Well here we are, 2008 is already well underway and Christmas and the whole new year thing has been  . . . er, “interesting”.  Dee and I seem to be moving into a new phase with the whole Julia thing. It’s been a very subtle shift, but there nonetheless.

As I’ve said before Dee is aware of my T-girl side, but has never “met” Julia, nor even does she know that Julia’s got a name. But a few things over the past few weeks suggest that might possibly change at some point, unless I’m reading things all wrong (that wouldn’t be a first).

To be honest, the T-girl thing is not something we discuss in depth, it kind of gets hinted at occasionally, skirted (!) around sometimes. When I first outed myself we naturally had a huge in-depth discussion: Was I gay? (No). Did I want to have a sex-change (No). How did it start? (Told her). What did I wear? (Told her). Why did I do it? (Didn’t, and still don’t, know - beyond the fact that it feels amazing and bigger than I am on my own and I appear to be addicted to it). Had I tried to stop? (Told her the whole guilt trip/purge then buy again and again and again history). Was I still attracted to her? (Oh yes!).

But these days it’s mostly the odd comment by Dee that she appears to be dangling like bait to see if and how I respond. Sometimes I reply, sometimes I don’t. In truth I still find the whole discussion incredibly embarrassing. I don’t know why I am like I am, so to a large degree I still don’t truly know who I am . . . that’s a journey I’m still taking (but there again, aren’t we all?).

Anyway, flashback a month or so and we were watching a TV documentary about Zoe Margolis, author of the sexual exploits blog Girl With A One-Track Mind. There was much talk about people with secret Second-Life style sex blogs and Dee suddenly said: “You could write a blog like that. You’d be great.”

Cue guilt trip as, of course, I’d already started my Julia blog by then and was indeed keeping it a secret from her. Now I am a great believer that having too many secrets between a couple is an awkward and often dangerous thing -  it’s one of the reasons why I outed myself in the first place. But I kept silent about Dee’s suggestion and about the fact that I was already merrily blogging away, largely because I had already blogged my first couple of trips out as Julia which she knew nothing about and also because I might find my blogging compromised in some way by knowing that she was peering over my shoulder. This is - at the moment anyway - pretty much a solo voyage of self-discovery.

Fast forward a little now to Christmas Day. We’re opening our presents and I get a novelty gift from Dee - an Ann Summers “Boob Job” savings bank. It’s in the shape of a rather well-endowed black bra-clad bust with a slot down the cleavage for popping in your spare change! The box was printed with how you could save up the pennies for a new set of boobs (a whole new meaning to ‘you don’t get many of those to the pound’). Maybe I’m thick, but it wasn’t till a little later that I thought maybe this was one way of Dee showing she is coping alright with all this, that maybe it was a message saying I could relax with her too, maybe talk about it some more. Unfortunately I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to ask her this, I guess I’m afraid that if I’ve got it wrong she’ll think she can’t say or do anything without me twisting it to be some commentary on my T-girl side.

Fast forward again and we’re celebrating New Year’s Eve. In a pub. With a drag show.

Yep, Dee and me and a couple of friends are having a great laugh as two sequin-dress-clad, high heel trannies entertain us (one of them later does a great turn as Cher in black PVC). Now maybe it’s the drink (although she said this fairly early on in the proceedings) but Dee says: “I could see you doing that  . . . you’d look fantastic.” We do have a short discussion about the idea, but it isn’t really the time or place and I say something like “I’m getting such mixed signals from you about that side of me” and it’s all getting a bit heavy, so we leave it be . . . and haven’t returned to the conversation yet (a theme developing here?).

Actually, talking of themes developing, Dee has made one other suggestion of note . . . she wants us to go to see the Rocky Horror Show . . . in costume. Oh the irony, to be “able” to go out in society fully dressed up and made up and for it to be completely acceptable because “it’s just for a laugh”. But it’s such an enticing idea too . . . a relatively unthreatening way for Dee to meet Julia and for me to really go to town with the idea.

I’ve insisted on one condition though if we ever do it (there are no Rocky Horror Shows in the pipeline in the near future to my knowledge) which Dee is not too happy about - I’d definitely have to have a wax/shave if I’m to go out in basque and stockings . . . but Dee is rather partial to my fuzziness (which I really dislike, regardless of my T-girl inclinations) and is unhappy with the idea of me being a “smoothy”. Oh well, like I say, no theatres near us have the show booked at the mo . . . although I have just got a copy of the movie.

And finally . . . I mentioned in my last blog of 2007 that the New Year sales might prove interesting this year, as they would be the first ones where I could shop for Julia. Interesting? Were they ever!

I headed out to the town of Burton, once famed for its brewing industry but also home to a reasonable selection of shops. It was a trip with two purposes, the first being to pop round as many girly shops as poss and check out the sales rails, the second to get a feel for the place for a potential visit as Julia . . . check out the size and make-up of the crowds to see how comfortable Julia might feel among them. Well the answer to that one is that the place definitely has potential if I ever feel a little braver than I am at the moment.

But back to the sales. I had a little spare cash and a tenner from the lottery burning a hole in my pocket/purse and had a wonderful time going from shop to shop in bloke mode looking through all the girly bargains. If anyone wondered, I was looking for presents for my other half (!?!?!?!) or if anyone clocked the truth it didn’t matter, nobody knows me there!

And what bargains I got. After that New Year’s Eve drag show I’d got a real desire for a sparkly party dress. Well thank you River Island for my new, gorgeous black dress (my first ever dress, actually) reduced from £40 to £15. The only problem so far is that they only had it in a 14 and I really need a 16. But I can just about get away with it and I love how it clings and moves, although I am finding it impossible to wear it and hide what the tabloids would call my “manhood”/”lunchbox” in profile. (Any suggestions girls?).

Two other purchases were not in the sales but still bargains. First, a pair of extremely pointy and extremely red stiletto shoes from a charity shop for just £3 - a size too small but irresistible at that price and I can just get in them . . . for a short while. Second, an absolutely beautiful red and black basque set in “my size” (38C) for just £12.99 at TK Maxx. I’d forgotten (it’s been well over 10 years) just how gorgeous it feels to be encased in a basque - just wonderful.

But my biggest bargain of all was a new coat. If you’ve read earlier blogs you’ll know I had a black fur coat for a while, which was a bit too small and a bit too obvious tranny for trips out so I took it back to a charity shop.

Well, now I have a brand new, stunning, three-quarter length, cream coat from Bank, reduced from £90 to just £20. Yes, twenty quid! It is absolutely gorgeous and feels perfect and luxurious on. I’ve only tried it on at home and can’t wait to get out there in the real world with it. Not sure when that will be, not for two or three weeks at least.

In the meantime I enjoyed a wonderful three-hour dressing up session in the house. The full works - wig, make-up, a full set of false painted nails and all my new wardrobe. Can’t afford to buy any more this month . . . but what a treat I’ve had.

Till next time,

Julia P    

x

Well here it is . . . Merry Christmas . . . Not a huge fan of the season myself to be honest, dominated as it is by commercialism and crap music. But I do enjoy choosing pressies for my loved ones . . . there are just so many of them that it’s a darn expensive time of year.

I’ve kept Julia under wraps since my last rollercoaster ride - think of it as a festive hibernation for the T-girl side of me. I’m just so busy with other things anyway and I’ve neither the time nor the money to indulge that side of me just now.

Never mind . . . the new year sales should be extra interesting this time round. I might just have to treat myself to a little something and we’ll see where that leads.

To all of you who take a peek at this blog (be you watchers, dressers or would-be’s) I wish you a happy, peaceful and as stress-free as possible Christmas and new year. Both Julia and “Bloke” wish you well and we’ll see you on the other side . . .

Here’s to 2008,

Julia

x

Wednesday. 7.40am.

I’m shivering . . . and it’s not just the cold. I’m planning to go further than ever before as Julia. To a bigger town. Walking among more people. I’m bloody scared. In the next hour or so I’ve got to make all my preparations - clothes, boots, wig, make-up, then head off to Mystery Location Number One to complete my transformation and then Mystery Location Number Two for a spot of Christmas shopping.

But first . . . I’ve got to de-ice the car.

 9.40am:  It’s taken much longer than planned to get ready at home. Lots of dithering around and trying to decide if “the look” is going to work. I decide not to take the fur coat . . . a bit OTT and drag queenish I fear. So instead I “borrow” an old coat of Dee’s, from when she was not quite so slim and gorgeous as she is today. I do feel guilty about this, but window shopping in the past week has not produced any positive results in my price range (which is practically zero, with Christmas fast approaching).

Also delaying me is my decision to put on my false nails at home instead of in the car (I’ll drive with my bloke gloves on) plus to start off my eye make-up at home. If you’ve seen earlier posts you’ll know that my in-car eye make-up sessions have not been at all successful. So this time I go for a very subtle approach in the bathroom mirror . . . the plan being to dash straight out to the car, head down and hope no neighbours see me.

Finally ready to leave, in bulky bloke coat , gloves, running trousers and trainers and clutching the sports bag full of the rest of my “costume”.

Disaster! One neighbour who I know quite well is standing outside her kitchen door, having a fag and a long conversation on the phone. No chance of sneaking away unnoticed so I just have to pace up and down and wait for her to finish. Suddenly it all goes quiet so I peek round the corner. The coast is clear and I’m on my way, but not before another neighbour (who I hardly know at all) appears in her front garden and waves. Keeping my head down I wave back and drive off into the distance.

10.05: I arrive in the car park of a big garden centre. Although there are a lot of cars already parked it’s the sort of place where anonymity is the name of the game, well hopefully, as I’m planning to step inside in full Julia mode once I finish my transformation.

I park up in the far corner, as far from the entrance as possible and get to work, full make-up now and a top-up with the eye-shadow and pencil. Looking much better than previously.

After about 15 minutes it’s time to get really brave, so I park up nearer the store entrance and just go for it.

I love walking in my boots, they’ve a near four-inch stiletto heel, pointy toes and some subtle buckle motifs, very comfortable although I still a little unsteady in truth, more of which later. The rest of the outfit (my only outfit so far) is a long, cowl neck black sweater, black polka dot skirt, Dee’s three-quarter-length coat, leopard print scarf and gloves with furry, leopard cuffs. Although I’ve “done” my nails I’m keeping the gloves on for now, as bloke’s hands are often a give away.

I’m inside the garden centre store in less than a minute. It’s full of Christmas sparkle, music and decorations. I’m still looking for a present for the office Secret Santa scheme so I’m soon genuinely immersed in looking a potential pressies. All rather pricey here though.

The place isn’t packed but there are a fair few people about and I’m soon aware of some looking in my direction. I get one or two second looks but it’s impossible to know if I’ve been “made” or not, or if tall women in boots and dramatic black coats usually get second looks (I know I would, if you see what I mean!). 

At one display there’s a mirror and I’m able to check how I’m looking. Not bad, the wig looks a little unkempt and windswept. Otherwise, although I can see me, I think I might just about pass as a woman of a certain age perusing the pot pourri and gardening books.

After about 10 minutes it’s clear I’m, not going to find that Secret Santa gift and anyway I don’t think I’m ready to interact with a cashier just yet, that would mean talking and bearing my hands.

So it’s time to head back to the car and drive off to location number two, the charming little market town I discovered last week. I’m finding it just a little harder to walk in the boots as I make my way out and am adjusting my gait a little when I hear sniggering from behind. A couple are behind me heading for their car nearby and I guess I’ve been rumbled.

Got a choice here, panic, blush or just join in the laughter. So I simply shrug my shoulders and continue to the car, muttering: “I guess I’m fooling no-one.” I watch them get in their car and they’re looking over and laughing, so I effect a laugh too . . . what else is a T-girl to do?

I’m driving off when I decide to take off my gloves and give my hands and nails an airing.

Disaster number two: One of the nails has come off and I don’t know where. I pull over and check inside my gloves, on my clothes, around the car, all to know avail. This really hits my confidence. A sense of panic begins to set in as I really don’t want Dee discovering it in the car.

I almost . . . almost, turn back home at this point.

But I’ve come so far that I don’t want to abandon Julia just yet. Instead a small change of plan. I’ll no longer hit the town but instead revert to my original planned location, a medium-sized village nearby. I know the place quite well and it should be nice and quiet on a Wednesday morning.

11am: I pull up at the side of the road in the village, gloves back on. Check my make-up in the mirror and step outside again. A few pedestrians around, a few cars but nobody pays particular attention as I stroll down the road. I cross over and spend a few moments looking in the window of a lingerie store (can’t afford) berfore moving off and arriving at a lovely, cosy little card shop.

I need to buy a card anyway and there’s a nice buzz about shopping for it as Julia. I remove one glove (on the hand with all five nails) and sort some money out in advance so I don’t have to fiddle about at the till and draw more attention to myself.

The shop is tiny and there are a couple of women and a man shopping inside plus a girl behind the counter. I make my way down a narrow aisle and have to whisper a husky “Excuse me” to get past one woman, in her 50s or 60s I guess. “There you go darling,” she beams and it’s like a shaft of sunlight - a lovely, warm glow and a feeling of acceptance. Quite unexpected. We share smiles and I browse and finally find just the right card.

Got card, got money. But at the till there’s an old fella fussing around over cards and wrapping paper and all I can do is stand there feeling more and more obvious by the minute (I’m towering over him!). Bit by bit nerves start to show in legs and they start shaking uncontrollably. I have to lean on the counter a little to steady myself. But I’m determined to hold on in there and eventually the old guy is served and leaves and I’m about to partake in my first ever consumer transaction as Julia.

I’ve shopped here before in bloke mode and recognise the girl behind the counter. But she doesn’t falter once. I’m sure she wouldn’t recognise me anyway but I’m still wating for a furtive, inquisitive shadow to cross her face. It doesn’t happen, she’s as nice as pie and I’m soon paid up and back out on the street again.

I decide to head back to the car as those nerves are rather getting hold of me again. But I must be a little emboldened, as I’m thirsty as hell and so decide to grab a Coke from the village store.

I venture inside and find the chiller. At the shop counter there are two Asian lads in their 20s. I attract no noticeble reaction and am soon outside with a nice cold can of fizz.

On the way back to the car something nice happens. There’s a dark-haired girl walking towards me, 15, 16, 17. I’ve got my head down but I’m reminded of something I read on another T-girl blog, about how women are far more likely than men to look each other in the eye and smile, so I give it a go.

Lovely. She smiles right back, an honest, friendly warm smile. The highlight of Julia’s day.

But I decide that that’s enough for today. I really do have some Christmas shopping to be getting on with and I think I’ll be able to concentrate better as bloke. So I head off home, but not before stopping in the countryside to take a few snaps and then stopping again to de-wig, remove makeup and clamber back into my coat and jogging pants.

1pm:I manage to get back in the house with all my gear. I’m fretting about that missing nail. it really feels like it’s fallen somewhere like a timebomb waiting to explode. It takes a while for the remaining nails to soak off in hot water in the sink and then I lose another. Oh god! I’m really starting to swear, sweat and panic when I eventually find it and decide to put it away safely. Very safely.

So far I’ve split Julia’s clothes between a box in the loft and my under-the-bed drawer. But this panic  forces me to put the lot in the loft. I’m feeling the need to bury it for a while, at least until I can re-establish some equilibrium. It’s not the full purge and destroy feeling from the past, when I’ve consigned some gorgeous and expensive gear to the council rubbish skip, but it probably is related to that . .  a second cousin, perhaps.

I’m also starting to feel rather depressed, a not-too-uncommon downer I’ve experienced before after T-girl moments. It’s a combination of the uncertainty about that missing nail (is it still in the car?) and guilt about borrowing Dee’s coat and then being dishonest with her about what I’ve been up to this morning. I’ve been “economical with the truth” as they say, telling Dee I’m out Christmas shopping elsewhere. Much as I love the drug of dressing up I am finding it hard to reconcile it with my dishonesty towards someone I love so much and who has shown me so much love and understanding.

In this mood I delete all of the photos I took earlier form my camera. I wasn’t happy with them anyway . . . far to much “me” not enopugh Julia.

3pm: I’m in bloke shopping mode now and feeling really down. I’ve decided that Julia can have a rest until after Christmas, that I really need to think about these feelings, not to mention try to find that missing nail before anyone else does. I’ve searched again and still no luck. 

But I do one good deed for the day. I donate my faux fur coat to a charity shop. It was a lovely garment but just a fraction too small and now I hope it will do someone some good. I feel quite positive about that.

And so Julia’s latest day out comes to a close. Still no sign of that nail, but I am feeling a little less down.  Julia’s not gone away, but she does a need a rest for a while, it’s all been a bit intense.

One nice footnote: In bloke mode I did find a nice Secret Santa gift for a GG colleague. She was absolutely delighted and surprised . . . It got out who had bought whom what and she said it was the sort of gift she could only have imagined getting from another woman.

If only she knew . . . 

In two days time I’ve got a whole day to myself . . . and you know what that means! Oh yes, another dressing up day ahead. Another outing.

And another village? Well, no actually, since you ask. Julia’s going out on the town.

I don’t know what it is . . . A growing confidence? The desire to just push things further and see how far I can go? A “**** you, this is who I am” attitude?

A combination of all three, I guess.

The plan had been to recreate the previous excursions but this time to a slightly bigger village than the ones Julia’s visited so far. I had one picked too, just under an hour away, and was all set when work sent me somewhere different this week, a rather charming, smallish market town, with a lovely old, picturesque church, lots of charity and clothes shops to browse and where the population has an average age of about 76. Perfect.

You see, I’ve come to the realisation that I am going to be clocked at some point. I don’t mean recognised, heaven forbid, but outed in the sense of “there’s a tranny” or “that bird’s a bloke”. I’ve got to accept that, I guess. Funny that when I look in the mirror as bloke I see a soft, unthreatening face, but in Julia mode I look quite severe at times, my masculine angles somehow accentuated by the softness of the make-up and wig.

Part of this is most likely down to the fact that I still have so much to learn about make-up. Fellow T-girl Lynn Jones helpfully pointed me in the direction of a great video hints ‘n’ tips site called videojug.com which I’m hoping will help.

But if I am going to be spotted I would much rather it was somewhere small, genteel and civilised than some chav-infested metropolis. One T-girl I admire so much is Helena Love whose weekend trips around our great and glorious capital never fail to inspire and encourage.

Helena is very honest about her look (which I think is great, by the way, Helena - I can just never get comments to work on your site!) and about the reactions she gets from time to time. As she points out herself, bustling London is full of every mix of culture, colour and gender imaginable, so it may be a more tolerant environment for a T-girl to step out into . . . if you’re brave enough to come under the gaze of crowds of that size.

In my case I’m going to be visiting my small town on a school day and it’s such a quiet place that there’s not much for any remaining truants or tearaways to do in the town centre, so I’m hoping I’ll escape the attentions of the local chavs and chavettes. We’ll see. Quite how tolerant the average Tory-voting, Telegraph-reading retired general is remains to be seen too.

I still haven’t replaced my slightly too-glam fur coat yet (see my previous post), so will probably have to step out in that again . . . but at least I’ll be able to look for a replacement as Julia. And this will be the first time I’ve worn false fingernails (thanks again Lynn). They’re the self-adhesive type which, crucially, come off much easier than the sort where you have a separate pot of glue. Last night I sat and painted them a real deep purple (cue music!) and now they (and I) are ready for our next little Julia adventure.

When I run though it in my head I am, like, sooooooo excited. And not a little terrified too.

Don’t know when I’ll get to blog it . . . but it should make for an interesting day.

Till we meet again.

Julia P

x

Done it again! And this time had a conversation . . . well, three words. But at least Julia has spoken (although I think the voice might need some working on).

Plenty to think about after it as well, more of which in a moment.

It happened after I found myself with only a couple of hours to spare midweek and that itch that just needs scratching. In all honesty I was in two minds (bloke v Julia) . . . but you can guess who won.

Exactly the same modus operandi as before - boots, wig and make-up in sports bag and the same girly clothes underneath baggy sports trousers and jumper. Off in the car into the countryside and then a quick change after pulling off the road.

Again, another total disaster with the eye make-up . . . I’m going to need much more practice (or some advice . . . can anyone recommend a good “eye-make up for beginners” website?) but for now my wraparound girly shades come to the rescue.

Another drive in high heels, this time to two different villages . . . I really am exporing all sorts of places in the countryside as Julia.

I park the car in the first village high street, check my look and step out (have you noticed how I slip into the present tense during these descriptions?). There’s someone heading towards me in the distance walking a dog and two women have just walked past. Not quite ready to come face-to-face with anyone just yet, so I turn in the other direction, crossing a patch of grass.

Lesson Number 1: Wet, grassy patch and stilettos = sinking feeling!

Yes, my heels go straight into the mud . . . not usually a consideration in bloke shoes. Oh well, I kind of teeter on the balls of my feet on to the pavement and then rescue some grass and leaves from the heels, brushing them off with my gloves.

Attempting to regain my dignity I head off back in the direction I’ve just driven, trying out confident, feminine steps, tryin to find a realistic style for Julia’s walk. A few cars pass by and I keep my head up, feeling rather nice, pulling my faux fur coat around me. No reactions so far.

A couple come out of a shop ahead, neither the man nor the woman does a double take as they get in their car and drive past me. So far so good.

I turn off down another street (out of sight of the car now . . . definitely getting braver) and walk for a minute or so, past some houses and a small school, before deciding to turn round and head back.

As I return I pass the dog walker - a woman, who definitely looks but doesn’t seem to react in any way. After passing her I check back and she hasn’t turned round in disbelief or shock or anything.

Back to the car. Don’t walk on the grass this time and off to my next desination. On the drive over I passed another village with a tiny post office. Just three parking spaces outside, so it should be pretty quiet. I don’t really know if I dare yet, but my confidence is rising and I’m sorely tempted by the idea of just walking around inside . . . in company!

I arrive outside the shop in a few minutes and just go for it, first of all standing outside and reading the notices in the window before just taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

There’s a security mirror and I can’t help but check myself out in it . . . a T-girl all over, eh? The guy behind the post office counter doesn’t even look up so I check out the rest of the shop, a typical small newsagents with magazines and newspapers and a spinning rack of greetings cards.

I’m studying these intently when an extremely friendly female voice cries out: “Hello, are you alright?”

Gulp! My legs turn to jelly. I turn and for the first time Julia is face to face with someone else - a woman behind the news counter.

How will she react? Will I be thrown out? Laughed at?

I reply with my three words: “Hello. Yes. Hi” delivered roughly an octave higher than usual, a little huskier too. No idea if I’ve “passed” as Julia as I only keep eye contact for a fraction of a second before turning back to the greetings cards.

My legs are shaking like crazy and another customer has just come in (another man who pays no attention). I can feel panic beginning to set in though and I decide it’s time to leave, but I’ve no idea if I can actually manage to walk back to the car with my limbs threatening to go on strike.

Somehow I do get out, down the shop steps and back to the car where I sit for a second, catching my breath, trying to calm my beating heart and waiting to see if a curious face appears in the shop window. It doesn’t.

So then it’s back to my countryside changing spot and into bloke mode again for the drive home. It’s only been the shortest of transformations but still daring and exciting. I do still feel somewhat silly all dolled up in public and maybe that’s one of the lessons I’m learning from this . . . I’ve got to decide if I’m dressing for pleasure or to blend.

Hands up, there’s a strong fetishistic side to all this. In the privacy of my own four walls, thigh-high boots, basques and French maid’s outfits fulfil that particular need . . . the higher, shinier and fluffier the better. The fact that I’m a fairly hairy fella and not in a position to wax myself smooth for daily life means I seem to view myself with special filters, I can ignore my maleness (to a degree) in the mirror.

But if I want to blend in the outside world then I’m going to have to rethink my outfit. For a start I think my wig is a little too short, so I’ll treat myself to something longer in the new year. But the big no-no is that fur coat. Although I love it to bits I’ve got to admit that standing in that post office in boots and fur I felt a little too obvious and OTT.

So a different look is required. I’ve got to dress like a stylish 40-something would, not like a tart. Still going to keep the boots but I need a better, more suitable coat.

I think I’ll be off to Primark or Peacocks after pay day. One of my GG colleagues has just bought a gorgeous cheap coat from Peacocks but I think it would be a bit creepy to go and buy exactly the same.

The look I’m aiming at is a little like Lorraine Bracco when she plays the psycho-analyst in The Sopranos . . . that’s her at the top of this post. I think she is stunningly attractive, way more so than the strippers in the bar Tony Soprano frequents. I’m amazed to discover that she’s almost 10 years older than me too.

Anyway, that’s the plan for the new year . . . “Julia the office girl”. And for the first time I find I’m welcoming the chillier months because it means I can cover up completely and complete my transformation.

Sadly the return of summer is likely to see Julia becoming an indoor-only girl as I’m not going to get away with skimpy dresses . . . unless leggings stay in fashion for 2008.

Mmmmmm . . .

Till next time.

Julia P

x