“Hello, my name’s Julia and I’m a transvestite.”

Actually I don’t like that word transvestite much – it’s rather hard, cold, scientific and not one bit feminine. It sounds like the perversion that some think it is.

Cross-dresser is an unflattering description too and seems to carry the weight of others’ prejudices with it.

It was only recently while surfing through other tranny blogs on the net that I finally found a description that I liked and could read and say, “Hey, that’s me!”

So let’s start again . . .

“Hello, my name’s Julia and I’m a T-Girl.”

That’s better. So, welcome to my world on the web. My first post is just a chance to spread my wings a little online and tell you something about myself, my tranny life so far and why on earth I’ve dedcided to share any of it on this blog.

Well, despite that intro, my bloke name is clearly not Julia. Nor is it Julian, in case you wondering, although that was a name my parents considered for me – but they decided against it in case other kids teased me and called me, er Julia.

Well, I think it’s a lovely name and it seems to suit my female alter-ego when she peers back at me from the mirror.

As for the male me, he’s in his 40s, living happily with a wonderful partner, Dee, in the Midlands in England.

First important thing here – Dee knows.

I told her last year when I was going through one of those in-denial phases, when I thought I could kick it and maybe that owning up to it and naming it would finally allow me to bury it for good.

Didn’t work of course. It never does. But after the initial shock Dee was amazingly loving and understanding and ready to accommodate my needs . . . up to a point.

But I said ‘No, I want it out of my life for good’. Well, I managed to keep it buried until a couple of months back when it just appeared, louder and prouder than ever and insisting “Get dressed up girl, I wanna wear heels again!”

After a lot of sleepless nights and dreams about dresses and heels I had another chat with Dee and the upshot is that she’s fine for me to dress up and enjoy myself but it has to be in my own time, when she and none of the kids are there. Fair enough.

So this month I’ve been shopping . . on a budget (hoorah for Primark!). I got the boots, of course, some slinky lingerie, a black woolen dress, a print scarf and my first ever wig and some make-up. What a difference a wig makes. I think I look a bit daft, but it kinda works too, I do feel like I’m still me but someone else too.

So far I’ve only dressed in the confines of the house and taken a few snaps, none of which I want to share just yet. But there is such a desire to step outside, to go somewhere as Julia if only for a few fleeting moments. I did step onto the patio for a quick snap when there was no-one around and it felt exhilarating.

I’ve got a feeling Julia’s going to go for a drive out fairly soon. The thought terrifies and thrills in equal measure.

I’ve been trying to figure out when I got my first tranny inkling and I’m guessing it might have been very early teens. I remember a cousin coming to stay who had the highest, pointiest stilletos I’d had even seen.

She kicked them off in the hall and skipped off into the house, leaving me alone staring at her red, shiny shoes and for some strange and unknown reason wondering what it would feel like, just for a second, to slip a foot into one of them. I did. I felt strange and giddy and guilty – a familiar combination of sensations I guess for those of us on the tranny road.

And that has continued for the past 30 years or so. Never continually and never, until now, has anyone else known. Through teens and 20s and 30s I’ve been on a rollercoaster of solo dressing, usually just lingerie and high-heel boots , and then into denial, throwing it all away and pretending that wasn’t me . . . until a couple of years later and “she” is back.

That denial, of course, causes a certain amount of stress, of internal tension. It’s only with Dee’s help and approval that I’ve finally been able to say ‘I’ve spent years in conflict with myself, maybe it’s about time I stopped fighting myself and learned to enjoy it’.

Which is where this blog comes in. I have had so much help reading others’ experiences on their blogs, realising that I’m not alone, that nearly every emotion I go through is shared and has been shared by countless others. Maybe what I write here over the coming months will be a source of help and comfort to others too. I hope so.

I don’t know how often I’ll get to blog, that also is a solitary and secretive activity, but I hope it will give me a chance to let of steam, to think out loud and consider whatever lies ahead.

Anyway can’t chat any more. Must go. I’ve seen some gorgeous gloves!

Julia P.