Happy Labor Day

Foxed

If you’re a Firefox user, you may have had trouble visiting Femulate lately. Depending on its security settings, Firefox may insist on an HTTPS connection, which Femulate currently lacks.

I remembered seeing an HTTPS option in my blog’s settings, so I sashayed over to investigate. Sure enough, there it was: “HTTPS availability.”

I clicked the gray button to enable it, expecting a simple fix.

Instead, Blogger informed me: “SAVE FAILED” and “You have not been authorized to use this domain. Please follow the settings instructions.”

I clicked RETRY, hoping Blogger might reconsider.

It did not.

I scratched my wig, trying to figure out what to do next.

Then I asked AI, which supplied a list of steps to solve the problem. With my painted fingers crossed, I started working through them.

Things broke down halfway through step two.

I decided to eat lunch.

Wearing Shein

Aleksandr Revva femulating in the Russian film Naughty Grandma.

Notes from the Fitting Room

Let me begin with a fact: I am a large person at 6 feet tall and 185 pounds.

My height, more than my weight, kept me closeted for a very long time. But when I finally began exploring my female persona in public, I discovered that my size was not a deal breaker.

Using changing rooms en femme was easy. Using them en homme was just as easy. I’ve lost count of how many times I tried on womenswear at Fashion Bug, Dress Barn, Fashion to Figure, Torrid and Macy’s during my lunch hour, all while disguised as a male.

I can recall only one “negative” experience. Years ago, while shopping for a girdle en homme at JCPenney, I asked to try it on. The saleswoman insisted that I use the men’s changing room. It was hardly a big deal, but it’s the only changing-room experience I can recall that had even a hint of negativity.

My dearly departed local Dress Barn stores had changing rooms scattered around the perimeter of the sales floor, as well as a changing area in the back. During my first few visits en homme, the staff directed me to the rooms in the back.

As I became a regular customer and the sales staff learned both my male and en femme names, I was invited to use the changing rooms along the sales floor.

That was especially delightful when I was en femme. I could step out and admire whatever I was trying on in the full-length, three-way mirrors outside the changing rooms. Doing so also invited comments from the sales staff and even other customers.

The sales staff usually liked what I was wearing—although the prospect of making a sale might have had something to do with that. But when a stranger liked what I was wearing, it was a home run.

And home was where I went, new dress in hand.

And so it goes.

Wearing Boston Proper

Brian Jones

The future is female on daytime television, too.