts, they did not indicate it because we continued speaking off and on until they left.

And so it goes

That’s me: always the perfectionist, never satisfied, always worried that my femulation is lacking in some way.

Mind-reading does not prevent me from enjoying my times out en femme, but I wonder if I would find more enjoyment if I did not try to mind-read.

On the other hand, maybe my concern about my femulation makes me a better femulator. I want to be the best woman I can be, so perhaps mind-reading helps me to achieve that goal.

Wearing Venus

Lily Roberts, beach girl