Date: Fri, 6 Oct 2000 11:51:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Rita Opal <rita@molard.ca>
Subject: "Rita Starts Real Life"

This story has a TRANSGENDER theme; chronologically it preceeds my other
stories about Rita's adventures in her happy state of transsexual
womanhood. It deals with her experiences during her months of transition,
and logically it should really be the first section of the story I called
"Rita's Transition".

                      RITA STARTS REAL LIFE

Introduction: The Reality. After I took early retirement, I found
that indulging my sense of being transgendered occupied more and
more of my attention. I now think that it was always a part of
me, and that it had been liberated by the mental upheaval
following my prostate surgery.

Prior to the diagnosis, I had lived in a delightful comfort zone
for many years, indulging my cross-dressing fetish. I always wore
nightgowns in bed, and frequently wore girdles and stockings. I
always dressed that way to make love to my partner Jan, and she
was happy to accept me. As the years had passed, she seemed to
get less desirous of conventional sex, and more often than not
she satisfied my desires by hand; that seemed to satisfy her too,
and she obviously became excited as she felt the results of her
efforts, culminating as they always did in my ejaculation. When I
wore my feminine lingerie, I could also be worked up to a state
of intense excitement by manipulation of my nipples. They were
very sensitive, and though small, they became rigid in response,
and stimulated me so much that I could achieve orgasm without any
other manipulation. It struck me that in this respect Jan and I
responded in almost exactly the same way.

Before my surgery I took anti-androgens for six months, and their
effect was to turn me off completely; my last male orgasm
occurred just a few days after starting the medication. It was a
strange time; I was completely uninterested in sex, and had no
desires for my feminine clothing; I no longer responded as usual
to attractive women, being indifferent to, rather than fascinated
by what they wore. I was not unhappy, since my inhibited
capabilities caused me no concern in the absence of any desire.

A few months after surgery things were very different. My sexual
desires, as a male, returned, but I discovered that I was no
longer able to achieve erection. I also realised, belatedly, that
I would never again be able to experience the supreme physical
pleasure of ejaculation; I no longer had a prostate gland to
produce the fluid, or to experience the delightful spasms
associated with its discharge. I became very frustrated; it was a
male sexual frustration, but it expressed itself, as stress
always did, in preoccupation with cross-dressing, which became an
obsession that took possession of my thoughts during all my
waking hours. The frustration fed on itself, and increased, since
my usual response to cross-dressing had been desire for sexual
release, now no longer possible.

In my desperation I sought out anything that might cater to my
overriding passion for cross-dressing; I read TV stories avidly,
finding them unsatisfying, and finally decided to make some
attempts at writing myself. Then I discovered the web, and soon
was spending almost all my time following up links which I hoped
would relate to my interests. For a while this proved equally
unsatisfactory, but one day I discovered the magic word 'gender';
that opened up a completely new world -- a world where some men
dressed as women, some lived as women, and some even became
women. It was my introduction to the world of transsexuals, and I
began to learn about their feelings and experiences at first
hand. In the course of my exploration of the net, I also found
mailing lists that served as forums for transgendered people; I
joined one, hoping to hear from people who shared my interests.
To my surprise, I found myself much more in sympathy with the
transsexual people that posted to the list than with the smaller
number of transvestites, and I started private correspondence
with some of them, making one very close friendship. It was
virtually a cyber love affair, and was invaluable in providing
each of us with a 'shoulder to cry on'; I was able to unload my
transgender feelings, for the first time, to someone who
understood and shared them, and the catharsis was important in
relieving my frustration; my correspondent was able to deal in a
similar way with the conflict between her drive towards
transition, and her relationship with her marriage partner of
many years.

During this period Jan was very helpful to me. She didn't
understand the depths of my desire for feminine clothing; in fact
I didn't myself completely, as I had not realised that it
symbolised more fundamental feelings about gender. She did
realise that I was sexually frustrated, and together we
experimented in an attempt to find some activity that would give
me physical relief. Miraculously, the problem did resolve itself,
and it did so in a way that led to much greater satisfaction and
happiness for both of us.

We discovered that the glans of my penis was as sensitive as it
had always been; I experienced pleasant sensations when Jan
stimulated it, even though it was no longer engorged and rigid.
One day she suggested using baby oil as a lubricant, and to my
delight this made the pleasure even more exquisite; as we
experimented I found a build in excitement occurred, and my mind
became focussed on the arousal much as it had previously. The
build up eventually terminated in a release, which was much more
emotional and mental than physical, though it did manifest
physically as a shudder which engulfed my whole body. The
physical effects became more and more enjoyable as time went on,
and they could even be continued after the initial shock of my
release; I realised that I was experiencing orgasm again.

It definitely was orgasm, though the experience was quite
different from the exhilaration of ejaculation that is the
essence of a male orgasm. In my contemplation of what was
happening to me, I came to the conclusion that it seemed to
resemble descriptions I had read of female orgasms. The build up
was very slow, exquisitely slow, with my pleasure dependent on
the gradual increase in excitement; my mental and emotional state
was a critical component, in fact I enjoyed passively being
'seduced' by my partner; and the final release involved my whole
system, and was not necessarily restricted to a few brief moments
of intense pleasure. Making this identification enhanced the
pleasure of my experience; the idea that I was experiencing
orgasm, as a female, stimulated me even further, and convinced me
that I was indeed transgendered.

With this realisation, sex became more of a pleasure than it had
ever been previously. Lack of erection ceased to be a source of
frustration, and became an essential feature of my newfound
pleasure. Without the well defined focus provided by a tumescent
penis, I found that my pleasurable sensations were strangely
unlocalised in space; that allowed me to think of them being
based inside of me, and accentuated their essentially female
nature; I could imagine the seat of my pleasure was my clitoris,
located within my vagina, and doing so made the experience even
more satisfying. I finally realised that sexual behaviour is
learned, and that a major component of it is mental; faced with a
male system that no longer functioned as such, my transgendered
mind had not only helped me to overcome my sexual frustrations,
it had led me to develop new and even more intense female sexual
responses.

My delight in my new sexual pleasures, and my identification of
them as essentially female, made life seem better than ever, but
I was selfish in being almost completely unaware of Jan's
reaction to what was happening to me. She was a loving partner,
and now helped me to experience fantastic pleasure when we were
in bed together, but she was quite worried by my change in
behaviour. She was concerned about what I was up to during the
long hours that I spent at the computer, and she also thought
that I was still frustrated by my impotence; it's also likely
that she experienced frustration herself, as I was no longer
capable of providing her with a normal sex life.

She did know that I had email correspondents, and that the topics
of mutual interest were related to my cross-dressing activity.
One weekend she asked me point blank who my 'pen-friend' was, and
whether I used a femme name in my correspondence. She wanted to
know if the 'pen-friend' was male or female, and was somewhat
taken aback by my reply that it wasn't a simple question to
answer. I started to explain the world of the transgendered, and
where I saw myself within it; she had opened the floodgates, and
triggered a massive outpouring from me that covered the way I
felt about myself, and gender. I opened up as I had never done to
anyone before, admitting things which I had not really admitted
to myself until very recently; she was interested and intrigued
and asked questions, and the conversation lasted for the whole
weekend, and continued with a few interruptions for several weeks
afterwards.

Opening myself up that way got us closer than we had ever been,
and had the magical effect of starting a second honeymoon, after
thirty happy years of marriage! We found we couldn't bear to be
apart from one another, we spent most of the day making eyes at
one another, and we couldn't wait to get to bed in the evening,
at a ridiculously early hour. Once there, we made passionate
love, physically satisfying for both of us.

It was obvious that some barrier had been knocked down in Jan's
head, as well as in mine. Our close feelings for one another had
no doubt been stimulated by the liberating effect of my complete
and utter candour, but there was no question in my mind that Jan
was also drawn closer to me by my revelation of a feminine side
to myself. I was liberated myself too, and took delight in being
able to share intimate feelings with her; it was a delight to
feel free to talk, with complete lack of embarrassment, about how
much I enjoyed stockings and suspenders, and have a completely
accepting non-judgmental response. As I lost my inhibitions, and
took delight in my feminine identification, I quite deliberately
did things to stimulate the effects, and push myself further into
it. Jan accepted all my little games happily, and even helped the
process along. One evening as we were making love, she said "you
silly girl" fondly to me, and the effect was electrifying; it was
apparent to both of us that reinforcement of my fantasies was a
powerful stimulus to me.

That incident led to Jan talking to me during love making as
though I was female, and I encouraged her to do so; I also got
her gradually to accept me as Rita. She had no problems with the
gender association, but understandably found it difficult to use
a new name for someone she had known intimately for so long.
There were other incidents too that reinforced my identification,
and pushed me further into it. I had always had the usual
problems of male cross-dressers in trying to get clothes to fit
well; a particular problem for me was with my special love,
girdles. They were designed for women (of course, and that was
their appeal for me) and assumed that the wearer's hips were some
ten inches or so larger than her waist. I had more normal male
proportions, and found that to get the snug fit around my hips
that I enjoyed, the waist had to be uncomfortably tight. I had
always been vaguely interested in trying a real classical corset,
and one day it occurred to me that a garment designed to measure,
which could be adjusted by lacing might be the ideal solution. I
ordered one, with very helpful advice from the lady who owned the
boutique, and waited eagerly for it to arrive. When I finally got
it, and mastered the intricacy of lacing it up, the effect on me
was devastating. The skill of the maker was evident in the
hourglass shape that was clearly visible, even when the lacing
was not restrictive at all, but it drove me into a state of
mental exhilaration. I felt myself 'feminine'; I felt myself
enter a new state of existence, and I wanted only to relax,
wallow in the sensations, and allow myself to sink completely
into that space.

I was now deliberately stimulating my feelings, and looking for
means to reinforce them. Jan seemed to accept all of my
activities, and their consequences, and it seemed clear to me,
that the more I explored the world of 'femininity' the more she
and I got closer.

Introduction: The Fantasy. Life was now very good indeed. A large
portion of my time was spent indulging my feminine desires, and
mentally exploring every possible aspect of them. I enjoyed
trying on dresses, and spent more and more of my time wearing
them around the house. My cross-gender activities and nature were
still very much 'our special secret', though; I hadn't ever
considered making them known to others, and certainly never
contemplated a public venue. In spite of my enjoyment of my
assumed 'femininity', I knew that my real image was very
unconvincing; to a large extent this was due to the fact that,
although I had spent most of my adult life exploring female
clothing, I had never really experimented with wigs or makeup
seriously, nor had I thought very much about accessories, and
creating a complete ensemble.

This utterly illogical state of affairs finally started to bother
me. I began to think about making my female presentation
complete; I found myself envious of women who had glorious
shoulder length hair, and wore prominent earrings; I also thought
it might be interesting to experiment with makeup. When Jan and I
went to the theatre, I found myself looking at the elegantly
dressed women there, and wishing that I had the freedom to dress
in exactly the same way for an evening out. I also started to
become dissatisfied with my body, and the incongruity between the
reality and my mental identification. I began to wish that I had
full natural breasts of my own; they would make wearing bras and
corselettes much more enjoyable and much more natural, and move
my sensitive nipples to their proper place at the front of my bra
cups. Although experience of sex was now a wonderful pleasure, I
began to long for penetration as an essential part of it, and
wanted my body to be free of male appendages, even though they
were actually the physical source of my pleasure.

Monday, May 24th. As these desires became stronger and stronger,
I realised very quickly what their logical consequence was; it
seemed to make more and more sense to me, and become more
appealing, but when I thought of the social consequences of such
a course, and the legal hassles, I was still reluctant to
contemplate it seriously. It was Jan who woke me up to reality.
She seemed always to be completely in tune with me, and this time
might have been reading my thoughts. "You enjoy being a woman,
don't you, Rita?" "I enjoy my fantasy of being one," I said;
"It's a pleasure to indulge, and it becomes absolute bliss when
you reinforce it. You're a wonderful partner, and I'm madly in
love with you." "It's mutual," she said. "But not only do I love
you as a person; I am more and more in love with what you have
become. It's much more than a pleasant fantasy now." "It
certainly gets stronger, and more important to me," I said, "but
there are some basic facts of anatomy that have to be considered;
in the cold light of day, it is just a fantasy." "Rita, my love;
those 'basic facts' can be changed. They aren't necessarily
something you must submit to for ever. It's quite possible to
make your fantasy become the reality." Though the idea had been
hiding in my mind for a while, I was staggered, not just by her
suggestion, but by her equanimity in dealing with it. "You're
suggesting I should become a full fledged TS, transition, and
live full time?" I said. "Are you really thinking that I might
have sexual reassignment surgery?" "Yes, my love," she replied.
"I think you are a TS. Your feminine identification is so strong
that I don't see why you wouldn't want to follow the path to its
logical conclusion." "But what would that do to our
relationship?" I asked. "It would make it stronger than ever,"
she said. "You have indulged in a lot of self-analysis in the
last year or so, and it's patently obvious where the process has
led you; you haven't quite reached the inevitable conclusion. I
think I have. I've done some self-searching too, and I've come to
realise that the more feminine you are, the closer we relate to
one another. I think I have shifted too, and more to the point, I
now recognise that my orientation has changed. I think I'm a
lesbian. I'm in love with you, and I want you to become a woman.
I want you to join me as a sister as well as a lover in our own
special feminine space."

I was overcome by her plea, made from the depths of her love and
absolute empathy. I was convinced at that moment, and with tears
of joy in my eyes I said "I will, Jan, my love. That is where I
want to be." We hugged one another as sisters.

The magic of that moment seemed to last for an eternity.
Eventually I came down to earth, and though unshaken in my
decision, began to consider some of its implications. "There's a
lot to think through," I said. "The process is well established
and well documented, and I have access to an incredible amount of
material accumulated by my friends in cyberspace. That part of it
is almost a routine matter now, and there are thousands of
others, thanks to the real pioneers who had to fight every inch
of the way. But I have to deal with coming out, and the social
aspects of it, not to mention the odd legal hassle. There's also
another concern ..." "What's that?" "Sex," I said. "It's vitally
important to me. I discovered that when my drive was frustrated.
The changes in me result from discovering the greater joy of
experiencing sex as a woman; at least that's how I like to think
of it, and I can't imagine anything I want more than to make it a
real female experience. I want to be penetrated; I want a vagina;
I want my centre of pleasure to be my clitoris, inside me. But
ironically, the whole process which led to those desires is
driven by testosterone; they disappeared when I was on anti-
androgens, and they came back, in spades, when my testosterone
level built up again after the surgery. I'm not too happy about
the thought of messing with that aspect of my system; I might
finish up neuter, and have the worst of both worlds."

"There's not a chance of that," said Jan. "This isn't a matter of
simply turning off testosterone; the first stage of the procedure
is to start replacing it with estrogen, and other female
hormones. No doubt that will change the way you feel about
things, but your body will start to generate normal female urges,
and my guess is that they will reinforce what is already in your
mind." "That could be," I said, "but I really want to be sure; I
think I came to my feminine identification directly through my
sexuality, and that is a vital component of my whole persona."
"Well," said Jan, "the first step is to see a good
endocrinologist, one who is experienced in dealing with TS
people, and discuss this point head-on. In any case the initial
stages are fairly reversible, and if you do find that the
hormones are doing the wrong things you can always stop them. I
really believe they will do all the right things. I think the
gradual changes in your body, and the urges that it develops,
will reinforce your present sexuality."

Sunday, May 30th. The inevitable decision had been made. In the
days that followed, I sat down and thought the whole complex
process through very carefully, and made lists and schedules. I
was in the fortunate position of being retired and completely
free, and also reasonably well off. The costs involved in
transition and surgery were not an obstacle, and in fact I could
finance them without difficulty. That freed me completely from
the 'gatekeepers', and I could choose my own path, and my own
schedule. I could seek out professionals who were known to be 'T*
friendly', so there were no real obstacles to the basic mechanics
of the process. The first step was clearly to see an
endocrinologist, and get a prescription for hormones. As their
effect gradually manifested, I could start the process of going
full-time, at my own pace. One result of that would be the
necessity of making my new self known to everyone I knew and had
contact with.

Tuesday, June 1st. That still seemed a daunting task, but
nonetheless I did proceed immediately to the essential first
step. I sought advice and information from the network of T*
people in cyberspace, and made an appointment with a local
endocrinologist who was highly regarded in the gender community.

Dr. Elderton was female, and struck me as being very attractive
when I introduced myself on my preliminary visit. I explained my
situation to her, and she listened with obvious empathy and
understanding. "I now identify myself as female mentally," I told
her, "and I have come to the conclusion that I am transsexual. I
want to start the process of transition, and as a first step I
need a prescription for female hormones." "I would be happy to
help you," she said, "but there are some criteria that must be
satisfied. I need to be completely certain that you understand
fully what you are doing, and that you really wish to follow this
course. I'd like to discuss what it entails with you, and ask
some questions. I suspect that you are sure about what you want,
and that it is a carefully thought out decision, but as you must
appreciate, I have to verify that. There are also some medical
considerations, and I will need to get some blood tests done, and
check your general health." We got into a quite lengthy
discussion of my sexual history and my attitudes and desires. She
seemed particularly interested when I spoke of my relationship
with Jan. "You seem to be happily married," she said. "I am
indeed," I replied. "Jan and I are very close, and we seem to
have got closer as my female identification has strengthened. She
has shifted just as much as I have, and we seem to have been in
step all the way. My decision was really made when she told me
that she now identified herself as lesbian, and wanted me to be a
woman completely." "That sounds like a relationship made in
heaven," the doctor said, and I thought she sounded wistful; "I
wouldn't want to interfere with it. I am quite satisfied that it
is appropriate to prescribe female hormones for you; I'll be in
touch when we get the test results."

I raised my concerns about sex drive with her. "You should be
aware that female hormones will change things," she said. "You
will find that your feelings and attitudes do change, and there
will certainly be effects on your emotions and moods. But I think
that sexuality is mental to a large degree, and you may very well
find that your present attitudes and desires are reinforced. That
has been the case with many of my transsexual patients. Some were
disturbed by manifestations of what they saw as male sexuality,
and wanted relief from the symptoms, but many were motivated, as
you are, by the desire to be a woman sexually as well as
socially. My experience is that genuine transsexuals do find that
the effect of hormones is to reinforce their internal feelings of
gender." I was relieved to hear this opinion from an experienced
professional, and reassured about my decision.

Tuesday, June 8th. The test results indicated that there were no
medical concerns that would impact on female hormone therapy, and
a week after seeing Dr. Elderton I had my first prescription. Jan
and I went out to dinner that evening to mark the occasion; we
didn't make it into an exuberant celebration, but we both felt
that it was the beginning of a journey, and one we looked forward
to. I thought happily that it would not be too long now before we
would be having dinner out together, and I would be properly
dressed for the occasion. In bed, later on, with the first dose
of female hormones working on my system, we snuggled together and
chatted about how things would proceed from this beginning. "The
next step is to start working seriously on my presentation," I
said. "It's no longer a fantasy, and I have to convince other
people that I am what I feel myself to be." "I've been thinking
about that," Jan said. "Obviously I have some first hand
experience with feminine presentation, but it has been picked up
rather casually, after my heady years as a developing teenager. I
think I would like to learn a lot more about clothes, and hair,
and makeup. I certainly don't want you to outdo me." She hugged
me, to show she wasn't serious. "I don't think you need worry
about that," I said. "I don't really," she went on, "but
seriously I think it would be wonderful for us to study the whole
subject properly and learn together. I'm beginning to like the
idea of having a real girl-friend." "I already have one," I said,
"but I like the sound of what you are saying. There is one big
problem that you don't have, and that is hair in unwanted places.
I have been looking at the voluminous correspondence on the
lists, and I don't look forward to hours and hours of
electrolysis. I am seriously considering trying the laser
treatment."

Friday, July 9th. In the days and weeks that followed I gradually
became aware of changes to my body. The effects were very subtle
at first, but there were times when I became very aware of a
tingling feeling around my nipples. No doubt some of the effects
were wishful thinking, but I became convinced that my skin was
beginning to feel softer and smoother, and that there was some
noticeable rearrangement of tissue around my hips. There was a
change too in the way I felt about myself; I still felt feminine,
and enjoyed the feeling, but it seemed to be more of a continuous
glow, a feeling of well-being, instead of the intense periodic
excitement that occurred before, usually as a result of getting
dressed. It struck me that this was due to my acceptance of
femininity as my natural state; it was a deep satisfaction always
present in my consciousness, rather than an exhilaration induced
by particular activities. Jan and I made love as we always did,
and it was as satisfying as ever. When Jan took control of me,
and manipulated my pleasure centres, I became excited as I always
had. The slow build up was an incredible pleasure, as always, and
it did seem to be enhanced by feelings that my sense of
femininity was now based on what I knew was happening to my body;
I was gradually shifting from a fantasy world into the real
world. It wasn't all wishful thinking; Jan was picking up some
signs too. "You're beginning to get real boobs," she said. "They
are still quite small, but they are definitely developing. They
really are cute." She started to fondle them, and caressed my
nipples lovingly. It was a delicious experience, sending tingles
of delight right through me, and I realised that things
definitely were changing. "If that is anything like the way it
feels for you, then I don't know what made me wait so long," I
said. I started to fondle her beautiful breasts, and felt the
immediate response. "It is good," whispered Jan, "and I'm so
happy for you. Welcome home." The thought that our feelings were
very much the same was a wonderful stimulus to both of us.

Saturday, July 10th. I found the address of a clinic that offered
laser treatment for hair removal; from the information on the web
they were 'T* friendly'. I made an appointment, and with some
trepidation went off to talk to the woman who ran it. She took me
into a private office, and smiled pleasantly at me. "What can I
do to help you?" she said. She seemed very empathetic, and made
me feel a little more at ease; I had to bite the bullet. "I want
to have all my facial hair removed," I said. She didn't seem the
least bit taken aback, so I continued. "The fact is that I am a
transsexual, and I plan to start transition right away. I want to
be able to present myself as a woman fairly soon; I hope that
won't be a problem." She smiled again. "Not at all. We are quite
used to dealing with TS clients, and we are happy for them to
present themselves however they feel most at ease." I felt her
empathy for me, and wasn't surprised when she took my hand for a
moment. "Believe me, I understand," she said. "I am a transsexual
woman myself; ten years ago I was starting my transition, just as
you are now." We got down to details. She suggested three
treatments, at intervals of a month. "The process doesn't remove
all the follicles," she said. "About thirty percent of them
recover, and have to be treated again. After three treatments
there should be very little left to concern you, but there may be
some residual light coloured hairs that will need electrolysis."
I made my first appointment; I thought first thing in the morning
would be good, and they were able to set it up for Thursday, the
following a week.

Sunday, July 11th. Over the weekend I had some long chats with
Jan. I reviewed my game plan, and took stock of what had been
done, and what still needed to be arranged. "The hormones are
starting to show some effect," I said, "and I've arranged to
start laser treatment. There are some other things to get
organised very soon, too, but I have the feeling that the time
has come to finally step out of my closet." "I think so," said
Jan. "Let's think about getting a reasonably passable image to
start with, so that you can get some public experience. The real
Rita will emerge gradually as all the other changes take place."
"I need a wig," I said. "I really hope that my hair will grow
long enough that it will suit me, but it certainly isn't ready
yet. I need some skirts and dresses, too." "You really ought to
try them on," said Jan; "how do you feel about that?" "I'm
scared," I said, "but it has to be done. There is that TV store
in town, it's called Transformation or something like that; they
probably have some things that will work, and it won't be too
embarrassing there. I hope they don't just cater to drag queens;
I would like to merge nicely into the background to start off
with." "I'll go with you," Jan said. "It should be quite
interesting, and I think you need some moral support." "I'm
afraid I shall to start with," I said. "But it won't be too bad
there; their whole business is the transgendered, and they
obviously won't want to turn them off. Hopefully I shall soon
graduate to women's clothing stores." "You will, Rita my love,"
said Jan; "you are a woman now." I squirmed happily at her
encouragement, knowing as well as she did that it was just a
little premature.

Monday, July 12th. The next morning, we drove to the address I
had looked up, and found the store. It was called Transformation
and the display window contained an array of feminine clothing as
well as wigs. We went inside, and I was relieved to see it wasn't
busy. A middle aged woman, presumably the owner, came over to us,
smiling; "Can I help you?" I thought I had better get used to
explaining myself, and bit the bullet once again. "I hope so," I
said. "I'm just about to start transition, and I shall need a wig
until my hair grows. I'd also like to look at some dresses." The
woman didn't seem at all surprised, and smiled again. "Good for
you," she said. "Let me show you the wigs we have." I realised
with some horror that I had not given very much thought to
precisely what style I wanted, or even the colour. "I don't want
anything too outrageous," I said; "I think to start off with, I'd
like to merge into the background. I do like long hair, though;
shoulder length would be nice." "Have you thought about the
colour?" "Not really; it might be best to start off with
something close to my natural hair colour." My hair was dark, not
quite black; when asked for a description I usually called it
dark brown. There was a wig there, in a lighter shade than my
hair colour -- a sunny auburn -- but it appealed to me right
away. It was almost shoulder length, and the hair was not combed
straight, but had broad curls at the ends, giving it a wonderful
feminine shape. "What do you think about that one?" I asked Jan.
"It looks nice," she said, "but you should try it on. That's the
only way to tell whether it really suits you." "That's right,"
said the proprietress. "Sit down in front of the mirror, and
let's try it on you."

She picked up the wig, handling it with great care, and put it on
my head. I looked at myself in the mirror, and was staggered at
what I saw. The face looking back at me was unmistakably that of
a woman. When I looked intently, I could recognise my features,
and there was also a certain roughness; it was the face of a
woman, but that of a woman who had not taken too much care over
her appearance. I looked at it nonetheless, and felt a wonderful
feeling inside of me; it was beginning to seem that my fantasy
could become reality. Jan picked up the effect on me, and said
"It suits you, my love. Rita is definitely coming out of her
closet." The proprietress looked at me carefully; "You're right,"
she said; "I don't think you could make a better choice. The face
needs a little work, but with proper makeup you will be a real
beauty." I thrilled at her words. "I'll take it," I said. "And
now I need some clothes. I'd like a dress that suits me, but
isn't too much of an attention grabber; it would probably be a
good idea to have a skirt as well, and a couple of tops." Happy
to oblige, the proprietress led us over to a whole row of
clothing racks. "Your judgement is very good," she smiled; "what
do you have in mind?" "I've always liked the shirtwaist style to
look at," I said, "and I imagine it would be comfortable, too."
She had several, prints and solid colours, and I realised the
choice would be difficult. "I think a fairly plain one would be
best, for the moment," I said. "When I gain some confidence, and
want to invite attention, then I'll blossom out." "I like your
attitude," said the proprietress, smiling. "What about this one?"
It was blue, not too loud, with a large check pattern. "I like
it. What about sizes?" She had a tape measure ready, and was
measuring my bust, waist and hips. "It should probably be a
little larger in the bust," she said, "to allow for future
development." I liked the idea of that, and found myself more and
more at ease with this congenial woman. "Would you like to try it
on?" she said. I realised then that I had not prepared myself as
well as I might have. "I would," I said, "but I've made a
mistake, one that I'll never make again. I don't have the right
things on underneath." "That doesn't matter," she said; "we can
get a good idea if you just take your pants and shirt off." Jan
signalled encouragement, and I followed the proprietress into a
small changing room. She was quite professional, and unperturbed
as I took off my pants and shirt; she helped me slip the dress
over my head and shoulders, and did up the buttons at the front.
"It looks good," she said, "but you need the wig as well." She
went out to fetch the wig, and once I had that on, the image I
saw in the mirror sent thrills through me. It was me, not too
familiar yet, but an image that would become the real me. "I like
it," I said.

We also got two skirts, and two tops -- four changes of clothing
as Jan pointed out. As I paid for the purchases, and waited for
them to be packed into bags, I realised once again that my dreams
were really beginning to come true. I must have been smiling
happily; Jan smiled back at me, and the proprietress picked up my
feelings too. She smiled as well and said "I think you will enjoy
wearing these things. They will look very good on you, and you
will be a beautiful woman." That was music to my ears, and I was
sitting on cloud nine as Jan and I walked back to the car. "That
wasn't so terrible, was it?" she said. "No," I replied; "I think
I might get used to it quite quickly. I thought the lady there
was very helpful; she had just the right touch, too." Jan nodded
agreement. "I suppose there will be a sad awakening, one day," I
went on, "but so far everyone I have dealings with is remarkably
friendly, and helpful. They seem to welcome new recruits to the
world of women." "That's good," said Jan, "especially at the
beginning. It wouldn't be nice at all to be met with hostility."
"Of course, all of them were women themselves," I said. "I don't
think men would be quite so empathetic. The very idea of
'surgery' makes most of them wince, but apart from that the fact
is women are just much nicer than men; I am beginning to like the
idea of being one." Jan smiled and hugged me. "I like the idea of
you being one, too."

When we were back at home I decided it was time to start my
transition in earnest. I put on some of my favourite underwear: a
girdle and stockings, and a half slip. I decided not to use
breast forms, and though I didn't really need one yet, I put on
one of my favourite bras; its optimistically chosen C cups
weren't anywhere near to overflowing. I put the dress on, and
then the wig, trying to arrange it as I had seen it in the store.
Jan had discreetly left me alone, and she looked up as I walked
into the living room, trying to appear casual. "You look
wonderful," she said. "The Rita that's been hiding all these
years is finally making an appearance, and she's beautiful."
"Thank you," I said. "But she needs some more work. Her voice
leaves quite a lot to be desired, and her face really needs to be
done. Could you help me with that now?" "Of course, my love,"
said Jan. She took my hand and led me back into the bedroom.

She sat me down at the vanity. "This is a first experiment," she
said, "so don't expect too much right away. I realise now that I
don't know as much about makeup as I should; but I'll get into it
properly -- with you -- and hopefully we shall become experts
together." "That would be fun," I said. "I'll try a fairly heavy
foundation," said Jan; "we have to get rid of any beard shadow.
In the future, that won't be a problem, and we can be a lot more
subtle." She took two blobs of cream from a jar, using the
fingers of both hands, and put them on my cheeks. Then she
proceeded to massage my face, gradually working the cream into my
skin. As the layer spread over my features, I saw my complexion
change, and take on a more feminine appearance. Jan worked for
some time, trying to shade the colour properly; "That doesn't
look too bad, does it?" she said. She dusted powder over the
surface; "How does it feel?" "Not as sticky as I thought it
might," I said. "It looks very nice, and I'm sure I shall get
used to it. At the moment it's rather pleasant; it's just another
of those nice little signals that indicate femininity." Jan
smiled. "Now for the piece de resistance," she said; "let me fix
your lipstick." I felt a little thrill as she said that, and sat
entranced as she filled out my lips in a bright crimson. That
completed the picture, and I looked at my reflection in awe; it
really was the image of a woman. She was not strikingly
beautiful, but to me she had a definite attraction.

"You look nice, Rita my love," Jan said, carefully studying her
handiwork. "The hair and face really do work for you, and with
practice, we'll make you into a stunning beauty." I squirmed
happily again. "Eye makeup can be very effective, too," Jan
continued, "but it is a lot of work, and takes some skill to be
effective. I think we should leave it for now. Your eyebrows
should probably be thinned out and shaped a bit, but the whole
impression really is quite good. There's no doubt you are
feminine." I just sat and looked in awe at my reflection in the
mirror. "Well Ms. Rita," Jan said, "you can't spend your whole
life sitting admiring yourself in your boudoir. The weather's
beautiful now, why don't we go out for a walk. It's time to
introduce Rita to the world." I knew she was right, but I still
had some qualms; however I realised that this was the critical
step, one which had to be taken, as soon as possible. "OK," I
said meekly, and went to look for some shoes. I took a pair of
'sensible' walking shoes, with heels that were not excessively
high, and had a practical width. "I'm ready," I said, plucking up
my courage. "You need a purse," Jan said; she found me one of
hers that was small and quite elegant, with a shoulder strap. I
slipped it over my shoulder, and followed her to the door.

I stepped outside with very mixed emotions. One part of me was
very apprehensive, wondering what lay in store out in the world
and away from the private shelter of home. But I also felt a
thrill; I was a woman called Rita, and I was going out into a
public space, just as any woman might do. I would walk down the
street, wearing a dress, and passers-by would see me; they would
look at Jan and I casually, and see nothing remarkable, just two
women out for a walk together. I realised with a quick intake of
breath that the males might take more than a casual look, and
think about whether I was attractive or not. The street wasn't
busy, and we had walked for a block or so before anyone passed.
It was a middle-aged woman, and she gave us a quick look and
smiled briefly as she went by. Jan squeezed my hand "The first
encounter," she said. A couple of men then passed, and paid us
very little attention, but I saw a group of three teenaged girls
approaching, and realised this would be a more critical test.
They were busy in conversation, and looked up when they saw us;
they stood aside to let us pass and gave us a friendly smile, as
Jan thanked them. As we left the street, and made our way into
the neighbourhood park I smiled my relief at Jan. "That was the
critical test," I whispered. "From my reading of other people's
experiences, teenage girls are the most difficult to fool. They
are at the stage of worrying about their own image, and they make
very critical assessments of others, and pick up all the little
signals." "I remember that stage," Jan said, "I spent my whole
time comparing myself with other females, and wondering what
ideas I could get from them. But I don't think you should say
'fool'; you are showing yourself in your true colours." "I
suppose I am, but there must be a lot of residual indicators of
my former self. What's interesting is that as a fully qualified
female, I am almost exactly at the stage they are; I'm searching
for my own image, and very interested in others for just that
reason."

We had reached the small lake, and sat down on one of the
benches. I smoothed out my dress, and thrilled as I felt the
delicious things underneath it. We sat for a while in the sun,
and an elderly man came by, and sat himself down at the end of
the bench. He smiled at us, and said "A nice afternoon, ladies."
"It is indeed," said Jan, returning his smile; I gave what I
hoped was a pleasant smile, and nodded, afraid to let my voice
give me away. The man sat quietly, watching the ripples on the
water, and seemed to have accepted us quite casually. He looked
up at us from time to time, but didn't appear to be unduly
interested. He certainly did not seem to have detected any signs
that warranted further inspection. Eventually Jan looked at me
and said "It's probably time for us to be getting back, Rita." I
nodded agreement, and we got up and smiled at our benchmate, then
walked back along the path. Once we were out of earshot I said
"It doesn't seem to be too bad, so far. That's what most of the
people say recounting their experiences. It isn't even necessary
to give a flawless presentation; unless there are too many
jarring signals, people simply accept you for what you appear to
be." "That makes sense," Jan said; "why would anybody assume
otherwise?" "If they look hard for signs, they might find them,"
I continued. "At this stage the voice would be a real giveaway,
so I must get to work on that. But the most important thing is to
have confidence; if you're confident in what you do, then most
people will accept you. What they pick up is not the little
gender signals, but the awkwardness that goes with lack of
confidence; once they sense something that doesn't jibe, then
they will start looking for the reason." "You've been doing your
homework," smiled Jan. "Yes, but it's easier said than done. All
I have to do is have confidence, but that can't be turned on to
order. Trips like this do help though, I'm beginning to feel
quite good about it, and I just love the way my dress moves in
the breeze." Jan smiled and squeezed my hand again.

We passed a fair number of people on the way back home, and some
of them smiled or even spoke in a friendly manner. None of them
seemed in the least suspicious or puzzled, and I began to feel
that they were actually seeing something close to what I saw in
the mirror, even though my picture was coloured by wishful
thinking. Once back inside the front door, Jan hugged me tight.
"You passed, Rita my love!" she said. "You've come out; you've
made your debut, and now we can work on making things better and
better." "The voice is the most important thing now," I said.
"I'll try and get in touch with a speech therapist tomorrow. "We
must get outside as often as we can," Jan said. "I don't know how
you feel about restaurants, but there are some lesbian hangouts
we could go to for starters. After all it would be particularly
appropriate now." She winked at me.

That evening we went to bed quite early. I unbuttoned my dress,
and slipped it over my head; then I carefully put it on a hanger
in the closet. "I suppose I am required to dress in these clothes
all the time, now," I said, in mock resignation. "Of course," Jan
said. "You will have to learn that being a woman requires a lot
of dedication. To look your best always, you will have to deal
with minor discomfort." Jan knew how I felt about feminine
things, and played along with my kidding. "Do I have to wear the
girdle all the time?" I asked plaintively. "Yes. I don't want to
see you without it. It just wouldn't be you." Jan started
giggling. "Well, just for you," I said, and kept it on as I
climbed into bed by her side.

Tuesday, July 13th. The next morning I phoned the office of a
voice therapist whose name I had found on my extensive list of TG
resources. She offered services specifically for the
transgendered, and was prepared to deal with clients privately.
She suggested that I come to see her for an initial chat that
afternoon. I got Jan to help me with my makeup again, and decided
to wear the dress. It was already becoming obvious that I would
need to get some more clothes, and there was the cold and wet
weather in the winter to think about too. I drove off on my own
to the office, and walked inside. The receptionist looked up with
a smile. "I'm here for an appointment," I said. My voice must I
have made it completely clear why I was there, but she didn't bat
an eyelid. "What name was it?" she asked. "Rita Opal." "Ah, yes.
You're right on time, and you can go into the consulting room
now." The therapist was a strikingly beautiful woman, with a
lovely contralto voice -- a perfect advertisement for her skills.
"Please sit down," she said. "May I call you Rita?" "I'd like
that," I replied. She didn't register any surprise at my voice,
either. "What can I do for you, Rita?" "Well," I said, "you can
see my appearance, not devastatingly beautiful, but hopefully
sufficiently unambiguous; I need a voice that will go with it."
She smiled "I see." "I am a transsexual, and I have just started
transition. I plan to dress and live as a woman full time,
starting yesterday." She smiled again; "You started just that
recently? Your presentation is really very good. There's the odd
little clue I might have picked up, but of course it's my
profession, and I do have some experience. The voice certainly
needs some work, but with a little effort you will be completely
convincing."

I felt a little easier, hearing her opinion, and I hoped she
wasn't just buttering me up. "I take it you were making no effort
to modify your voice," she continued. "No." "Then it isn't very
deep for a male voice. With some practice, you will be able to
speak in a higher register, without too much effort or
discomfort. But the essential thing to learn is simply the way in
which women speak: the phrasing, the modulation and even the body
language. It's those things that are the real indicators, and if
they signal 'woman' then everyone you meet will make the
assumption that you are a woman, and will be completely
convinced. A lot of women do have fairly deep voices, one or two
lower than yours even." "What's the procedure?" I asked. "If you
can manage it, I would like you to visit me three times a week,
at least to start off with. A half hour at a time is enough. I'll
listen to you, make suggestions, give you tapes to work with, and
you will have to practice and practice. In time, it will become
second nature to you." She reached into one of the drawers of her
desk and took out a tape casette. "Take this with you," she said,
"and listen to it this evening. Then try to speak just the way
the voice on the tape does. Don't worry about pitch, just try to
get the phrasing and modulation exactly the same. It might help
if you could make your own tape, so you can really listen to
yourself. That will give us something to start with; can you come
tomorrow afternoon?"

She took me out to the receptionist, and I arranged to have a
half hour appointment Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at four
o'clock. "I look forward to working with you; see you tomorrow
afternoon." I drove home happily, feeling that things were under
control, even though I had several daunting tasks ahead of me.

After dinner I sat down with Jan, and listened to the tape. We
would listen to a phrase, or sentence, then I would repeat it. It
was clear from listening to my own voice played back that my
natural speech patterns were subtly different, and I tried to
reproduce the phrasing and modulation of the woman's voice on the
tape. "This is really fascinating," said Jan. "All these little
things we do so instinctively, but they send signals that every
hearer picks up. They are picked up, without any conscious
analysis." "Yes," I said, "it's always interesting to try and
figure out exactly what we do with actions which are normally in
the background of our consciousness. The trouble is that I have
to do a lot of them consciously now; hopefully I can be
reprogrammed, and eventually run things in the background again."
"I'm sure you will," said Jan. "I can already pick up the
differences in the way you were saying some of those phrases. It
will become second nature." She was so enthusiastic and
encouraging, and I thought how much more difficult my path might
have been without her by my side.

Wednesday, July 14th. The next morning I decided to wear a skirt.
My preference is definitely for dresses, but I thought it was a
good idea to get used to a variety of different things. It was a
fairly full green skirt, and I wore a contrasting shirt-style
light top. I wore the same bra again, and a white slip. I sat at
the vanity, and combed the long hair of the wig, wishing that it
was really my own hair. Then I decided it was time for me to try
makeup on my own, and I put on foundation fairly liberally,
trying to do exactly what Jan had done. The effect didn't seem
too bad, and I finished things off by doing my lips very
carefully with the bright crimson lipstick. "How do I look?" I
asked Jan, when I had finished. She looked at me attentively;
"It's you," she said. "It's the Rita I know, and she's starting
to look very pretty." I thought that she was probably a biased
observer, but it was a nice boost for my self-confidence. "I'll
do then?" "Of course you'll do," she said. "But we must get a
good book on cosmetics, and work on eye makeup; that would make
things even better. I'll see if I can find a video this
afternoon, too."

I went off that afternoon to the voice therapy session. I was
getting more used to being outside now, and was worrying much
less about what might happen if I was read. I certainly would be
if I had occasion to speak to anyone, so I thought that my
current appointment was none to soon. The therapist greeted me
warmly, and sat me down in a comfortable chair. "Let's try some
of the phrases on the tape," she said. She played the first one,
and asked me to repeat it. "That's really quite good; you must
have an ear for the subtleties of speech." I didn't do quite so
well with some of the others, and she got me to repeat them,
speaking them herself, too. She would exaggerate the emphasis on
words, and the way the tone changed through a phrase; I found
that very helpful, and was able to follow her example. I was
finding it easier, but it still didn't come naturally, and I had
to think every phrase through before speaking it. When I remarked
on that, she said "of course, but you certainly can follow the
examples, and with some practice, you will start to speak that
way without doing so consciously." She gave me some more tapes,
and told me to spend an hour or so each day working with them.
"Now let's see what we can do about pitch," she said. "Anyone can
speak in a higher register, even falsetto, but it doesn't sound
natural. It isn't a good idea to try for too high a register
either; if you get all the other things right, you can be as
successful as Marlene Dietrich!" She smiled. "The thing is to try
to raise the pitch just a small amount at a time, and try to get
that happening without thinking about it. It's a good idea to
think of a musical sound in your head, part of a song you know
well, for example, and try to match your speaking voice with one
of the notes in it." She got me to try speaking with my voice in
different registers, and I found it wasn't really difficult; the
trick was to use the higher register instinctively. She told me
to speak more quietly too. "You are really doing well," she said
finally; "it will still take a lot of work, but the results will
be well worth it. Keep working at the things we have talked
about, and I look forward to seeing you again on Friday."

Out on the street, I was just about to get into the car when a
man came up to me and asked for directions. I knew the street he
was looking for, just round the corner, and realised I was now in
at the deep end. I pointed, and said quietly "It's one block down
the next street on the right." "Oh, thank you very much ma'am."
He smiled and went on his way. I seemed to have passed muster,
but it did occur to me that he might have had worries about being
lost, and wouldn't be particularly tuned in to looking for
anomalous cross-gender behaviour in everyone he met. All the
same, it was a pleasant feeling to have passed another little
test, and I began to realise that most people aren't looking for
all the little signals that might give the game away. They take
people as they appear to be at first sight, and don't pay too
much more attention unless they see something really strange or
striking. I resolved to be as 'usual' as I possibly could, and
amused myself by thinking that the platinum blond hair, mink
stole, fishnet stockings and flamboyant makeup would have to wait
for a while.

I still was quite high when I got home, and when Jan greeted me
with "How was it?" I pulled out all the stops, turned on my
modulation and said quietly "Fine. I just love that dress you're
wearing. It's peachy." I smiled sweetly at her, as a look of
amazement came over her face. "I take it the voice therapy is
doing something," I said; a broad smile spread over her face.
"Rita, my love, that's fantastic!" She hugged me, and I said in
my best imitation of a basso profundo "But I'm not sure whether I
can keep it up for too long." She recovered quickly: "That too;
oh dear!" she said and giggled.

I told her about the encounter in the street; "I do feel a lot
more at ease, now. But the whole time I have to be thinking about
what I should do, and how I should be doing it; the good thing is
that if I can do it, then with some practice, I should be able to
do it naturally without having to think about it." "I'm very
impressed," Jan said. "I suppose the main thing is your deep
desire, which will keep you working at all these things, but you
seem to have chosen some very good people to work with you. It's
obvious we should get you as much exposure as possible; why don't
we go out tonight to that lesbian place?" "I think I would like
to," I said, "but I won't guarantee to be too garrulous, except
of course to you. I imagine in that place, they will be used to
pairs of women locked in quiet conversation with one another." "I
got a couple of books, and a video, on makeup," Jan said. "Why
don't we make our first exploration into the mysteries of eye
makeup?"

That's exactly what we did. Of course Jan was not exactly a
neophyte like myself, but her knowledge of makeup was based on
her experience of what she had tried and found to work for her;
she hadn't made an in depth study of all the subtle details that
experts wrote about in fashion manuals. She was now gung-ho to
become a real expert, and the topic caught my interest too,
probably because it was another of those special things that
belonged in the world of femininity. However, neither of us
wanted to start our formal studies in cosmetology just before an
evening out. "Let's just wing it, for this once," said Jan.
"There will some people who look a lot stranger, where we're
going." "That sounds like fun," I said; "what shall we try?"
"Well," said Jan, "the basic items at our disposal are eyebrow
pencil, eye shadow, eye liner, and mascara. We could also use
false eyelashes, but that might be carrying things to excess. Why
don't we try all the others?" "I'm game," I said, "but I think
for this once I should place myself in your experienced hands.
How about doing your test run on me? Then you'll have honed your
skills for yourself." "OK," said Jan, "but you must thin those
bushy eyebrows first." My eyebrows weren't actually too thick, as
I used an old beard trimmer on them periodically. But I dutifully
went off to the bathroom, and trimmed them very close. I
considered shaving them off completely, but then I would be
completely dependent on Jan's skills with the eyebrow pencil. I
thought it might be a good idea to visit a beauty salon for a
makeover, eventually, to see how they dealt with the problem.

"That's better!" said Jan. "Now sit yourself down at the vanity,
and I'll see what I can do to create a femme fatale." She worked
for a long time; she started with the eyebrow pencil and shaded
my brows so that they arched a little more. Then she outlined my
eyes with a fine black line, and spread a little metallic blue
shadow on my eyelids. Finally, she applied mascara to my upper
eyelashes with a minute brush. When she had finished, she sat
back to view her handiwork; I studied my face in the mirror
intently, too. The effect was certainly striking, almost extreme,
but stopped just short of being garish. Most important to me, the
effect was unmistakably feminine; it proclaimed my gender in no
uncertain terms. "It makes a statement," I said, fluttering my
exaggerated eyelashes. "I think I can live with it, but I hope
the sisters of Lesbos don't read me as a drag queen." Jan
giggled; "It's not that bad," she said. "A queen, certainly." "I
hope I won't outdo you," I said, "or are you planning on
something in dyke mode?" "Certainly not, I shall try to make
myself as feminine as you are, if that's possible; it's up to
them to figure us out."

She sat down at the vanity and started work on her own face. She
followed the same sequence, almost exactly as she had for me;
when she had finished, there was a remarkable similarity between
us. Our features were quite different, but the common style of
makeup made us seem related. It was a nice feeling; Jan was my
lifetime companion, and lover, but we also were sisters now; that
was an idea that I found very comforting.

We set off for Sappho's; it was a bar, casual and quiet, and they
served quite good meals. There were tables, set up for small
groups, mostly couples, and about half of them were occupied. My
first quick glance at the clientele made me think it would be
very interesting to study them in some detail later, hopefully
without making my curiosity too obvious. We sat down at a table
in the corner. One of the servers came over and smiled at us. She
(I assume) was androgynous in appearance, almost boyish, with
short hair, and dressed in unisex shirt and pants. Looking
closely, there was a definite indication of a bosom, and she
spoke in a female voice without any attempt to disguise it. "Can
I get you something to drink?" "We should get a bottle of wine,"
said Jan. "What do you think, Rita?" I summoned up all my skills
in voice modulation and said "Oh yes; let's get a dry white." The
server didn't register any surprise, and suggested Sauvignon
Blanc. "That's good," I said, "and we'll take a look at the
menu." Jan smiled approval at me as the server left to get our
wine; "You really are doing quite well," she said. "It's hard for
me to judge, knowing you from a previous life, but it's obvious
that people do find that your voice is quite consistent with your
appearance. It's low, not deep exactly, and it does sound like a
woman's voice." "Just as well," I grinned, "since that's what I
am."

We looked at the menu, and were ready to order when the wine
bottle and glasses appeared. "Who would like to taste the wine?"
asked the server. "My friend," I said, motioning to Jan; "she's
the expert." Jan took a sip, and pronounced the wine
satisfactory, then we sat back to take a look at our
surroundings. There were couples at all the nearby tables, most
of them appeared to be pairs of women, more or less like us, but
in some cases one of the two had a severe cultivated masculine
appearance. There were some obvious 'femme' women there too. We
could hear snatches of conversation from the neighbouring tables,
and I heard one voice that clearly sounded like a male. I looked
quizzically at Jan, who had obviously heard it too, and she
winked at me. I arranged to turn my head casually, as I sipped my
wine, and tried to get a look at the source of the voice. It was
one of the most obvious 'femme' types, very elegantly dressed and
with makeup so exotic that it even put Jan and I to shame. The
speaker saw my glance, and gave me a friendly smile.

Jan and I sipped at our wine, waiting for the food to arrive. We
chatted together, talking about the place, its ambience, and the
clientele. It was very pleasant there; there was a nice feeling,
hard to define, and I came to the conclusion that it had a safe,
non-threatening atmosphere. I remarked on this to Jan, saying
that it might well be because the people there were exclusively
female. At least, I thought correcting myself, they were all
presenting themselves as female. Apart from myself I did pick out
one or two others that I suspected were transgendered males of
one sort or another. As the evening progressed things got a
little more lively; more people came in, just for a drink, and to
pass the time with their friends, and people were walking around
and chatting with one another. The deep voice at the neighbouring
table had paid one or two visits to friends at other tables, and
passed by ours. "Hi!" (s)he said, "I don't think I've seen you
here before. I'm Annabelle." "Hello," I said, "I'm Rita, and this
is my partner Jan." Jan smiled her greeting. "You look very
good," said Annabelle to me, winking, "I'd say much better than a
passing grade." I was a little taken aback, but not upset, and
smiled back; "Thanks, I hope your reading skills are better than
average." "Why don't you join us for a minute or two," said Jan,
to my surprise. "Well thank you, I will," Annabelle said, taking
the vacant chair at our table. "If you're wondering what gave you
away," she said, "the answer is not very much. It's just that
people who are 'in the game' develop a sixth sense. I got a very
faint signal on my antenna, and confirmation when I saw you
looking at me." "You look very good, too," said Jan; "that's a
fantastic dress. But I'm curious about what you make of me."
"You're the real McCoy, honey," Annabelle said. "No offence,
Rita." "I'm working on it," I said with a grin. "Good for you; I
think you'll make it with top marks. I'm just a simple CD, out
for a fun evening. I like it here, because they are very
accepting and don't hassle me." "It is a nice place to be," I
said. "Jan and I thought this would be a good place to check out,
and I think we're qualified. I've now realised that I am TS, and
I have just started my RLT. It's a challenge, but I am enjoying
every minute of it so far." "In a way I envy you," said
Annabelle, "there are times when I think it would be great to
just switch over, and live in a nice femme world all the time,
but there's another side to me that won't give up." She smiled
again, and went on her way to visit another of her many friends.

"Interesting!" I said to Jan. "It's fascinating what variations
there are across the gender spectrum. I hope it didn't bother you
that I opened up like that, but it's always good to make contact
with others in what I call gender space." "It's fine my love,"
said Jan. "I like you all the more for what you now are, and I
did do some active encouragement. You are being very courageous
in dealing with the consequences, and the least I can do is try
to do the same. We both have to live with it, and it's something
that has to come out in the open." "You're just wonderful," I
said and hugged her. She put her arms round me and kissed me.
None of the good people in Sappho's seemed the least bit
concerned, or even interested.

Thursday, July 15th. My first appointment with the laser clinic
was the next morning. I was very tempted to go there in drab,
since it was necessary to go without shaving, in order to present
enough stubble to be picked up. I couldn't disguise it with
makeup either, since it was also necessary to present my naked
skin. I struggled with myself for a few minutes, then decided I
had no choice but to go as Rita; I felt I had made a commitment
to myself when I started my transition. I was somewhat more
apprehensive than usual, but I hoped that the wig and skirt would
be sufficient to declare my gender, without anyone peering too
closely at me. Fortunately it was early in the morning, and I
carefully found a parking spot right outside the clinic, then
ducked in through the door as quickly as I could while the
sidewalk was free of passers-by. I breathed a sigh of relief once
I was inside, and smiled at the receptionist. "I'm Rita Opal."
"Yes," she said, "we're ready for you right away, but it took me
a moment to recognise you." "I'm sure," I said; "I'm afraid I am
not too presentable at the moment, but I was told to come in this
state." "Oh, that's normal," she said kindly; "it's the hair and
the clothes. You look very nice." A very professional looking
young woman came out to the reception area; "Rita?" she said.
"I'm Melanie; I'll be looking after you today." She took me into
a room at the back, and got me to sit down in a reclining chair,
beside an impressive looking machine. "We shine the beam on quite
a small area of your skin for a minute or two, and gradually work
our way over the whole surface. Just to be absolutely safe,
please wear these dark glasses." The glasses she handed to me
were very dark indeed, and I could hardly see, even in the bright
fluorescent light. "It might be better if you took the wig off
too, if you don't mind," she said, in a completely matter-of-fact
manner. "It will keep your hair out of the way." She took my wig,
and set it carefully down on the counter. I was glad of the dark
glasses, and hated to think of the strange hybrid picture I must
have presented. She started the machine, I felt a slight tingling
on my chin; it wasn't pleasant, but was well below my tolerance
for pain. I hadn't really known what to expect, and this
certainly seemed better than what I had heard of electrolysis,
where some people even took novocaine injections to get them
through the sessions.

It was not pleasant, though, and as Melanie worked her way over
my cheeks, chin and throat I began find it less and less
pleasant. The areas which had been treated felt odd, as though
they had a mild sunburn, and I wondered if I could last out the
whole session. I did, but not without having to summon up all the
fortitude I could muster. I was there for an hour and a half, and
after what seemed like an eternity, Melanie said "We're finished
now; you've been wonderful to work with." She took the dark
glasses, and passed me my wig; I felt happy to get it on again,
and finally dared to look in the mirror. There didn't appear to
be any stubble on my face any more, but the whole area was a
blotchy red colour. "It will be a little sore for the rest of the
day," Melanie said, "but the redness should be gone by tomorrow
morning. Please call us if you experience any problems." She
helped me up out of the chair, and squeezed my arm as I left. "I
admire what you are doing," she said; "It's wonderful. And you
will be happy when you find how beautiful you can be." I thanked
her, and went out to the reception area. "It doesn't feel too
nice, does it?" said the receptionist. "But you'll feel better
quite quickly, and you'll be very happy with the results. There
will be some small amount of regrowth, and we can deal with that
the next time. In a month, I think?" I made a follow-up
appointment, and left, walking out to my car without even
thinking about what anyone passing by might think.

When I got home, Jan was waiting for me, and she looked
concerned; "How was it?" "Not very pleasant at all," I said, "but
they tell me that I shall probably live, and may even look
reasonably normal by tomorrow." "You're a brave girl," she said,
and cheered me up immediately with the feminine appellation.
"What do you want to do?" "I think I'll lie down for a while. I'm
sure it won't take me too long to get over it." I went into the
bedroom, and couldn't be bothered to take my clothes off; I just
flopped down on the bed. Jan knew just what to do; she followed
me, and lay down by my side, taking my hand in hers. I began to
feel better immediately.

I always enjoyed being close to Jan, and lay quietly with her for
a long time. I finally decided that I didn't really feel too bad,
and started to rub my nylon clad toe against her leg. She
squeezed my hand, and turned to face me. "No regrets?" "Not at
all," I said. "It really wasn't too bad an experience, and they
claim that after three sessions there will be nothing left to
cause any concern. It will be good to have it out of the way,
though." "You are really taking on everything all at once," Jan
said. "Do you think you might be going in too much of a hurry?"
"No," I replied. "Now I'm certain about what I want to do, and I
want to be able to live fully as a woman. I understand what was
going on all those years, and I feel as if they were wasted; I
don't want to spend any more time in games and fantasy." "That's
what I hoped you would say," Jan whispered. "But those years
weren't wasted; we had a wonderful life together, and I needed
them to catch up to you." I rolled over too, and we snuggled
together.

Friday, July 16th. The next morning the world did seem much
better. I woke early after a long night's sleep, and when I
looked in the mirror I saw that the redness on my face had almost
disappeared. I dressed happily, enjoying my basic pleasure in
putting on feminine clothes, and decided I would wear the dress.
It was a lovely dress to wear, but I knew I would have to go
shopping soon; it wasn't possible to survive with just one decent
dress. I brushed my hair carefully, and wondered how long it
would be before I could venture out with my own hair arranged to
suit me. I sat down at the vanity, and started to work on my
face. The redness vanished under a light application of
foundation, and I thought that my skin felt smoother already. I
decided to try using some of the eye makeup, and tried to fashion
my eyebrows into a more pleasing shape. I carefully outlined my
eyes with the liner, just as Jan had done, and even tried just a
hint of shadow on my eyelids. I decided that trying mascara
wasn't a good idea. I heard Jan stirring then, and turned round
to see that she was watching me with great interest. "Hello, my
love," I said. She smiled; "Eye makeup already, at this time in
the morning!" "Of course," I said. "A girl has to look her best.
I also need a lot of practice." "You look nice," Jan said. "I
don't think I shall be able to keep up with you once you get into
your stride."

She took her time getting up, while I went to the kitchen and
started the coffee going. When she eventually appeared, I saw
that she was ready for anything; she had a very smart skirt and
blouse on, with pantyhose, and had done a very careful job with
her makeup. "You look wonderful, Jan my love," I said, kissing
her very carefully so I wouldn't spoil her efforts. "Are you
going out this morning?" "I thought I might," she said, "but only
if I can persuade my special girl friend to come with me." We sat
down to coffee. "She would love to," I said. I felt silly
referring to myself in the third person, but did so because I
could refer to myself as 'she'. We sat drinking our coffee, and I
thought about the journey I was taking, and the progress made so
far. There were still some aspects of it that I was quite worried
about, the main one being the matter of coming out to all the
people who knew me. But most of the steps I was taking now were
no longer causing me any concern, and I felt quite happy in the
progress I was making. I was certainly enjoying being Rita full
time, and in public. My mind went through the things that still
needed to be done; "Maybe we could go shopping this morning," I
said to Jan. "I need some more things now, like dresses and a
range of different ensembles. I'm also not too well prepared for
cold and wet weather; sooner or later I shall need a decent
coat." "That's a good idea," said Jan. "We could walk over to the
local stores, and see what they have. It'll be nice to look round
a bit, and we don't need to get everything today."

After a few more sips of coffee she said "And you really need to
get some accessories. We could look at jewelry too." That gave me
an idea; "I really want some nice earrings," I said. "I've always
wanted to wear them. Maybe I could get my ears pierced." "You can
get them to do it at the jewellers," Jan said. "It's a good idea.
Earrings will look nice with that hairdo." I was all gung-ho to
go now, and I wanted to look in all the stores selling women's
things; I thought that my voice would just about get me by, and I
was no longer too concerned.

We set off down the sunny street, and I enjoyed the feel of my
dress moving as I walked, and the sound of our heels clicking on
the sidewalk. I took one of Jan's purses, and though it wasn't
overflowing yet, I had put a few essential makeup items in it. I
was no longer afraid to talk, and we chatted as we walked along.
I still watched to see how the people we passed reacted, and none
of them seemed to find us too unusual. "I'm a bit stuck now with
these credit cards," I said. "I think it's time to face up to
that challenge; I'll have to go to the bank next week, and
explain things to them. I'm sure I can simply change the name on
my account, and hopefully they will give me a card in that name."
"I'm sure they will," said Jan; "after all you have been a good
customer of theirs for a long time." "That's the trouble," I
said; "I think they are going to find the transformation a bit
strange. But I'm beginning to realise that if they do, it's their
problem, not mine."

We got to the stores, and walked slowly along the block, looking
in every display window that featured anything feminine. There
was a jewelry store, and I saw a sign in the window saying that
they did ear piercing. "This I have to do," I said, and we went
inside. I made a bee line for the display of earrings. They had
some very nice ones, and a couple caught my eye because they were
ornate and dangling. "What do you think about these?" I asked
Jan. "I like the metallic one," she said, "and I think it would
suit you nicely. I thought so too, and when one of the clerks
came over to us I told her that I was interested, and that I
wanted my ears pierced. She asked me to follow her into a room at
the back of the store, and got me to sit down. "We use this
punch," she said; "it's really not painful at all, but you may be
startled by the noise it makes." She took what looked almost like
a gun, and carefully slid a slot at the end of the 'barrel' over
my right ear lobe. "Could you just hold your hair back?" I did,
and heard the punch go pop. She rubbed some ointment over the
hole, and said "Now the other side." Another pop, and I was ready
for earrings. "I didn't really feel anything," I said. "If I had
realised it was that easy I would have done this a long time ago.
But I just fell in love with those earrings." She smiled and led
me back into the store. "You'll need some keepers too," she said.
"It's important to keep the hole open all the time; they do tend
to close up." She sat me down at the counter, and carefully fixed
one of the earrings, then the other. There was a mirror on the
counter, and when I looked at myself I knew it was a good choice.
"What do you think, Jan," I said. "They are very nice," replied
Jan. "They do suit you, and they work with that hairstyle." "I'll
wear them," I said to the clerk. "Put them on my card, please,"
said Jan. She was thinking fast; I was so taken with the earrings
that I had completely forgotten about the name on my credit card.

Back out in the street, we continued our walk. There was a
variety of stores, smaller than the big ones downtown, but some
of them seemed to have quite a variety of stock, judging by the
window displays. I realised that although I knew the area quite
well, there were many establishments that I had never paid any
attention to before. There was one in particular that caught my
eye as we passed; it had a beautiful display of dresses, with a
silky green print that grabbed me the moment I saw it. "Look at
that dress!" I said to Jan. "I have to have a dress like that."
Before she could respond I was walking in the door. We were
greeted by a very helpful saleslady, who smiled happily as I told
her I would like to try a dress like the one in the window. They
did have it in my size, and very soon Jan and I were in one of
the changing rooms. I quickly took off the dress I was wearing,
and stood there in my slip for a moment savouring the prospect of
enveloping myself in the silky material in my hand. Jan helped me
ease it over my head, and as the material slithered down over me
I was almost overcome by the delicious tactile sensations. It did
fit me quite well; it was a little more full in the bust than I
was, but I thought hopefully that in time that would be remedied.

"It's a must," I said to Jan, "and I think I'm going to wear it,
right now!" She smiled at my enthusiasm, and said "It is nice,
and I think it really does work with your hair." We left the
changing room and I told the saleslady that I had to have the
dress, and I couldn't bear to take it off now that I had tried
it. She laughed: "I'm glad you like it; I must say that it really
does suit you. Now is there anything else you would like?" "We'll
take a look around," I replied. Jan and I wandered around the
racks, and I found two more dresses that I couldn't resist, even
though they didn't have quite the same impact on me as the one I
was now wearing. Living my new feminine life to the full, I tried
both of those on too, and decided they would help to fill some of
the gaps in my wardrobe. Finally I put the silky green back on,
and we went out to deal with the saleslady. This time I was
ready; "I've think I've forgotten my card," I said to Jan; "would
you be a real darling and lend me the money until we get home?"
"Of course," Jan said, with an amused smile, and she reached in
her purse for her credit card.

Outside again, with our packages, we decided it was time to have
a cup of coffee, and sat down at a table in the little coffee bar
next-door. "Maybe that's enough for now," I said. "I don't want
things to get out of hand, and I should probably give some
thought to planning my wardrobe. Impulse buying is fun, but it
doesn't always result in one being prepared for all situations."
Jan agreed; she was obviously enjoying the new experience of
being out with a girl-friend, and she was happily sharing my
pleasure in the occasion. "I must look at lingerie, too, one day
soon," I said; "there are a lot of nice things that I would like
to get." "The house is almost filled with your lingerie already,"
Jan said; "I couldn't start to make an estimate of how many
garments there are with suspenders." She was laughing at me, in a
kind sisterly way, and I responded in kind. "But you have to
understand that in one respect I haven't changed at all. My
tastes are exactly the same, and now I have to deal with some
changes in shape and size. What I need in bras is quite different
now, and I will never have enough slips and panties." Jan laughed
out loud; "No, you haven't changed after all."

Monday, July 19th. I decided to go to the bank on Monday morning,
and I realised that this would be the first of many occasions
where I had to 'out' myself. I would have to explain to people
that I was now planning to live as Rita, instead of my former
self, and deal with their reactions. I knew that most of them
would not be familiar with the phenomenon of transition, and
there would be a variety of reactions, most likely surprise and
curiosity; there was no guarantee of a sympathetic response like
that of the professional people I had dealt with. I hoped I would
not run into outright disdain or hostility.

I looked very carefully at my face as I was getting ready, and
there certainly was much less evidence of beard. I decided the
residue was not sufficiently recovered from the laser treatment
for shaving to be effective, and made myself up fairly heavily. I
wore the new green dress, and set off with my purse over my
shoulder. I felt happy about the way I looked, and the way things
were going, but I was a little apprehensive about how my meeting
would turn out. I went into the bank, and walked to the customer
service area at the back. "Can I help you?" asked one of the
women who was free. "Yes," I said. "I have a rather confidential
matter to discuss in connection with my account; I think it would
be best if I could see the manager." She looked a little
surprised at my request, and was on the point of asking me
another question, but went off to the manager's office. She
returned quite quickly, and said "Ms. Pendleton is free now,
could you come this way?" I followed her over to the office, and
the manager greeted me with a smile, and asked me to sit down.
She closed the door, and went back to her desk; "What can I do
for you?"

"Thank you for seeing me like this," I started. "I didn't give
the clerk my name, and I appreciate the fact that she took me at
my word that the matter was confidential. The point is that it
involves my name. I have an account here, and I have dealt with
this branch for over twenty years; you'll find that the total
amount of my various deposits is quite substantial. Here's the
account number, and you'll find that it is in the name of
Reginald Opal." She looked at me with some surprise, and began to
put two and two together. I smiled, and continued; "That is no
longer very convenient, as I plan to dress and present myself as
you see me. The fact is that I am transsexual, and I am now
living full time as a woman. The complication is that my legal
status and name will not be changed until later." The manager was
very interested, but she didn't seem particularly upset by what
she was hearing. "What would be most convenient," I went on,
"would be for me to open an account and get a credit card in the
name I now use. I have ID of course, but everything refers to me
as male, and with the wrong name. My question is whether you can
help me do that before I get my documents changed." She thought
for a moment. "I don't see why not," she said. "You can open an
account in any name you want, and we can use your former self, if
that's the correct way of putting it, as the guarantor. Of
course, there would have to be a cross-reference on our records,
and we would use your existing social insurance number." "That
sounds good," I said. "of course the connection has to be known,
and will be a matter of public record in due course anyway. I
could probably continue to use my existing account without too
much trouble, but I do need a credit card in the name I actually
use." "That's not a problem," she said; it would be backed up by
the bank account, and obviously the credit is established by your
existing deposits."

"What I'll do then is simply open another account, and apply for
a credit card, both as Rita Opal," I said. "That will be fine,"
Ms. Pendleton said. "I'll go and get the forms, and you can fill
them out here." She came back in a moment, and I filled out the
forms; she wanted me to sign in both names. "There's no need for
this to be secret," I said, "and realistically it can't be. I
thought it best to ask for you, rather than spring the
complicated situation on an unsuspecting teller." She smiled;
"You're welcome," she said. "I don't know how many people there
are in your situation, but there are enough of them that there
have been some references in our various instruction manuals; the
situation didn't catch me completely unprepared." "In any case, I
very much appreciate the considerate way you have dealt with it,"
I said. "Thank you very much." "I'm happy to be of service," she
said. "It has also been very interesting to talk to you. If I
might make a personal comment, I must say I found you completely
convincing in your new role. Once you had identified yourself,
and I looked closely, I think I could see traces of someone
familiar, and then it did seem that there was something  a little
odd about the voice." "I'm working on that," I said. "Thank you
so much once again." I walked out of the office, and through the
central area surrounded by the tellers' wickets. I knew there
would be some juicy gossip running around there very soon, and
that I would excite a considerable amount of interest at my next
visit.

As I drove home, I reviewed the logistics of the many legal and
bureaucratic matters that had to be dealt with. Ideally a legal
change of my name would be the matter to deal with as soon as
possible; many of the other things were dependent on that. With
my name legally changed, I could renew my driver's licence, and
they would take a current picture. If I could persuade them to
put an 'F' designation instead of the 'M', then I would have a
useful piece of ID to use for changes to other documents. The
most difficult would be to get my passport changed, and that
probably would be impossible until I had SRS. It occurred to me
that it might be a good idea to get some legal advice, and I was
certain there would be a lawyer somewhere in the city that had
some experience dealing with transsexual people. I decided to try
and find one as soon as possible.

Back home, I told Jan about the helpful bank manager. "It turns
out to be quite easy to get my own money," I said. "I am the
guarantor, using my old signature, for a new account in the name
of a person who is very real to me, but is still legally a
fiction. On that basis, they will give me a credit card. I didn't
ask, but I assume that means I could also give them as a
reference." "That's wonderful!" said Jan; "I have always been
happy with the service there, and this is certainly a plus for
them in my book." "I've been thinking about the other things,
too," I said. "There's the driver's licence, and a legal change
of name, for starters, and some of the steps depend on others
being done first. It might be a good idea to find a T* friendly
lawyer." "Good idea," said Jan. I sat down at the computer, to
see what I could find on the web. Given the right contacts, there
is an enormous amount of useful information and advice,
accumulated by many of the people that I knew, electronically at
least, from the transgender mailing lists and web pages. Sure
enough, I found the name of a lawyer in the city who specialised
in handling transgender issues; she was a transsexual herself. I
called and made an appointment to see her.

Wednesday, July 21st. The appointment was a couple of days later.
I took a great deal of care getting ready; I knew in this case it
wouldn't matter, but I felt it was a matter of honour to do my
best when I was going to meet one of my 'sisters'. I wore the
green dress again; there was something about it that felt just
right, and it was becoming one of my favourites. In the lawyer's
office, I introduced myself to the receptionist, and gave my
name. "Take a seat," she said, Ms. Johnson will see you in just a
moment." I had barely sat down when a strikingly beautiful woman
came out of the inner office, and held out her hand. "You must be
Rita," she said. "I'm Sarah Johnson. Please come into my office."
She indicated a plush chair, and sat down behind the large
immaculate desk. With a very pleasant smile she said "What was
the matter you wished to discuss with me?" "Something quite
straightforward, I hope," I said; "Rita Opal is not presently my
legal name, but I would like to adopt it legally." "What is your
name now?" "Reginald Opal." "Aha!" Sarah said, with a friendly
smile. "I was almost certain. What stage are you at, now?" "Just
about the beginning," I said. "I started RLT about a week ago,
and this morning I persuaded a friendly bank manager to allow me
to spend my own money, signing my name as Rita. That's all so
far, and I know there are some other matters to deal with; I
thought it would be a good idea to get some advice from someone
who knows the ropes." "You are TS then?" "Without a doubt. I'm
free and well enough off that I can choose my own path; I am very
much enjoying changing myself from fantasy to reality, and I see
SRS as somewhere about a year from now." "I like your attitude,"
said Sarah; "unfortunately reality involves some legal matters,
but things are not too difficult; this society is relatively
enlightened."

She took a notepad, and started to write. "The change in name is
probably the thing to do first," she said. "There shouldn't be
any difficulty, and as you say it makes a lot of other steps
easier. There are no legal restrictions on anyone taking any name
they choose, but a judge has to be satisfied that the name change
is for a legitimate reason; the only real prohibitions are to do
so for fraudulent purposes, such as avoiding debts. The procedure
is to file an application; it will be posted in a court gazette
for three months, and then if there are no objections from any
interested party, a judge will hear the application. The reason
given would be that you are transsexual, living full time as a
woman, and you wish to have a name consistent with your
appearance; in most cases a ruling to allow the application is
made immediately. We can file the papers right away. Once your
name change is approved, then you are free to use it on any
documents, such as applications for credit cards, opening bank
accounts, signing contracts, and so on. The driver's licence is a
good idea too; getting it changed avoids minor bureaucratic
problems if you do happen to be stopped by the police, and of
course it is a useful identification, complete with a picture.
The problem there is the designation of sex; strictly speaking
the rules say that can not be changed until your legal status is
changed, which is only possible after SRS. But an application for
a driver's licence doesn't require supporting documents; the
procedure there is to go and apply for a new licence, taking the
official change of name; they take your picture at the DMV
office, and you can then ask them to correct the obvious error on
your file: the 'M' clearly should be an 'F'. Whether the clerk
will do that or not depends on how fussy they are, and how they
interpret rules which are somewhat vague, but there's a TS woman
who works at one of the offices, and the trick is to arrange that
you deal with her. She has been very helpful in letting us know
how to make sure one of us can get to deal with her."

"It seems to me that covers all the immediate matters," I said.
"Right," she replied. "Of course getting records fixed after SRS,
and getting your passport changed have to be dealt with
eventually. As regards SRS, this isn't strictly a legal
consideration, but unless you are planning to submit yourself to
the mercy of a surgeon in some exotic foreign country, you will
need to get letters from psychiatrists. Have you seen a shrink,
yet?" "No," I said, "though I realise that it is necessary." She
smiled; "A necessary evil. I suspect you don't need to have your
motives and mental state examined at great length, but you do
need the letters. It's a good idea to get one as soon as
possible; I recommend that pre-op people carry a letter from a
shrink stating that they are transsexual, living as a woman, and
should be treated as a woman. That can be useful in dealing with
bureaucrats who are looking for an excuse to hassle you -- it
could help going through customs, for example. In your case, I
would go and see someone who is knowledgeable about gender
issues, and supportive, as soon as possible. I would recommend
Wexler; at the appropriate stage he can refer you to someone
equally helpful for the second letter."

"It begins to sound as though things are not too difficult," I
said. "We seem to be treated reasonably well by the legal system
and the bureaucrats." "That is true, now," she said; "it wasn't
always that way, but there are enough of us for society to be
aware of the issues, and there is more tolerance for 'alternative
lifestyles' these days. The most difficult part is how to deal
with friends, relatives, neighbours, and all the people that knew
you as you were. I'm afraid I can't help you there; all I can do
is give moral support. You will probably find that it isn't too
horrendous, once the word is out; there will be the odd person
that just can't handle it, but those are the sort of people that
you are better off without, and it helps to find out who they
are." "I'm not looking forward to that aspect of things," I said,
"but it has to be done, and soon. Thank you for your assistance;
you have been very helpful." "You're welcome," said Sarah. "I'll
call you when I have the name change application ready for you to
sign." She got up and came round the desk, and hugged me; it was
a wonderful feeling -- I knew that I belonged to a community, and
my sisters there would be supporting me all the way along my
path.

I wasn't sure whether Dr. Wexler would require a referral from my
family doctor (another 'outing' to worry about); I called his
office, and explained to the receptionist that I was transsexual,
and needed to get assessment from a psychiatrist. She seemed to
take it as a routine matter, and was very friendly. She told me
that the doctor was on vacation, but would be back after the
August holiday; she was able to give me an appointment at the end
of that week. I felt that things were moving at quite an
acceptable pace now, and I was enjoying my new life to the full.
Everyday matters no longer caused me any undue concern, and Jan
and I went out together frequently; we went out shopping, and to
restaurants, and as the good summer weather continued we did a
lot of walking. The speech therapy really seemed to be helping me
present myself convincingly; it wasn't second nature yet for me
to speak 'as a woman' but it was certainly becoming less
difficult. The subtle changes in my body were more noticeable, to
me at least, and there was no doubt that I was developing
something of a waist. My breasts were still small, but very
definitely there.

Sunday, July 25th. One fine evening Jan and I had been for a
walk, and as we came back we passed one of the neighbours, a
widow who lived next door. We were not close friends with any of
our neighbours, but we did get on quite well, and usually passed
the time of day, and had the odd conversation over the backyard
fence. The lady saw Jan, and said "Hello." then looked at me
slightly puzzled. Jan returned the greeting, and I decided it was
time to make myself known. "Hello," I said. "you're wondering if
you know me or not. I've been your neighbour along with Jan for
twenty years, but there's been something of a change in me this
last month. It's been happening for a long time, and finally I
decided to accept the fact." She looked at me in surprise;
"You're Reginald!" "Yes," I said. "It's more accurate to say I
was; I'm Rita now, and I hope we can carry on as good
neighbours." "I see the resemblance now," she said; "so you have
changed your ..." "I'm a transsexual," I said. "These things
don't happen overnight, but I realised that I wanted to be a
woman, and over the next few months I shall gradually become one
more and more." "I've seen one or two on TV," she said, "but it's
quite a surprise to find one living next door; I don't quite know
what to say." "You'll get used to me," I said; "believe me, I'm
the same person inside, but I finally came to realise my true
nature." We went up to the house, and left her standing in her
front yard, with her amazement still showing on her face. "There
goes the neighbourhood," I said to Jan when were in the house.
"The word will be all over the street in no time. It had to be
done, and I'm curious now to see how people will react." Jan
squeezed my hand; "We can't keep it secret," she said. "The
sooner people know about it the better. You're happy, and I'm
happy, and if they realise that, then it will hopefully just be a
topic for gossip for a few days."

An hour or so later the phone rang. Jan answered and said "It's
for you," with a smile. It was our next door neighbour; "Hello
Rita," she said. "I was taken by surprise when I met you just
now, and I wasn't very polite -- I must apologise." "There's
nothing to apologise for," I said. "It isn't something that
happens every day." "Maybe not," she said, "but as I told you
there was a similar story on TV a while back. You remember that
policeman?" "Yes." "It was a very interesting story, and he -- I
suppose it's 'she' now -- explained about his feelings and why he
decided to do it. I was quite impressed, and I think you're being
very brave. I hope everything works out well for you." "Thank
you," I said; "I appreciate that very much. Things were just like
that for me; I had this feeling inside that I was really a woman,
and it got stronger and stronger; one day I realised that there
was no good reason for me not to admit it to myself -- and to
everyone else." "It must be very difficult to meet people, and
explain things to them," she said. "I guess so. I haven't figured
out the best way to do that yet, but it's now time. The fact is
you are the first person to know." "Well, I never!" "But it isn't
a secret," I said, "so don't feel that you shouldn't say anything
to any one else. It would probably be helpful if you did talk
about it to other neighbours; I say that because I appreciate
your understanding. It was very kind of you to call." "Oh not at
all," she said, "I did want to apologise for my rudeness in the
street. I'll have to get used to calling you Rita now; that's a
lovely name."

"If everyone responds like that, then things aren't going to be
too difficult," I said to Jan. "Fortunately we don't know too
many fundamentalist christians or gay bashers; my guess is that
most people will be polite and even pleasant to our faces, but
one or two will have real problems dealing with it. They may feel
sufficiently awkward that they won't want to talk to me. C'est la
vie." "It's hard to tell," Jan said. "The problem is that it is
relatively rare, so people have not encountered it, or thought
about it. But there are enough news stories, nowadays, so at
least it isn't something completely unheard of." "A lot of people
will think it's a symptom of being gay," I said. "That doesn't
bother me too much, but the irony is that I was heterosexual
through and through, and I'm changing my gender to become
lesbian." Jan grinned; "I'm the one that is weird. I'm sure they
are all wondering about me too."

Wednesday, July 28th. An envelope came in the mail from the bank,
and I opened it eagerly; as I hoped it contained a new credit
card with the simple name Rita Opal embossed on it. I felt an
immediate urge to go out shopping and use it, and it seemed
appropriate to make this the occasion to look at lingerie. Jan
had been quite right when she remarked on the enormous selection
that I had accumulated over the years, but lingerie in general,
and foundation garments, particularly those with suspenders, were
a special delight of mine, and my taste for them was as strong as
ever. It was a sign of the times that the yellow pages no longer
contained any reference to girdles, and there was very little
under the heading bras; lingerie seemed to be much more
promising, and some of the advertisements in that section did
seem to hint at the items of special interest to me. One in
particular was for an establishment called The Feminine Mystique;
it claimed a large selection of feminine lingerie, loungewear and
sleepwear, and even made specific reference to foundations, bras
and girdles.

I decided it was a place to check out, and told Jan what I had in
mind. She decided it was a good idea to let me go off on my own,
to enjoy myself with things that catered to my own very personal
definition of femininity, so I drove over to the shopping mall
where the store was located. It was quite large, and there was a
variety of items in the display window that made me catch my
breath, and I realised that I had come to the right place. Inside
there was a very large area of racks justifying the claim made in
the advertisement, and on some of the display counters in the
corner I saw an enticing display of girdles and corselettes. I
started to wander around happily, looking over the vast selection
of intimate feminine garments; as I walked up and down, feeling
as if I were in paradise, a saleslady came up to me. "Are you
looking for anything in particular?" she asked. She was quite
elegant, very friendly, and I felt an empathy in her manner. "Not
really," I said. "I am interested to see just what things you do
stock, and I am impressed by the selection you have. I'm sure I
shall find something I just have to have." She smiled at me; "We
do try to cater to all tastes," she said. "I see that you do. I
happen to like wearing stockings with suspenders, and I enjoy
wearing a girdle; it seems to be an old-fashioned taste, and I
didn't think there were many of us left." "You'd be surprised,"
she said. "They certainly aren't to the taste of many women these
days, but there is a very definite market for elegant foundation
garments. Let me show you some of the things we have." She led me
over to the counter, and I was staggered by the display of
garments. The variety of girdles, panty-girdles, corselettes and
basques would have been impressive even in the 1950s. "I'm not
sure I can do justice to this display at the moment," I said,
"but I assure you I shall be back. I need to take stock of what I
have, and I have had something of a change in my size recently,
so I'll make a long visit one day soon. I would like to look at
slips, though, and I definitely need some panties."

She had a wonderful selection of slips; they were silky and
smooth, and many were elegantly tailored in the style I loved,
also unfortunately somewhat outdated, with lacy hems and cups,
and slim elegant shoulder straps. I selected two, a black one and
another in white, and then went to look at panties. The choice
was large, with a variety of colours and styles; I chose some
with 'sissy' frills and flounces. They appealed to me, and I had
not really worn any in that style before. The saleslady wrapped
my purchases carefully, and took my new credit card to process
the sale. "I am very fond of things that strike me as feminine,"
I said; "exactly what that means is quite personal, of course,
but there are particular things, hard to describe, that appeal to
me for some reason." "I know what you mean," she replied. "I
think it is one of the pleasures of being a woman, and I enjoy
working in this business. Thank you, and I hope to see you again
soon."

I knew that she would, as I realised that the place would be
irresistible to me. It would always have been a delight to me,
but now I could wander around freely, as a woman, accepted as
someone who belonged there, and take my time savouring the many
delights that were on display. It was a wonderful feeling to be
accepted in such an environment, and to find that my appreciation
for lovely feminine things was regarded by those I encountered
there as completely natural.

Friday, August 6th. The morning of my appointment with Dr. Wexler
I went through what was now my daily ritual. I dressed, and once
again couldn't resist the green dress; I brushed my hair, and
then sat down to do my makeup. I was getting much more skilled at
the task now, and I took great care; I wanted to make an emphatic
statement about my femininity, without going to excess. I used
some eye liner and chose the bright crimson shade for my lips.
"Good luck," said Jan, as I left; "I hope he isn't going to
commit you." I drove over to the hospital area; the office was in
a nearby medical building. As I rode the elevator up to the tenth
floor, I felt quite at ease, and noted with interest the odd male
glance in my direction. I introduced myself to the receptionist,
and she immediately ushered me into the doctor's office. He was
seated at his desk, and got up to shake my hand; "Good morning,
Ms. Opal," he said, "please sit down." He indicated a comfortable
looking armchair. I sat down, and with some deliberation crossed
my legs, and carefully smoothed the skirt of my dress. He watched
me with interest, obviously sizing me up. "I understand you are a
transsexual," he said.

"Yes," I replied. "I started presenting as a woman about a month
ago; I have had hormones prescribed, I am attending speech
therapy three times a week, and I am having laser treatment for
removal of my beard." "It sounds as though you are quite
serious," he said smiling; "it would probably be helpful if you
told me something about your history, and what prompted you to
come to this conclusion." "I have been a fetishistic cross-
dresser for my whole life since puberty," I said. "I was
fortunate in finding a partner who was happy to accommodate my
desires, and we spent a very happy thirty years together in a
comfort zone. About three years ago I had prostate surgery, and
found myself unable to achieve erection; I became very frustrated
when I realised that ejaculation was also no longer possible, and
therefore I could not experience a male orgasm. I went through a
very bad few months, and had an overwhelming fixation on cross-
dressing. My partner was very helpful, and we experimented in
attempts to produce erections. That didn't work, but I did
discover that my penis was still very sensitive, and began to
experience great pleasure when it was manipulated. I began to
experience orgasm again, but of a different kind, and I realised
that it was very similar to female orgasm. That realisation
enhanced my pleasure, and I eventually discovered that sex was
better than it ever had been if I identified myself as female
mentally. My partner was excited with what happened to me, and
played along with my fantasy; things got so good that we had a
second honeymoon. I found myself more and more interested in
feminine clothing, and ornamentation, and got great pleasure from
my mental identification. Eventually, I realised that I wanted to
make my fantasy into reality. I wanted to wear feminine clothing
all the time, and present myself in public, and I also wanted my
own breasts. My female sexual identification now makes me desire
penetration.

"I wouldn't presume to second guess your professional opinion,
but my self-assessment is that I was probably transgendered all
along, and the sexual frustration after prostate surgery knocked
down some barriers in my head. It seems significant to me that
sex is now better than it ever was, as a male, and I found myself
wanting more and more to explore the feminine side of myself,
eventually to the exclusion of anything else." "That's very
interesting," said Dr. Wexler; "and how has your partner
responded to this?" "That is the absolute joy of my present
situation," I said. "The notion that I was transsexual had been
in the back of my mind for some time, and I didn't want to deal
with it. Jan was the one who raised it. She told me that she had
been doing some self assessment too; she had realised that the
more feminine I became, the closer was our relationship. She came
to the conclusion that she had shifted in her orientation, and
become lesbian. She told me that she wanted me to become a
woman!" "Indeed!" he said. "On the face of it, there doesn't seem
to be too much to explore. Both of you are happy with your
current lifestyle, and there's no obvious reason why it shouldn't
be facilitated. You understand that I do have to satisfy myself
that what you say is not wishful thinking or part of an extended
fantasy?" "Of course," I said. "To be completely candid, my visit
to you is prompted solely by the need for an assessment
confirming my transsexual nature; I need that in order to have
surgery. But I appreciate that it must be your professional
assessment, and I shall be happy to do whatever I can to convince
you that I am representing my situation accurately. As I see it
there is no 'problem' to deal with since I am happy, and
presumably well adjusted, following my desires. I certainly have
no desire to be 'cured'; I'm now very happy where I am."

"Your case is very interesting," Dr. Wexler said. "You have
reached a definite conclusion, and have well thought out desires,
but it has happened at a relatively late stage in life. I think
your idea about your transsexuality being present from an early
age, but dormant, may well be valid. There was no stimulus to
awaken it until your previous 'comfort zone' became
uninhabitable. Of course you were exhibiting some cross gender
symptoms previously. I am also quite intrigued by the role your
partner has played, and I would appreciate an opportunity to talk
to her, too. Maybe I could see both of you on your next visit."

He then started to ask me questions about my previous cross-
dressing phase, and the critical period after my prostate
surgery. He was interested in my responses on a whole range of
topics, what my feelings were, how I reacted in various
situations, and my attitudes to life in general. It wasn't clear
to me what the point of some of his questions was, but I realised
he was attempting to check my veracity, and look for other
indications that would justify my conclusions about myself. He
kept me for almost an hour, and finally smiled at me. "I think I
have sufficient information now," he said. "It seems fairly clear
to me that you are transsexual. Whether you comply with the rigid
rules laid down isn't really significant; as I see it you wish to
follow through with a certain process, you have come to that
conclusion with a full understanding of its implications, and
there is no reason why you should be prevented from doing so.
Please make an appointment for next week, for you and your
partner. I'm sure I'll be prepared to write a letter for you
then, but remember that the SOC does require that you have been
consulting me for a period of three months." He shook my hand and
followed me to the door.

I arranged an appointment for the same time the following week,
hoping that Jan wouldn't have anything booked that would conflict
with it. On my way home, I reviewed the session; my conclusion
was that it had turned out very well.

When I got home Jan was very interested to hear what had
happened. Dr. Wexler's assessment of me was vital to my ultimate
goal, and neither of us had any previous experience with
psychiatrists. "It went very well," I told Jan. "I think he
agrees with me that I am TS, but I told him that it was really
all your idea, so he would like you to come along with me next
week." "You did, did you?" she said. "I might have guessed this
would happen. Transsexuals are ten a penny now, and you can't
look at a talk show on TV without seeing one. For real weirdness,
you have to examine a genetic female who cohabits with a TS." She
hugged me lovingly. "It's a good idea, though. I'd be happy to
see the good doctor and give him my side of the story."

Thursday, August 12th. Each morning now I went through a daily
ritual of making up my face, and had a great deal of fun
experimenting with various different looks. The basic skills were
becoming natural to me, and no longer presented any difficulty; I
happily fixed my lipstick during the day whenever I thought it
was necessary. As I examined my face, it was clear that my beard
was recovering from the laser treatment, though the growth was
very much reduced. My rough estimate was that the 30% figure I
had been told at the clinic was a good description; it seemed
their claims were quite valid, and I hoped that would continue to
be the case. The problem was that I still had to shave every day,
and I sometimes repeated the process later, if we were going out
for the evening. I was fortunate in a related matter, though; I
had very little body hair. There was virtually none on my chest,
and the fine hair that grew on my arms and legs was dealt with
easily; I don't think I had to work any harder at removing it
than Jan did with hers. It also seemed to me that it was less of
a problem than it had been, and I attributed that to the effect
of hormones. This particular morning, I had my second appointment
at the laser clinic, so I did not shave, and I cleaned my face
carefully, so that there would be no residue of makeup. I set out
feeling strangely naked, and hoped that my appearance wouldn't
excite too much attention.

It was quite early in the morning; I was able to park right
outside the clinic, and I walked across the sidewalk without any
concern for passers-by. The receptionist greeted me warmly; "Hi
Rita. You look very nice; the treatment seems to have worked very
well." "I think so," I said; "I'm really hopeful that there will
be very little left to worry about after today." Melanie was
ready to see me, and led me into the room at the back. She looked
at my face intently, and said "It looks very good; we really did
achieve a large reduction last time. After today, we shall almost
be there!" She gave me the dark glasses, and said "Let me take
the wig." She took my wig, as she had on the last visit. "Your
hair is getting longer," she said; "next time we'll have to tie
it out of the way. It's filling out too; I think you should get
it styled -- your hair would be shorter, but it could be arranged
to look very attractive." "I hadn't even thought about that," I
said. "It's a good idea, though; thanks." Melanie got to work,
and I steeled myself for a fairly unpleasant hour. I felt the
tingling sensation on my chin, but it didn't really seem too bad.
"I still have to cover the whole area," she said, "and I'm afraid
it will take just as long." It did indeed, and by the time she
had finished, I had really had enough. The whole process seemed a
little more bearable, though, and I think the fact that it did
appear to be working effectively helped me to put up with it.

I took off the dark glasses, and looked at myself in the mirror.
My chin and throat were quite red, but it didn't seem quite as
bad as it had the previous time. Before I put my wig back on, I
took a long look at my hair. It was getting quite long, and
almost covered my ears; what I did notice, though, was that it
really was quite profuse on the crown of my head; instinctively I
ran my hand through it, and discovered that it had a fine
texture. The colour wasn't particularly attractive, but I thought
to myself that it could easily be altered. I put the wig back on,
and realised that it was getting tricky to fit it over my natural
hair, in fact some was showing over my ears. "Thank you," I said
to Melanie; "and thank you very much for the comment about my
hair. I'm so used to looking at myself and fixing makeup with the
wig on, that I hadn't really thought about what was happening
underneath." "It really could be fixed very nicely," she said,
smiling; "then you'll have two different ways to present
yourself!" As she led me back out to the reception area, she said
"Make another appointment for next month; I think that will
complete the treatment. You're a very patient client, and it's
nice working with you. Bye." "Goodbye," I said, "and thank you
once again." I made a date with the receptionist, and after a
little chat -- girl talk that gave me a nice feeling inside -- I
left. I stood outside for a moment enjoying the sunshine; a woman
passed by and looked at my face with some curiosity; I smiled at
her, and realised that I didn't really care what she was thinking
about me.

I took a long drive on the way home. The weather was beautiful,
and I felt very happy about the way things were progressing; the
scenery was as wonderful as ever, and I was in a mood to enjoy
it. Some times my present state seemed natural, as though I had
always been there; at others I found myself suddenly being aware
of the changes. I drove along the sunny roads, looking at the
mountains, and felt very happy that I could do so wearing my
beautiful green dress. I got home finally, and Jan seemed a
little concerned about my lengthy absence. "I'm sorry, my love,"
I said. "I wasn't thinking. I felt so good about the way things
are going that I decided to enjoy the sun, and take the long way
home." "You were quite worn out the last time," Jan said; "was it
easier?" "Not really. But the woman who looked after me made some
comments about my hair, and it really bucked me up. It's grown
quite long, and she suggested it might look nice if I got it
styled." Jan hugged me. "You really are starting to react like a
woman," she said. "I like it!" For once I didn't react with my
usual banter; Jan's acceptance and encouragement of me was
sometimes overwhelming, and I had a squirmy feeling inside me at
the thought of being feminine, and having her happily reinforce
the idea. "I'd like to go to a hair stylist and see what they
suggest," I said. "I really do feel good with long hair, and I
can't wait for mine to grow long enough, but it would be fun to
see what could be done by somebody really skillful." "Gloria, who
does mine, is very good," Jan said. "Why don't you go and see
her?" "I think I will. Shall I just go as is, or do you think it
might be a good idea to explain what I am?" "I don't know," said
Jan. "I do have an appointment with her in a couple of days; I
could raise the subject of drag, and even TS, and see what her
reaction is -- just as a hypothetical question, of course." "Of
course," I said, "you're capable of doing that, too. Seriously
though, it would be interesting to find out if she doesn't recoil
in horror."

Friday, August 13th. The next morning my face had almost
completely recovered, and when I sat down at the vanity, I saw no
trace of beard at all. I felt my skin, and it did really feel
pleasantly smooth. That didn't prevent me from doing my daily
routine with makeup, but I tried to go fairly easy with the
foundation, and I attempted to get a much more understated
effect. I still used a prominent colour of lipstick, since I had
come to regard that as one of the symbols of my feminine state. I
also used the eyeliner, very fine, and was finally quite pleased
with the overall results. I still had not established a well
defined image for myself, but I was having a great deal of fun
experimenting. Jan watched with interest as usual. "You look very
nice," she said, "and you really are getting good at doing it.
I'll have to put in some practice to keep up with you." "Well," I
said, "now's a good time. We have to see Dr. Wexler later on this
morning, and you should consider how to present yourself. I don't
know what he expects, but I think natural femininity might work
well." "I think I could manage that," she said; "it's
comfortable, and I feel at ease with it, almost as much as you
do."

As we drove across town to the medical building, Jan and I
chatted happily. "I think this will be very interesting," I said;
"I hope you aren't worrying about it." "Not at all," she said. "I
feel really much the way you do. Things have changed, quite
dramatically I suppose, but I am very happy with the way they
have worked out. It took me a while to realise what had happened,
but looking back it was obvious. It's up to the doctor to decide
whether we are well-adjusted, but he seems to have the right
attitude; why put road blocks in the way of people who know what
they are doing and are happy about it?" I smiled at her; "It's
still wonderful how we both changed, in step all the way. It's
something most people would be very envious of." We took the
elevator up to the tenth floor, and the receptionist smiled at
us. "Rita Opal," I said, "and this is Jan; Dr. Wexler wanted to
chat to her too." "That's Jan Opal," put in Jan. "Oh, thank you,"
said the receptionist, making a note. I didn't detect any
reaction from her.

After a few minutes, Dr. Wexler came out of his office. "Hello,
Rita," he said. "This is Jan," I told him. "Hello, Jan," he said.
"I'm pleased you could come too. Please come into my office." He
had two chairs set across from his desk, and we both sat down. I
repeated my performance of crossing my legs and smoothing my
skirt, just as I had on my previous visit, and I saw with some
amusement that Jan was doing exactly the same. "How are things
going, Rita?" he asked. "Very well," I said. "Every day I feel
more at ease, and things seem to be slowly fitting into place. I
had my second laser treatment yesterday, and the woman there was
kind enough to remark on my hair, without the wig. She suggested
it might be ready for styling now." Dr. Wexler turned to Jan. "I
had quite a long chat with Rita last week," he said. "She told me
basically what has happened over the last few years, and
explained the way she feels about things now. I asked her a lot
of questions, and my feeling is that she knows what she is doing,
and is very happy with her current path; so there doesn't seem to
be any reason to put obstacles in her way. Many of my transsexual
clients have had great difficulty dealing with their existing
relationships and attachments, and very often their desires are
not understood or welcomed by those close to them. From what Rita
told me, you are reacting very differently. I would like to hear
your assessment of what has happened to her, and your reaction to
it."

Jan thought for a moment. "You know the basic facts," she said,
and Dr. Wexler nodded. "Rita has always had an interest in
feminine things. It was primarily clothing to start with, but her
desire was sufficiently strong that she felt it necessary to tell
me about it very early in our marriage. I didn't find that cause
for concern; it just didn't bother me, and if anything it added
excitement to our love-making, though I didn't understand the
feelings that caused it. After her prostate surgery, when it
became clear that our previous happy sex life was no longer
possible, she went through a very bad time, much worse than I
realised. All I saw were the symptoms; she seemed preoccupied,
and spent hours and hours typing away at the computer. I didn't
know what it was all about, and I began to wonder if I was losing
her. She told me about an email correspondent, though I had no
idea what they spent so much time chatting about. One day my
curiosity got so great that I asked her point blank about the
person. She answered, but her remark that it wasn't easy to say
whether it was a man or a woman provoked further questions from
me, and she answered all of them and opened up completely. We
talked for the whole weekend, and it continued for months after.
I had two reactions: the first was relief that I hadn't lost her
at all, and the other was a wonderful feeling of empathy for
someone who was able to lay bare her soul so completely. It
brought us very close. An almost immediate result was an
incredible second honeymoon; we couldn't bear to be apart, we
spent the days making eyes at one another, and we made love
several times a day to our mutual satisfaction. That lasted the
whole summer; in a sense it still continues."

"Obviously you had found a means of satisfying her sexually,"
said Dr. Wexler. "As she described it, a female identification
became an essential part of her enjoyment of sex." "It did
indeed," said Jan. "I responded positively, and got drawn in to
what she called her fantasy. We had always enjoyed life together,
and we had a happy marriage, much better than most, but things
got better and better. Rita was very happy to feel uninhibited
about talking to me about the things that were exciting to her,
and she began to explore her feminine inclinations more and more.
Each time she 'pushed the envelope' my response seemed to be that
things got even better. Eventually I began to make her fantasy
mine, and I even thought of her as feminine; I started calling
her 'Rita' quite happily, even naturally. Our love making
necessarily involved mutual manipulation, by hand; Rita thought
that it was essentially lesbian, and I suddenly became convinced
one day that it was precisely that. I took great delight in it,
and also realised that it would be even more delightful if she
were a woman physically. I felt that would add even more to our
relationship, and the events of the last month have certainly
born that out."

I was utterly fascinated to hear Jan's lengthy discourse. She
wasn't given to the kind of self-analysis that I had got into
since my recognition of my transgendered state, so to hear in her
own words what I only knew of indirectly was a new experience.
Dr. Wexler seemed equally fascinated.

"That is a remarkable statement," he said. "It's all the more
remarkable, and certainly opportune, that your conclusions about
yourself match the changes that Rita has gone through. It's
almost too good to be true; I wonder if there is such a strong
bond between you that it transcends gender and your orientation
simply reflects an acceptance of the situation you are confronted
with. You were normally heterosexual as a young woman?" "Yes,"
said Jan. "I dated in the usual way, and even had one or two
short liaisons, before setting my sights on Reginald." "And how
do you react to males now?" "With interest, on occasion, but much
less so than before. I find myself looking at other women in a
different way, now, and in some cases I find them attractive. I
have also had some indirect contact with males that are
transgendered to some degree, as a result of Rita's interests. I
find myself very much in tune with them; I have a sense of
satisfaction in being a woman, and it seems natural to me that
men might want to attain that state themselves. I have never been
attracted to the macho stereotype; when I first met Reginald, as
he then was, he certainly showed no sign of being effeminate; he
seemed to be natural enough as a male, but he was considerate and
kind, rather than being an overbearing he-man. We really became
close friends." "Let me add to that," I put in; "being one
another's best friend is precisely the way I describe our
relationship. We happened to be man and woman so sex was more of
a very nice side benefit, rather than the main purpose of our
life together. We relate as people, and I sometimes think the
relationship does transcend gender as you say." "How would you
describe your sex life now?" asked Dr. Wexler. "If anything, more
intense than before," said Jan. "There was a heady period when we
first got together, but things settled down and became fairly
routine. It was probably more important to Reg than it was to me.
When Rita came out completely to me, it became more intense than
it had ever been, and things are still very good. I think they
get better as more and more of Rita emerges."

Dr. Wexler sat for a moment in contemplation. "This is really the
most remarkable situation I have encountered," he said. "Rita is
following a path that in many cases can be very difficult; she
seems convinced that it is what she wants to do; both of you seem
in complete agreement, you have clearly thought the whole process
through, and you seem to get happier together as she proceeds
along the path. It's almost irrelevant whether she is a
transsexual as defined by the professional guidelines; what is
more to the point is that there is no reason why her course
should be impeded. I appreciate you coming in, Jan; I must
confess that I was curious to hear what you had to say, after
Rita's account of your relationship. It is much more common to
meet lack of understanding, denial and even hostility from the
partners of people starting transition; very few relationships
survive after one of the partners has been identified as
transsexual. Fortunately your case is an exception; it is very
gratifying to see. I'll give you a letter, Rita, stating that in
my opinion you are transsexual; it will be useful in case you run
into any bureaucratic problems. Maybe you could come and see me
in three months' time; then I can give you a formal letter
recommending sexual reassignment surgery, and refer you to one of
my colleagues for a second opinion." He shook hands with both of
us, and wished us well as he said goodbye. After a brief
consultation with the receptionist to book the appointment, we
rode the elevator back down to the street level.

"I was very touched by the things you said," I told Jan. "Since
things got stirred up for me a few years ago, I seem to have got
very much into self-assessment and figuring out why certain
things appeal to me. I seem to want to understand what is going
on in my head, but I haven't really heard you doing it." "I've
been thinking about things too," said Jan, "particularly in this
last year. I could see what was happening to you, and I welcomed
it; eventually I started to wonder why, and I began to think
about my own mental processes. My conclusions are quite recent,
though I am convinced that they are valid." She squeezed my arm
lovingly as we walked across the parking lot.

Tuesday, August 17th. Early the next week, a note arrived from
Dr. Wexler. It contained a formal 'to whom it may concern'
letter, using his official letterhead. It stated that I was a
patient of his, that in his professional opinion I was clearly
transsexual, and that I was living full-time as a woman as a
required part of my treatment prior to surgery. It concluded by
saying categorically that I was a woman, and that I should be
treated as a woman. I was very happy to see this in writing, and
thought that the letter might come in useful if someone wanted to
argue the case with me.

Later that evening, wearing matching filmy nightdresses, Jan and
I lay side by side in bed. It was a favourite part of the day for
both of us, and we often got into discussion about where we were,
and how the universe was unfolding for us. "That letter from
Wexler marks another milestone," I said. "I have been following
my inclinations for the last month or two, but it represents a
sort of seal of approval from society at large. I see myself as a
woman, and the role becomes more natural to me, and as enjoyable
as always, every day that passes. Now I have an official request,
written by a qualified professional, that I be treated as a woman
by society." "Congratulations!" said Jan. "You're right, though;
it is an important step. May I be the first to recognise your
status; welcome to the sisterhood." I hugged her. "It does mean a
lot, Jan," I said, "and when I think about the way you have
reacted all along, I am as amazed as Wexler was." The topic
started a new train of thought, and I continued: "Society at
large is now instructed to treat me as a woman; hopefully a large
section of it does so anyway, because they see me as I present
myself, and don't find reason to decide otherwise. But I think
this precipitates the next step I have to take, and that's the
one I don't relish." "You have to come out to those who have
known you all along," Jan said. "Precisely. I have to do it now.
The question is what is the best way?" "You've read a fair amount
of the experiences of others," Jan said. "What do they do?" "A
variety of things," I said. "In a workplace they often send a
detailed letter to all their colleagues, and then follow it up by
trying to meet with them one on one. Most often people talk to
their relatives, parents in particular, one on one; sometimes
they give them a letter to read too. The advantage of that is the
arguments, the description of the medical condition, and all the
facets of transsexuality can be carefully presented, hopefully
with the optimum spin." "Does it work?" "Results seem to vary," I
said. "More often than not, people do find a measure of
acceptance and understanding; on the other hand, it's not at all
unusual for them to find they are estranged from old friends and
the odd family member. They can find acceptance where they least
expect it, and run into problems with long time bosom friends."
"Have you thought about what to do?" "Not as much as I should
have. It's been nagging away in the back of my mind, and I still
can't decide on the best course." "There aren't too many people
really close to us," said Jan. "We are fairly antisocial, and we
don't have that many relatives -- none of them live anywhere
near, and we don't see them too often." "The largest group is at
the university," I said; "there's a very large number of people I
know there, though I have allowed myself to drift away. I think
that I should send a letter to them, and maybe that's the way to
deal with everyone who knew Reg. Once the basic facts are stated,
then I can contact the more close friends and relatives and give
them whatever further explanation they need." "That's the best
way," said Jan. "Write a letter that covers the whole story, and
send it to everyone we can think of. You may find that they want
to contact you. I'll talk to my sister."

Saturday, August 21st. I spent most of the rest of the week
struggling with the letter. I looked at the various examples that
had been posted on transgender mailing lists, and got some ideas.
The basic description of what transsexuality was, and how it
manifests was relatively easy, though I took a lot of care with
the wording, and worried about getting just the right phrases.
The difficulty for me was that I had not really been gender
dysphoric; if I had been able to refer to a well defined medical
condition like that, I could then have said simply that I was
diagnosed, and follow up with the traditional treatment. I also
thought that people might have a hard time understanding how I
had come to such a radical realisation about myself so late in
life, after living very happily as a male for most of it. I
decided I would use my prostate surgery as the significant
factor; I thought I could create some sort of rationale based on
the effects of that, and of course it was based on the truth. An
advantage of that was that I had changed my lifestyle after the
surgery; after being on sick leave, I took a year's sabbatical,
and then retired early a year later. I wrote an account based to
some degree on my experience: I explained that I found some
impairment in my ability to function as a male as a result of the
surgery, which had given me severe problems, pushing me into a
state close to nervous breakdown. In getting treatment for that,
I had come to recognise a feminine side to myself, and as the
months went by, that part of me became stronger and stronger
until I finally realised that I wanted to accept it completely. I
dwelled on the fact that doing so brought me an incredible sense
of relief, and made it obvious that I should follow the path of
transsexual transition. Without getting into any details, I did
say that it seemed likely that this aspect of myself had been
present in my subconscious all through my life.

I asked Jan to look at it, and give me her reaction. Her response
was very positive. "I think that's very good," she said. "It is
essentially the true story, and only differs from the whole truth
in that it doesn't dwell on certain things that nobody else needs
to know about. You do give a good account of your distress, and
the relief you felt when you realised that there was a mechanism
for dealing with it. How else could you handle the story?" "A
good question," I said. "There is always a difficulty in
understanding what goes on in someone else's mind, and realising
the depth of their feelings; I guess 'empathy' is really the
capacity for doing that. Some people will be completely
mystified, no doubt; most will be vaguely sympathetic without
understanding fully; hopefully there will be a few that do
appreciate the depth of feelings that result in such a course of
action, and at least understand that they can't be resisted."
"It's very good," Jan said. "Go with it."

I did, but not until after much more struggling with attempts to
find exactly the right word in various places. I then merged my
personal story with the basic medical facts, creating what I
hoped was a reasonably coherent document. I spent a long time
with the word processor, getting everything as close to
perfection as I could. Finally I produced three versions; they
differed slightly in the introductory paragraph, and the idea was
to make them suitable for close friends, more casual
acquaintances, and those who knew of me, but with whom I had very
little interaction. I printed out sample copies of each, and gave
them to Jan to look at.

Sunday, August 22nd. Jan spent some time reading through my final
versions. "They tell the essential story," she said. "I don't see
how you could present it any better. Hopefully it will give
people some idea of what was going on in your mind, and even if
they don't understand, the essential facts are there. You
consider yourself to be a woman, and you wish society to treat
you as one. If people can't deal with that, there isn't very much
we can do about it, and ultimately it's their problem." "I don't
see what more I can do," I said. "As you say, when the chips are
down, I am simply saying here is what I have chosen to do, and
this is how I would prefer to be treated. It's happened. But what
do you think about the reference to you?" "It's fine," she said.
"Again, it's the way things are; it's the way they are going to
be. If people don't understand me either, there isn't much I can
do about it. I am utterly happy with the way things have turned
out." "I appreciate that, my love," I said, " and that is what
has made it possible for me to deal with this situation as easily
as I have. What worries me is that people are going to be as
mystified by your actions as they are by mine. You may find old
friends no longer want to see you, too." "Too bad for them," Jan
said. "If that happens, then they weren't real friends anyway,
and it will be nice to know that." Jan's support for me was
invaluable at times like this, and I choked up thinking about how
much she meant to me. What I had said in the letter was that Jan
had been a great support to me through a difficult period in my
life, that she and I felt the same way about one another as we
always had, and that she and I planned to continue living
together. It was the simple truth.

I ran off a vast number of copies of the letter, and Jan and I
sat down with our address books. I also looked at the university
directory, and dug out just about any name I could find of
someone who might have known me, or who might remember me. It
seemed as though we spent the whole day addressing envelopes, and
I felt exhausted and spent by the time we finished. "It's far
worse than christmas cards," I said in an attempt to cheer things
up. "I'll go to the post office tomorrow and see if I can get
them all franked. After all this effort, I don't really feel like
spending another day licking stamps." "That's probably the worst
part of the whole process," Jan said. "It had to be done, and now
all we can do is sit back and wait for the fallout. Let's open a
bottle of wine." We sat down and relaxed, both of us emotionally
drained.

Monday, August 23rd. I went to the post office early on Monday
morning, carrying a box containing  several bundles of envelopes.
It turned out that they were still prepared to frank bulk
mailings, and fortunately I had sorted everything by postal code.
I went outside into the sun, feeling much lighter -- not just
because of the weight I had just unloaded. I had mixed emotions;
I felt relieved because a difficult task had been done, and
things were now out of my hands. But I also felt apprehensive,
thinking of the response there would no doubt be. I knew it would
range from disbelief and disdain, through tolerance without any
real understanding, hopefully to acceptance. Whatever the
response, at least people would know what had happened to me, and
I would not have to deal with the embarrassment they might have
if it was sprung on them suddenly by accident. I also knew that
my letter would provoke curiosity and gossip about me, and I
almost felt my ears burning in anticipation.

Later in the afternoon I drove off to my regular speech therapy
session. I was greeted as usual by the lovely contralto, and as
always I was warmed by her happy enthusiasm. For the last week or
so she had been getting me to read quite lengthy passages, then
playing the tape back and making comments about my phrasing and
modulation. She chose passages by female authors, and typically
they featured heroines who chatted away about what they were
wearing, how they reacted to their male admirers, and emoted
about their girlish interests. As a genre, it didn't inspire me,
and I hoped that the choices didn't reflect my therapist's
literary tastes. I realised of course what she was doing; the
idea was to get me to speak stereotypical feminine phrases and
sentences, and persuade me to do so in a manner that didn't sound
unnatural. I didn't always identify very well with the ladies
whose words I had to say, but I did get something of a charge
from being cast in an ultra-feminine role.

This session she carried this strategy to the ultimate; she gave
me a Harlequin romance, and asked me to read a long section from
it for the tape recorder. The feather-brained heroine, no doubt
wearing little pointy shoes, and frilly petticoats, was emoting
about the travails of her unhappy life; she was devastated by the
lack of attention from a man she secretly admired, a paragon of
masculine charms and virtues. She was speaking to a friend, and
also recalled in great detail their many girlish activities and
pleasures. I read, and attempted to play the role for several
minutes. Before she played the tape back to me, the therapist
asked me to try to forget that it was I reading; "Try to listen
very carefully to the modulation, and take in the overall effect;
I'll play the tape right the way through, and then ask for your
reactions." She started the tape, and I tried to do as she said.
I listened to the phrasing quite carefully at first, but the
content intruded, and I began to find it irritating. The tape
came to an end, and I reacted immediately; "Why couldn't that
stupid girl understand what was happening to her?"

"Girl?" asked the therapist. "Did it sound like a girl to you?" I
was taken aback; "I suppose it did," I said. "I wasn't really
listening to the voice, and I just reacted to what was being
said." "Did it ring true?" I thought for a moment; "It didn't
strike me as false," I said, "but I wasn't really aware of the
characteristics of the voice." She smiled at me. "This tape is a
beautiful illustration of what I told you when you first came to
see me. The person on the tape doesn't have a squeaky high-
pitched little girl voice, but listening to it, one would have no
doubt that it's a woman speaking. If we did an accurate
measurement of pitch, it might very well be somewhere in the
usual tenor male voice range, but that doesn't come across. The
voice is somewhat lower than the usual range for female voices,
but that isn't unusual; it has a characteristic feminine
character, and a casual hearer would have no doubt that the
speaker was a woman." I looked at her in some surprise, and she
continued: "My point is that you have done very well; I think you
have really managed to master the inflection, and the result is
that people will not find any incongruity between your voice and
your appearance." I was gratified to hear this, and realised that
I had not really thought very much about my speaking recently.
After the first week or two, when I was very concerned, and tried
very hard to control the way I spoke, I hadn't really had any
difficulties in everyday conversation with strangers.

"I'm very pleased with your progress," the therapist said, "and
you have been very dedicated in your approach. I don't think that
there is any need to continue these sessions. Your voice isn't
completely second nature yet, and you may give yourself away if
you are caught by surprise, or startled. The only way to avoid
that is to keep working. If you can, I would try to read a
passage every day out loud and get someone to listen to you
carefully. If you can bear it, it might help to read something
like you did today; the overstressed, stereotypical feminine
content does help to get you speaking properly. It would sound
even more ludicrous than it is if the speaker weren't obviously
feminine too; the point is that after practicing an overstated
femininity intensely, the fallback from that becomes what you do
instinctively. That will be recognised as female by those who
listen to you."

I gave her my heartfelt thanks, and left feeling very happy about
the way things were going; I was even tempted to sing as I walked
down the street to the car, but decided that might be pushing my
luck. Jan picked up on my high spirits when I arrived home;
"Things went well?" she asked. "Yes, I seem to have graduated;
she doesn't think I need to carry on with the sessions any more."
"That's wonderful, my love," said Jan, hugging me. "She did give
me some ongoing work," I said. "She wants me to read Harlequin
romances, out loud, and attempt to emote like the silly little
girls they feature. You have to be my sounding board, and detect
any false note." "That might be fun," Jan said. "If we find we
can't take it too seriously, then we can practice giggling
together."

Sunday, September 5th. A week or so after I had mailed all the
letters, we started to get some reactions. There were a fair
number of cards from friends and acquaintances which wished me
well, but were really quite non-committal. They were almost like
get-well cards, though the odd one did have some reference to 'my
new life' or 'new beginnings'. I couldn't guess what the senders
really thought about what had happened to me, but at least they
weren't overtly hostile, and more to the point gave an indication
that people knew, and would not be freaked out if they ran into
me, or heard references to me. I got a few letters, from close
acquaintances, and they made attempts to express their
understanding of the difficult time I must have had. There were
even a couple of phone calls, and I appreciated the motivation of
the callers; they were a little awkward, and neither of us knew
exactly what to say. All my relatives were in the UK, and I was
no longer very close to any of them; most of them responded, with
more or less superficial messages, and there did not seem to be
any general desire to talk about things in any detail.

Jan had a number of phone calls from friends of hers, and I could
tell that some of them were trying to elucidate interesting
details, and probe for her reactions. She handled them very well,
and I heard her repeatedly talking about why I had made the
decision, and assuring everyone that both she and I were very
happy about things. She was quite close to her sister, who lived
some distance away, and decided it would be a good idea to call,
rather than wait for a reaction. They had a very long chat
together, and when it was all over, she came to sit by me. "That
was difficult," she said. "It's very hard to deal with 'how could
he do a thing like that?' asked about something that seems a
natural evolution, when you have watched the person in question
change and grow, and found that you loved them even more than
before. I tried to explain that to my sister, and I think I
finally got through to her. I told her we were very happy
together, and that things had actually got better once we
realised what needed to be done. She finally conceded that was
what really mattered." "I'm really sorry, my love." I said. "It's
bad enough that you have had my problems thrust on you, and
you've played a major part in helping me sort them out; what you
don't need is any extra hassle on your own account." "It needed
to be done," she said. "The fact is I am coming out myself in a
way, and it will make things easier if people realise that, too."

Monday, September 6th. It was a long weekend, just prior to the
start of the academic year, and a time I enjoyed particularly now
that I was retired. I relished the feeling of being free, and no
longer having to contemplate starting work in earnest the next
day. This year I felt especially good about things, thinking back
over the events of the summer. It had been over the long weekend
in May, the traditional starting point for summer activities,
that I had made my decision; as I thought about the events that
followed from that, I had to concede that it was my best summer
ever.

I was used to presenting myself as a woman, and having people I
met deal with me as a woman, and that had become completely
natural to me. There was some ambivalence in my feeling, though,
because the newness of my situation added to my enjoyment; my
state felt natural, but it had not become normal in the sense of
being mundane; every day there were little incidents that I
enjoyed because of their novelty. There were still 'feminine'
activities that were new experiences for me, and that gave me
great satisfaction -- many of them would have been of no
significance to a woman raised from girlhood to accept them as
everyday matters never given a passing thought. It was hard for
me to take stock of myself objectively, so I am not sure that I
really felt differently about matters unrelated to gender; I was
still given to a pedantic style of talking that was more academic
than masculine, and my interests in general were much the same as
before. It wasn't obvious to me that my moods were very
different, though I had been on a continuous high through the
whole period; that related more to my happiness in finding
myself, than having a more feminine view of the world. I did seem
to take more delight in little things, and get carried away in my
enthusiasm; quite often I would say things like "Oh, look at that
wonderful dress!" when Jan and I were shopping, and it was an
almost instinctive reaction.

There were real changes in my body. My beard still grew, but
there was not much more than 10% of it remaining now after the
two laser treatments, and it seemed to me that the hairs were
finer. I still had to shave, but the shadow was not a serious
problem, and certainly didn't show through my makeup. My skin
seemed softer, and my hair was growing -- it was now quite long
and profuse; I thought it was time to see what could be done with
it. My hips seemed a little more full now, and I very definitely
had a waist; my girdles seemed to fit much better, and I couldn't
resist getting some new ones; I loved the firm sense of
containment round my hips which was now possible without
excessive pressure at the waist. My eating habits had changed
somewhat, with my dramatic change in lifestyle, and I did a lot
of walking with Jan; both these factors helped the female
hormones as they worked on my system. My real joy now was the
development of my breasts; they had grown dramatically, and the
nipples had enlarged somewhat and become deliciously sensitive. I
took great delight in the feminine figure that I could now
display, without any artificial assistance, and had indulged
myself in buying bras that were 'my size'; they had B cups and
fitted my body, as it now was, naturally. I had bought them on
one of my many visits back to The Feminine Mystique, and I had
been fitted properly by the very helpful lady there.

My voice seemed to be acceptable to people that I talked to. On
occasion I would notice that somebody was looking at me oddly,
and realise that I had been read, but that was quite unusual. I
still worked quite seriously at making a feminine inflection
second nature, and was following the suggestion of the speech
therapist. I had now read a couple of Harlequin romances; I
usually read a chapter each night to Jan just after we had gone
to bed. This turned out to be a great deal of fun; Jan found the
stories so assinine, and the traumatic concerns of the helpless
prissy ultra-feminine heroines so ludicrous that she was
frequently reduced to uncontrollable fits of giggling. On one
level, I had the same response as she did, and this proved to be
very useful, as I got quite a lot of practice in developing a
believable girlish giggle. To my amazement, though, on another
level I found myself identifying quite strongly with the
heroines, and getting myself very concerned over their
predicaments and misfortunes. I began to realise that my
personality did have two sides to it; there was an intellectual
side that involved itself in my interests in music, science and
technical things like computers. That part of me was unchanged,
and it was my feeling that it encompassed interests and
activities to which gender was completely irrelevant. I was
discovering another side to myself, which began to emerge at the
time I recognised that I was transgendered to some degree; it
manifested itself in my feminine identification, particularly in
my sexuality. That part of me was almost a classic stereotype of
a submissive feminine creature, who wanted her partner to take
the active role. I realised that there was an obvious connection
between this conception of femininity and my preferences in
clothing, and my delight in feminine adornment.

The two sides of myself were almost contradictory; my
intellectual side was strongly feminist, but my sexual identity
and my love of feminine adornment would have caused any self-
respecting feminist to recoil in horror. The dichotomy didn't
bother me in the least, and I enjoyed both 'modes' of behaviour.
I often chatted with Jan about this apparent contradiction, and
she saw it as quite characteristic of the female condition; she
cited quotes from quite militant feminists, who criticised the
artificial constructs of gender in our society, but who also had
to take their shoes off when they really wanted to feel
comfortable. The marvellous rapport we had allowed her to delight
in my ultra-femininity when we made love, and also to appreciate
the intellectual companionship that had been the basis of our
relationship for over thirty years; that continued unchanged, but
when we got to bed we were now both lesbian, and there was no
doubt that she was a 'top' and I was a 'bottom' -- and we loved
it!

I was of course taking female hormones daily, and realised that I
would have to do so for the rest of my life. My glandular system
was still male, and had to be inhibited by anti-androgens; that
would no longer be necessary when I finally had sexual
reassignment surgery, and my testicles were no longer present.
Anatomically I was still a male -- a male with uncharacteristic
development of his mammary glands, which were a source of extreme
pleasure to him(!); ironically, though the sensitive glans of my
male penis was the source of my 'female' sexual pleasure, I
looked forward to the day when it would be relocated inside a
vagina, and outward appendages of masculinity would be gone. I
visited the endocrinologist regularly, and she made careful
checks on my medical condition and the effects of the hormone
therapy. Fortunately my system seemed to be showing no adverse
reactions, and I was very happy with the desirable effects that
became more evident as the months passed.

Tuesday, September 7th. Jan had an appointment at the
hairdresser's on Tuesday, and went out mid-morning. She came back
at lunchtime, and her longish hair had been quite elegantly
styled; it looked nice to me, and I told her so. "I have always
been very pleased with Gloria," she said. "She seems to have a
good feel for what I like, and she doesn't insist on changing
something that I'm happy with." She grinned at me across the
table, and went on: "By the way, I had a most interesting
conversation with her. We were talking about the number of
clients she has, and she was telling me about some of the more
interesting ones. Out of the blue, she told me that she had two
male cross-dressers in to get their hair styled just recently.
She told me they looked very good, and she thought it was
wonderful that men could take an interest in presenting
themselves as women that way." "A refreshing attitude," I said,
"but of course they do also add to her clientele." "That's very
cynical," Jan said, smiling. "She also told me that one of her
clients was a transsexual woman; she obviously found her very
congenial, and enjoyed working with her." "We're everywhere," I
said, "if things continue the way they're going, we shall soon be
taking over." "I hope you don't mind," Jan went on, "but I
thought it was an opportune moment to tell her about you." I was
actually quite pleased: "What did you tell her?" "I said that I
had a good friend who was transsexual, and she had only started
transition at the beginning of the summer. I said my friend had
been wearing a wig, but that her own hair was now quite long and
she was thinking about getting it styled. Gloria was very
interested; 'I'd love to meet her,' she said; 'please tell her I
would be very happy to create a nice hairstyle for her.'" "And
you would recommend Gloria?" I asked. "Yes," Jan replied; "she's
very good, and you would enjoy meeting her." "I'd like to try
it," I said. "Could you make an appointment for me? It would
probably be best, if you take me there and introduce me." "Yes,
ma'am!" said Jan.

Friday, September 10th. Jan had made an appointment with Gloria
for me, so we walked over to the shopping area where the
hairdressing salon was located. "This is new territory for me," I
said as our heels clicked along the sidewalk; "is there anything
I should know about?" "I don't think so," Jan said; "just be your
natural self. It may take quite a long time, but there are piles
of interesting magazines. You can read about the latest styles,
and makeup; how to improve your sex life, and make the man in
your life happy." She winked at me. We arrived at the salon, and
Jan led me inside. A young woman with an exotic hairdo saw us,
and came to greet us, smiling. "This is my friend, Rita," said
Jan. "Hello, Rita," said Gloria. "Come and sit down." "I'll see
you later, Rita," said Jan; "why don't you meet me at the coffee
bar in about an hour and a half?" She waved, and went out.

"Jan told me a little bit about you," said Gloria. "What exactly
do you have in mind?" "I'm not sure," I replied, "and I would
appreciate your advice. I usually wear the wig, as my own hair
isn't really very long, but I would like to see what might be
done with it." Gloria carefully removed the wig, revealing a
rather incongruous picture; my carefully made up face was topped
by a head of hair that looked quite nondescript, though it did
give a vaguely male impression. "I haven't done anything to it
since the beginning of the summer," I said. "I want it much
longer, and until it grows out I don't really want to interfere
with it." "Lots of women have shorter hair than that," Gloria
said; "we could give it a very severe style, short, but quite
feminine." "I really don't want to lose any of it," I said; "do
you think something can be done without trimming it?" "We have to
trim it here and there," she said, "just to shape it and get it
tidy, but the main body of it will be the length it is now." She
picked up a brochure that illustrated several quite different
coiffures; "How about something like this?" She pointed to an
elegant model whose hair was swept back, and gathered in a top-
knot at the back of her head, leaving her neck bare. "Do you
really think it would work?" I asked. "It would expose my ears,
and I think they are better covered up." "We could try a fringe
at the front," she said, "and comb it down at the sides. There is
quite a lot of body, and I could try to fluff it out as well."
"That sounds better," I said; "I really like the way the wig is
styled, and I hope I can grow it to that length."

Gloria set to work, rinsing my whole head with shampoo and
conditioner. She did trim my hair at the front with her scissors,
and I held my breath, hoping the effects wouldn't be too drastic.
She combed it out, and then brushed it; at the sides it did
partially cover my ears, and it extended down over the nape of my
neck at the back. As it dried she continued brushing, and did
some fluffing out and primping; to my amazement, it started to
take on a much more feminine appearance. She teased it up just a
little on the top of my head, and used some hairspray. I watched
the transformation in fascination. The density and thickness, and
the length, of my hair was no different than when she had
started, but it was amazing how subtle ways of shaping it with a
brush and comb could change the gender signals. I wasn't
completely convinced that the person I saw in the mirror was me,
but I had to concede that it did look very much like a woman.

I sat there for over an hour, as the transformation gradually
took place, and finally Gloria smiled at me and asked "What do
you think?" "It looks very nice," I said, "but I think I shall
have to get used to it. It's quite different from what I see
every morning in the mirror." "Why don't you see how it goes for
the rest of the day?" she said. "If you really decide you don't
like it, there's always the wig. But if you want to stay with
this style while the hair grows, you'll have to do some work
every morning, and use hairspray on it" "I will try it," I said.
"It will be an interesting experience, and it will be fun to see
how other people react. Thank you very much." "It was my
pleasure," Gloria said; she packed the wig carefully for me in a
box, and walked to the reception desk with me. "I hope to see you
again, soon."

I walked the half block down the street to the coffee bar; I felt
just a little apprehensive, but nobody who passed seemed to find
my appearance too strange. I saw Jan sitting at a corner table,
and walked in to join her. She looked up at me; "Do you mind if I
join you?" I asked. "Sorry, but I am expecting somebody," she
said; then she smiled. "I couldn't resist that." "I'm not sure
whether I like it or not," I said; "what do you think?" "It looks
very good," she said, "but the problem is I'm used to you with
long hair. It's a bit disconcerting when someone you know very
well appears different." "Do you ever recall having someone say
that to you?" I said. "Yes, I know, my love. Touche!" "I like
long hair too," I said, "and I hope mine really does grow down to
my shoulders. But it might be interesting to try this for a day
or so." "Why not? It's a woman's perogative to change her mind --
also her hairstyle. And it does really look nice; Gloria did a
wonderful job."

Tuesday, September 14th. I thought it would be fun to show
Melanie my new hairdo when I went to the laser clinic, so I left
the wig off for a few days. Fortunately I had the weekend to
practice styling my hair; I spent a long time each morning, and
had a great deal of trouble getting it to look anything like it
had after Gloria had done it. I was almost in despair on the
Saturday, and had to get Jan to help me out. I learned quite a
lot about using hairspray (mostly what not to do) and eventually
got myself to a state that didn't seem to scare the passers-by
too badly when I went out in the street.

By the time Tuesday came, I felt a little bit more confident
about it, and I was also getting used to seeing the strange woman
look back at me from the mirror. She looked quite odd that
morning as I hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and I had no
makeup on. Fortunately my appointment was first thing in the
morning again, and I was able to park in my usual spot right
outside the door. Melanie was already waiting for me, and looked
me over with a smile. "I took your advice," I said. "I'm still
not convinced, but it will be useful experience when my hair
grows out more." "It looks very nice," she said. "You'll get used
to it, and you might find you prefer it." "No," I said; "I really
do love long hair."

I sat down and put on the dark glasses she held out, and braced
myself for the ordeal. I must have been getting used it, as this
time it didn't seem anything like as bad as before. The whole
process seemed to be proceeding quicker, too. Melanie worked
away, and I felt the little jolts as she moved over my chin and
cheeks, then finally my throat. At long last, it seemed much
longer than an hour, she finished and took the glasses. I looked
at myself in the mirror, and saw some redness on my face, but it
too didn't seem as bad as on the previous visits. "There should
be very little left, now," Melanie said. "Some of the hairs were
quite light, though, and they might recover. If that happens, I
would recommend treating them with electrolysis. See how things
go in the next week or so, and please give me a call if you have
any questions at all." I thanked her, and said goodbye; as I was
settling the bill at the front desk, the lady whom I assume owned
the business came out to see me. "You look very nice," she said,
"and it's certainly a change since I first met you. I hope our
treatment will help you continue on your path. I'm sure it's the
right one for you." "I'm certain," I said, "and there's no doubt
you and Melanie have helped me; I really appreciate your
accepting attitude. Thank you very much."

I left the salon, and drove home, thinking how much easier my
transition was than those of the first transsexuals, not very
long ago. People like my many new friends who provided the
services we needed made things so much better, and their
acceptance was wonderful moral support. In quite a few cases,
these people were transsexuals themselves, and their professional
help was accompanied by active encouragement.

Wednesday, September 15th. The next morning my face had cleared
up, and I took great pains over my makeup. I decided to stay with
the hair for a while longer, and I spent a long time teasing it
and fluffing it to my satisfaction. Fall was definitely in the
air, and I decided it was time for a shopping trip; I needed a
raincoat for sure, and I would probably need a warm winter coat.
I thought of all the items in a complete feminine wardrobe, and
realised that there were also things like scarves, sweaters and
even shoes or boots that would handle rain and snow. I went to
one of the big department stores and spent the whole morning
looking at things. It was much more of a chore than shopping for
lingerie and dresses, which had become a real pleasure. I did
find a coat that I liked, which wasn't too heavy; it fit me very
well, so I added it to my purchases. They included a woolen
sweater and a raincoat; I looked at winter shoes, but none of
them impressed me at all, so I gave up, and decided to finish
with something a bit more pleasant. I went to look at earrings
and necklaces; I bought a pair of earrings, and also a very nice
necklace of glass beads, which would go very well with my blue
open neck dress. I drove home having spent a fair amount of
money, but I was not enthused as I was after visiting stores like
The Feminine Mystique.

Sunday, October 10th. The weeks seemed to be going by very
quickly now, and as the summer weather turned to cloud and rain,
with the odd fine day here and there, I found myself spending
more and more time with the interests and projects that had
occupied me for most of my life. My gender identity didn't seem
to affect these things at all, but I was always pleasantly aware
of it, and when I sat working at the computer, it was still a
delight to pause for a moment and realise that I was wearing a
dress that I was particularly fond of. As I got up to look for a
book, I would hear the rustle of my stockings against my slip; I
had moments when I became very much aware of the delicious things
I was wearing, and my pleasure in doing so was if anything
stronger than ever.

Jan and I still tried to go out walking fairly regularly, and the
new raincoat became an essential item of outer wear. After a few
heavy showers wearing a plastic rain hood, I decided I should
probably look for a hat that would be more pleasant to wear, and
serve the purpose. My hair was definitely growing, and I visited
Gloria quite regularly, to get it styled. I now wore the wig very
rarely; my ambition was to grow my own hair to the same length,
and I took delight in watching its progress, and gradually
changing my coiffure to emphasise its growth.

Apart from these little things that kept reminding me
delightfully of my adopted gender, Jan and I had settled into a
day to day routine that was really quite similar to what it had
been a year before. Our daily activities were not very different,
but my costume was a continual reminder of the dramatic events of
the summer, and I was always 'Rita' now; neither of us ever used
my former name, even by accident when we were preoccupied. One
new activity was our interest in the art of makeup, and both of
us had fun experimenting with new products, and making changes,
which weren't always too subtle, to our presentation.

There was one delightful aspect of our life together that did
continue; sex remained as wonderful as it always had been, and we
enjoyed making love frequently. My fears about how my system
would react without the testosterone, that I had assumed was
driving it, turned out to be unwarranted. Things had changed in a
subtle way, but my delight in femininity obviously was reinforced
by the female hormones now in my system. There probably wasn't
quite the same physical response as there had been, and it no
longer seemed to matter so much what part of me was stimulated. I
thrilled to Jan's touch anywhere on my body, and now had a more
emotional response to it; it was as strong and enjoyable as ever,
though, and the gradual build of excitement up to a moment of
absolute bliss as release came was utterly captivating. Jan
obviously experienced great pleasure in her role as a seductress,
taking gentle control of her passive feminine partner's passions;
very often I would return the favour and excite her passion
physically. There is no doubt that we were both lesbian in our
orientation; a major component of our pleasure in love making was
the similarity in our desires and responses; we both experienced
ecstatic pleasure in mutual caressing of our breasts. We
experimented from time to time with various other means of
stimulation, and tried different approaches to our scenario, but
we were most happy when we accepted the simple fact that we were
both women, and we both thought of ourselves as feminine, but Jan
was the active partner. She enjoyed that role more and more, and
I wallowed in allowing myself to sink into euphoric feelings of
passive femininity; neither of us found the idea of domination
exciting at all, but I was passive almost to the point of being
submissive.

Monday, November 1st. I got a phone call from the lawyer; she
told me that the legal notice for my change of name application
had now been posted in the legal gazette for the required three
months. The application had been filed a few days after I saw her
in July, and the notice had been posted on the 27th. She told me
that she had been able to arrange a court appearance on Friday
morning at 10:30; it was almost certain to be just a formality,
she thought, so she arranged to meet me for coffee a half hour
before. She said she would be there anyway, in case of any
difficulties, but she would tell me precisely what to say.

Friday, November 5th. At 10:00 I met Sarah Johnson, the lawyer,
in a coffee shop just across the street from the court house. I
decided to wear the wig, for maximum effect, and had to pin my
hair up carefully on top of my head. The wig looked as good as
ever, and I carefully combed and brushed it. I spent a long time
on my makeup, and went to a great deal of trouble on my eyes; I
pulled out all the stops, and shaded my eyelids lightly, and used
two coats of mascara on my upper lashes. I used bright crimson
lipstick, and had used all the tricks Jan and I had been
learning, shading my lips first with liner. I wore long earrings,
and my dark blue dress, with dark stockings and what I thought of
as reasonably high heels. Sarah laughed when she saw me: "You
look wonderful," she said. "I almost called you back, to remind
you to be sure to present yourself in as feminine a manner as
possible. Obviously it wasn't necessary." "I don't have too much
experience of courts," I said, "but I could figure that out. Do
you think I will convince the judge that I don't look too much
like a Reginald?" She giggled. "Yes."

She gave me a quick briefing. "Don't be worried by the dignified
term judge," she said; "they are all called that now. This guy is
much more like what would have been called a magistrate or even
justice of the peace. I doubt if there will be anyone else there,
other than those who are also appearing. You will be called
before him -- as Reginald Opal -- and he will ask a few
questions. The most likely is 'why?'." "And the answer is?" "A
simple statements of the facts: you're TS, you are living full
time, as required, and you plan to have surgery. Tell him you are
a patient of Dr. Wexler, and just in case, have the letter ready
to produce. If anything else happens, I'll jump in a do an 'on
behalf of my client' routine." "That doesn't sound beyond my
simple skills," I said. "We better get over there, it's 20
after," Sarah said.

We crossed the street, went into the courthouse, and found the
small courtroom. It was virtually empty; we joined a couple of
people seated at the back. The judge was hearing some application
involving payment of maintenance costs, and made his ruling. The
man standing in front of him turned and left. The clerk sitting
at a lower desk next to the bench looked at a sheet, and called
"Reginald Opal." I stood up and walked to the front of the
courtroom, my high heels clicking on the wooden floor. The judge
scrutinised me, not surprised, but with what I thought was an air
of suspicion. "You are Reginald Opal?" "Yes, your honour." I was
asked to confirm my address and date of birth. "An application
has been filed on your behalf to change your name to Rita Opal.
Is that correct?" "Yes, your honour." "And you normally appear as
you do now?" "Yes, your honour." "I think I understand why you
might prefer not to be called Reginald," he said, unbending with
a slight smile; "would you explain why you normally appear
dressed this way?" "I am a transsexual, your honour. I am being
treated by Dr. Elderton, an endocrinologist, and Dr. Wexler, a
psychiatrist. The treatment involves living full time as a woman,
and I will eventually have sexual reassignment surgery, and seek
a formal change in my legal status from male to female." "Aha! I
see no reason why your application should be refused. Granted,
and so ordered. And best wishes to you, Ms. Rita Opal." "Thank
you, your honour." I bowed slightly, as I had seen the previous
appellant do, and turned to walk back to join Sarah. Outside the
courtroom, she said "You were great! He was obviously impressed
by you." "I'm glad; I wouldn't have fancied a real grilling." "I
should have the official papers on Monday," Sarah said. "Then
it's done; you're legally Rita Opal, and you can use the official
document to change all your records. I'll give you a call about
who to see for the driver's licence." She had to rush off and see
another client so we said a quick goodbye.

I drove home, thinking that another step had been completed. Jan
was eager to hear what had happened. "Very little," I said. "It
was almost as simple as telling the judge the basic facts, and
waiting thirty seconds for him to say 'so ordered'. Sarah thinks
he liked me." "That I can understand," said Jan smiling sweetly;
"I would say he had very good taste." I had a bit of work to do
now, and I spent the afternoon making a list of all the credit
cards I had, and all the agencies of one sort or another that I
dealt with, so that I could send them notification of my official
change of name.

Monday, November 8th. Dr. Wexler's office had phoned me the
previous week to remind me of my appointment; it was now just
over three months since I had first seen him. I appreciated his
attitude very much; not only was he 'T* friendly' but once he was
convinced that I knew what I was doing, and approved of my course
of action, he had left me alone. He could now report that I had
been under his care for three months, and clearly saw this visit
as a mere formality to comply with the SOC; it struck me that he
would be better described as 'T* supportive'.

He greeted me as usual, and indicated the large leather chair
opposite his desk. "Well, Rita," he said, "the improvement in
your presentation is quite striking, and I am really impressed
with your voice. I assume that I can conclude that you haven't
had second thoughts about your gender identification?" "Not at
all," I said. "I think this summer was the most wonderful time of
my whole life. I had a lot to learn, and think about, but I
enjoyed all the new facets of life as a woman. There's no doubt
in my mind that I made the right choice." "And your partner,
Jan?" "She has been a fantastic support to me, and she is still
as enthusiastic as I am about each step I make." "You are a very
fortunate woman," he said. "There's no doubt in my mind, either.
Even if there had been, your presentation today would be enough
to convince me. I'll be happy to write a letter for you
recommending that you undergo sexual reassignment surgery."
"Thank you. I am very grateful for the sympathetic and
understanding way you have dealt with me." He smiled: "Now to
comply with SOC it is necessary for you to get a second
recommendation; if I might suggest one of my colleagues, I think
it would be a good idea for you to see Dr. Ruth Nilson. She is
quite familiar with gender issues, and I am certain she would
confirm my view of your case; it would probably be best if you
contact her office yourself." "I'll do that; thank you," I said.
"By the way, there's one thing I didn't tell you: Friday was my
court hearing, and my change of name is now legal." "I'll change
my records to reflect that," he said, making a note.

I left the office, after saying goodbye, and thanking him once
again; I felt pleased that another of the formal requirements was
dealt with, and thought that I would soon be able to enjoy life
as a woman without having to comply with any further requirements
to prove myself. I paused to chat to the friendly receptionist,
and she too was quite complimentary about my appearance.

As soon as I got home I phoned Dr. Nilson's office. I explained
to the receptionist that I was transsexual, and was planning to
have SRS; I told her that I had been seeing Dr. Wexler, and I now
needed a second opinion. She was friendly and dealt with me in a
completely businesslike manner; she told me that there was a free
space on Thursday the following week, and made an appointment for
me.

Tuesday, November 9th. In the mail was a note from Sarah, and the
legal notice of registration of my change of name. I walked over
to the local shopping area where there was a notary public, and
got several certified copies made. The woman who dealt with me
was quite polite, and didn't show any obvious reaction when she
read the document, but I noticed that after she had visited the
copier one or two of the other people working in the office
managed to find excuses to walk by the front desk and take a good
look at me. I knew the gossip would be very interesting after I
left. Back home I sent letters to just about every company and
organisation I had listed -- the simple test was anyone who an
account or identification number for me -- and notified them of
my change of name. I simply requested that they change their
records, and enclosed a certified copy of the legal notice. I
began to wonder if postage costs ought to be included among all
the items that people added up when they wrote stories on the
monetary cost of transition.

Friday, November 12th. On Friday, Sarah called. "You got the
change of name notice?" "Yes," I said, "and I have sent certified
copies to just about every organisation I can think of." "Good
girl! Here's the routine for the driver's licence: there's a TS
woman, Jessica Bentall, who works at one of the small suburban
DMV offices. She will be there on Monday morning, with only one
wicket open, so you won't have a problem with worrying about
which line moves at the right speed. You won't mistake her; she's
quite tall, but good looking, and has beautiful long chestnut
hair." "So far, so good," I said. "And I simply ask for a new
licence in my new name?" "Yes, there's a standard form for you to
fill out. But when you hand it to her, tell her that there seems
to be an error in their records; for some reason they have you
listed as male. She will know the score, and she can access the
main database and make a 'correction'." "Thanks very much,
Sarah," I said; "I really appreciate your help and advice. As far
as I know, there isn't too much left on the agenda." "You have
the letters from two shrinks?" "I will have, next week. Then I
can take my time checking out surgeons, and start thinking about
contacting them sometime in the spring." "Go into that very
carefully," she said; "that's a vital step. But there isn't
anything else to worry about legally until after SRS; then you
can get the passport changed. In the meantime, if there's
anything else you need help or advice on, please give me a call."
"I will. Thanks again."

Monday, November 15th. I got up very early as I wanted to get to
the motor vehicle office first thing; I wanted to look my best,
as the driver's licence would have my picture on it. I was fairly
convinced that long hair would be my choice, so I decided to wear
the wig. I pinned up my hair, and then brushed and combed the wig
so that it looked its best. Then I did a painstaking job on my
makeup; I was carefully groomed, but I avoided any exotic
effects. I did colour my lips fairly prominently, thinking that
would show up in the picture.

I had to drive way out into suburbia to find the district DMV
office where Jessica worked. I parked outside and went into the
building, which turned out to be completely free of other
clients. It was much smaller than the one downtown; there were
three wickets, two of them with notices saying 'position closed'.
At the third was a striking woman with long chestnut hair. She
smiled at me as I walked over to the counter; "What can I do for
you?" "I need to change my driver's licence," I said; "I just had
a change of name approved by the court." I gave her my licence,
and a certified copy of the legal form. She copied out the
information, and passed a form over to me; "Please sign here." I
signed 'Rita Opal' and handed the form back. She paused for a
moment, expectantly, and I said "Oh, there's an error in the
system too. It says 'M' on my licence, and obviously it should be
an 'F'." "So it does," she said. "It must have been entered
wrongly; I can fix it right now." She had me go over to two
footprints marked on the floor, in front of a camera; "I'm going
to take your picture," she said; "please wait until I check
whether it has transferred properly." She looked at the computer
screen for a moment, and said "Fine. The licence will be mailed
to you in about two weeks; in the meantime you can use this
temporary one." I paid the fee, and she gave me my temporary
licence. "I should also change the car registration," she said;
"we might as well do that now, too. Is there just the one vehicle
registered in your name?" She busied herself at the keyboard
again, and the printer started running; finally she said "Here's
a copy of the registration, you can replace the old one." "Thank
you very much." There was still nobody else in the office; after
a surreptitious look round, she said "You're very welcome. And
you look wonderful; it was nice to meet you."

Thursday, November 18th. Prior to my appointment with Dr. Nilson
in the afternoon I had a lazy morning, and just before lunchtime
I took a long hot bath. Then I started preparing myself for the
interview. I didn't really know very much about Ruth Nilson; I
assumed from Dr. Wexler's recommendation that she would be
sympathetic and helpful, but I thought it would be best to
present the most feminine impression I could. I dressed
carefully, and chose the silky green dress with a fairly narrow
skirt. I spent a long time on my hair, and though I still
couldn't match Gloria's skill, I did work it into a convincing
feminine coiffure. I was fairly confident about my skills with
makeup now, but I still worked very carefully, and decided that
understatement was probably best. As I put my coat on, and took a
last quick glance in the mirror, Jan squeezed my arm and said
"Good luck, Rita, my love. You've almost crossed all the hurdles
now."

As I drove across town to Dr. Nilson's office, I felt quite
relaxed; I wasn't apprehensive at all, but it was a hurdle to get
across, as Jan had said, and I knew I would be relieved when it
was done with. The office was in an old frame building, on the
ground floor. I went into the reception area, and the woman
sitting behind the counter looked up at me. "Rita Opal," I said.
"I have an appointment with Dr. Nilson." "Oh yes. She's still at
lunch, but I expect her back in a few minutes. Please have a
seat." I sat down, and looked at the pile of magazines, expecting
the usual selection of ten year old copies of National
Geographic. Instead, there were some quite interesting popular
medical journals, and one caught my eye immediately; it had
'Transsexuality' in heavy type on the front cover, and a picture
of a particularly attractive looking woman. I was about to pick
it up, when the door opened, and a woman came in; it was the
woman on the magazine cover! She saw me and smiled, then took my
hand briefly and said "You must be Rita; please come into my
office. I followed her into what looked more like a comfortable
living room than a doctor's office. There was a bookcase filled
with textbooks and journals, and a small desk in the corner, but
the rest of the room was furnished with comfortable armchairs.
She sat down in one of them, crossing her legs and smoothing out
her skirt in an easy feminine gesture; "Please make yourself
comfortable." I sat down, too, and decided for the moment to sit
primly with my legs together; I wasn't always at ease crossing my
legs because of certain appendages I preferred not to be reminded
of, and I couldn't have matched her elegance. I did tug at my
skirt, though, in what I hoped was a feminine gesture. "What
brings you to see me?" she asked. "From my point of view, a
simple request," I said. "I am a transsexual woman, and started
transition and living full time at the beginning of the summer. I
have a letter from Dr. Wexler recommending that I undergo sexual
reassignment surgery, and I need a second recommendation." She
smiled: "I see. That's directly to the point. From your
presentation, I would assume that you are well aware of what you
are doing, and have gone to considerable effort to make yourself
acceptable to society as a woman. What makes you feel that you
are a woman?"

I thought for a moment. "The way I react and desire to be treated
sexually," I said. "That started a chain of events that led me to
decide to transition; I had always enjoyed feminine clothing, and
that pleasure has expanded to include all forms of feminine
adornment. The most significant fact is the joy and happiness I
have had ever since my decision was made. I feel at home, now."
"So your sexuality was the main motivating force? Do you have sex
with men?" "No. I never have, and I don't think I have any
desire. My sex life is very important to me, but I identify
myself as a lesbian." "Are you married?" "Yes. My present partner
and I have been together for over thirty years. All those years
were very happy, but things became even better when I finally got
things straight in my head." "They became better for you; what
about your partner?" "When things came to a head, and I came out
to her completely, we became closer than ever, and we had an
idyllic second honeymoon for the whole of one summer." "You came
out to her as a transsexual?" "No. I explained my cross-dressing
desires to her, and the depth of my feelings. Things quickly
progressed to me identifying myself as female in my fantasies,
and she accepted and even encouraged me. As I continued to
explore the feminine side of myself, I eventually realised that I
really wanted to make my fantasy into reality. I wasn't quite
ready to really bite the bullet, but things were precipitated by
my partner. She suggested that I was TS, and told me that I
should follow through."

Now it was Dr. Nilson's turn to pause for thought. "How did she
put it to you?" "She said that she had fallen in love with my
feminine side, and that things got better the more it emerged.
She said that she had been doing some self-analysis, as she was
well aware I had, and she had come to the conclusion that her
orientation had changed. She told me that she was lesbian, and
said point blank that she wanted me to be a woman too." "Did she,
indeed? You don't have too much choice then, do you?" She smiled
at me. "I wouldn't put it that way," I said. "As I see it, her
choice coincides with mine, and we are happier than ever together
because of that. She has been a tower of strength in her support
for me since I started to live full time."

She smiled again, and seemed to approve of what I had said. "Now
let me tell you about the games shrinks play," she said. "I'm
sorry for all the rapid-fire questions, but I find that it is
very useful as a technique for getting people's immediate
reactions. They may not be as carefully expressed as they might
be, but they usually indicate how they really feel about things."
"No problem," I said. "I came to you with a specific request, and
I am completely convinced that it is something right for me, but
I understand that the purpose of this exercise is for you to come
to an independent conclusion." "That's it exactly. It seems
fairly clear to me that you are not deluded or misguided, and
more importantly, there's no reason why you should be prevented
from doing what you wish to do. I don't really like the idea of
being a 'gatekeeper' at all, but it does seem reasonable to me
that some assessment should be done to prevent people from
following a course of action that might not help them, and even
be injurious to their mental health." "I appreciate that," I
said; "it is a fairly radical course to take (I don't think I
would say 'drastic'), and reversing it isn't really possible."
"Right. As I see it, we have some obligation to ensure that
people seeking surgery are not misguided or fooling themselves."

She paused for a moment, and looked at me; it wasn't exactly an
inspection, but I felt she was taking in all the detail she
could. "Your presentation is very convincing," she said, "and you
have obviously done a lot of work on your voice. You seem quite
self-assured, and it's fairly clear to me that you are happy. You
are particularly fortunate in your relationship with your
partner, and it would be interesting to speculate about your
progress if you had to deal with lack of understanding, or even
hostility. I would really be interested to meet her." "I don't
think she would have any objection," I said; "she did visit Dr.
Wexler with me." "I would like to chat to her; please don't think
I am trying to check out your version of the story, but her
attitude is so amazing, refreshing even, that it piques my
interest." She paused for a moment's thought. "I am quite
convinced that Dr. Wexler's opinion of you is correct, and I'll
write a letter to that effect. That being said, I would
appreciate a chance to talk to your partner, one-on-one. How
about asking her if she'll meet me for a drink tomorrow? I just
have to meet a woman with her wonderful attitude. Could you ask
her to give me a call, later this afternoon?" "Certainly," I
said. "I would appreciate that. My best wishes for continued
progress and happiness in your transition." She saw me out to the
reception desk, and said goodbye.

As I drove home, I thought about the session. I hadn't really
been there long at all, and it did strike me that either Dr.
Nilson was very skilled at making rapid assessments of people, or
she was favourably disposed towards anyone who decided they were
TS. Then I remembered the magazine I had been about to look at,
when I met her; there's no doubt the picture on the cover was of
her, and the featured article was on transsexuality. "She's TS
herself!" I thought. Maybe there is a sixth sense, as Annabelle
had told us in Sappho's; maybe it takes one to know one. That
would explain why she didn't seem to require any in depth probing
of my psyche. I told Jan about the interview, as soon as I got
home. "She would like to meet you, for a drink!" I said. "I think
I would find that very interesting," said Jan. "OK; then maybe
you could call her office. She asked me to get you to do that; I
assume she'll want to talk to you personally, so I guess you just
tell the receptionist who you are."

Jan went to the phone right away, and I heard her say "I'm Jan
Opal. I believe Dr. Nilson wanted to talk to me." I thought it
best to let her talk privately, so I went into the other room to
check my computer. She came in about five minutes later; "That
was very interesting, and she seems like a nice person. She said
she would just like to chat, woman to woman, and suggested
meeting at a bar tomorrow at 5:30. Maybe we could have dinner in
the hotel afterwards; I could call you when we're finished."

Friday, November 19th. In the afternoon, Jan went off to her date
with Ruth Nilson, and she promised to call me when they were
through, so that I could drive over and join her for dinner. I
got myself ready, and then sat down to do some work at the
computer. I didn't pay too much attention to the time, and when
the phone rang it was after 7:00. It was Jan; she told me that
Ruth had to leave in about ten minutes, so I might as well drive
to the Hotel Regal where she was. She said the dining room looked
quite reasonable, so she suggested I meet her there. When I got
to the dining room, I didn't see Jan anywhere, so I got a table
and said that I was expecting someone to join me.

Jan appeared soon after I had settled down; she spotted me, and
came over to the table. "Let's order," she said as she sat down;
"then I'll tell you about it." We ordered some wine, and our
choices for dinner, then settled down to chat. "You must have
found a lot to talk about," I said. "Yes," said Jan; "it was very
interesting. Ruth was really friendly, and I thought it would be
a good idea to ask her to have dinner with us. She told me that
she would really have enjoyed it, but she thought that it might
be better if she didn't because she was technically seeing you as
a patient." "Too bad," I said. "I would have liked to talk to her
off the record, but she's probably right. I got the impression
that she was completely on my side, and her discussion with me
didn't really get into too much probing; but she was obviously
concerned to follow the rules of the game." "That's right. She
told me right away, that was why she wanted to chat to me over a
drink, and after she had told you that she would write the letter
for you. I don't think I told her anything that made her regret
her diagnosis." "So what did you talk about?"

"Relationships, I suppose," Jan said, "and how transgendered
people deal with them. She's TS herself; she told me that she
transitioned in medical school, before she started to practice,
and specialising in gender issues was an obvious course to
follow." "I thought she might be," I said, and told Jan about the
magazine article. "She's completely convincing," Jan went on,
"and we got into an intimate female conversation quite naturally.
She told me that she realised very early on that she was lesbian,
and she has a partner now who is also a TS woman. She really
wanted to find out how I felt about my relationship with you, and
how things had progressed. It felt very good to go through the
whole story with a friend, rather than a professional, knowing
that I didn't have to withhold anything." "I'm glad, my love," I
said. "It's probably good that I wasn't there. You've been so
wonderful about me, and what I've got myself into; I'm sure it
was good to be able to chat to someone else for a change, and you
could be completely free without me." "I didn't say anything I
haven't said to you," Jan said, "but it was nice to unload a bit.
In the old days, I might have said I enjoyed the chance to have
an intimate talk with another woman, but you have usurped that
role now." "You really feel that way about me?" "Yes, I do. I see
you as another woman, completely, and that's what I like best
about what has happened to our relationship." I held her hand
under the table; "I'm so glad. I really feel the same way, and I
relish the idea of belonging to the sorority."

We ate a very leisurely dinner, and continued chatting. Things
felt very good between us; they always had, but it was nice to
take stock once in a while, and Ruth Nilson had helped both of
us.

Saturday, December 18th. As we approached the christmas holidays,
just about everything on the check list that I had drawn up was
ticked off -- with one very significant exception. I had received
responses from all the organisations, companies and agencies that
I had notified of my change of name, and they all had updated
their records. I had already received one or two bills addressed
to Rita Opal. I had gone to the bank again; this time I simply
went to the service desk and presented the legal document,
telling them I wished to change the name on my account. They
didn't seem too surprised or mystified, as the news had
presumably circulated round after my original visit. I changed
the name to be simply what was now my legal name, though I asked
them to keep the previous signature on file just in case there
were any outstanding transactions. I changed everything there,
including term deposits, and the safety deposit box, and finally
closed the account I had opened at the beginning of my
transition, transferring its balance back to my original account.

I left feeling quietly satisfied; there was just one item left on
the agenda, and it was the major one; as far as I could tell,
everything else had been taken care of. I decided that I would
make it my New Year's project to start checking on surgeons
seriously, and start making arrangements for SRS.

Actually there were a couple of concerns apart from the crucial
and final step of my transition. My hair grew noticeably as the
weeks went by, but it was not long enough to satisfy me. It did
seem to be filling out, though, and the body and texture were
certainly much improved. I was hopeful that when it did get long
enough, I would be able to reproduce the styling of my wig, and I
looked forward to that prospect. The remnants of my beard were
very sparse; there wasn't enough growth to make a convincing male
face, but unfortunately there was still a little too much for an
elegant feminine one. I pulled some of them out with tweezers,
but there were enough of them to make that quite painful; it
looked as though I would have to get some electrolysis done to
completely eliminate the ravages of testosterone on my system.
Those two matters dealt with, and everything would be taken care
of; I determined that the new year would be the year of Rita's
emergence. She would be a woman in all respects, and as beautiful
and feminine a woman as I could possibly make her.

Sunday, January 16th. Jan and I had a very pleasant and relaxed
time over the year end holiday season. Quite often we travelled
south at this time of year, seeking the sun and escape from the
rain, but for once we stayed at home, more often than not curled
up in front of the fire. We had both been unusually lavish with
christmas presents to one another, and seemed to have been
thinking along similar lines; we both had acquired some very
pretty items of jewelry and I had a wonderful new silk dress. It
was dark red, a favourite colour of Jan's, and it provided a
wonderful addition to my wardrobe. We did dress up and go out to
dinner a couple of times, and I still got high wearing my
delectable and exclusively feminine finery in public. We had
received a few more christmas cards than usual, and most of them
addressed me as Rita; I could only guess what people thought
about my recent actions and behaviour -- many of them probably
saw it as an early onset of senility -- but I found that I didn't
really care, and simply felt better knowing that the word was
out.

There was a lot of information on the web on people's experiences
with SRS; one site had collected almost all of what was
available, and had some quite explicit pictures of results. There
was some attempt to provide an exhaustive comparison, in the form
of 'consumer reports' but it seemed that most people in the TS
community were convinced that the surgeon who had operated on
them was by far superior to all the others. Without going
overseas, there were three surgeons who made a real specialty of
doing SRS, and all of them were highly regarded by their former
clients; I went through the information again and again, trying
to decide for myself which one would be best for me. Each of them
seemed to have points in their favour, and it was very difficult
to make an assessment of their relative merits. I talked to some
of the TS women that I knew personally, and found that they
varied in their opinions, and more or less reflected the overall
impression I had gleaned from my research.

I talked to Jan quite often about this critical step in my
transition. In the earlier part of our married life, she enjoyed
sex, as she still did, but had been quite reluctant to talk very
much about it; since I had opened up to her, and continued the
habit of being completely candid about my desires and feelings,
she became more at ease in talking about her own experiences and
feelings. This lessening of inhibition was obviously aided by the
fact that she now related to me as another woman, so one day I
decided to broach the subject directly. "I'm really having
trouble deciding where to go for my surgery," I said. "There's a
wealth of information about the three top specialists in the
field, but the choice seems to depend on precisely what features
are most important. That's quite difficult for me to assess. Do
you have any thoughts on the subject?" "I'm not sure exactly what
you mean," said Jan. "Well, it's probably not something you have
thought about," I said, "but to be blunt, what aspects of female
genitalia are most important to you?" Jan didn't recoil in horror
at this rather blatant question, wonderful person that she was,
and thought for a moment or two. "I came with the equipment
already provided," she smiled, "and that's a tough question. I
suppose one should think about what the purposes are, and how
best to satisfy them. In the present context, what really matters
is how the genitalia function in sexual attraction and
fulfillment. In fact that's the only thing that really matters,
provided that the external appearance is not so strange as to
require explanations to doctors, or to cause embarrassment in
changing rooms." "That's right," I said. "I want to pass, on the
rare occasions when others see me without my clothing, but what
really matters is to be able to function sexually as a woman, and
hopefully to enjoy sex as much as possible. What are the
requirements for that?" Jan smiled again. "It isn't something I
have thought much about. I enjoy sex very much, but I haven't
considered precisely why." "But what do you really want when you
are stimulated?" "Apart from contact with my lover generally, and
affection, I suppose there is a desire to be penetrated; and when
that happens the stimulation is enjoyable; when things are right,
it can be utterly ecstatic."

Jan didn't seem at all embarrassed by this topic of discussion,
but she had never tried to analyse what it was that made sex
enjoyable, which was hardly surprising. "I have never been
particularly impressed by the esthetic appeal of genitalia," she
said; "I don't think appearance matters too much." "What about
the sight of a male erection?" "I'd say esthetically it isn't
attractive at all; it indicates arousal of your partner, and that
is a signal which is very infectious; it also indicates that the
equipment is in a fit state to provide the pleasurable sensations
-- that is a turn on too. But I get turned on by you, my love,
without those indicators. When people are as close as we are, one
can pick up the excitement and the desire, and it provokes a
response." "I think what you're telling me is that functionality
is more important than appearance," I said. "For that one needs a
vagina of appropriate dimensions; for maximum pleasure it must
lubricate to some extent, and be sensitive. The clitoris is
really important I would think?" "Yes," Jan said "that is really
where the most wonderful sensations come from."

The discussion had helped me to focus a little bit better, and
when I thought about it, the conclusion was obvious. Enjoyment of
sex was a very important concern for me; I now enjoyed sex to a
large degree by imagining that the sensations I felt originated
in my clitoris, and the ideal consequence of SRS for me would be
to experience pleasure from real rather than imagined clitoral
stimulation. I felt the same desire that Jan had spoken about for
penetration, and thought with eager anticipation about having a
clitoris myself, located inside my vagina. I decided to look
through all the material I had access to, and see which surgeon
was best able to create a fully functioning clitoris.

Many of the TS woman that reported on their experience during and
after surgery were motivated by a desire to escape from the world
of masculinity, in which they felt they did not belong; they
wanted their bodies to match their personal sense of gender, so
that it would be accepted by society at large. They were relieved
to be free of physical reminders of their former status, and very
happy to avoid inadvertent effects of male stimulation that were
distasteful to them. There were others, though, who very much
wanted to experience sex as females, and some of them had
developed normal heterosexual relationships which they found
immensely satisfying. It was noticeable that many TS women
described themselves categorically as lesbian; they had escaped
from the world of masculinity, and apparently wanted no further
interaction with it. To some extent that described my feeling
about sexuality and orientation, so I was interested to see what
they said, if they said anything, about physical satisfaction.
Most of those reporting delight in sexual fulfillment as women,
whether they were lesbian or straight, found that they did have a
sensitive clitoris after surgery, and that it was an important
source for the sensations they enjoyed. It struck me that a
majority of these women had been operated on by one surgeon in
particular, and I had also seen postings from him on one of the
mailing lists, which dealt with his technique for clitoral
construction. I decided to write to his office and ask for any
information provided.

His name was Dr. William Strong, and he had a private clinic down
the coast, about 500 km south of us. Apart from his obvious
qualifications, it was by far the most convenient location, about
a five hour drive on the freeway. I wrote to him, explaining my
current situation and what steps I had taken so far; I said that
I hoped it would be possible to have SRS in June, just about a
year after starting living full time, and asked for any
information that he could provide.

Tuesday, January 25th. Just over a week later, a thick envelope
arrived in the mail from Dr. Strong; it contained a brochure and
various pages of information of one sort or another. He provided
general information about sexual reassignment surgery, and
details about what his requirements were for his patients, what
was involved, what should be done in preparation and what was
required during the convalescent period after the operation. He
also gave the fees involved, for surgery and the stay in his
private clinic. It was expensive, but not outrageous, though I
was not used to paying anything directly for medical treatment;
fortunately it was well within the amount of my accumulated
savings (set aside for a 'rainy day') and a reasonably fancy new
car would likely be more expensive. He also suggested that
prospective patients should visit him for a preliminary interview
as early as possible.

I had a chat with Jan, and showed her the pile of information; "I
think my best choice would be to go with him," I said, "and I'm
tempted to call his office right away and start the ball
rolling." "A good idea, my love," said Jan; "I haven't checked
through all the material you have, but I'm sure you have made a
good choice." I phoned immediately, and told the receptionist
that I was contemplating having SRS done by Dr. Strong in June,
and asked for a preliminary appointment. They were able to give
me one on Thursday, the following week. It was in the morning, so
I suggested to Jan that we might make a trip of it, and drive
down the day before.

Wednesday, February 2nd. Jan and I drove south down the freeway,
starting after breakfast. The weather was still quite wet, and
there wasn't too much in the way of visible scenery. I didn't
know precisely what the doctor would want to do, other than
talking to me, but it did occur to me that he might want to do
some sort of physical examination; with that in mind, I gave some
thought to what would be the most appropriate attire, and planned
my overnight bag accordingly. We checked into a motel near the
clinic early in the afternoon, and then thought about what we
might do to occupy our time. Shopping seemed like a good idea in
a different city, with a different choice of items, and we spent
a happy time in one or two of the big department stores; one of
them was in a mall, and there were also some interesting small
stores and boutiques to look at. Jan found some things that she
wanted, but it was clear that my special interests weren't
catered to. When I remarked on this to Jan, she said "The real
problem you have is wanting things that reached their peak in
popularity in the 50s; we could look in the yellow pages for
theatrical costumes." She smiled and squeezed my hand; she rather
enjoyed my tastes, provided the garments were for me to wear, but
she couldn't resist teasing me. It was one of the nice little
verbal games we played, so I felt it necessary to respond, "Maybe
my time as a male wasn't completely wasted; at least cross-
dressers keep the demand alive, and they haven't sacrificed their
love for feminine things." I did see a nice pair of gold hoop
earrings, so I didn't come away empty-handed.

We had a pleasant relaxed dinner in the dining room attached to
the motel; it was the kind of quiet evening involving just the
two of us that we both enjoyed more and more. "I don't suppose
that Dr. Strong normally sees the spouses of his patients," I
said, as we walked back to our room; "I'm afraid I shall be all
on my own tomorrow morning. What do you plan to do?" "I hadn't
really thought about it," Jan said. "There's some literature in
the room, maybe there's an interesting museum." We agreed to meet
back at the motel for lunch. Though it was still quite early, we
went to bed fairly soon, and lay quietly side by side in bed;
even when sex turned out not to be on the agenda, it was one of
our favourite things to do together, and we chatted endlessly.

Thursday, February 3rd. I got up early the next morning, and
decided to have a long hot bath; fortunately the motel room did
have a tub, which was my preference. Freshened up, and dried off,
I gave some thought to my ensemble for the morning. Underwear
always mattered to me, but on this occasion it was probably a
good idea to be prepared for the doctor's inspection. I had
brought a light girdle that sat quite high on my tummy, and I
wore that, along with a matching bra that was fairly easy to
remove. I enjoyed my normal ritual of putting on stockings, and
fastening suspenders, and as often happened, looked up to see
that Jan was stirring and watching me with amused interest. "I
was mean to you yesterday," she said. "So long as I can wear what
is comfortable for me, I get a great deal of pleasure from the
sexy things you wear." "I know, my love," I said, "and that's the
only reason I do it." She sniggered, but her comment had given me
some nice squirmy feelings, for a good start to the day, and I
knew that she made it for that reason. I continued dressing,
choosing a jersey top and a nice full print skirt; I wore a white
half slip under the skirt which was full enough to spread it out
a little. I sat down in front of the mirror then, and started to
work on my hair; it was certainly long enough now to be feminine,
if styled properly, but it still wasn't long enough to satisfy
me. I brushed and combed, and teased it out a little, and finally
decided that it was good enough. I thought it best not to
overstate my makeup, though I did use some eye liner very
carefully; I gave my lips the full treatment, using liner,
lipstick and gloss.

By the time I was ready, Jan had almost caught up with me, and
after a quick session at the mirror, she suggested we walk over
for breakfast. My appointment was quite early, so she drove me to
the clinic, and went off with the car. I walked inside, to a very
nicely appointed reception area, and was greeted cheerfully by a
woman sitting behind the low counter. "I'm Rita Opal," I said,
"here to see Dr. Strong." "Ah yes," she said, checking a list on
her desk; "he isn't quite ready, but please come into the
consulting room and have a seat there." I followed her into the
room, which looked much like any doctor's office, though it was
pleasantly decorated, and had some nice pictures of the local
mountains and coast.

I had been waiting for about five minutes when the doctor came
in; I remained seated, as I was almost used to doing now, and
extended my hand. He clasped it and said hello, in a very
friendly manner, and then sat down at the desk. He already had a
file for me in front of him, and consulted it briefly. "You are
considering SRS later this year?" he asked. "Yes." "Just to
familiarise myself with your situation, could you give me a short
history of yourself?" I related the basic facts, and told him
that I now had letters from two psychiatrists recommending that I
undergo surgery. I also recounted the details of my history with
the endocrinologist, and told him that I had taken some voice
therapy as well as laser treatment for my facial hair. He nodded
as I recounted my story, and then looked at me carefully. "You
seem to have dealt with all the essential matters," he said, "and
you certainly present yourself as a woman very successfully -- an
attractive woman, if I may say so. You have also complied with
the SOC rules that I follow, and I am prepared to accept the
recommendation of the two psychiatrists that have worked with
you. I would like to do a physical examination, just to check
that there are no problems that we might run into, and I would
like to get a report from your family doctor on your general
health, before the procedure is scheduled. I'll leave you to get
changed; please put on the gown there -- it fastens at the
front."

I could guess why, knowing what parts of my anatomy he would be
interested in, and I realised that my efforts to present myself
as attractively as possible beneath my skirt and top were in
vain. I undressed, and wrapped the robe around me, and sat on the
bed to wait. A few minutes later Dr. Strong returned, and asked
me to lie down on the bed. Like all such medical equipment, it
was hard and far too short, but I lay down with my legs extending
over the edge. He gave me an extensive examination, mainly in my
genital region, probing the area behind my testicles very
carefully. He also felt my testicles and penis, and gently
squeezed the glans; I didn't find the manipulation too disturbing
in such a clinical session, but he did notice my instinctive
reaction when he touched my pleasure centre. "This area is still
very sensitive," he said. "Yes; my partner and I are still very
active sexually, and at present that is the main source of my
pleasure. It's my hope that it can be successfully used to form
an equally sensitive clitoris." He smiled; "The prospects are
quite good. Do you still get erections?" "No, I have not had
erections since prostate surgery several years ago." "But you do
orgasm?" "Yes. After the prostate surgery I eventually discovered
that intense orgasms were possible; it was the realisation that
they resembled female orgasms that reinforced my identification
as a female. There seems to be a positive feedback loop there,
and the physical pleasure and the female identification seem to
intensify one another." He smiled at my technical metaphor; "Very
interesting. My first reaction is that you are an ideal subject
for SRS." This comment was music to my ears. He examined my
breasts; "You show significant mammary development, which is also
a good indicator; I would expect some further development to
occur." He carefully touched my nipples, and they responded
involuntarily. "Excuse me," he said, "but it is necessary for me
to check the effects of hormone therapy." "I understand," I said;
"it so happens that my nipples were always sensitive and
responsive -- that's another of the many indicators that led me
to finally conclude that being a woman was the right decision."

Dr. Strong seemed quite satisfied with the results of his
examination. "I'll leave you to get dressed now," he said; "then
we can talk about the logistics of the surgery." He left me in
the consulting room again, and I put my clothes back on, somewhat
more hurriedly than usual. I was ready, sitting in the chair,
when he knocked at the door and came in. "As I said, all the
indications seem to be very good for the procedure," he said.
"The hormone therapy is having a more significant effect than
often is the case, and the structure of your pelvic region seems
to allow ample space for the reconstruction in that area. Your
existing genitalia are still in very good shape, in spite of the
effects of hormones, and that is an important factor in creating
the best possible vagina, clitoris and labia. When were you
thinking of having the procedure?" "As early as possible," I
said. "There are no doubts in my mind that it should be done, and
it is the last step in a process that started last June." "The
Standards of Care do suggest that candidates for SRS should have
lived for one year in the role that they wish to adopt; what are
the precise dates?" I had made notes, in case I was asked
specific questions, and looked in my purse for the paper. "I
started taking hormones on June 8th last year," I said. "I wore
female clothing in public for the first time on July 12th,
complete with a wig and proper makeup; I have only worn female
clothing since then, and I have lived a normal life in public,
shopping and dealing with businesses, and so on." "So your year
of Real Life Training, would strictly take us to the middle of
July," he said. "I was hoping to take a vacation around then, and
I notice that there is a convenient slot available in the second
half of June; I think we could assume that you have satisfied the
requirements at that time. It would be over a year from the time
you started hormones." "That would be suitable for me," I said.
"OK, then we'll make the booking. The actual date of surgery
would be June 19th; that's a Monday. You would check in here on
the Sunday afternoon, and if all goes well you could be
discharged two or three days later; you have to stay in town
though, because we need to do the final tidying up, removing the
catheter and so on, after eight days. One option is for you to
stay in the hospital in a private "VIP" room." "Do I need to see
you again before then?" I asked. "It's probably a good idea for
me to take a look at you a week before; that will just be to
check that everything looks as good as it does at present. If
anything changes between now and then, please contact me."

He took me out to the reception area, and shook my hand. "All the
best," he said; "I look forward to seeing you again in June." I
had to spend some time with the secretary, giving her my address
and other particulars, and she wanted full details of the
endocrinologist and the two psychiatrists. She told me that Dr.
Strong would contact them to get their recommendations directly.
Finally she discreetly pointed out that this was a procedure not
normally covered by medical insurance; there was a charge for the
consultation, and that would be offset against the bill for the
surgical procedure and hospitalisation. I used one of my new
credit cards to settle the account; it would be billed to one
Rita Opal, and I thought that was quite appropriate. She told me
that they would be in contact with me over arrangements for the
operation, and pointedly reminded me that payment was required in
advance. That was the way of the world in private medical
practice, and this was now the top priority item on my agenda, so
I didn't let it bother me. After a friendly goodbye, I left, and
since the weather didn't seem too bad, after the previous day's
rain, I decided to walk the few blocks to the motel.

I saw the car there, and Jan was waiting in the room. "I arranged
for a late checkout," she said; "I thought we could have lunch
here, and then drive back; we'll be home for a late dinner." That
sounded fine to me, so we walked over to the restaurant. Once we
had ordered, and started on our meal, Jan was eager to hear how
my meeting with the doctor had gone. "It was quite
straightforward," I said; "he's congenial, and happy to do
surgery on me, now that the shrinks have said it's OK. He wanted
to know something of my story, and he did a physical exam of the
appropriate areas." "You poor thing!" "Actually it was quite
exciting." I winked at her. "Seriously, I am really very pleased,
because he went so far as to say that I was almost an ideal
candidate. There doesn't seem to be anything in the pelvic
structure that might cause him difficulties, and he remarked on
the effect that hormones are having. I guess some unfortunate
people don't have the same response." That's good news!" Jan
said. "I just knew I had you figured out properly; you really are
cut out to be a woman." "Not quite the best choice of words," I
said, "given why I was visiting the good doctor, but I happen to
think you are right." Jan started to giggle, and she got me
started too; I was thankful for the practice my evening reading
sessions had given me.

We didn't delay too long over lunch, and were soon started on our
drive north; we were back home quite early in the evening, and
had a light dinner almost at our regular time.

Monday, February 7th. Dr. Strong had asked me to get a check on
my general health from my family doctor, and I thought that
should be done right away. I realised with some self-reproach
that it should have been done right at the start of transition.
The prospect bothered me more than many of the other tasks that
had been required by transition; I felt awkward because I had not
done any consultation in connection with the medical decisions
that I had made, and for some reason I didn't relish being
examined, in my present intermediate state, by someone who wasn't
involved in dealing professionally with transgendered people. I
even considered changing doctors, but I felt that would be a real
cop-out, and Dr. Joan Caxton had always impressed both Jan and I
because of her skills and her friendly manner; she had always
treated us as fellow professionals, and that was a relationship
we both appreciated. She had of course been notified of my change
of name and 'plans', along with all the other friends and
acquaintances, in the letter I sent out.

I decided I had no choice but to see her, and with more
trepidation than I usually experienced these days, I phoned her
office for an appointment. There was a slot free that afternoon.
When I went to the registration desk, and said "Rita Opal, to see
Dr. Caxton," the staff did seem more than usually interested, but
they didn't show any untoward reaction. I was eventually called,
by name, and ushered to one of the offices; as usual my file was
placed in a slot outside the door, and as I sat waiting for the
doctor to appear, I wondered what there was in the file now.

Dr. Caxton came in, and looked at me with some interest. "Hello,"
she said, in a very friendly manner; "what can I do for you?"
"The quick answer is a general check-up," I said, "but obviously
there is a long answer, and it is probably appropriate to get
into it. Things have changed very much since I last saw you, and
to start with I should really apologise for the way I have
treated you. I have been seeing medical specialists in various
areas relating to matters of gender, and I did so without
consulting you first, or even informing you. Believe me, it
wasn't because I didn't want you in the loop; the real reason was
my desire to contact people who were known to be 'T* friendly' as
we describe them in the transgendered community, and I sought out
those who were rated highly, using the vast accumulation of
information that now exists on the web." Dr. Caxton smiled:
"Don't worry about it," she said. "I am not an expert in the
field, but I do understand the concern people have to deal with
members of the medical profession whom they think will be
sympathetic. Unfortunately it still seems to matter very much
just whose advice is sought. The fact is I would appreciate
learning more about your situation, and the phenomenon of
transgenderism, so that I am better prepared to deal with
patients who seek my advice."

"I appreciate that very much," I said; "maybe I should give you a
brief summary of the facts of my case." "Please do." "OK, then.
You're aware of the basic medical facts of my prostate cancer,
and the radical prostatectomy; that left me incapable of
achieving erection, and of course unable to ejaculate. When my
testosterone level built up to normal after the surgery, I became
very sexually frustrated. Now it so happens that I was one of the
one percent or so of the male population that has a fetishistic
interest in female clothing, and in retrospect I think that was
indicative of more profound feelings about gender. After a period
of intense sexual frustration, and experimenting with my partner,
I discovered a form of sexual activity that became more and more
satisfying to me, which for want of a better word might be
described as lesbian. I now think that my transgendered brain
rewired itself to give me sexual responses that I identified as
female. Miraculously this stimulated my partner, Jan, to be more
responsive than ever, and it turned out that the stronger my
female identification became, the stronger was her response. The
logical conclusion eventually became obvious to both of us: we
both were happily identifying ourselves as lesbians, and it made
sense for me to make the fantasy into reality. That's what I have
been up to this last year; I've been taking female hormones and
anti-androgens, I've been taking care of facial hair, and I've
been getting voice therapy. I've been following the standard
rules prescribed for diagnosis and treatment of transsexuals, and
I now have two professional opinions from psychiatrists
recommending sexual reassignment surgery. I have arranged for
that to be done by Dr. Strong in June; he would like to have a
report on my general health from my family doctor, to satisfy him
that there are no medical conditions that might contra-indicate
surgery."

"That's very interesting," said Dr.Caxton; "I really would
appreciate getting detailed information from you, particularly
about resources on the web where I can learn some more. The first
thing is terminology: how would you describe yourself, now?" "I
am a transsexual, that is a person who is physically male, but
whose gender identification is female, and who seeks to make her
physical sex correspond as closely as possible with her innate
sense of gender. In the jargon of my sisters in the 'community',
I am a pre-op transsexual. I suppose medically I might be
described as a genetic male, with abnormally high levels of
female hormones, and with abnormal mammary development. In the
words of one of my Australian friends 'a bloke with boobs'." She
smiled at that. "I assume there might be less 'desirable' effects
of what the male system would detect as a serious hormone
imbalance?" "Indeed. Anyone with any sense realises that one
should only take hormones under supervision of an
endocrinologist; they do regular blood checks to monitor things
like liver function. I feel very bad about this, because you
should really have been kept informed of what I was getting done
to myself, and what the medical effects were. I'll contact Dr.
Elderton and get her to send you all the information." "Thank
you. Now I have a bit better idea of what to expect, so I'll take
a look at things."

She proceeded to do a normal physical examination, and when it
came to listening to my chest with the stethoscope she remarked
on the bosom I exposed, clad in one of my exquisitely feminine
bras. "To all appearances obviously female, consistent with your
general appearance. Without knowing who you were, or having heard
the story, I would assume that you were female." "There still are
some indications to the contrary," I said, "and I don't think
that I could fool a gynecologist quite yet. But they tell me that
after surgery, that could well happen." "Would you mind if I
examined your genitalia?" she asked. "It isn't really necessary
for our current purpose, but I am interested to see the effects
of your hormone treatment, and it will also make an interesting
comparison with the situation after your surgery." "By all
means," I said, and I removed my very feminine panties to expose
my male accoutrements; they looked very much as they always had
to me. Dr. Caxton remarked that there seemed to be very little
atrophy; "They are still very much in use," I said. "In fact that
is a requirement for the surgical procedure, as a fair amount of
what is there has to be re-cycled." "Interesting!" she said. "I
must really read up on the surgical procedure." "It can be very
successful," I said; "'sexual reassignment' isn't just wishful
thinking, and can be the simple reality. The reverse process,
female-to-male is much more dubious."

Dr. Caxton gave me a clean bill of health, and told me she would
write to Dr. Strong;  I realised that I had made a mistake in not
talking to her very early in the game, but I felt much better
about things as I left her office. She was obviously empathetic,
non-judgmental, and interested in the situation simply as a
fascinating medical phenomenon.

Monday, May 22nd. We had fine warm weather over the holiday
weekend, and sat happily in the sunshine, looking forward to the
summer and all the associated activities that started around this
time. This summer was going to be marked by a special event for
me: the surgery that would complete my process of transition. It
was interesting to review what had happened since the same
weekend the year before; that was when I had made my decision,
and it started the chain of events that had got me to my present
state.

It was hard to think it was only a year, as I took that state to
be normal; it was simply me, the way I was, and I sometimes felt
as if I had always been a woman. Looking back at the things I had
done, as a woman, made me remember that in many cases I had
actually been doing them for the first time, sometimes with
nervous anticipation. After my early shopping forays, I had
become more and more at ease visiting women's clothing stores,
makeup counters, hairdressers and other places exclusive to the
female world. I had acquired an extensive feminine wardrobe; I
was well equipped with cosmetics, and implements for applying
them; and I regularly had my hair styled and coloured. I was now
at ease in all the interactions involved, making choices,
discussing styles and generally indulging in girl-talk.

Of course many of the events of the year were related to my
transition, and were steps necessary to becoming a woman, both in
the eyes of society, and to my own satisfaction. I realised with
a sense of achievement that all the necessary steps were
completed, and all that remained was my rapidly approaching date
with Dr. Strong. There had been one final step, just in the
previous week: the laser treatment to remove my beard had been
very successful, but there were still some annoying remnants of
it, so I decided to complete things once and for all, and visited
my good friend Melanie for electrolysis. It took three long
sessions, and was quite as painful as I had been told, but the
final result was completely gratifying, and she assured me that I
would never have to shave my face and throat again. This was an
attribute of womanhood that appealed to me immensely; apart from
eliminating an annoying chore, it provided a much more pleasing
canvass for me to work with when I did my makeup. I was honest
enough to realise, wryly, that what was a chore and what was a
labour of love depended very much on one's point of view; I now
spent a much longer time each day on makeup than would have been
involved in shaving.

Sunday, May 28th. Because of various complications that might
occur, prospective SRS patients were required to stop taking
hormones three weeks prior to surgery. It was the eve of this
deadline, and I took the pills that had created such a change in
me for the last time, at least in their current dosages. It was
almost exactly a year since I had started HRT, and I had been
seeing Dr. Elderton regularly over that period. She had regular
blood tests done, and did various other checks on the way my
system was responding to the inhibition of its naturally produced
male hormones, and their replacement with female ones. I was
fortunate, once again, in that there appeared to be no evidence
of any adverse effects on the regular functioning of my body.

There were of course effects on my secondary sexual
characteristics, and after a year they were significant. I now
had fully developed breasts which were not quite as prominent as
I would have liked, but were very definitely female, and well
within the normal size range for genetic females. If I was
honest, I would have to admit only to a B cup size, but I was
tempted to use padded bras, and I even thought vaguely about
getting my breasts surgically enhanced. In fact, they were more
than adequate, as were other more subtle changes. My skin was
definitely smoother, and there was less growth of body hair;
there had also been some redistribution of fatty tissue, notably
around my hips, and though I was by no means shaped like Venus de
Milo, I was feminine enough in proportion to wear garments that
required something of a waist without any difficulty; my
appearance was satisfactory enough, that I noted that my figure
was better than those of some women I saw.

My hair had grown long enough to allow a variety of feminine
styles, and its texture and appearance were really pleasing to
me. It was below my jaw now at the sides, and only my passion for
long hair prevented me from being completely satisfied. Looking
back over the year, it was gratifying to realise what significant
progress had been made in the feminisation of my body, and its
external appearance no longer presented any impediment to
completely convincing female presentation. I hoped that there
wouldn't be something of a relapse in the next three weeks, as my
genetically male system, temporarily recovered from being shut
down, attempted to correct the changes that had been induced.

Many TS people talked about the effects of hormones on their mood
and disposition; I can't say that there were any on myself that
really made themselves noticeable. I had been particularly happy,
and I was possibly more given to express emotions than I had been
in my early life. I did have a sense of well being, and
satisfaction in my new role, and it could well be that there were
subtle changes in my mein and personality that contributed to
this; it was quite likely the case that they contributed to my
self-confidence and success in presentation. As far as I could
discern, I was very rarely read these days, and appearing in
public as what I considered to be my normal self no longer caused
me any concern; it was no longer a preoccupation.

Thursday, June 8th. We were finally starting to get some summer
weather, and it was very pleasant to take our walks in the
sunshine without having to wear coats. It was still a great
pleasure for me to go out wearing a dress, and I enjoyed the
feeling of freedom as the skirt swirled around my legs as I
walked. I liked the motion of the material in response to the
breeze too, though I had learned that things could get
embarrassing when the wind was too strong. As Jan and I came back
from a walk through the park, the weather reminded me of the
previous summer, and the events that started my transition in
earnest. After my first fearful foray outside, following almost
the same route, almost a year ago, I had never worn anything
other than dresses and skirts. My role as a woman seemed
completely natural to me, though it was still a continuous source
of enjoyment; I loved the clothes I wore, and the way most people
interacted with me reinforced my feelings, and were a source of
pleasure too.

The phone rang just as we got back home. It was Dr. Strong's
office, and they wanted to check that things were still
proceeding according to our original discussions. They reminded
me that the surgery was scheduled in a little over a week, and
asked me if I could visit for a final check the following
Tuesday. I told them that the suggested time in the morning was
convenient, thinking that although it was possible to do the
round trip in a day, it would be a fairly busy day, and I would
spend the whole drive down worrying about whether we would be on
time.

Tuesday, June 13th. Jan and I had driven down the previous day,
and checked into the same motel. When I got up in the morning, I
thought once again about what would be most suitable to wear; it
was quite warm, and I decided to dress as simply as possible,
recalling my last visit to Dr. Strong. I decided to forego my
usual pleasure in wearing stockings and an appropriate
foundation, and wore just a bra and a pair of control panties
under my blouse and skirt, though I did decide that I needed a
half slip. I wore flat slip-on shoes too, but I made up for
things by working quite hard on my makeup, spending a lot of time
with eyeliner and a light touch of shadow.

After breakfast, Jan drove me over to the clinic, though it
wasn't more than a few blocks, and I told her I would see her
back at the motel. The woman in reception greeted me warmly, and
asked me to wait; she asked me to confirm various items from my
record, and then took the file and asked me to follow her to the
consulting room. I only had to wait a few moments there before
Dr. Strong appeared, with a cheery "Good morning." He looked me
up and down, and smiled approvingly; "I don't detect any
indication that you might have changed your mind," he said. "Not
at all. Looking back over the past year, and how I have enjoyed
almost everything it brought, I realise that I have never been
happier than I am now. There's one final step which will complete
the process, and I am eager for it." He looked through the
contents of the file, somewhat larger than it had been on my
first visit. "I have the two letters from psychiatrists," he
said, "and also a report from your family doctor on your last
physical. She doesn't report anything that is a cause for
concern, and we have a green light to proceed. Are there any
concerns you have about the surgery?" "No," I replied. "In one
sense I am not really looking forward to it, because I know that
I won't feel too good afterwards, but that will be offset by a
sense of fulfillment. I want to get it done with." "I
understand," he said. "One of the rewarding aspects of this field
of specialisation is the determination of the patients I see, and
their satisfaction when they feel that they are finally
physically and mentally in harmony with themselves.

He asked me to undress again, discreetly leaving the room while I
did so, and his examination followed the same course as it had on
my previous visit. "You have been taking hormones for over a year
now," he said; "the effects are really quite pronounced, and your
general appearance is unequivocally female; when the genitalia
are reconstructed, you will be completely convincing as a woman."
He was chivalrous enough to add "Of course you are now, in your
external presentation, but in six months' time you will be able
to visit gynecologists without them suspecting anything of your
medical history." "How about performing the dance of the seven
veils?" I asked. "That too," he smiled. He told me I could get
dressed, and said I could go to check with the secretary in
reception when I was ready. "I'll see you on Sunday. Goodbye," he
said as he left.

The secretary gave me a sheet of instructions for preparing
myself for the surgery. I had checked with Jan, and we decided
that staying in the hospital for the whole period was the best
plan, even though we would have to spend the nights apart, so I
made the booking arrangements. "You should check in here on
Sunday afternoon," she said, "fairly soon after two. Don't take
anything except clear fluids after midnight on Saturday." "I'll
be hungry," I said, "but it is in a good cause." "It is," she
said. "You look wonderful, and I know you'll be very happy when
everything has been taken care of." I said goodbye, and started
on my walk back to the motel.

Saturday, June 17th. The rest of the week passed fairly quickly.
Surprisingly, I was not apprehensive about the rapidly
approaching surgery, and Jan and I spent our time much as we
normally did. I did of course have some idea what to expect; my
prostate surgery had been similar in many respects: it was
abdominal surgery, and involved fairly severe interference with
the uretha. Sexual reassignment would be much the same in terms
of the trauma to my system, and I knew that the first few days
afterwards would be quite painful, and I would be connected to a
catheter. There was an important difference, though, in that this
would be constructive plastic surgery; some external organs would
be removed, but they would be replaced by new internal ones. My
desire for this change was stronger than ever now, and I actually
looked forward to the operation. Jan insisted that she would stay
in a motel near the clinic, so that she would be close, and could
visit me frequently. We would be away for just over a week, so we
both gave some thought to what we needed to take with us; in my
case there wasn't too much need for clothing, but Jan suggested
that having a cardigan, and my fluffy slippers, might be useful
during my recovery period. I took some nightdresses and a robe,
and I also packed one change of clothing, thinking of the trip
back, and of course made sure my makeup kit was in the suitcase.

We checked though everything after dinner, my last solid meal for
a couple of days, and decided that we had thought of everything.
There didn't seem to be much else to do then except go to bed
early, since we had to make an early start in the morning. In bed
we snuggled together, and talked quietly for a while; neither of
us was in the mood for love making, and we both realised that
once the surgery was done, and I had recovered, things would be
quite different, and hopefully much better.

Sunday, June 18th. We were up very early, and I had not slept
very well; in spite of my apparent equanimity, there was
obviously something churning away in my subconscious mind. Jan
had a quick bite to eat, and I followed my instructions and just
drank a glass of apple juice. We were soon on the road heading
south, and reached our destination not long after noon. Jan
checked into the motel, and by that time I decided I might as
well go over to the clinic and get admitted. Jan took me over in
the car, and waited while I dealt with all the filling out of
forms, and signed releases. That didn't take too long, and a
nurse came to show me to the hospital room which would be my home
for the next few days. She wanted me changed into a hospital
gown, and in bed, as there were various preliminary checks and
tests to be done. "There's no need for you to wait any longer, my
love," I said to Jan. "I'm going to be in jail here for the rest
of the day, quite bored, but it's in a very good cause. Tomorrow,
when I come round, I shall have other things to deal with." "I
hate to leave you," Jan said, "but I know you're right. All the
best, my love. Tomorrow you will be a new woman, and it's what we
both want." We clung together, and kissed quite passionately,
then she smiled at me and left. "I'll see you tomorrow," she
said.

The rest of the day was something of a bore, and I was reduced to
watching television, with a choice of programs that I didn't find
inspiring. They did all the usual measurements of blood pressure,
temperature and pulse, and also an ECG and blood test; then it
was time for the purgative. That came in two cans of rather
unpleasant tasting liquid, taken an hour apart, and as I was
required to drink a whole litre of water with each of them, I was
kept busy filling glasses and drinking. After about half an hour,
I was kept busy running to the bathroom for the next hour or so.
Finally my flushed out inside settled down, and I lay back in the
hospital bed thinking about what was in store. Dr. Strong paid me
a brief visit in the evening; he was cheerful and optimistic,
telling me that things looked very good. He told me that the
surgery would be first thing in the morning, and he expected it
would take about six hours. After a while in the recovery room, I
would probably be back in my private room by the end of the
afternoon.

Jan called in the evening, and I told her what the schedule was;
we chatted for about half an hour before I told her to go and get
some dinner. "I miss you," I said, "but we'll be together again
soon, and we'll be real sisters as well as lovers." That was a
pleasant thought to have running through my mind as I lay in the
hospital bed, hearing unfamiliar noises, as I tried to relax
completely and get to sleep.

Monday, June 19th. I did sleep, but somewhat fitfully, and I was
awake long before they came to wheel me down to the operating
room. A porter came eventually and chatted cheerfully to me as I
was trundled down the hallway. I was not apprehensive, and took
great interest in the various items of equipment being set up,
and the conversation of the team there as they argued about which
channels displayed my heartbeat and blood pressure. Quite soon
the anesthetist approached me and said "I'm going to start
feeding you some gas now, and quite soon you will fall asleep."

When I regained consciousness, my brain seemed to start
functioning exactly where it had left off. "So this is the
recovery room," I thought; I knew exactly where I was, and I knew
exactly what had happened to me, and my immediate reaction was
that now finally I was a woman in body as well as mind. One of
the nurses saw me stirring, and said "So you're awake now. We'll
keep you here for another hour or so to make sure that there are
no reactions. Everything went very well, and Dr. Strong was very
happy with the operation; he'll be visiting you later on when you
are back in your room.

I lay there surrounded by whirring and clicking machinery,
intrigued by the unfamiliar noises. I didn't feel any pain, or
particularly uncomfortable, and I wasn't particularly sleepy
either. I thought over the events of the past year, and what
might happen in the future, and relaxed in a pleasantly languid
state. Eventually the nurse decided that I was ready to be
returned to my room, and the bed was wheeled back down the
corridor. I was hooked up to IV, and there were also temperature
and blood pressure monitors connected up; I was vaguely aware of
the pipe from the catheter running over my leg. I saw the
telephone by the side of the bed, and fortunately it was within
my reach, so I was able to pick it up and call the motel. Jan
answered; "Hello, Jan," I said; "it's a girl." "Rita! I didn't
think you would be calling me so soon. how do you feel?" "Quite
good," I said. "I imagine I am still under the influence of the
anesthetic, and in a little while I won't be feeling too good at
all." "It's wonderful to hear you; did everything go alright?"
"That's what they told me, but I haven't seen the doctor yet."
"Can I come and see you now?" "I don't see why not; I'd love to
see you. I love you, Jan."

The nursing staff were all very friendly and cheerful, and quite
a number of them were in and out. They checked the catheter, and
looked at all my vital signs; they checked the IV flow, and they
explained how the system worked for self administration of
morphine. I heard a "Hello, my love," and there was Jan with an
enormous vase of pink flowers. She leaned over to kiss me, and
said "It did seem appropriate. How are you now?" "Good," I said,
"but things are starting to ache, so I think the anesthetic is
wearing off; they have already set up the morphine for me, so it
will probably be fairly painful later on. It's in a good cause,
though." She smiled: "Yes, my love; it is." She moved one of the
chairs over, and sat by the bed, holding my hand.

She sat by my side for over an hour, and we said very little, but
I finally suggested that she should go and get herself some
dinner. "Hospital visiting is not a lot of fun," I said; "come
and see me again this evening." "I will," she said, and kissed me
again.

Dr. Strong came in soon after Jan left. "Everything went very
well," he said; "there were no complicating factors at all, and
you were a very good patient. There is every indication that the
results will be very satisfactory. I'll be in to look at things
tomorrow; we'll watch your progress for a week or so, and then we
can take out the catheter, and tidy up; then you can be on your
way home."

Jan came to visit again in the evening, and by then I was
beginning to feel some pain. It wasn't unbearable, and I told her
what Dr. Strong had said. "I don't feel too good at the moment,"
I said, "but I do know roughly what to expect, thanks to my
previous experience with surgery. This is the low point, and I'm
quite cheerful about things, because I know they get better and
better from now on." Jan smiled and squeezed my hand. She stayed
for a while, but I wasn't really taking note of the passage of
time. After she left I tossed fitfully for a while, then the
nurse came with medications for me.

Tuesday, June 20th. They had obviously given me a sleeping pill,
and I woke the next morning after an undisturbed sleep. Things
were quite painful now, and I reached over to push the magic
button. It fed a measured amount of morphine into the IV, and I
fancied I did feel a little bit better after a few minutes. The
nurses were in and out, looking after the various devices
attached to me, and they also gave me juice to drink. Dr. Strong
came by, and examined his work; he smiled at me and told me that
things looked good, and that they would start me on solid food. I
enjoyed the meal, but most of the rest of the day was fairly
blurred; I do recall Jan being there several times when I looked
up. She chatted to me quietly, and I may have responded, but I
have very hazy recollection of the conversation.

Wednesday, June 21st. After another night's sleep, I felt
considerably better; my head was clear, and I was almost in the
mood for doing something to stop me from being bored. Dr. Strong
visited me again, briefly, and told me he was very pleased with
my progress. I got out of bed with some assistance from the
nurses; I realised then that I was still very weak, but I felt
very much that I was on the mend. I couldn't resist using the
mirror from my makeup kit to take a look at my genital area; it
appeared badly bruised, and was encumbered with drains and a
catheter. To my uneducated eye there were unmistakable female
labia, though they were firmly closed by large sutures. Though
things were very uncomfortable, the confirmation that changes had
really taken place gave me a sense of achievement, and when they
brought me lunch, I was ready to do it justice. I decided I was
quite hungry, and finished everything. After lunch, I was ready
to find something to read, and the world seemed a much nicer
place.

Saturday, June 24th. As the days passed, I felt progressively
better, and the pain eased to a tolerable level. I could walk
more easily each day, and I was able to freshen up by taking
showers. On Jan's frequent visits we chatted happily, just as we
always had, and we even went out into the sunny grounds for a
walk. The pain was still present, and the drains and catheter
were something of an irritation, but the feeling that recovery
was clearly under way made me quite cheerful, and I began looking
forward to getting home, and back my regular daily life. I
thought about what had happened in the last several months, and
realised that what I had been preparing for was now a reality. A
dramatic change in me had now taken place, but in the unreal
atmosphere of the hospital its full impact had not really
registered.

Sunday, June 25th. Following the schedule he had originally given
me, Dr. Strong came by early on Sunday, my sixth day of post-
operative care. He removed the two drains, and then the labial
sutures; the process was uncomfortable, but not painful. He then
proceeded to remove about four metres of gauze packing from the
opening! He smiled at me, and said "You see there definitely is a
cavity there. Things are beginning to heal quite nicely now, and
it is important to make sure that the new structure doesn't
collapse, so regular dilation is necessary. The nurse will be in
to give you instructions, and get you started later on."

I still had the catheter connected, but I found things much more
comfortable now, and I was enjoying the feeling of freedom,
walking up and down, when Jan came in. "You really do look chirpy
today, my love," she said. I told her that things seemed to be
progressing exactly on schedule, and we went out into the grounds
for a walk; I felt much more like my old self, though I realised
wryly that the whole object of the exercise was not to be my old
self -- in one significant respect at least.

We had just got back when the nurse came in, with a set of
packages and some written instructions. "I want to show you how
to do the dilation," she said. Jan got up, but I asked her to
stay; "Jan is my companion," I said to the nurse; "I have nothing
to hide from her, and it might be a good idea for her to know
what is involved; she might even check up on me."

The dilators came in different thicknesses, and the basic idea
was to start with the slimmest, and gradually work up in size.
They seemed surprisingly long to me; they were probably the same
thickness as an average erect penis, something I had not seen for
a long time. They were long enough to hold, and were graduated
with depth markings; the nurse explained that they were to be
inserted to the correct depth and then held in position. She got
me to raise my knees, and very carefully inserted the end of the
slimmest dilator into what I realised were my labia; it was quite
painful, but not unbearable. She gradually worked it in, up to
the required length, and it was brought home to me that my body
really had been changed; the feeling wasn't very pleasant, but I
did have a small thrill of excitement thinking about what was
happening. I was given detailed instructions about how often to
dilate, and for how long, and she told me that the instructions
were also written out in detail on the material she had brought
for me. "That's probably enough for now," she said; "I'll come to
see you this evening, and have you do it yourself, just to make
sure you're doing everything properly."

Jan had been watching the procedure with great interest. "Did it
hurt?" she said after the nurse had left. "Not really. But it
brings home fairly graphically that my anatomy has changed." "It
certainly has," said Jan. "You are unequivocally a woman now, and
I'm so happy for you. I'm looking forward to our life together; I
know it will bring us closer than ever." She hugged me.

Tuesday, June 27th. Dr. Strong came to see me in the afternoon
for the final step in the process. He busied himself with my
external plumbing, then stood back with the end of the plastic
tube in his hand; he had removed the catheter without me even
being aware of it. The next step was to remove the retention
sutures, then "All done," he said; "I'd like you to go to the
bathroom now, and see if you can pass water." I walked over to
the bathroom, and I realised with a strange sense of pleasure
that it was now essential for me to sit down. I did so, and felt
a burning sensation inside me; it became almost too painful to
bear, then suddenly there was relief, and I heard some water
pouring into the toilet bowl. I also got rather damp and messy,
and realised that I would need some practise; there was no doubt,
though, that the basic bodily function demonstrated explicitly
that what I had desired was now an accomplished fact. Dr. Strong
smiled approvingly; "Very good," he said, as though I was a small
baby being toilet trained. It occurred to me that in a sense,
that's exactly what I was. "Things seem to be working properly,"
he said; "in a day or two, you'll find it quite comfortable."

He said that I would be able to leave the next morning. He
impressed on me the importance of continuing the dilation of my
new vagina, on a regular daily schedule. He foresaw no
complications, but told me to phone if there was anything I was
concerned about. Assuming that everything progressed properly, he
wanted me to visit for a final checkup in three months. He told
me that the recovery from the surgery would take about three
weeks, so during that time I should refrain from any strenuous
activity. "Once again, until things have settled down, dilation
is very important," he said. "It is probably wise to abstain from
any sexual activity, too; but you should be ready for that after
the three months. I'll see you tomorrow morning, just before you
leave." I thanked him, and told him that I was very happy with
what he had done for me.

When Jan came to visit, later in the afternoon, I told her that I
was going to be sprung in the morning, on schedule, and asked her
to bring some clothes for me. "You're a tough girl," she said;
"there will be no stopping you once you get back home."

Wednesday, June 28th. I woke the following morning feeling very
good; there was still a dull ache between my legs, but it was
certainly bearable. Jan came soon after they had given me
breakfast, with a small suitcase; she was also carrying a paper
bag. "I went shopping yesterday afternoon," she said; "I thought
it would be nice to get you a welcome home gift." I opened the
package, and found a lovely pair of pink frilly panties; "Thank
you, my love," I said. "I couldn't think of anything nicer. Let
me put them on." I sat on the edge of the bed, and Jan steadied
me, though I didn't need any help. She eased the panties up my
legs, and pulled them up round my waist. "They're beautiful!" I
said. Even though I still needed to wear padding because of blood
oozing from areas that were not completely healed, it was another
reminder of my new shape, and I couldn't resist looking at myself
in the small mirror in the bathroom; they looked right, even
though they were a little bulky. In spite of that there were no
conspicuous bulges in the wrong place, and they felt right; I was
a woman finally, and garments designed for women were exactly
right for me!

I put on the bra and half slip that Jan had brought, and then the
skirt and top; the weather was quite warm now, and that would be
all I needed for the journey. "You can get back to your
stockings, when we're back home," she said. "I wasn't sure that a
girdle was a good idea just yet, and I knew you wouldn't want to
wear pantyhose." "I'm almost tempted," I said; "at least they
would fit very nicely now." Dr. Strong came in just as I had got
dressed, and told me I could leave when I was ready. I thanked
him once again, and we said goodbye. After a quick check with the
woman at the reception desk, we walked out into the sunshine. Jan
had already checked out of the motel, and had everything in the
car; I got myself in, without too much difficulty, and we were on
our way back home.

Monday, September 4th. The rest of the summer was pleasant, and
Jan and I eased back into our regular way of life, enjoying the
good weather. The only physical effect of the surgery, after
leaving the hospital, was that I was quite weak, but my strength
recovered quickly, and there were no apparent side effects.

I had restarted taking hormones, immediately after my return
home; the dosage was now changed, and there was of course no
longer any need for anti-androgens. I was quite satisfied with my
body generally, and I thought it had an adequately feminine
appearance, even though I might not have won any beauty contests.
Further changes in the direction of feminisation still seemed to
be occurring; they were apparent to me, though they were very
subtle.

In one respect my lifestyle was very different now. I was
conscious of the change in my anatomy, and I got a thrill from
its obvious feminine external contours whenever I dressed and
undressed. I also practiced dilation four times a day, and that
gradually brought home to me the reality of what had happened.
Four times each day I inserted the lubricated dilators into my
vagina, progressing from the slimmest to the thickest, and I
still found it startling to realise what length could be
accommodated inside me. Though the activity was not particularly
pleasant, I found that sexual feelings were beginning to be
excited; they were as much mental as physical, as it became more
and more evident to me that I was now a receptor, capable of
being penetrated. It was a thrill to appreciate that I now
satisfied the most basic fundamental definition of the term
'female'.

As the weeks went by I did find the penetration more and more
exciting, and I finally got carried away to the point where I
started to manipulate the dilator, and slide it in and out. To my
delight, there was a physical response, and I experienced
feelings just like those I had when Jan made love to me. My
happiness was unbounded at the realisation that my new equipment
was performing precisely as I had hoped that it would. My
pleasure with the medically successful results of sexual
reassignment surgery had been tempered by the absence of sexual
activity with Jan. That was a very important part of our life
together, and abstinence for almost three months was making me
quite desperate to resume; the awakening of my physical responses
as a direct consequence of penetration made me even more desirous
of love-making. I knew now for certain that it would be better
than ever, as my previous fantasies had indeed become reality,
and waiting for my complete recovery from surgery created a
frustration that grew as the days passed.

It was a physical frustration, but I could console myself
mentally with the thought that there was a well-defined end in
sight; at least in that respect things were very different from
the sexual frustration, as a male, that had provoked my journey
into womanhood. I was frustrated now because I knew how good
things would be, and because I had to restrain myself for just a
week or two longer.

Thursday, September 19th. The time did finally pass, and the day
before my post-operative checkup with Dr. Strong arrived. The
appointment was early in the morning, so we followed what had
almost become a routine, and once again drove down the freeway,
checking into our conveniently located motel near the hospital.

It was a strange evening. We went out for dinner, and had an
enjoyable meal, then we went back to the motel room. We chatted
together, but both of us felt that the following evening was
going to have special significance, and as if by mutual agreement
we didn't dwell on what was to be. We snuggled in bed together
finally, and talked about anything we could think of, other than
what was really on our minds. We finished up with an exhaustive
discussion about makeup, and some of the more exotic things that
we had not tried yet; that was fun, and did finally get us into a
state where attempting to sleep was possible.

Friday, September 20th. After a fitful night, we had breakfast,
and went over to the hospital. The receptionist greeted me like
an old friend, and Dr. Strong appeared promptly. He examined my
genital area thoroughly, but did not take very long. "Everything
seems to be just as it should be," he said. "You can now live
your life as a woman without any medical restrictions." He
smiled, a smile that was almost a wink.

I thanked him once again, and told him that I already had
indications that things would work out exactly as I had hoped.
After goodbyes to him, and the receptionist, Jan and I started
the drive back home. The fall weather was clear and warm, and as
we sped along the freeway there were crystal clear views of the
snow-capped mountains. I was in a euphoric state anyway, and
wouldn't have cared if the snow was down where we were; Jan was
happy and cheerful, as she drove, and from time to time we
chatted about things we passed by. We got home early in the
afternoon, and as we parked the car, Jan said "We really do have
to celebrate today; let's start by going somewhere nice for
dinner." "I'd love that," I said, "but don't make it too late.
There's a private matter on the agenda, and after this long time
I'm getting quite impatient." "I know, my love," she said very
tenderly; "it's very important to me, too." We hugged one
another, and I thought I had never felt closer to my wonderful
partner. In the sixteen months or so since I had started my
incredible journey, most of my experiences had been happy, and I
remembered them fondly; I realised it would have been a very
different story if I had been on my own, without Jan's loving
support.

She made a reservation, and we started to get ourselves ready. I
decided to celebrate in style, so after a quick bath, I got into
my favourite black corselette, now a perfect fit, and put on a
new pair of dark charcoal stockings with all my usual care. I
wore black lacy panties, and also chose a black slip that always
made me feel my best. Finally I put on my dark blue floral print
dress, the one with the marvellous silky feel, and sat down to
work on my hair and face. I spent a long time on my makeup, and
fussed with all the little details that Jan and I had such fun
learning. I was finally satisfied with my face, and with my hair,
and chose the most ornate dangling earrings I had to complete the
picture. Jan had watched my preparations with some interest, and
she wore her finest too; she wore an absolutely beautiful long
dress, dark green and silky, and spent almost as long as I had
sitting at the vanity.

We were finally ready, both of us, and none to soon; it was very
close to the time Jan had told the restaurant. We drove off, and
were soon there, and being ushered to our table. It was a very
nice steak house, with elegant decor, subdued lighting and a
quiet but friendly atmosphere. We ordered a bottle of Beaujolais,
and sat back to enjoy our meal. The service was good and
friendly, and we ate quietly, chatting quite casually; again, as
if by previous agreement, we didn't talk about the significance
of the occasion, though it was very much on my mind. Jan was
happy and cheerful, and I had no doubt that her mind was running
along a similar path. After a delicious meal, and both of us
having eaten far more than was good for our figures, we had
espresso coffee and a liqueur. Jan lifted her glass as if to
toast me; "Well, Rita, my love," she said, "it's been a
fascinating year, and I can't tell you how happy I am that
everything has worked out so well. It's a long time since I first
fell in love with you, as a person, but a few years back I
started to fall in love with your feminine side. It has been an
absolute delight to see that part of you take over, and watch you
becoming more and more confident and happy in your undeniable
femininity. We're now celebrating the occasion of your physical
self catching up with what has been the real you for a long
time." She paused, and took a sip of the liqueur. "You are a
woman, now. I'm more happy than I can say, to welcome you home;
you're one of us now, and you are where you belong."

I choked up, and felt tears in my eyes. "I'm happy too, Jan," I
said. "This whole year I have felt as if I was coming home, and
what makes home such a nice place to be is having you there, by
my side, all the way through. I love you." I couldn't say any
more, and I smiled through my tears at her. We finished our
liqueurs and coffee, and after settling the check we made our way
outside; we walked holding hands and had no concerns whatsoever
about what anyone might think.

We were soon home, and inside the house. Jan hugged me, and
whispered: "Now I want to give you your real welcome; let's go to
bed." I could think of nothing I wanted more, and meekly followed
her into our bedroom. I undressed slowly, gradually removing all
the sartorial witness to my feminine state; I took off my dress,
hung it up carefully in the closet, and then removed my slip. I
saw Jan was doing just the same, unhurriedly, and had a squirm of
excitement as I saw her standing there in her bra and pantyhose.
I sat on the bed and slowly undid my suspenders, then rolled the
stockings down over my feet; I pulled off my panties, and finally
undid the corselette, releasing myself from its firm,
constricting but exquisite embrace. Finally I stood completely
naked, and faced Jan who was undoing the hooks of her bra. She
slipped it off gracefully, and pulled her panties down; she
stepped out of them and faced me, naked herself. She gave me a
quick kiss and led me over to the comfortable big bed; we rolled
the sheets back, and lay side by side on top. It was a wonderful
moment of anticipation for me; I was desperate for Jan to make
love to me, but I was shy, like a bride on her wedding night.

We both realised that we should take our time, savour the
occasion, and do justice to it; Jan was in no hurry, and she
rolled towards me to snuggle close; I responded, and we clung
together, blissful in one another's arms. "This is the moment we
have both been waiting for," Jan whispered; "I can feel your
happiness in real womanhood, and you have brought out exactly the
same feelings in me; it's something wonderful we can share." "Oh,
Jan," I said. "I love you so much. I wish I could tell you how I
feel. I am a woman, and I feel so feminine; I'm all squirmy
inside, and things are so comfortable here with you. I want you
to take me; I just want to lie back and give myself to you
completely. Be gentle with me, Jan, but take me."

Jan squeezed me tight, then she started to stroke my breasts. It
was absolute bliss to feel my own wonderful breasts being
caressed by my loving partner; I felt my nipples stiffen, and
stand up in response to her gentle touch. She felt the response
too, and lay over me, and started to suck on my nipples, gently
stimulating them with her tongue and teeth. She worked on each of
them in turn, and caressed my body with her fingers. I felt my
excitement building as her hands worked down over my stomach; my
whole body responded to her, and I felt new and delicious
sensations deep inside me. They became stronger as she moved her
hands over my thighs, and I squeezed my legs together in
delightful anticipation. I desperately wanted her to explore the
area of my vulva, but I was wallowing in a delicious feminine
feeling of submission which required her to make the moves. As a
woman herself, she understood better than I did what was
happening to me, and began to push her hands between my legs; she
was gentle but insistent, and worked both her hands into
position. My anticipation grew as I realised that she was pulling
my legs apart; as I felt what she wanted, I was overcome with an
urge to surrender to her, and I spread my thighs open. She
caressed my vulva, and I thrilled as she explored new pleasure
centres that I was not familiar with yet; I felt her gentle
fingers probing my labia, and my anticipation and excitement
grew.

Suddenly I felt the lips part, and had a sense of exhilaration as
I realised that Jan's gently probing fingers were now inside me.
Then I felt them, delicately exploring my vagina, and I was
overcome by the new exquisite sensations. I moaned in delight,
overwhelmed by the essentially feminine experience of being
penetrated by my lover. It was a wonderful moment as my feelings
about myself and my sexuality were at last confirmed by my direct
physical experience. I felt the fingers probing deeper, and I
enjoyed an indescribable thrill as I realised that my new
physical femininity was now in tune with my desires and
yearnings. The fingers pushed upwards, and I became aware of a
different sensation; as I realised that Jan was now stimulating
my clitoris, my whole body quivered with shudders of ecstasy. I
pushed my pelvis up towards her, and she started to move her
fingers back and forth, pushing upwards, and maintaining her
caressing motion. "Jan!" I gasped, "that's so good!" She kissed
me, and increased the motion of her fingertips, rubbing them over
my newfound source of pleasure. As she continued, I felt my
excitement rising, and my whole body responded to the
stimulation; the intensity of the sensations increased and
increased until the pleasure was almost unbearable, and I lost
all consciousness of anything other than my primal submissive
receptive nature. Then a massive shock wave engulfed me, and a
feeling of ecstatic release flooded over me. I cried out, and
fell back, feeling wave after wave break over me; as they
gradually subsided, a warm glow of euphoria spread itself
throughout my whole being.

I knew that I had been right; I knew that Jan had recognised my
true nature, and I rejoiced in my femininity and my initiation
into womanhood.

Jan understood the depth of my feelings, and cuddled close to me,
letting me lie quietly and savour the wealth of feelings she had
released in me. I lay quietly by her side for what seemed a very
long time, feeling happy and fulfilled. Eventually the real world
began to intrude into my reverie; I squeezed Jan's hand, and
kissed her. "I didn't realise it could be so wonderful," I said.
"I have been looking forward to this for over a year, probably
longer in my subconscious mind, and I'm absolutely convinced now
that I was right." "Of course you were, Rita, my love," Jan said.
"It became very clear to me, and when I realised that it was what
I wanted, too, our path was inevitable." She held me close, and
continued: "You are a very sexy woman, now; I got very excited
showing you the wonderful pleasure of being a woman, and I know
we shall have a lot of fun together."