It Isn’t All Sexyness And Fun

It Isn’t All Sexyness And FunThis is not going to be a particularly sexy story but I just wanted to redress the balance regards how sometimes the flip side of being a crossdresser or a transgender person can really turn a person inside out mentally and emotionally. Now I have always considered myself a crossdresser. I suppose I have a higher feminine quotient in regards to how I think or react but I have never wanted to be female. Never wanted the boobs. Or the pussy. I just enjoy the dressing and some of the memorable experiences it has given me throughout my life. I have met some incredibly sexy people of all gender types. Good friends. Lovers. Partners. One night stands. Every type of human emotional and sexual relationship you can name. But this little true story is about trying something and knowing it was me who was wrong about myself and the kind of psychic scar it has left me with.This episode goes back to when I was 25 and I had been enjoying some wild times as Holly in all kinds of ways. I was a lot more devil may care then, regards my sex life. Hell I was well aware of AIDS and the price that could be paid for not practicing safe sex, but when you’re bent over the end of someone’s bed in a tight dress, garter belt,stockings and fuck me heels and you feel that first electric shock thrill of a bare cock pushing up against your hole about to split you and fill you deep….well…AIDS and STIs can basically take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut! And I wasn’t a bad looking guy either. Average I’d say but one of my natural advantages was my big rock star hair as a fan of heavy metal, and when I put on my Holly things and strutted my stuff for guys and other cd girlsin the bedroom there were never any complaints. Then again, there never are in polite company, are there..?But I still wanted to be as girly looking as I could be so I decided the one easy way to do this would be find a local makeover artist specialising in cds in my local area. Now this was back in England in the late 90s and to track down those kind of things then you had to find specialist contact magazines tgirls and cds which were usually found on sale in adult shops. A part of me always wondered about that back then. Yes, I reasoned, kaçak iddaa having an interest in indulging my feminine side did have a lot to do with my sexuality and what I enjoyed in the bedroom (not to mention other places), but I still found it a little seedy to have to go to an adult shop to buya magazine to locate what was essentially nothing more than a make up service for people like me. But that was the only option I had then,so off I went to a porno palace in my local area and bought a contact magazine for transgender and cds also advertising makeover services and I found one in my nearest city. Taking a deep breath I called the number therein and spoke to a lovely sounding lady who said I could book an appointment in a weeks time at what I thought was a reasonable price. She said they had a whole wardrobe of fem clothing I could try on too, which immediately aroused my interest (and other parts of me) but I said I would bring some of my own Holly wardrobe too because I had accrued a fair old wardrobe of my own by then. A part of me had wondered how many other “girls” had wore the clothing at the makeover place and dumbly wondered if it would be clean. Yep. I was that naive!The following week I arrived on the doorstep of a pleasant semi detached suburban house in one of the nicer areas of my local city. I remember being a bit apprehensive and a little scared, and I won’t say those things didn’t colour what was to transpire but I genuinely believed, at that time, I would enjoy being made over as feminine as possible. The door was opened by a middle aged woman, plain looking but with a lovely smile who ushered me in and introduced me to her friend who assisted in the makeovers she provided. Now I want to make one thing absolutely crystal clear at this point. Both of them were fantastic as people, friendly and charming, and most definitely knew what they were about and in no way could I fault them for how I reacted. I look back with regret that maybe what I should have done was put on some of my Holly things first, which is what she asked me, but I decided this wasn’t about my clothes. This was about my looks. So after that most English of ice breaking rituals, a cup of tea, I was led upstairs to kaçak bahis where the “magic” happened. A large bedroom that had been turned into a makeover studio with a professional looking table and mirror set up covered in cosmetic items and well lit and,just as advertised, a wardrobe and a couple of free standing rails of female clothing that initially piqued my interest too. I had bought my own Holly outfit in a small hold all. I had decided on on of my little black dresses, with the typical lacy black lingerie I enjoyed wearing with matching suspender belt, sheer seamed black stockings and my shiny black 4 inch stiletto court shoes. Yeah…I know…predictable but I suppose a part of me was thinkingI wanted a kind of glamorous and sexy look, and step or two away from my usual slutty style. I was going to make an effort on my own part too. The ladies ushered me to the make up chair asking, quite professionally I thought, if I had any known allergies to make up products. Having only put on a dash of eyeliner and lipstick before I said none that I was aware of and so they set to work beautifying me and bringing Holly to life…and I should have known…SHOULD HAVE KNOWN, I was making a bloody awful mistake as soon as the first layers of foundation were being applied. I could feel my heart beating faster as they did their work and I stared into own eyes and face in the mirror and the only thought going through my head was ,”What the fuck are you doing you fucking freak?” All I could see was an average looking bloke looking like some hideous freak bitch as they carefully applied eyeliner, mascara, toner, lip gloss, curved my eyebrows and basically did the best job they could with extremely poor materials. I could feel both the ladies uneasiness as I’m sure they could feel the waves of self loathing, self hatred and anger pouring out of me. The coup de gras, was the black bob wig they first tried on me and that was the moment I got up and ripped it off, angry and sad tears in equal measure pouring out my eyes. “I’m sorry…” I managed. “I can’t go through any more of this.” I stumbled out of the room and managed to locate the bathroom and literally clawed at my face to remove the make up. If there had been illegal bahis acid on that bathroom sink top I would have poured it onto my skin neat. This wasn’t some macho breakdown you understand? I was comfortable enough with my sexuality and didn’t suddenly think being facially feminised would reduce me as a man. Nope. This was pure and simple “I look like a fucking freak and I know I’ll never look sexy as a fem….” and on the tail of that the most stupidly, ridiculous, self loathing addendum…”And it’s MY FAULT!” I removed the make up smearing the remains over a towel, tears still running from my eyes and went out the bathroom to find two alarmed and genuinely concerned ladies asking if I was okay…it’s what’s said in this kind of situation even if the person concerned is plainly not ok. It’s a human thing I guess. And being vaguely human myself I said I was and made up some kind of excuse that I can’t even remember now…but I do remember what one of the women said to me. I’ve never forgotten it. “It’s okay love. Some people get taken like that. We’ve seen it before.” I know I should have taken comfort from the fact that I wasn’t the first bloke they had seen throw an angry hysterical first at themselves when coming face to face with the “female version” of who they were….but I didn’t…yes…I know that’s stupid now but then……Anyway. I did make my final excuse and left carrying my bag of Holly things that I felt like throwing into the first river that I came to. But I didn’t…and that’s why Holly is a part of me even today,I reckon. I didn’t throw away her outfit. I just looked like an ugly fucked up freak when made up….but the clothes…well…they would still feel good. They hadn’t contributed to my meltdown. What I did was make a vow to myself that NEVER AGAIN would I try to be pretty or sexy looking as Holly because I knew I would never cut it as a girl looks wise. And the vow remains as stupid as it seems. I have had tgirl and cd girl friends since who have made all the appropriate sympathetic noises about the ladies couldn’t have done a very good job…or that I shouldn’t worry or overreact because we’re all beautiful in our way…..and I have agreed with them…but inside a part of me is still staring into that mirror sometimes and thinking “What the fuck are you doing, you fucking freak?”Not everything for us cds and tgirls is sexyness and fun. Sometimes it hurts and breaks your heart…