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| Providing for the personal growth and fulfillment of those whose lives are affected by crossdressing |
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Newsletter |
FEBRUARY 2008
CONTENTS
[Up front] The Month
(Just click on the bracketed title [xxxxx] above to go directly to an article.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Upfront] THE MONTH Gloria Fenton: If you have time for only one article this month, this is the one. Gloria bares her soul. Originally written and published in 1994. (First time on the web.) Inner View: The more you try to get it your way, the less you feel at home. Diane Frank: On group identification and group assimilation. The Arts: A work in acrylic, pastel and lipstick (really) by eclectic artist Penny Morris; and a poem by our very own Diane Frank. Fashion: "Juvenility has mobbed us. Even if a woman has a clear idea about what looks right on her body and for her age and personality, it’s hard to avoid the window displays of baby-doll and trapeze dresses..." Dressing to the nines? Here's some sage advice. Fitness: Does size matter? It does if you collect vintage clothing! Past AO member and still friend, Tanya Brown, explains. Gloria Fenton: A new pair of jeans. Gloria's journey with Sandy continues. Last Laugh: CD humor from “Pardon My Planet” creator Vic Lee. Elaine - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Community] LIFE LESSONS By Gloria Fenton (Originally published July 1994) This letter is going to be a mixture of a lot of different thoughts and feelings. I hope you will bear with me. Twice before in my life I have had wives that knew of my crossdressing. Both of them knew long before we were married. Both of them let me wear their clothes. Both of them did try to understand and tolerate, and yes, even try to accept this part of my life. Why then did those marriages fail? Mostly because I was stupid! Oh yes, we talked, we talked a lot and too many times with me screaming and then in tears when it came to crossdressing. I demanded my right to do what I wanted, when I wanted, anytime or anywhere I wanted. I guess you could say nothing was sacred; nothing was just theirs, because I claimed it as mine. I pushed and I pushed, and I made them feel small. I was going to break them. I saw love die and I couldn't understand why it was happening. I would purge myself, sometimes for years, demanding that love in return, but it didn't, because it couldn't. Why did my wives leave me? Because they had to! I had, little by little, stripped them of their identity, their womanhood, their part of us as a couple. They had to begin again, without me, in order to save themselves. These situations did not happen overnight. They took years. I professed love, but in reality gave little, and demanded all they had in return. With the slightest comment, I could fly into rage. Ironically I detested fighting of any kind. Yet I caused so much. I evolved it to a point as fighting for my life. I had to dress up, I couldn't stop, I wanted to be free, but I couldn't stand being alone. I had to have someone accept me, even if I had to force him or her to do it. The point being that I couldn't understand or accept myself in reality, but believed it would all be wonderful if I could make someone else accept me. My ex-wives paid a dear price for loving me, and I saw this too late. The fears, guilt, oppression and hatred I felt in myself, because I was different, allowed me to be blind as to how I was hurting them. I had a rationalization to fit every situation:
“Because we are married, everything I have is yours - so everything you have is mine!” Sadly, in retrospect:
They were always a put down to her. I attempted suicide after my first marriage was over, but I couldn't even do that right. It was another 14 years before I really changed my life and by then I had caused more pain to someone that I said I loved. For the last six years, I have been rebuilding my life. Trying to put my life back together has not been easy. It is a day-by-day process and I will be doing it for a long time to come. The person that you know as Gloria was born out of frustration, fear, guilt, and knowing that in order to survive, that she had to learn to live and change and give of herself. If I see or hear of another couple having the problems I created in my relationships, then twenty years of my life comes flooding back over me. I can feel their pain and frustration, and I want to beg them to stop - before it is too late. Love does not conquer all! It can die and even turn into hate in a blink of an eye. It took me twenty years to realize the fool I had been, but how do I make others see - the ones that tell me “You wouldn't understand," or bluntly say, "it's none of your business!” When my second marriage ended, it was like the end of my world happening again, until I realized why she had divorced me. It wasn't just to end the relationship. Perhaps her words say it best, “We kept hurting each other - it is time we both started living again.” She was RIGHT! I learned a lot about love after that. Perhaps for the first time in my life I really looked at myself, and I wasn't too proud of what I saw. I saw a cold and calculating entity, so wrapped up in his own self-pity and frustrations, his own self-righteousness, that he disgusted me. And this feminine part of me was no better. It was me, myself and I as a woman or as a man. Oh, I could fool a lot of people, even myself, but I couldn't fool the ones that should have been the most important to me. All my life, to that point, had been a struggle to survive, because I was different, I was alone, I was confused, and yet I didn't want to be any of these things. I wanted to be accepted, I wanted to be with someone, I wanted to know who I was, but there was nobody there for me - like me. So I tried to force someone into that position. It didn't work. At many points in my life, I would have told anyone that they couldn't understand my problems, or it was none or their business, not because I was afraid of what they might tell me. That I was wrong in hurting others that only wanted to love me and that I would have to face myself and what I was thinking and feeling, and do what I must to make things right for myself and others. When I use the words love, caring, sharing, giving these aren't just words. Baby, life should be about these things. Not just for a woman or a man, but for all human beings. The Gloria you know couldn't, and wouldn't have existed even just a few years ago. I didn't have a name then, and perhaps it is just as well, because you wouldn't have liked the person I was then and there was no way I could have had the marriage I do with Kathy if I were still that person. I have come a long way and there is still a long road ahead. At times, I daydream about how different my life could have been. What if I had just gotten my own woman's clothing and gone off on my own? What if I hadn't gotten married? What if I hadn't pushed my wives so hard? What if I were not a crossdresser? You can question yourself to death. We can't change the past. We can, however, face the present and the future. Every couple must face their situation as it is, and give and take. Maybe it will work, maybe it won't. It will never be an easy choice, but sooner or later, something has to happen. For me it took an ending to start a new beginning. Sometimes that's the way it is, like it or not. Every single crossdresser must face their situation too. Do you commit to someone else or do you not? Do you take a chance of bearing your soul to someone or do you choose not to? When I told Kathy I was a crossdresser, I took many chances. She could have turned from me. She could have hated me. She could have told the world my secret. Why did I tell her? Because I knew I had to. Because I wanted to give her the chance to back away and not go through the sins of the past, even though I was committed to making things work for me. But mostly, because I believed I could trust her, no matter what her decision would be. I kept telling her that she got the new and improved model. Our relationship, our marriage, is a day-by-day process that we both make work, because we want to - not because we feel we have to. It is give and take and compromise, but there is also one other difference. Kathy and Gloria are friends, not competitors in our relationship. Gloria is a person now. Perhaps that is one reason I feel so much better about myself. I still have my problems and I work on them, but I don't have to do it alone anymore, and I don't try to do it alone anymore. Some may say that I am still in my own little closet or sphere of comfort, but you know, it fits me just fine. It is my universe until I choose to expand it. I have some goals now for me to work on. I want to give someone a hug when he or she needs it, or hold their hand so that they know I care and not just say it. I want to give of what I have learned so that nobody ever has to know the pain that I have felt in my life. I'd like to listen better, with not only my ears but my mind and heart as well. I'd like our "Community" to find its ways to unite for the rights of us all, not because we are crossdressers, but because we are human beings - and it is human rights that we should stand for. I'd like my wife to know that Gloria is her friend too. I'd like so many things and they are all important to me. Now it is my purpose to make those things happen and I will do the best I can to see them happen. I'm so glad you never had a chance to know the old me and never will. Update: Fourteen years later Kathleen and Gloria are still going strong! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Inner View] START WHERE YOU ARE Ego is like a room of your own, a room with a view with the temperature and the smells and the music that you like. You want it your own way. You'd just like to have a little peace, you'd like to have a little happiness, you know, just gimme a break. But the more you think that way, the more you try to get life to come out so that it will always suit you, the more your dear of other people and what's outside your room grows. Rather than becoming more relaxed, you start pulling down the shades and locking the door. When you do go out, you find the experience more and more unsettling and disagreeable. You become touchier, more fearful, more irritable than ever. The more you try to get it your way, the less you feel at home. --Pema Chodron, ordained Buddhist nun and author of Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living (1994). - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Frank Talk] ASSIMILATION AND IDENTITY By Diane Frank I’m looking forward to seeing a lot of friends from “Asians and Friends” at their Chinese New Years celebration this Saturday, and introducing them to my friends from AO and elsewhere who might choose to join us. “Asians and Friends” is an interesting LGBT organization (and the t is for real, I know the people) for Cleveland area Asians and their friends, families and lovers. I’ve known these people for a number of years, and they are integrated productive members of society as anyone but the most unenlightened bigot would find totally expected and ordinary. But they chose to come together and share an identity. It is not as if Koreans, and Chinese and Japanese and Vietnamese and Malaysians are really one big group, any more than Europe is a homogenous source of American immigrants. There is something intriguing about an organization that builds its focus this way. I’m also a member of a LGBT chavurah (your spelling may vary) that is struggling to maintain an identity founded in isolation and rejection in the face of acceptance and welcome. It’s not as if Jews as a group don’t worry about the loss of identity and the problem of assimilation. So when I muse about the nature of trans-identities the themes of identity and assimilation resonate with me. I’ve been told by some people that if one identifies as trans, rather than as their target sex/gender then one isn’t really male or female but something else. My personal sense is that I certainly don’t want to identify with anything other than male and/or female. But in every group that is somehow identified and isolated from the mainstream, there seems to come a point in its evolution where a declaration of identity is made. “Say it loud, I’m black and I’m proud,” comes to mind. And so much for assimilation. It is with that thought that I contemplate attending a trans and ally conference in Columbus next month. Part of me really doesn’t want to. I see it more of an obligation of the office I hold at AO--to represent AO in any important venue that I’m able to. I don’t want to spend a weekend where every moment reminds me that I’m “other,” with people many of whom seem to enthusiastically embrace that idea. But other obligations allowing, I probably will go, because for AO to prosper we need to be connected with other organizations. Yes, I know that our membership will not increase from this trip. I think there’s something larger at stake and that’s a trend for crossdressers to been seen as the poor relations in the whole trans business. If there is a reporter there and I’m not, can I trust that someone will speak for people who aren’t engaged in transition, hormones and surgery? There are people out there who dismiss crossdressers and regard their existence as a burden, a barrier to their otherwise seamless assimilation into the world. Crossdressers spoil things for them. If I don’t go, and such views are asserted who will offer an alternative voice? The conference is already problematically transsexual focused, given the absence of a registration category for partners, and the demand for personal information in registration. Still, it’s a month a way and in this world a lot can happen between now and then. I’ll let you know. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
-- Pablo Picasso
 trannies on the dance floor Penny Morris, 2006 acrylic, pastel and lipstick on canvas HOW CAN YOU CHANGE BACK? By Diane Frank
I’m good at this.
Years of dance have given me posture and grace that elude so many My voice I’m told is pleasant to hear If you only look at my face you see a larger than expected version of my favorite Aunt’s. Give me a few props and a little make-up and I’m respectable. Take off six inches and I could pass. I’m known for being good at this. Too good some say, for they only know me as a woman Losing six inches has another meaning for them. They are a small club Women who’ve crossed a line sometimes pushed, sometimes pulled by forces too strong to resist no matter what lay on the other side or what was left behind. When one of them asks “how can you cross back over, you are so good at this, how can you bear too go back?” I hear “don’t leave me all alone.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Fashion] OLDER, BETTER, BUT HARDER TO DRESS By Cathy Horn Published: May 17, 2007 AT the start of any fashion writer’s career there is, waiting at the end, the dreaded article about older women and how they can never find clothes appropriate for their age. I swore on a stack of Vogues I would never write such a piece. It was totem journalism, predictable, worked at. Even the term “appropriate” has always seemed to me old hat, with violets on top. So what changed? Juvenility has mobbed us. Even if a woman has a clear idea about what looks right on her body and for her age and personality, it’s hard to avoid the window displays of baby-doll and trapeze dresses; the T-shirt bars of ruffled cotton, airbrushed cotton and shrunken cotton; the girlish necklaces and charms; and all the companion editorial in magazines, with the frosted pinks and the long, long hair with little curls. “The choice is to wear something juvenile or be a total killjoy,” Linda Wells, the editor of Allure, said with a laugh. “You can’t live in your Linda Evans suit.” There are other choices, as Ms. Wells knows, and interviews with women ages 43 to 72, in places such as California and the Chicago suburbs and Paris, turned up a variety of solutions, as well as explanations for this simmering quarrel with fashion. If I heard an issue vocalized more often in the last year than the age-appropriate thing, I can’t think what it was. It’s funny: Women in their 40s and 50s, even in their 60s and 70s, have probably never looked better, healthier or younger than at any time in recent history. They have access to gyms and spas, and of course they’ll try anything that will eliminate a wrinkle or a frown line. They are the anti-agers. And not only do they have a tremendous array of fashion choices, from chic Paris labels to anonymous vintage pieces to D.I.Y. looks, they also have the choice to not play the game at all. Nora Ephron, whose very funny book, “I Feel Bad About My Neck,” refers to something called “compensatory dressing”— here, anything that compensates for a sagging neck — sounded puzzled when I told her that a lot of women complain that clothes make them look ridiculously young. 
“If you understand that that part of your life is over, there is plenty to wear,” said Ms. Ephron, who prefers trousers to skirts (“Just the thought of wearing pantyhose ...”), and finds things she likes at Savannah in Santa Monica, Calif., and Ultimo in Chicago. She admits that age-appropriateness in style can be very confusing, since “the new 50” can be 40 or, suddenly, with the wrong hairdo or outfit, 60, and it irks her when a designer discards a perfectly good look.“I love those techno pants from Prada,” she said. “I love that they don’t wrinkle and you can wear them seven days in a row on a trip. But they’re all cut low now.” She added, “You feel there has been an act of genuine hostility toward you by the designer” when they stop making something you’re able to wear. It’s like they don’t want you to have it, she said. Susan Stone, who owns Savannah — where the customers are mostly over 40 — says the issue of age-appropriateness coincided with the demise of the pantsuit. you do not wear a mini. You look ridiculous.” “A woman of any age could wear a pantsuit,” Ms. Stone said. “Now it’s all about the dress — the baby-doll, the tent, the mini.” She paused. “I don’t care how great you look, at a certain age you do not wear a mini. You look ridiculous.” Ms. Stone says that some of her best client-friendly labels are Marni, Tuleh and Lanvin. “I can find fabulous jackets at Marni,” she said, adding, “and I sell the collection to women of all ages.” She thinks Alber Elbaz, the designer at Lanvin, cuts a great sleeveless dress (“he always hides the ugly part under the arm”) and she says that whenever she goes into a designer showroom, “a dress with sleeves screams at me.” Douglas Chen, a buyer at Linda Dresner, which has stores in New York and Birmingham, Mich., said that one of their bestsellers for spring was a $1,790 Chloé dress in purple silk crepe with narrow sleeves that fell to just above the elbow. And it helped that the dress came with an extra five inches of hem, so it could be lengthened. “We sold almost every dress to someone over 40,” Mr. Chen said. 
Barbara Toll, who owns an art gallery in Manhattan, bought one of the Chloé dresses. “I think it’s the first dress I’ve bought in 10 years,” said Ms. Toll, an early devotee of Jil Sander and Helmut Lang. She laughed. “It was strange to see my legs coming out of the bottom.” For a lot of New Yorkers like Ms. Toll, who want to look hip but not trendy, chic but not Uptown, it has been something of challenge to find a style as age-neutralizing as the minimalism of the early ’90s. “It was the uniform for everyone,” she said, referring to Sander and Lang. She added, with a rueful laugh, “I don’t know if I got less interested in fashion or fashion got less interested in me.” But Ms. Toll also observed, “I feel I look better and younger if things are following my body.” This is an indisputable truth about fashion and aging. “Once you get to a certain age, it’s all about fit,” said Isabel Toledo, who designs for Anne Klein as well as her own label. Indeed, if women in their 40s and 50s feel inexplicably alien in a garment, Ms. Toledo said, it may be because there is simply a dearth of high-quality tailoring in the fashion industry. That is one reason you see a lot of trims on clothes — to compensate for poor fit. “We’re not making fitted, well-cut garments that hang just on the body,” said Ms. Toledo, who in some of her own dresses will offer several different waistlines so a customer can get the one that fits her best. A lot of women with young families and careers can’t be bothered with shopping — a larger problem for the industry, especially old-line department stores. As Natasha Fraser-Cavassoni, a writer in Paris, put it: “The idea of lunch with a girlfriend and then going shopping — I prefer to stick my hand in fire.” After growing up in England, Ms. Fraser-Cavassoni sees a difference among the French and the Italians. “They don’t look at labels like the Anglo-Saxons do,” she said. Label-mad or not, many American women can’t find the clothes they want, and have the means to buy. Audrey Smaltz, a fashion show producer in New York, is on her way to Las Vegas in two weeks to celebrate her 70th birthday with a dinner dance at the Bellagio hotel. “I want to look sexy and they don’t sell sexy for a size 18,” said Ms. Smaltz, who asked Cassandra Broomfield, a custom dressmaker, to make her a short white dress for the party. Ms. Smaltz finds blouses and sexy tops in her size by Lafayette 148. Recently, Courtney Hanig, an interior designer and a mother of two teenage girls in Winnetka, Ill., was shopping for outfits to wear to several coming events. “I was willing to spend the dough, but I couldn’t find anything,” said Ms. Hanig, who has gotten mileage out of a fitted Carmen Marc Valvo jacket and her work attire of black pants and a white shirt, but admits with a laugh, “I’m, like, sick of myself, forget other people.” She added: “I don’t want to look matronly. I think there’s this great divide between matronly and up-to-date mom.” There are some very easy things you can do to avoid the age bind. Find a salesperson who knows your body type and will put aside clothes for you before they’re scooped by other customers. Cropped jackets by Dries van Noten are a good way to perk up a summer dress, especially if you want a little arm camouflage. “A great tailor is a better than a surgeon,” said Ms. Wells, who suggests a little padding in a jacket’s shoulders to give you a lift. Nothing is more aging than makeup and hair. So avoid heavy concealer and dark lipstick and nails. “Hair looks better when it’s slightly lighter than it was in your 20s and 30s,” Ms. Wells said. “And you don’t want it to look stiff — that’s just as aging on Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen as it is on a 60-year-old woman.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Fitness] SIZES by Tanya Brown Many years ago I wrote an article for the newsletter on how dress sizes had changed over the years. I thought it was time for an update. As a collector of WWII uniforms it thrilled me when, years ago, I found a WAC uniform in a size 18 - one I could possibly wear. That lasted just long enough for me to learn that a 1943 size 18 was not a 1995 size 18! Fact was, size 18 in the early 40's measured about the same as a size 12 did in 1995. Now, thirteen years later, size 1943/18 is approaching size 2008/10! Humans are getting larger and (for vanity’s sake perhaps) dress sizes are changing. Every woman wants to be no more than a size 10. In 1943, her measurements would have been 31/24/34. Today, her measurements would be 37/28/38. Quite a difference, but still both a size 10! This came up today when I needed to determine the actual size of a uniform I had spotted on eBay that I might bid on for a female friend. I dug out my old chart and checked it against the size listed on the uniform tags. Noting that the newest information I had was for 1995, I updated the cart with the latest info I could find. Here it is, “hot off the presses.” If any of you are “in to” vintage clothing - especially if you deal on eBay where you cannot handle the items - keep this chart handy. It might save you some disappointments. Love, Tanya P.S. I’m still alive and well and living in NE Ohio. I haven’t been able to dress in over three years due to some of my meds causing problems. Pretty much a real bummer. Janet and I are still riding motorcycles together and I still hear from Jennifer occasionally. Both are doing great. Anyhow, I miss the gang and the good times. P.S. #2. Almost forgot! The military has never changed their sizing. If you would buy a current-issue female uniform in size 18, you will get that same 1943 size 18 - a 2008 size 10-12! Discovered that one the hard way, too. 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Memoir] SANDY SEEING ME IN HER CLOTHES - part 4 By Gloria Fenton The Second Time After Sandy saw me in her favorite dress, making the first time she ever saw me in any of her things, I wasn’t sure what might happen. Even with Sandy so willingly allowing me to wear everything she had, there was a very real chance that that might change with her knowing how I looked in her favorite dress. Sandy had flat out told me that she thought I looked too good in her favorite dress, and I knew she would not forget that. To my pleasant surprise, Sandy still allowed me to wear anything and everything of hers when I had time to dress up like her. Of course, Sandy wasn’t seeing me wear anything else of hers. That included the fact that Sandy had never seen me in a pair of her stretch denim jeans. One Saturday Sandy was with me at my parents when her mother happened to drop in for a few minutes. Sandy’s mother had been shopping and had bought a new pair of jeans for Sandy. She left the jeans for Sandy to try on, and then went home. When my parents decided to do some grocery shopping, Sandy told them that she was coming down with a headache and just wanted to rest for awhile. In a bit of a surprise move, my parents decided that I could stay home with Sandy, and they would take my brothers and go and do the shopping. That left Sandy and me all alone in the house. I began to suspect that Sandy had feigned a headache so we could be alone and make love to each other. But after we were alone, Sandy said she really did have a headache and was not in the mood for making love. Sandy told me that she knew I was disappointed. Up until then I hadn’t even thought about Sandy’s new pair of jeans. I got the idea of asking Sandy to let me try on her jeans while we were alone. At first I thought about just trying on the jeans, if Sandy would let me, without her seeing me in them. Feeling a bit brave, though, as I asked Sandy if I could try on her new jeans, I suggested that I could try them on and then model them for her. That way Sandy could get an idea of how they would look on her when she finally tried them on. I won’t say Sandy seemed thrilled about my idea, but she did agree to let me wear her jeans in front of her. I believed part of her decision was because she was disappointed that we could not make love to each other. Sandy was lying down on the living room couch resting as I kissed her and then took her new jeans and headed for my parent’s bedroom which was also on the first floor. My shoes, socks, and pants came off quickly. From having worn other jeans of Sandy’s, I knew that these would fit very snug and also knew that wearing pantyhose underneath made them much easier to put. Taking a bit of a risk, I took a pair of my mother’s pantyhose out of her dresser. I had never worn a pair of my mother’s pantyhose till then. I put on the pantyhose and did my best to tuck myself so my boy-ness would not hinder wearing the tight jeans, either. It was not lost on me that Sandy had not even tried on her new jeans yet, so that I was the first to wear a new piece of her clothing. Sandy’s jeans were tight on me, but I knew they were no tighter than they would be on Sandy when she finally wore them herself. I liked knowing that I could wear Sandy’s jeans as tight as she did, and look good in them. As I thought about going in to let Sandy see me in her new jeans, I realized that she would notice that I had pantyhose on that were not her pantyhose. I remembered that Sandy had worn a pair of boots that day and that she had taken them off and left them by the front door. Sandy’s shoes fit me, so I saw no reason that her boots wouldn’t fit me as well. With the boots on, Sandy wouldn’t know I had pantyhose on as well as her jeans. I hadn’t worn Sandy’s high heeled, over-the-calf, black boots yet, so wearing them would make two of Sandy’s things I had on for her to see me in. Getting Sandy’s boots, I went back to my parent’s bedroom and put Sandy’s boots on me. the boots also fit very well. As I was used to walking in Sandy’s heels, her boots felt very good to walk in. From the waist down I knew I looked very much just like Sandy would in her jeans and boots. Knowing I had no time to waste, I headed for the living room so Sandy could see me model her new jeans for her. Sandy took notice of me right away and sat up to get a good look at me. Making the most of the time I had, I walked around and turned several times so Sandy could get the full effect of her jeans fitting me. I knew quite well that Sandy saw her jeans on me, but when Sandy did speak it was not her jeans that she mentioned. What Sandy really noticed was how I moved and walked. Looking right at me, Sandy Said, “You walk like a woman.” I hadn’t even paid attention to how I was moving and walking. I was used to being dressed like Sandy and, very naturally, having my body feeling feminine. I was, therefore, very comfortable walking in high heels like a woman, and not awkwardly as a guy would. Sandy had noticed that, and I could tell it had surprised her. Knowing I had better not push my luck, I told Sandy that I would go and change back to my guy things. I put Sandy’s boots back by the front door and went to my parent’s bedroom. As I took off Sandy’s jeans, I knew that it would be interesting to finally see her wear them, and see how they fit her. I put the pantyhose back in my mother’s dresser hoping she would not suspect that I had been in them. After I got my things back on, I folded Sandy’s jeans as they had been and put them back where they had been. I then went back into the living room to be with Sandy. Sandy was sitting there on the couch waiting for me. I made a point of thanking Sandy for letting me model her new jeans, and made no mention of her comment about how I walked like a woman. I knew that Sandy would not forget that, either. I had no more than thanked Sandy when my parents and brothers came home from shopping. Sandy said her headache was gone, and it was like nothing at all had happened as the rest of the day passed. For the second time, Sandy had let me wear something of hers in front of her. And, for the second time, Sandy had made a telling comment. She had told me I looked too good in her favorite dress, and she had told me that I walked like a woman. Once more I was not sure what would happen after Sandy saw me wearing some of her things. As Sandy didn’t mention about me being in her jeans and boots, I didn’t mention it either. A few days later, I finally got to see Sandy in her new jeans when I was at her parent’s home. Nobody had the slightest idea other than Sandy and me that I was the first to wear her jeans. And when I did next get to dress like Sandy, everything of hers was still mine to wear. Other than when it happened, Sandy never made a comment about me in her favorite dress, or me in her jeans and boots. If my mother ever did suspect that I wore a pair of her pantyhose, she never said so. I was glad Sandy never knew about the pantyhose, either. Sandy letting me wear her clothes was one thing, but I doubted she would have liked knowing I wore something of another woman. That is, of course, except for her sister’s clothes. But that is its own story. To be continued... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [Last Laugh] PARDON MY PLANET By Vic Lee 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Group Information The Alpha Omega Society is a non-profit social support group for heterosexual crossdressers and their wives or partners. We primarily serve Cleveland and nearby Northeast Ohio communities.
Publication Information Contributions of articles are welcomed, but may be altered in the editing process, with the author’s intent retained, or may be rejected, whether solicited or not. We will exchange newsletters with any other similar group.
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