Being Julia

{September 8, 2009}   Ring of confidence

I’ve just had the most wonderful day. Julia even made a friend!

But even more incredibly . . . Julia got beeped by a white van man!!! Now, as I’ve said previously, I (like most T-girls) am not gay. That’s not what any of this is about. But it sure was one hell of a confidence boost.

The day starts, as it always does, with a defuzz and foundation application and then a proper eye make-up session – I’ll be leaving the house in shades. As usual I get fully dressed and then cover that with baggy sports trousers and fleece top. With my boots, wig and make-up in a sports bag I don those shades and make a dash for the car. It’s the first day of school today and the street is deserted so off I go to my usual transformation spot out in the countryside.

I’m spooked though when a dog starts barking, getting louder and louder. The mutt and his owner appear in the car park and my hands won’t stop shaking. I’m about half way through my ‘Bob’ to Julia conversion and I don’t know how much he sees. But luckily he’s not there for long.

Finally made up as best I can I step out of the car to pop the sports bag in the boot.

Today I am mostly wearing my black body shaper and the DIY padded panties, a brand new (bargain £12) purple sweater dress from New Look, black tights and my trusty black stiletto boots. It’s a little bit windy so my wig is somewhat out of control, blowing across my face. Maybe I need yet another one, slightly shorter than this one but longer than the first one I bought. We’ll see.

Anyway, I walk around the car park and I feel great. So it’s part one of today’s adventure. I’m off to the jewellery shop when I bought my clip-on earrings last week. I saw a gorgeous chunky pearl-style necklace which will go really well with this dress. The neck of the dress is a tiny bit low and I’ve had to shave the top of my chest,  which Dee won’t be happy with if she spots it – she likes me hairy (I’d love to totally defuzz but her line on this matter is ‘There’s only room for one woman in this family’).

The shop is part of a craft centre attached to a farm and garden centre, quite a tourist attraction but I’m counting on it being quiet at 10am on a cloudy Tuesday. There are a couple of families getting out of their cars as I arrive so I let them move off before I get out and head to the shop.

There’s an open courtyard to negotiate  and with my new Boosted Butt (trademark applied for) I practise a confident stride with a hint of wiggle. Last time I visited there was a chap in the shop, this time the counter is staffed by a young lady (just realised I didn’t say ‘manned’ as Bob would – crikey, I’m even turning into a feminist!).

We say hello and she doesn’t appear to bat an eyelid at my appearance. Unfortunately I can’t see that necklace I was after and so am forced into striking up a conversation. This (apart from the general nerves of being out in public like this) is one of the hardest things. I’ve no idea of how to mimic a convincingly feminine voice – I try for something higher in pitch than normal and a little softer but without mincing – it’s a tough ask.

But that necklace was sold last week and hasn’t been restocked yet. I’m a little downhearted but the shop lady has been great with me so I ask if I can look at rings. There are all sorts there and one silver almost paisley design catches my eye. The assistant even measures my finger to see what size I should choose (note for future reference, it’s a Size S). Don’t quite know how she manages it as my hand is starting to shake quite a bit with nerves. Luckily the ring I like is indeed an S and it slides on beautifully, sparking away alongside my false nails. I am lucky to have very non-blokish hands, with long, slender fingers – ideal for piano playing, except I can’t.

As I finish paying and as she has been so sweet to me I pluck up courage and say: “Thank you ever so much, you’ve been very understanding. How do you think I’m doing?”

She checks me over and replies: “Very good, well done.”

It turns out her name is Lea and she has developed a healthy “anything goes” attitude after living in Holland. Once, she told me, an absolutely beautiful full post-op transexual came into the make-up studio she was working in over there.

My confidence really must be soaring because I hear myself saying: “I hope you don’t mind me asking but how would you feel about giving me a make-up lesson?”

Incredibly she says yes (in fact she genuinely seems delighted that I’ve asked), although she says I’m doing very well already and seems to be impressed by the fact that I’d put mascara on without going totally panda-like. We arrange that I’ll call her about that in a few weeks from now and with that I’m off, back to the car and  heading to the Staffordshire town of Eccleshall.

This is where I spent part of my childhood and although I left 30 years ago I know that it’s a relatively quiet, genteel place and  shouldn’t be full of chavs (my nightmare would be to be spotted and outted by such creatures). I must be feeling brave because I park up right in the middle of the high street, outside the old fire station, step out and gather my nerves as I look in the window of a dress shop. Then I turn and head to where the main shops are.

There are a few people about but nobody shouts or stares. I’m well aware that I’m being noticed – who could ignore a gorgeous brunette in stilettos after all 😉  ?! But that’s fine with me at the moment.

I cross the road and take a look around a small art gallery. The man behind the counter is very polite.

I then see, in the window of a women’s clothes shop over the road the most gorgeous long-sleeved, purple dress. It’s just about exactly what I was looking for before I got the New Look dress I’m wearing now. So into the shop I go and find myself chatting to the shop owner. She asks me what size I am and, finding a size 16 in that design asks if I’d like to try it on. Yes. Me, Julia the tranny, in a very posh clothes shop in Tory-voting Middle England has just been asked if she’d like to try on her new dream dress in the changing room.

As Meg Ryan would say, yes, Yes, YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I do explain that I can’t possibly buy it today but the owner says that’s still fine (did you notice I tried to give her a get-out clause there?). So I’m led to the changing room and left to my own devices when I realise I may have a problem. The wig’s going to have to come off and I’ve left my hairbrush in the car so will have to rearrange it by hand – not at all easy. I almost change my mind but that dress is so nice I can’t resist. So off comes the wig and I swop over the dresses and make a half decent attempt of getting the wig back on. It’ll do . . . just.

Girls, I’ve never had this feeling before. Today is the first day I’ve ever been out in a dress in public at all (it’s always been skirts and jumpers up to now). But this is a DRESS. I find myself stepping back out into the shop to admire myself in the mirror. It looks and feels utterly beautiful, accentuating all ‘my’ curves – I feel like squealing! The owner is still quite unfazed and we even chat about possible accessories.

Now I told you this was a posh frock shop. You’d better believe it, especially when I tell you the dress would have cost me £105. Wow! And I was seriously tempted but somehow managed to resist. Maybe I’ll see it in a charity shop sometime!

Changing back again I say my farewells and head off down the street. I catch sight of myself, top to toe, in a mirror and I think I look great. I sure feel great. I’m aware of a few heads turning. Two men stop their conversation completely as I stride past, head up, one young guy checks out my boots.

And then it happens. Two blokes in a white van drive past and the driver beeps his horn twice. You will let me accept that as a positive gesture won’t you, an automotive wolf whistle? That’s how I’m treating it anyway as I sit here still dressed up to the nines after a record-breaking (for me) six-and-a-half hours as Julia.

I want to stay like this for the rest of the day but junior is due home from school in an hour and so I must make the journey back to Bob-dom. But what a fantastic day Julia has had.

P.S. Lea, if you’re reading this, I could mention the name of the place you work at if you were OK with it. Who knows, you could start attracting a whole new glamorous line of TG customers!


Sounds like you had a grand day out and lots of positive experience.

Two things though….

1. Do you feet hurt? 🙂

2. When Junior says “Daddy, what did you do today?”, have you prepped an excuse? 😀

Julia Parfois says:

1. Strangely, no. I thought I was in trouble at one point in Eccleshall though. My toes started to burn (very pointy boots) and that made my legs shake and those stilettos ain’t the most stable of things. Recovered though and no bunions!

2. Strange you should ask. We’ve just been chatting (he’s 12) and he asked: “What would you do if you discovered your Dad was (‘Oh my God! Oh no! How does he know?! etc etc etc) . . . gay”. (Phew!) Turns out he knows someone who’s Dad has come out. The innocence of childhood, eh?

PennyM says:

Sounds like a fantastic day! Visiting the place you grew up is a very tempting idea.

1. LOL. Ahhh, “feet burn”. I find that tends to fade provided I stay off Holy ground. 🙂

2. Spooky! 12? That’s a cool age. BTW, re: “if you Dad was gay…” I’d like to ask him to explain the 3 kids and the Doris Day CD collection he’d never let me listen to. 😀

Silly comments aside, sounds like you had a grand day out. I bet you felt on top of the world.

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