Another issue of the online magazine I published in the early 1990s

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 6

“Where Dreams are the stuff Reality is made of”

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue her own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

 –signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

HOW TO GET THE SUBVERSIVE:

The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online,Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to Subscribe, contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

Submission of original material for publication in The Subversive constitutes a NON-EXCLUSIVE license to Melanie Anne Phillips by the author/copyright holder to reproduce all or part of the material in any media.

EDITOR’S NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free online to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

EXPLORATIONS

by Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

This is the season of hope.  Yet, as we all know, hope is often tempered with fear.  Speculations can run wild as we contemplate the future.  We might accept a terrible situation because we hope it will lead to a better one in the future.  Or, we might turn down a real opportunity because we fear it will cost us what we already have.

Problems arise when we look at hopes and fears as certainties, for they are anything but that.  Our projections into the future are merely indicators of the direction of things, if the present course remains.

Dickens understood that in A Christmas Carol, where Scrooge is shown that his bleak future is but a shadow of what MAY happen if he does not change.  The key here is that hope and fear show us where we are headed, not where we have to end up.  In this way, they can guide us to better choices in the here and now.

It is only when we assume that these “shadows” MUST come to pass that we make poor decisions for the present.

I penned a phrase the other day that sums this up nicely:

“Never count on Inertia,
Never depend on Change.”

Things seldom turn out as well as we hope nor as bad as we fear, because we CAN take action to alter our course.  As we approach this season of hope, we might (like Scrooge) better appreciate what we have by comparing it to what might have been.  In this spirit, I offer a reprinting of a short book published by my writing partner, Chris Huntley, and myself in 1983, when the future looked a lot darker than it turned out to be.

THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS

by Chris Huntley & Melanie Anne Phillips

‘Twas the Day After Christmas
And all through the house,
Not a creature was living,
Not even a mouse.

The Children were hung
By the chimney with care,
To spare them the horrors
Their parents would bear.

The day before Christmas
The warning had come:
The bombers were airborne,
The WAR had begun.

Our Christmas eve dinner
Was silent with dread,
While Visions of A-bombs
Danced in our heads.

We toasted, “The End”
with a potent nightcap,
While the world settled down
For its long, final nap.

Suddenly – Outside the house
There occurred the explosion
That set all of Mankind’s
Demise into motion.

The panes of the windows
Blew in with a crash,
Tore open the shutters
Revealing the flash.

I saw, to my horror,
The gray, ashy snow
That buried the bodies
That lay down below.

Then what to my watering
Eyes should appear,
But a nightmare in red,
His intent all too clear.

He seemed so obsessed
That it could be no fluke.
I knew in a moment
It must be Saint Nuke.

And perched ‘top his coursers
Of thundering flame,
He fondled his missiles
And called them by name.

“Now Helmut, Now Thatcher,
Khomeini, and Reagan.
On Castro, Chernenko,
Kadafi, and Begin.

“The land we shall scorch
With a great fireball.
So blast away, blast away,
Blast away all!”

As bodies before
A great holocaust fly,
When hitting a wall
And are thrown to the sky,

So up to the housetop,
The missiles they flew,
Saint Nuke at the reins
of his great Pershing II.

As I covered my head,
Barely stumbling aside,
He blew off the rooftop
And tumbled inside.

He was dressed all in lead,
From his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all glowing
with 50 rad soot.

From his smouldering coat
Formed a small mushroom cloud,
And the smoke it encircled
His head like a shroud.

He hadn’t a face,
But the hair on his belly,
Fell out when he laughed
As his flesh turned to jelly.

He reached in his S.A.C.,
But the presents were scrambled,
(And so was our future,
his presence preambled).

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And demolished the house.
Turning round in the murk,

The look in his eye
And the twist of his head,
Gave me to know that
I soon would be dead.

He sprang to the air,
And ignited a missile;
Away we all blew
Like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim,
In the moment I died,
“On the Day After Christmas,
There’s nowhere to hide!”

Always remember that day by day, moment by moment, each of us creates the future – for ourselves and all those we touch.  If there is to be true hope, it will come from all of us joining in and working toward a common vision of understanding, tolerance, and kinship as brothers and sisters – every one.

Happy Holidays from Melanie, Mary, Keith and Mindi.

Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips

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LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

From: JoNelle

To:     Melanie XX

Hi…during the election results on the Comedy Channel Al Franken mentioned, as an aside, that 1 in 40 men are “crossdressers”.  How close to true is the statement? Where does the info come from? How can it be used in a positive way?

Worked out thats 2.5% of males or 1.25% of general population.

Jonelle

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From:  Marsha J

To:    Melanie XX

(As if it never happened to you)

Did you ever have a time where almost every other thought was about transition, even when you should’ve been think about something else?  In my case even to the point of trying to figure out how to phrase this question.  (Mainly rhetorical by the way).

Love, Marsha

From:  Melanie XX

To:    Marsha J

Of course!  From the moment I first considered transition seriously, it occupied ALL my thoughts until just about 6 months after surgery!!!  Now, its down to about 50% of my time and slowly dropping.  I hope that by the time I’m two years past surgery, I will find I hardly ever think about it, but all together, that will make it about a seven year phase!

Love,

   Melanie

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An open letter:

My reply to a contributor who was amazed that I had asked if I could publish her letter as an article in The Subversive:

“I do, indeed, feel your letter has a lot to offer the readers.  Its an interesting phenomenon that the most ordinary and mundane experiences, well spoken, seem to be the most intriguing to those who have only dreamed, but never done.  The headlines are filled with the flashy and the bizarre, but the day to day petty frustrations and triumphs of the individual as every(wo)man go unwritten.  The Subversive is not about the esoteric accomplishments of some fortunate elite, but rather seeks to find the common ground we each must tread and sometimes claim for our own.  Thank you for sharing of yourself – truly, the most honest gift any of us can offer.”

That though goes out to all our readers – share your journey: it is as special as you are!

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And now for the next installment in a serialized presentation of the book:

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A Transsexual Diary

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

December 6, 1989

I plucked all the whiskers from my face, one by one, with a pair of tweezers.  It hurt.

December 9, 1989

I am falling in love with Andy  We date twice a week now.  When we go out, I don’t wear a wig any more or any padding.  I am what I present myself to be, real and true.  After my first “au natural” experience at the drive-in, we went to a Chinese restaurant.  Last night he took me miniature golfing.

My joy at dating as a woman exceeds the most grandiose speculation I may have earlier entertained.  I curl up in his strong arms while we listen to his folk music collection or watch comedy tapes on TV.

One night we just drove for an hour up into the hills where Andy had lived and worked for a while.  Then we lay together on the front seat, staring up through the windshield at the stars that shine so brightly beyond the city lights.

Last night I stayed all night, wearing a borrowed nightgown.  Several times I awoke, snuggled up under his protective arms and drifted off again.  This morning he drove me back, and I hid my painted nails as I darted into the house.

Nicki is still in my office building, but has rented the office next to mine to live in.  She (as Mike) is organizing my business, collecting overdue bills, handling advertising, and keeping the offices tidy.  I got Mike a job on the set of a high-tech video shoot I was technical director for, so now he has a little money to play with.

The Aldactone Dr. Smith Prescribed for me is beginning to work.  Body hair is thinning in density and becoming more fine.  The Premarin is also showing significant growth in the breasts.  The 25 day on, 5 day off cycle really seems to work.  With my hairless face, I need much less make-up and appear very feminine, even without it.

I have started wearing my base make-up daily, even in male mode.  Permit me to gloat that I look about 12 years old!

I am in the running for a supervisor job in video production for an aerospace company at $850 a week plus benefits.  I have also been asked to edit a feature film by a director who knows about me.  Also a producer is setting up a ten million dollar fund for filming two projects, one of which I am to write and direct.  Usually, these deals fall through, but one of these days….

This is my last Christmas with my family and the first Christmas since my mother’s and grandfather’s deaths.  I think seldom of them, yet feel no guilt at this slight.

We picked out our last family Christmas tree today.  It is a fine one.

December 19, 1989 6:55 am

Okay… I’m completely remiss.  I admit it!  Here it is, right smack dab in the middle of the most crucial and volatile period of my life and I stop writing.  I mean, God!  I pour my life out to you guys, sucker you into caring and even anxiously awaiting the outcome, and then slam the door!  I feel as if I just pussy-whipped an entire audience!  And the feeling of power is not all unpleasant.

But seriously folks, I DO apologize for my remissasity (?)  There IS much to tell, but as you shall see, I have been and remain incredibly busy, and I cannot find the time to complete an entry at one sitting.  Therefore, I shall glop this one onto the page in spurts, listed by time throughout the day.  And I shall catch up with the latest poop on the life and times of Melanie Phillips, even if it kills both of us!

December 23, 1989 – midnight

Well, obviously THAT didn’t work out!  But I DO have news.  Last night, Andy asked me to marry him.  It was a “what if” kind of thing.  We had gone out late for fast food.  When we returned, we sat in the car for a while, drinking in the darkness that melted through the windshield from the thick night that surrounded us.  Greasy wrappers crumpled between us, we spoke of future scenes that might become, one day, reality.  Andy asked that if I did have the operation and Mary kicked me out and WE got married, would my kids call me “mom” and him “dad”?  “After all”, he said, “I’d be the only father they had….”

I glommed onto that concept like any lovesick female.  I told him that was a pretty heavy duty “what if”!  As the evening progressed, the two of us intimately (but non-sexually, as usual) intertwined on his bed, watching a documentary on John Lenon.  We progressed to where I was trying on his last name to see if it fit.  I asked if he was serious, and he told me I was the person most compatible with him out of everyone he had ever met.

We fell asleep, then shared a morning movie before I left, just before noon.  Now, I have to admit, the night before, I had brought him Christmas presents in a stocking, a batch of my home-made chocolate chip cookies (a bit of cookie to hold the chips and nuts together) and my guitar, which I strummed in the folk style we both love.  And I must also admit to thinking (as I planned these things) that this would be the night I would make him fall in love with me.  The rest is history.

I arrived back home at noon, almost exactly, to be greeted at the gate by Mary with somber news: my grandmother had died during the night.  Now this is a year to remember:  My mother dies in January, my grandfather in June and my grandmother at Christmas.  I start hormones, grow my hair, tell everyone I know, and get serious about SRS.  I enter into an intimate relationship with a guy, who asks me to marry him.  The IRS gets on my case for two years of unpaid back taxes, I get six months behind on my credit card payments and I inherit a house.  Ah, but there’s still one more week left in this year!

Anyway, I miss my grandma, but at least her suffering of the past two years is over. And we no longer have to sell the house.  So I guess my money worries are finally over.  And the money for my surgery is at hand.  Decisions must now be made, by Mary, by Andy, and by me.  For each day of hormone use brings me closer to my life-long goal, and the simultaneous death of my relationship with Mary.  It’s been one hell of a year….

December 24, 1989

Last night I cried in Mary’s arms.  We had gone to bed, bull of an unspoken tension that smothered us both.  Or perhaps bursting from the inner pressure of suppressed tension that could no longer be contained, now that the outer pressure of having to move had been removed, upsetting the delicate equilibrium.

We spoke more frankly than we ever had.  Without blame or recrimination we touched on the dissatisfactions that have silently spanned our fourteen year companionship.  My need to be female collided headlong into her inability to remain in the same house with an altered me.  And all at once, the frustrations of the past, the hopelessness of the future combined and multiplied, welling up from the core of my heart in an explosive upheaval of sorrow and devastation.

But she came to me. She cradled my head in her hands, held me against her breasts and told me it would be all right.  My sobs diminished until I drifted away in the cocoon-like protection of her embrace.

When I awoke, my tension had left.  The future looked clear and bright as the crisp December sunshine that drove the chill from the morning air.

We went to church to see our children perform in a Christmas music program.  This was our first visit to the house of God for other than funeral purposes in several years.

There was, in the pew at the front of the church, a woman, about my age, but the incarnation of my inner vision of the perfect dream girl of my youth.  She smiled almost continuously, not inappropriately, but as if she truly found joy, almost exhilaration at everything that fell within her gaze.

I began to wonder if I could avoid the path I was taking if I could only become close to a woman such as she.  Was my once-cheerful disposition dimmed and tainted by Mary’s ever-dwelling on the negative?  Had my career been ham-strung, perhaps permanently damaged or even destroyed by the lack of encouragement from my spouse?  Is the real need of my life not to be female, but to free myself of the emotional vapor-lock of Mary’s dulling influence and latch onto a rising star whose eyes shine with hope and daring?

But then, Mary took my hand and clasped her fingers around mine.  And the love I have always had for her surged from its concealment and re-enveloped my soul.

Our day has been wonderful. Easily the finest Christmas Eve I have ever known.  We have shared and cuddled, reminisced and planned.  We have reaffirmed our common determination to make things work until they can work no longer.

The tension is gone for now, but there truly is no status quo.  Reprieved from the financial sword of Damocles, we rejoice in our current good fortune, yet pensive with the uncertainty of tomorrow.  But for the moment, life is a good thing and worth living, and doing it together.

“Day at a time”, Mary says.  And in truth, that is all any of us ever really needs.

December 25, 1989

One can, I have discovered, have it all.  The reality of our new found financial freedom is finally beginning to sink in.  And against this background, perhaps because of it, Mary and I have reached a final, codified, compromise agreement.  As we both love each other, and neither one of us wants to jeopardize our good fortune that we have waited so long for, we have come to the following terms:

1.  I shall continue on hormones for the rest of my life.

2.  I shall grow my hair to whatever length I choose.

3.  I shall seek surgery as soon as possible.

4.  Both before and after surgery I shall maintain a male role around Mary and the kids at all times.

5.  When not around them I can do as I please.

6.  We shall remain in and improve this house.

7.  We shall build our personal and financial futures together.

8.  Should I be unwilling to live here as a male after surgery, I will leave and they can stay.

The only questions remaining:  can I pull off appearing as a male past surgery?  Can I obtain surgery without truly going full-time?  Will I be content at that point to live mostly as a man?

The answers lie in the future, and it is futile at this juncture to speculate.  But I DO know that the impending dissolution of our relationship has been at least temporarily stayed.  And for the first time in years, I feel no tension within myself at all.

December 29, 1989

Yesterday we buried my grandmother.  And, hopefully, along with her, much of the pain and sorrow of the last few years.  As I sat with Mary and the children in the viewing room, grandma’s face was hidden by the wall of the casket.  But technicolor memories of my early years rose like specters from that eternal box and played themselves like movie scenes in the thick air of that all too familiar room.

I remembered the sound of burnt toast being scraped into the sink, every morning of my childhood.  And the crumbs that always garnished the butter in the butter dish.  I do not believe I met a pristine stick until we moved out of the house when my mother remarried.

I remembered a night I spent at grandma’s house – placing my fingernail against her upper arm as we lay in bed for the night and pressing it hard and deeply until it left a mark that lasted until the next day.  I still do not know what possessed me to do that.  Neither do I yet understand her reaction, which was to act as if nothing was happening – no response at all.  I did apologize later, but to this day, I still feel ashamed that I would continue to press deeper until she would yell, “Stop!”, which she never did.

And other scenes danced above the coffin:  At age eleven, as she took care of me during the days of summer while my parents worked.  I lay in a hammock in the backyard, covered with a sheet to offer shade.  Grandma brought me out a pink lemonade, ice-cold and over-sweet, which I nursed and savored as if I would never have another.  And in fact, I did not, as that was the last lemonade she ever brought me.  And that very week was when I snuck into the neighbor’s house through the fireplace

Then, I drifted back to the tepid reality of the corpse in the box.  That body had not contained my grandmother in over two years.  And even then, only portions of her.

The kids left the viewing room in search of candycanes upstairs, and Mary began to speak of remodeling the house.  Inappropriate conversations perhaps (in the presence of the body from which we inherited the estate) and yet, I realized she was making long-term plans for our future.

I turned to her, tears in my eyes, and said, “Does this mean what I think it means?”.  To which she replied, “We’re going to try to make it.”  But her plan-making has convinced me that we WILL make it, that is if now that I am secure I don’t call the curtain down myself.  A dirty trick to be sure: using all my persuasive skills to be accepted, only to reject in turn….

And my mind is filled with confusion once more.  Now that the threat of financial disaster is passed for all my life, the lure of toys and goodies undermines the frustration that drives me to a sex-change.  And the job interview with the aerospace company; a salary of $45 thousand per year; creative opportunities galore…  To watch my kids grow, give away the bride, play with THEIR kids…  This security is almost worse than the pain.

That I want to be female, of this there is no doubt.  But the depth of my need varies with my life situation.  And my need is also stronger toward the physical than the gender.  So what lifestyle would give me the best chance for happiness?  I love Andy he is a rare human being.  But I love Mary too, have more invested in her and the kids.  But Andy will accept me as I am; Mary only as I appear to be.

So what am I to do?  I guess I will do as Mary says, and take one day at a time.  But always lurking in the back of my mind is the certain knowledge that time waits for no man – or woman, and days become weeks become months become years.  And every day I take at a time brings me farther from my physical prime in which to enjoy being female, and closer to an end of options to ever experience it.  So, day at a time it is (for now), but not for long.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

I urge you all to keep a diary of YOUR personal journey, whether it be through transition or not.  The attitudes and even the order of events becomes cloudy through time, and I am continually amazed to re-read things that memory would have me believe had happened differently.  If nothing else, it is a good way to see long-term patterns in yourself that you cannot see except in retrospect.  That objective view alone is worth the inconvenience of keeping a journal.

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FEATURE ARTICLES

MY COMING OUT PARTY

by Dancer P

THIS WAS MY FIRST TIME OUT DRESSED AND WITH MAKEUP.  I had on a beautiful white blouse, black knee length skirt with goldtone chain  belt with pearls and chains hanging in front of skirt. Black Mist stockings and patent black 2.5″ heels.  Large faux pearl and gold  necklace with matching earrings. Faux diamond bracelet.  Also had a  black thigh length black ribbed jacket.  Since I didn’t have a wig, my makeup lady suggested a velvet hat which I got at second hand store for $15.  Classy velvet hat.  Perfect for executive business woman. The outfit was what I felt most comfortable with, especially for my first time out.

Sexy comes next, although I think I am always sexy!

Didn’t have a wig as I said, damn it.  I subsequently bought one yesterday –it’s called “Pretty Girl” and has black loose curls, length reaches shoulder blades of my back–sexy and love it!

So now to the party: It was held on Thursday, 10/29.  It was a main event of the year — the big Halloween Party thrown by ETVC.  ETVC stand for “Educational TV Channel” and is San Francisco’s main TV organization.  ETVC has approximately 400 members of which 78% are TV’s.  Balance are family members.

I left directly from my apartment in large apartment building, fully dressed, and took elevator to street level and took a taxi that I previously called for. I took a chance in that I was not ready for my neighbors to know of my secret, but what the hell I did it anyway and it worked out!  Guess I am a strong-willed women!! 🙂

I had to explain to the driver how to get to the party, but felt okay with it, he was okay.  There were approximately 100 people at the party and I knew NO ONE.  I had spoken to someone on the hot line ETVC has, but she wasn’t there yet.  I did have some other names to ask for and found people to speak with. The party was in a large private room of a supportive gay bar, with outdoor covered patio. I had never previously had any, in person, contact with any TV’s.  Yet here I was dressed, as best I could, and immediately felt ok with everyone. It was in fact lots of fun and I met some really nice and understanding people. Wound up exchanging phone numbers with a couple of people.

My next big step came when I was “encouraged” to participate in a costume contest. I was classified in the elegant category, there were many categories ie sexy, scary (this was Halloween), funny, etc. Can’t believe it but I got up on a stage and then onto the main floor and was introduced by the MC of the party. I told everyone that this was my first time out. Then I paraded around the floor and in front of the judges.  What an “incredible experience” for a first timer.

Photo’s were taken at the party as well as a separate photo of myself. Waiting for photographer to call me to get copies.  No, I didn’t win, but that was not the point for me.  The fact that I participated was incredible.  I was rewarded though.  The president of the organization gave me a prize anyway.  It was 2 hours of voice lessons.  Some girls got jewelry and other things.  For me the voice lessons were perfect.

My first contact with ANY TV or TS was on 10/12 on AOL.  I had nothing at that time, no clothes, nothing.  I have come a long way in a short time.  I just want to thank all of you girls for being fun to speak with, supportive, and instrumental in “triggering” my coming out.  It was my conversations with you girls coupled with the honesty of your own experience that helped me to accept my experience as a TV. God and AOL certainly know how many hours I have spent online with AOL — my bill, ouch!!  Could have bought a wardrobe!!  But, alas, things happen the way they are meant to happen.

Well there it is, talk to you girls soon.

Luv and Hugs to all of you,

DancerP (or Paula my female name)

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MY FINAL WEEK LIVING AS A MALE

By DeniseAnne

Preface  On the morning of November 5, 1992, with the stroke of a  pen, the Honorable Virginia Q. Beverly, Circuit Court Judge, Fourth  Judicial Circuit, in and for Duval County, Florida, made Denise Anne Fell a legal person and with the same stoke made Tom a nonperson for all legal purposes.  I am filled with mixed emotions.  I am thrilled that Denise is alive, well and legal, but at the same time Tom died.This is going to be an account of my last days living in the male  world.  It will start on Monday morning, November 9th and end  Sunday night, November 15th.Monday

November 9, 1992.

I awoke as usual this morning.  As I prepared to get out of bed, glanced into the mirror.  I had on my purple nightgown.  I know  that within a week I can stay in the femme dress.  I will not have  to put on the usual pants and shirt to go into work.  It is a very  exciting time.I arrived at work at 6:30 and smiled as I entered the snack bar.  Next Monday, Denise will be entering the snack bar.  I cashed a  check, signed by Denise Anne.  I love it.

I arrived upstairs and started my morning chore of uploading from  system (District) and prepared to download to the main IRS Computer  System.  The download was going smoothly, when it dawned on me that  after Wednesday when I have my 3 hour session of electrolysis, there is no reason as to why Denise cannot start to work on  Thursday or Friday.I played around with this idea for a time and wrote a memo to the  3 managers that are over me and to the Labor Relations Specialist  that is handling the paperwork for Denise.  I told them once I  passed Wednesday and had jumped this little hurdle Denise could report on Thursday or Friday.  I said that it all depended on how I felt that morning.  But the transition would begin no later than  November 16th.

We had a meeting across the street concerning employee safety.  A  manager was mugged a couple of weeks ago and her pocketbook was  stolen.  The mugger broke her finger and hit her hard enough to  cause her to have to get stitches above her eye.  It was a very  upsetting experience for the entire Branch.

My day went smoothly.  As I was ready to leave, I crossed Monday, November 9th off my calendar.  This was my last Monday in the male  mode.When I arrived home I had a package waiting for me.  The sweaters  that I had ordered had arrived.  They look nice.  I had a long  sleeve pink sweater, a royal blue shell and a royal blue regular sweater.  They all fit.  The slacks that I ordered did not fit.  I think that it was the style rather than the size. I sent some more notices to different companies that I have  accounts with about my name change.  This task is almost completed.  I hope that by next month I will have new cards and my bills will  be coming to Denise.I spent a relaxing evening and prepared for my next work day.

Tuesday, November 10, 1992

I woke up this morning with a feeling of total contentment.  I do  not remember feeling this good and this relaxed in a very long  time.I have about made up my mind that Full Time will start on Thursday.   The only problem that I can foresee to prevent this from happening is if my face is too irritated from the electrolysis that I am  scheduled for tomorrow.  I am keeping my fingers crossed that this  will not happen.It was a typical day and not much really happened.  I guess that I  spent the majority of the day trying to get myself mentally  prepared for the big step.I talked to Melanie in the early afternoon (Florida Time) and felt  very good after our conversation.  I find her a totally remarkable  woman who is always there to help.  Her support has been a tremendous boost for reaching my goal.I spent a relaxing evening watching a movie when I got a very  pleasant surprise.  I received a telephone call from someone that I have wanted to talk to for a very long time.I had a nice chat with Elaine and I hope that there will be many  more in the years to come.  I thought that Elaine had a cute little  southern accent, and I envy that.  I could easily take her voice as  feminine.  I am still hoping that I will come up with something.  I guess I will try a voice coach and failing that I will try with  some voice surgery after studying other alternatives.The day ended on this pleasant note.  With that I will close and  prepare for a full day tomorrow.

Wednesday, November 11, 1992 (Veterans Day)

I awoke this morning at my usual time.  I wanted to get some chores  done before leaving the house for a days adventure.I started out with 3 hours of electrolysis.  I can honestly say  that I can think of far better ways to start a day.  This was a  necessity in order to begin my Real Life Test.After 3 hours of torture, I went to Regency Square Mall and shipped  a couple of packages UPS.  I then had an ice cream treat at  Swensons.  I felt that after my 3 hours of torture I deserved an award for being such a good girl.At the appointed time I arrived at J.C. Penneys.  Robbin Briggs, the nail technician, was ready to give me my first pair of acrylic  nails.  This took approximately 2 1/2 hours.  For the most part it  was very enjoyable.We selected a length that was about average and a white nail polish  that had a pink opaque tint.  This was a nice color that would go  with anything and yet not overpowering.  This is what I was looking  for.I came home and spent the evening shaving and preparing for what  could be a RED LETTER DAY.

Thursday, November 12, 1992

I woke up this morning and listened for the rain that they had  predicted.  I did not hear any noise of rain on my skylights.  As I got out of bed, I made the decision that there was no reason to  delay any longer.When I selected my underclothing I put out a bra and panties  instead of a tshirt and panties.  I went into the rest room and  washed my face, brushed my teeth and took off my nightgown.  I put  on my undergarments and returned and put on my makeup.  I only had  one small part to correct and I chose my dress for my debut as  Denise at work.I wore a royal blue pullover knit dress.  Any of you that know me  know I am an amputee so shoes were not an issue unless I put on my  prostheses, which is not likely since they weigh so much.  I fixed my wig and prepared to meet the world.

I made my usual stop at Burger King and got something to drink on the way into town and arrived at the Federal Building at about  6:20.  I stayed in my van until 6:30.  The next couple of minutes  had to be the hardest of my life.  I wanted to get back in my van  and go home, but that would have solved nothing.I entered the building where the security gave me a good morning  and that was all.  I went to the snack bar where I usually read the  newspaper before work.  Again, nobody said anything.  They had been  forewarned, but did not really expect me to come in dressed until  Monday.As I sat reading the newspaper and eating my morning toast, a coworker from another branch came up and said, “I guess that Denise  is appropriate.”  I said, “I think so.”  That was that another coworker said good morning and that was it.

The true test was going to be going into my branch.  This is on the  sixth floor of the Federal Building.  I went in and absolutely  nobody said a word.  A few people finally came up when I was doing  my morning upload/download and said that they were surprised.  They  did not think that I would look this good.  People then began to  call me Denise, although a few did slip and call me Tom.   I  answered them.  I guess that I have to get use to it also.

The only problem that arose was the rest room.  I had planned to  use the ladies rest room on the ground floor.  One reason it is one  of the only two that are wheelchair accessible and also I only knew  of one or two female employees from the Army Corps Of Engineers  worked on the ground level.  Most use came from people coming into  the building and going to Immigration.  I soon found out that there  were 17 female employees on the ground floor and they were not  happy about this.The next solution would have been the nurses office.  However, since this is also used by sick people it could not be tied up for  long periods.  The final solution was that for a short time I would  use the nurses office and a private rest room on the ground floor  would be altered to accommodate me and that would be a rest room  for me to use that would not upset male nor female employees.  Also, since I came out and have started full time they have no idea  if someone else will come forward now or in the future.  If so, then this rest room will also serve to accommodate them.  That made  everyone happy, especially yours truly.

Other good news that happened today at work is that I was notified  that my personnel folder had been changed to reflect my new name.  The payroll records have been changed and all my computer logons  have been changed or are in the process of being changed.  I am on  3 different systems, which is 3 separate main frames.  This does  not include the PC.All day I expected the hammer to fall, but it did not.  It was one  of the best days that I ever spent at work.  One that I will always  remember.  The day I went to work in a dress.

I found that my nails were too long.  They needed to be trimmed.  I called Robbin and made an appointment after work.  I guess the  biggest surprise is that I went through the mall and did not get  read.  I think one lady was unsure, but there was no laughing or pointing.  I don’t expect this to happen all the time, but it was  nice for a first time out.I came home and I was emotionally exhausted.  It has been a long  and wonderful day.  I can only compare it to the days my two  daughters were born.  It is a day that I will treasure always, and  I know that tomorrow morning I will have less of a problem going  into work.I can honestly say that today is the first day of the rest of my  life (female life).

Friday, November 13, 1992

I went into work this morning.  It was much easier to enter the  building than it was yesterday.  I noticed that for some reason  there are some people that I go out of my way to avoid.  I don’t  know why.  Maybe it is that I have such harsh feelings towards  them.  I really know of no reason to do this.  Today, I wore a rose  color dress that had a large button on the collar.  I received  compliments on this outfit.  One coworker make the comment unf***ing believable.  I guess that was a compliment.My manager told me that a few people were shocked.  They never  thought that I would go through with the transition.  They figured  that it would blow over and that would be that.  Surprise, surprise.

I left early in search of the elusive driver’s license.  It was a  comedy of errors.  First of all they would only take original  documents or certified documents.  The only elusive document is the  name change.  It is still being processed.The clerk said that if I would produce the original letter from my  doctor he would change the sex on my driver’s license.  I said fine  and went home to get this letter.  By the time I got back he stated  that the office had called again and until the surgery is complete  no gender change on the license.  This is a different story than  what I was told earlier.After about 3 hours I gave it up and went and had my van repaired. 

That was fun.  The Service Manager was my neighbor at one time.  He  had one surprised look on his face when I went in the service  department in a grey skirt and royal blue blouse.  In all reality  he handled it very well.I also had the misfortune of breaking a nail today.  I made an  appointment and had it repaired after my van was repaired.  I am  really beginning to appreciate what women go through for their  entire life.  I have had the mood swings, I no longer just jump up,  wash up and get dressed.  I now have to decide what to wear.  Make  sure that the makeup is on correctly, the hair looks alright and  still get myself to work at the normal time.  It does take us girls  a little longer to prepare ourselves.

While at the mall, waiting to get my nail repaired I strolled  around, so to speak, and I don’t think anybody paid me any  attention.  The only place I know I was read was at the little hot  dog stand that I frequented when I was at the mall.All in all it was another great day. 

At this point in time, Denise  is enjoying life to the fullest and is still mindful that she must  be careful to make this a success.My weekend is planned and I am preparing myself for the upcoming  full week at work.  It is going to get cold, so I am going to look for a pair of dress pants tomorrow.  I have a nice pink sweater  that would look very good with some navy slacks.  I will see what  I can find.I am ready to go full forward and I am looking up the road to the  day that it will all be accomplished.

Saturday, November 14,

 I am not sure how to explain today.  I guess that you could compare  it to major surgery.  I was once told that the 3rd day was the  worst, well, I woke up this morning and realized that I had to go  out of the house dressed.I procrastinated.  I vacuumed, mopped the kitchen and finally went  in and put on makeup and got dressed.

It was not my typical  Saturday when I threw on a pair of cutoffs and a tshirt.  Those days are over.  Even after dressing and getting ready, I put off  going out.Finally, I took the plunge.  The only thing I can think of is that  during the week when I leave the house it is dark.  I have my ride  to work to get ready to face the world.  This morning the sun was  out and there were people around.I don’t know what the big deal was.  I may never find the answer as  to why I was so reluctant to leave the house.  The reason is important, but I went to the grocery store, filled my van with gas  and then went to the mall.  I took one of my wigs in to have it  styled.  The other I needed to wear.I had an appointment with the television at 12:30 to watch the  Florida Gators play football.  I came home watched my game, this is  when the day began to get interesting.

The first was my neighbor  from across the street came over to see me.  Her husband had been  over the other night and told her how good he thought that I  looked.  She said she was surprised and thought that my makeup  looked very good.Next Elizabeth came over.  She is the wife of a person that played  wheelchair basketball with me.  She was impressed and we talked  about my attitude of expecting too much from me.  She said I had  the wrong idea of what a woman should look like.  She said that she  hoped that I would be more than a lady, she hoped that I would be  a woman.  We also discussed that women wear casual clothes on weekends.  I had on a camel skirt with a white pullover shirt.  This  shirt and a blue pullover shirt are the only male clothing that I  kept.

Just as she was getting ready to leave my next door neighbor came  by.  He is the one I thought that I would get a hard time from.  The first thing he said, was can I speak to oh, you’re pretty.  I  don’t think it registered with him at first.  He was just letting  me know that he had talked to the post office and I could have a  curbside box put in front of my house if I so desired.  I thanked  him, but it was information that I already knew.  I like the idea  of a locked mailbox, especially when I am out of town for a weekend.

After the game, I went back up to the mall to get a manicure and it  was the first time that I went shopping for clothes dressed as  Denise.  I picked up a couple of pairs of pants.  It is supposed to  get into the 30’s and may be a little too cool for skirts or  dresses.I made another purchase also.  I had a few samples of fragrances  that my Mary Kay representative had given me.  I was not real crazy about them.  I went and got some SHALIMAR.  This has always been a  favorite fragrance for me.  I hope it smells as nice on me as it  does on the ladies I gave it to over the years.After my manicure I came home and spent a quiet evening.  I have a  big day tomorrow.  It will be the first time that Denise will play  basketball.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1992

Today was going to be a wonderful day, but I guess it has turned  out to be a total BITCH.I went to Gainesville to day to play some wheelchair basketball.  The first as Denise.  I was looking forward to a nice day of  exercise and seeing some old friends.Needless to say I did not play in a wig or makeup, and I really did  not like going back to semimale for even a few hours.  Sure I put on a bra (a necessity these days) and other feminine underclothing,  but still I missed seeing Denise dressed in the mirror.It ended up two games.  I broke a nail.  I was afraid of that and  I guess that I played some good basketball.  It was a good day up  to this point.

I arrived home and took a shower and put on a nightgown so that I  could relax a little while before Gender Chat.  I signed on Prodigy  to see if I had any email.  I then went to Frank Discussions.  A  subject of AC/DC TS/TV WHATEVER was mentioned.  Out of curiosity I  looked at the message.  Lo and behold, I knew who it was from and  who it was directed at.  It was from my sister’s sisterinlaw a  person that can’t keep her face out of other peoples business and  who has carried stories to a former spouse about me.To say that I was ticked off is an understatement.  I was livid.  I have no doubts about it being directed at me because of certain  things stated.  Only information that she knew first hand or had  heard from my sister.

  I am ashamed to admit it but I wrote her as  close to a nasty note as I thought that I could get away with and  told her to stay out of my face.Do I feel better.  I don’t know.  I just know that it seems I have  no family members left.  That too is fine with me.  I could not go  on forever living my life to please others.

I really need to compose myself and get ready for what I hope is a  pleasant evening on gender chat.I only know that I am going forward and each day will have to get  better.  Denise will survive this upset.  It is really sad that the  happiest week of my life has to close on such a sour note. CONCLUSIONI guess that I did not make it a full week.  I started four days  early and have no regrets.All in all this has been a wonderful week.  I have started full  time.  I am able to dress and be the real me.  I have been to the  mall and from all indications I am passing.  I feel that some  people may wonder if I am a male or female, but that is almost as  good as passing.More will be written as time passes on my transition to womanhood.DENISE ANNE IS ALIVE AND WELL IN FLORIDA

————————————————

FICTION

“The Reluctant Girl Friend”

By

Melanie Brown

Copyright 1992 Melanie Brown

        “Before you ask, the answer is no!”, I told my best friend Ed, in what I hoped was a stern voice.  Ed and I were still friends, even though  he was 16  and was in High  School and I  had another year to go in  Jr. High.  Most of the guys I  knew who were either in or were  going to start High  School in the fall,  were already acting like I didn’t exist. 

     “Whaddya  mean, no?”,  Ed asked  in an  irritated voice.   “You haven’t even heard what I was going  to ask.”  He sat backwards in my desk chair  and took a bite  from the apple he  swiped from our refrigerator.

        “Eddie, we’ve been friends since  before the 1st grade.  You’ve never asked me  to do you a  favor that didn’t require  giving you money, or getting  into trouble….or both.”  From where  I sat on my bed, I watched  the June morning grow old and  itched to get on my bike and head down to the park.

        “You got me all wrong, Chris.  You’re the only friend I got who can help me with  this.  It’ll be easy, you’ll only  have to do it for an hour, tops, and I’ll give  you fifty bucks.”  He tossed the remains of the  apple against the wall, and it  ricocheted into my trash can.

        I figured the park would still  be there later and brushing the hair out  of my eyes  asked, “What could be  easy to do  and worth fifty bucks, which you ain’t got no how anyway?”

        “Ah, I see I have the  gent’s curiosity piqued.”  Ed rolled the chair closer  and his voice  took on  a conspiratorial tone  as he said, “Now this is  gonna sound a little weird at  first, but hear me out, okay?  And don’t tell nobody about this, neither.”

        I  nodded and  Ed  continued.  “There’s  this  party, ya  know, tomorrow night at  Lisa’s.  I know, I know, whadda  I care, right?  After all,  she just dumped me  Saturday.  I still ain’t  got that one figger’d out.   But I thought I’d  still go to her  party with another girl and show her I didn’t need her anyway.

        “But you  know what  that little bitch  did?  She  musta called every friggin’  girl at school  and got them  on her side.   Not a single one would talk to me, much less go to the party with me!”

        “Did you ask Blanche Snoddgrass?”, I said. 

        Ed  pretended to  poke  his finger  down  his  throat and  said disgustedly, “I might  be desperate, but I  ain’t that desperate!”  Ed paused a moment, then added, “Besides, she said `no’ too.”

        I knew I was going to regret  asking this question, but I still said, “So, what’s all this got to do with me earning fifty bucks?”

        Ed  licked his  lips and  swallowed  audibly, and  after a  few seconds hesitation  said, “I  want you  to pretend  to be  my date tomorrow night.”

        I just sat there a moment  or two, probably looking stupid with my mouth  gaping open.   I thought for  sure that  I misunderstood what  he’d said.   Then  I was  sure  I  hadn’t misunderstood  and sputtered, “Are you outta your fuckin’  mind!?”  I was glad my mom was at the grocery store.  Otherwise, she would’ve been in my room in a heartbeat.

        Ed just  calmly said,  “I kinda figger’d  you’d feel  that way, Chris.  But the  situation is not without  precedence.”  He leaned back and folded his arms.

        I pushed myself  a little bit away from Ed  and glowered, “Just what do you mean by stupid remark?”

        Ed grinned  like an  idiot.  “You  couldn’t have  forgotten the Halloween party  at Jamie’s  last year, when  you went  dressed as Debbie Gibson.   You could’ve  been her  twin, and  all the  girls thought you  were soooooo cute.  Not  to mention that on  at least      two occasions you  helped my sister make dresses  by modeling  for her.” 

        “Hey, it was Mom’s idea that I go as Debbie Gibson,” I blurted, and naturally  my voice would  have to  break. “And I  helped Gwen with her dresses for a Metallica concert ticket.”

        “Look, it probably won’t even be  for an hour.  All you’ll have to do is look cute and stand next to me.  Gwen’s already agreed to dress you  up.  She thinks it’ll  be fun.  Besides, I  have enough shit  on you,  that  your parents  will  ground  you ’till  you’re thirty.”

        Ed was  right.  Dad never  did know  how the leather  seats got ripped   or  where   the  dents   in   door  came   from  on   his not-even-24-hours old Porsche, had come  from.  Nevermind the fact that Ed was  usually the instigator, my dad would  still blame me, because I should’ve “just said `no'”  to Ed’s stupid ideas.  I was a broken man.

        “Okay Eddie,”  I mumbled.  “But only  for an hour!   You’ve had some real  shithead ideas  before, but this  one really  tops them all!  But you better have fifty bucks!”

        Ed reached  back for his wallet,  pulled it out and  opened it, showing  more than  fifty  dollars.  “Summer  jobs  are great.   I guarantee it’ll  only be an hour.   But listen dude, if  you wanna live to see that fifty, don’t screw  this up.  If anyone finds out that you’re a  guy, they’ll kick me  off the football team  and my life will become a living hell.”

        Ed was  always melodramatic,  but this time  he wasn’t  too far from the  truth.  If  word of this  got out, both  of us  would be shunned  by friends  and nerds  alike  not to  mention becoming  a target for humiliation.  As Mom would say, kids could be so cruel.

                                    ***

        My heart was in my throat as I walked up to Eddie’s front door.  Ordinarily on a sunny summer afternoon, I’d be out riding my bike, or heading for  the park to go  to the pool.  This  was one Friday afternoon that was going to be decidedly different.

        The  plan   was  simple   enough.   Gwen   would  perform   the transformation. Ed and  I would make a brief  appearance at Lisa’s party. Lisa would  become jealous and want Ed back.  Ed would take me  home where  I’d  sneak  into my  bedroom  window  which I  had conveniently left unlocked and removed the screen. 

        Ed’s mom and dad both worked, but often came home for lunch, so we decided  I’d come over at  1:00.  We should be  undisturbed all afternoon until around 5:00.  Ed’s sister, Gwen, didn’t have to be at work at the movie theater until 6:00 on Fridays. 

        Gwen had  decided to  come home  over the  summer.  She  and my sister  had both  been away  at the  same college,  but my  sister decided to stick  around at college because she wanted  to be with some local jerk she’d met. 

        Feeling like  I should  be running away,  I rang  the doorbell.  Gwen answered  the door.  She  took me by  the hand and  pulled me inside and  then led me toward  her room.  Along the  way, between giggles, Gwen said,  “I’ve sent Eddie away until  4:00.  I figured he would only make things worse for  you if he was here.  Chrissy, we’re going to have so much fun today!”

        “Come on, Gwen, lay off!  It’s bad enough as it is, without you calling me `Chrissy’.  And you don’t have  to be so jolly about it either”, I said as she sat me down in front of her vanity table.

        For several minutes, she paced around  me, biting her lower lip and “hmmmm”ing.  She ran her fingers through my long hair a couple of times.  Then she told me to strip down to my shorts.

        “Well, you don’t have a lot of  hair on your legs and underarms yet, but what’s there’s gotta go”, she said matter-of-factly.  She felt my face.  “Smooth as a baby’s butt.  That’ll work out fine.”

        I didn’t care for  this at all.  I thought again  of the threat Eddie had made.  At worst, Dad would  kill me and at the moment, I couldn’t  decide which  was worse,  being dead,  or being  Eddie’s date.

        Gwen held up a furry object and  said, “I was going to use this wig, but since your hair is so  long, I think I’ll perm it.  Don’t get excited,  Chrissy, I’m just going  to add some wave  and large curls to it.”

        She then dragged me into the bathroom.  She told me to take off my shorts and  get in the tub.   I protested, but she  just jerked the shorts  off me anyway.   I was nervous  as hell, and  when she looked at  my naked body,  Gwen said,  “This shouldn’t be  hard to pull off at  all.  You’re just a little fella.”   Then she started giggling.

        Sulking, I sat  down in the tub  and after she had  me suds up, she handed me  a razor and told  me to shave my  legs and armpits.  While I was busy with that, she  would perm my hair.  I had shaved my legs before for my Halloween costume, but not my armpits.  They felt sore when I was done.

        Over the next  several hours, I endured a  very humiliating and occasionally painful  “transformation”.  Instead  of just  putting makeup on me, Gwen  insisted I do it myself.  She  wanted me to be able to make “repairs”  to my makeup if need be.   She didn’t seem to care that I had no intention  of “being a girl” any longer than it took to get to the party, say hello, and leave.

        She had me try on a variety of dresses, having me walk back and forth and rotate in front her each time.  She finally decided on a tight, black,  minidress.  I balked when  she handed me  the shoes that went with the outfit.  The  heels were only about two inches, but that was two inches more than I wanted.

        “Look Chrissy,  Eddie’s expecting you  to look pretty  and sexy for him.   And it’s my  job to see that  you do.  You’re  going to spend the  rest of the  afternoon in those  heels, so you  can get used to them.”

        No sir,  I didn’t  like it.   Gwen had  me practicing  walking, standing and  sitting while we  were waiting  for my hair  to set.  Being a girl was definitely a lot more work.

        While Gwen was  making a final inspection and  fluffing my hair with a  blow dryer, we  heard the front  door open.  Gwen  set the dryer down and motioned for me to stay put.

        “I’ll make sure it’s Ed.  If it is, I don’t want him to come in just yet.”  Then she left and closed the door.

        I just  sat there  for a moment,  consciously keeping  my knees together.  I  looked around Gwen’s room  for a moment and  saw the reflection of legs in her full length mirror.  Up to this point, I hadn’t had much chance to see what had  been done to me.  I got up      to examine the damage. 

        Quite frankly, I was shocked.  Instead of  a 14 year old boy, I saw what  looked like a  15 or 16  year old Robo-babe.   The tight black dress  was a perfect fit.   With the black  pantyhose, black pumps, large  silver hoop earrings and  makeup, I had  a difficult time forcing  myself to remember that  that fox in the  mirror was me.

        When the door opened,  I almost fell off my heels  as I whirled around fearing I  had been discovered.  I sighed  with relief when Gwen came in.

        “It’s Ed all right.  I told him to wait out in the hall until I say to  come in.”  She  motioned for me to  stand in front  of the door.  “Now, strike one  of those sexy poses I taught  you.”  As I did, she called to Ed.

        “Hey dude  you take as  long to get ready  as a real  g…”  Ed stopped in  mid-sentence as he entered  the room.  He  stood there for  several seconds,  looking  me up  and down  with  one of  the silliest expressions I’ve ever seen.

        “Holy shit!”  he finally  managed to  say as  he walked  slowly around me.  “Gwen, I can’t believe  what you did here!  You didn’t have to cut off any body parts did you?”

        “Wasn’t  all  that hard”,  Gwen  chimed  in.  “He  already  had delicate features.  I just emphasized them.”

        “Oh, thanks  a lot!”  I was  hoping she’d say how  difficult it was to mask such obvious masculinity.

        Looking at  me like  I was  a side  of beef,  Ed said,  “You’re perfect.  This is  just perfect!  I can’t wait to  see Lisa’s face when we get to her party.”

        “What time is  this party anyway?”, I asked.  “I  don’t want to stay dressed like this any longer than I have to.”

        “Around 7 or so.   But I didn’t want to show  up until around 8 to give all of Lisa’s friends a chance to get there.” 

        “8 o’clock!  It’s only 4:30 now!”

        “What are you going to do until then?”, Gwen asked.  “You can’t stay here, unless you want to introduce your new girlfriend to Mom an Dad.”

        Now wouldn’t that be just peachy keen.  There was a pause as Ed pondered this hole in his otherwise perfect plan.

        Gwen broke the silence  by saying, “Why don’t you just  go to a movie first?  I’ll even sign you in so you two can go for free.”

        “Take Chris out on a date?  No way!”

        “So?  You’re  taking Chrissy  to a  party as  your date.   What difference does it make?  Mom and Dad will be here soon.”

        “You’re right.  Okay.  There’s a movie I’ve been wanting to see anyway.”

        “Don’t I get any say in this?”, I asked. 

        “No.” said Ed and Gwen at the same time.

        Gwen picked up  a small black purse and  started dropping items in,  like a  compact, lipstick  and various  other items.   “Here, Chrissy.  You’ll need to take this  with you.”  Then she turned to Ed.  “You better get going.  Mom’ll be home any minute.”

        We walked into the living room and Ed went into the kitchen and started dialing the phone.  Gwen and I followed him in. 

        “Just remembered I need to call Fritz and tell him what time to meet at the arcade  tomorrow.  He’s at work, so I’ll  just get his machine.  It’ll only take a minute”, Ed said.

        As Ed was standing there leaving his message to Fritz, the back door of  the kitchen that  led to  the garage suddenly  opened.  I turned and to my horror saw Ed’s mother come through the doorway. 

        “Hello!” Ed’s  mother said pleasantly to  me.  “Are you  one of Gwen’s friends?”

        Ed almost broke  the phone as he quickly hung  up the receiver.  “Mom!” Ed  said excitedly.  He hesitated  for a moment  then said, “I’d like you  to meet Chrissy.”  He  put his arm around  my waist and continued talking.  “We’re going out  for pizza, maybe a movie and maybe swing by Lisa’s party.”

        “Hi”, was about all I could manage to say. 

        “Pleased  to meet  you!” Ed’s  mother beamed.   “Ed didn’t  say anything about having a date tonight.”

        Ed forced a chuckle and said, “Yeah,  well, it was kinda on the spur  of the  moment.   Chrissy is  Christopher’s  cousin from  up state.  She’s here for the summer.”

        About that time, the front door  opened and in walked Ed’s dad.  Oh Joy!  It was becoming more than I could take.

        “Hi Dad”, croaked Ed.  “Gee, this is great, everyone is here at once.”

        “Hello everyone.  Got  out of there early for  once”, said Ed’s dad.  He hadn’t taken his eyes off  me since the moment he stepped through the door, the dirty old man.   “Gwen, is this a new friend of yours?”

        “Dad,   meet  Chrissy,   Ed’s  date”,   Gwen  beamed.    “She’s Christopher’s cousin from up state.”

        “Pleased to  meet you!”  Ed’s dad  looked at me like  a grizzly sizing up a doe.  “Where is old Chris?  Haven’t seen him lately.”

        “Who  knows”,  Ed  said.   “He’s  just  a  little  kid  anyway.  Probably out playing with his magic nose goblin collection.”

        Then Gwen said, “Hey, we should get going.  Ed’s going to treat us  both to  pizzas  in  exchange for  me  letting  them into  the theater.” 

        Ed shot Gwen  a dirty look, but said, “That’s  right.  We don’t want to be late.”

        Before any of  us could make a  mad dash to the  door, Ed’s mom said, “Oh!  Chrissy, I have a  necklace that would go just perfect with your outfit if you’d like to borrow it!”

        “Well, I…”   I started  to say,  then my  voice just  trailed away. 

        Then Gwen said,  “Oh Mom, yeah!  I know the  one you’re talking about!  That’ll look so lovely!  Go for it, Chrissy!”

        “Sounds good, thanks”, I squeaked.

        As Ed’s  mother led  Gwen and me  down the  hall, I  could just barely  hear  Ed’s dad  say  to  Ed,  “Hey Tiger.   You’ve  caught yourself one hot  little chick!  She’s a lot cuter  than that Lisa Whats-her-name.”  To think that my life would come to this.

        A little over ten minutes later,  wearing a necklace that I was now terrified  of losing,  and after  having to  have Ed’s  and my picture taken with  us holding hands (I kept wishing  I was dead), we were on our way to Pizza  Hut in Ed’s Suzuki Samurai.  Actually it was his dad’s  second car, but Ed got to wash  it.  The top was down and the wind  was messing up my hair.  I  kept trying to talk Ed into putting the top up –   not because of my hair, but because I didn’t want anyone to see me.

        Just as we pulled into the parking lot, a group of teens around Gwen and my sister’s  age,  a mix of boys and  girls, were already making their  way to  the door.  Several  I recognized  from their visiting my  sister.  Gwen made  the mistake  of waving to  one of them, so they stopped and waited for us. 

        “Hey Gwen”,  said one  of the  boys in  greeting.  “Who’s  your friend?”

        “Hi Stewart.   Stew, everybody,  meet Chrissy.   She’s visiting with her cousin this summer.  She got  bored and decided to go out with my  brother.  You  remember Ed.”   Ed  shot Gwen  a withering glare, but nobody noticed.

        “Well, if  you ever get bored  again, let me know!”  said Stew, with a toothy grin.

Resembling the cast  of Beverly Hills 90210, we  all started to enter the Pizza Hut.  Gwen whispered  something in Ed’s ear and he grimaced.  She seemed pretty adamant and so  Ed took my hand as we walked inside.  I wanted to throw up.

        As we were waiting to be seated, Gwen leaned over and whispered to me, “Sorry,  but Ed has to  `claim his property’ or  else these other guys will spend  the whole time trying to hit  on you.  They might still do it anyway.”  Happy happy joy joy.

        Of course we sat with Gwen’s friends.  At least Gwen thought to place me between herself and Ed, much to Stew’s chagrin.  The hour we were there passed pretty much uneventfully (thank the heavens!) 

     I watched Gwen and the other  girls carefully and tried to emulate how they ate  and wiped their mouths with their  napkins.  Also, I usually pig-out on  pizza, but after the second  slice, Gwen would poke me in the ribs if I tried to reach for another piece. 

        Gwen finally  took a  look at her  watch and  saw that  she was about to be late  to work, so we said our  good-byes and left.  As we were walking across  the parking lot to the car,  I asked Gwen, “I saw Stew asking you a lot of questions and looking at me.  What was he saying?  It was so noisy, I couldn’t hear.” “Oh, he was just asking about you.”

        The thought  of Stew asking about  me made me nauseous.   As we climbed into the Suzuki, I  asked,  “Well??  What did he say?  And what did you say?”

        “He just  asked about you.  I  told him you were  starting high school in the  fall and that you  were a cheerleader.  He’ll  be at Lisa’s party.”

        “A cheerleader!?   Eddie, stop by the  hospital first so  I can get a lobotomy.”

        Gwen frowned.  “Hey, your sister was a cheerleader.”

        “I rest my case.”

        “I’m just trying to help.”

        “I think you’ve helped enough.”

        We drove the rest of the way  in silence.  I was very conscious of guys  in passing cars  looking at me and  it made me  feel very self-conscious.  I was also  aware of the wind in my  hair and the earrings dancing against  my neck and the wind  swirling around my legs.

        We arrived  at the  theater without  incident and  with only  a minute  to  spare  for  Gwen.   Gwen  signed  us  in  and  at  her insistence, Ed  bought me a softdrink  and box of popcorn  that we could both share. 

        During the movie, even though we sat in adjacent chairs, Ed sat as far away from me as possible.  That was okay.  I was sitting as far from Ed as I could.

                                   * * *

        I was starting  to feel really sick.  Ed had  parked the Suzuki in front of Lisa’s house.  Well, as  close as he could get.  There must have been thirty cars crammed around Lisa’s house.  Yep, Lisa really knew  how to throw a  party and her parents  probably hated her for it.  I know I did. 

        “Okay Chrissy.   It’s show  time,” said Ed.   “I’m not  so sure this is a good idea after all.”

        “Gee Eddie, and I was so looking  forward to the party.  But if you don’t want to go, hey, who am  I to argue?  Let’s go home.”  I reached over and turned the ignition back on. 

        “Sorry dude…er  dudette.  We’re  here.  We  might as  well go through with it.”  Ed turned the ignition back off and removed the key.  Then he  smiled his evil grin.   “If the reaction to  you so far is any indication, Lisa should shit bricks when she sees you.” 

     He paused a moment  then said, “If you could, flirt  a little with that football jock she’s started dating.”

        “Flirt with a football jock?!  No way!” I sputtered.

        “Way.   That should  really  get her  riled.   And don’t  yell.  Geez, you’re supposed to be my girlfriend.”

        “That’s right.  I should be screaming at you.”

        Ed opened his door  and said, “Cut the crap and  let’s get this over with.”

        Ed shut the  door and started walking towards  Lisa’s house.  I just sat there.  It took him a moment to notice I wasn’t with him.  He turned and said, “Well?  Aren’t you coming?”

        “Aren’t you going to open the  door for me?”  Without thinking, I pulled  the compact out  of my purse,  opened it and  checked my makeup in the mirror.

        Ed raised his arms in frustration and muttered, “Women!”

        As we  turned up the  sidewalk, I  suddenly noticed that  I had gotten comfortable  with the clothes  I was wearing.   That really bothered me.   Then I became aware  of the clicking sound  my high heels were  making on the  sidewalk.  Then  Ed looked over  at me, arched  his eyebrows,  coughed  uncomfortably,  then put  his  arm around my waist.

        We stood in front  of the door and Ed pressed  the doorbell.  I clicked my  heels three  times and  said, “There’s  no place  like home…There’s no place…” then Ed pinched me and told me to shut up.

        As  the door  cracked open,  we  were suddenly  blasted by  the latest top 40 chart  buster at a decibel level exceeding  a 747 at takeoff.  Silhouetted in the door frame was a girl with long blond hair and a short dress.  There was  a pause for a moment, then the girl stepped  forward into  the glow  of the  fading sunlight  and said, “Eddie?  What a surprise.”

        “Hi Lisa,” Ed grinned.  “I wouldn’t  miss one of your parties!” 

     He pulled me closer to him and added, “Lisa, meet Chrissy.”

        Lisa looked me up and down and  said, “Eddie, how could you ask Gwen to talk one of her friends into coming with you?”

        As Ed retold my  story for the fortieth time, I  sized up Lisa.  I’d seen  her before of  course and had  always thought she  was a babe and a half.  Now I couldn’t figure out what Ed saw in her.

        Ed  finally said,  “Well, Lisa.   Are you  gonna let  us in  or what?”

        Lisa frowned but said, “Sure.  Come in.  Just don’t fall in the dip this time.”  I  wasn’t sure, but if looks could  kill, I would have been a greasy spot on the porch.

        Ever the  gentleman, Ed  held the  door open  and let  me enter first.  I was dreading this moment from the first time Ed made his proposition.  But I’ve never been so overwhelmed by mixed feelings before at just  entering a room.  I was  both terribly embarrassed and I surprised myself by also  being elated when just about every boy in the room turned to look  at me.  And they smiled.  I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or hurl.

        Being a little too polite, Lisa told me where to leave my purse and asked if I wanted a soda.  My  throat felt dry and so I said I would.  Too  bad it  was just  soda.  This  was the  first time  I wanted to get drunk.  Then I looked  around and saw all these guys looking at me and decided maybe getting drunk wasn’t a good idea.

        “Chrissy!” rang a voice out from  the noisy crowd.  I looked up and saw Stew hurrying over to greet  me.  I felt sick.  He took me by the hand  and said, “Hey, come  on and meet the  guys.  They’re all dying to meet you!” 

        I looked over my shoulder at Ed, hoping he’d come to my rescue, but he was leaning against the wall, talking to Lisa.  I got to meet the guys and the  girls.  I had my story down pat by now and was able to lie convincingly.  Actually, I was starting to have fun.   I floated from group to group,  the girls accepting me as an  equal and guys slobbering over themselves.   One part of my brain  stared in shock disapproval  as I found  myself flirting and giggling.

        I didn’t really  pay attention to it  at the time, but  one guy there was not only watching me, but  was watching Ed talk to Lisa.  This guy, who towered above the other  guys and looked like a wall of muscle, finally walked up to me and introduced himself.  Except for the fact that I wasn’t  supposed to know him, his introduction was  unnecessary.  He  was “Tank”,  the star  football player  and Lisa’s latest squeeze.

        “Hey babe”,  he said  after introductions.   “Let’s dance.”   I looked up at him and felt very tiny.  He could kill me with a spit ball.

        “S..sure.” was about all I could manage.

        There was  a clear  spot (sort of)  in the  middle of  the room where some  other kids were dancing.   Tank cleared a spot  for us and we started dancing.   I was just glad it wasn’t  a slow dance.  We danced for several songs, then he wanted to sit down and talk.  We sat on a couch, and Tank sat close and put his arm around my shoulder. 

        “What’s a  fine babe like  you doing  hangin’ out with  a slime ball like Ed?”  Tank is no Fred Astair.

        “Well,  I’ve  only  just  met  that  slime  ba..I mean  Eddie.”  I swallowed hard  before  continuing.  “He seems  like a nice  guy to me.”

        “Look at him.”   Tank pointed to where Ed was  talking to Lisa.  “He’s spent the  whole time here talking with  Lisa.  He’s ignored you completely.”  He ran a finger down my cheek and said, “Now, if I was with a babe like you, I wouldn’t be ignoring you.”

        I’m  sure  Tank  thought  that that  statement  would  make  me incensed against Ed.   Actually, up until that moment,  I had been having  too much  fun being  popular to  even think  about Ed.   I glanced down at my  dainty lady’s watch and was shocked  to see we had been here for almost two hours!

        Tank was  pulling me closer and  was starting to nuzzle  me.  I said, “I want to dance!”

        Tank frowned, but helped  me up and we stepped back  out on the “dance floor.”  We danced as before for  the rest of the song that was playing.  Then a slow song started.  Tank pulled me to him and put his  arms around me.  We  started swaying back and  forth.  He put his head down next to mine.   I tried to disengage myself, but Tank is a big guy.  Then he placed  his hand on my butt and I felt something wet on my neck!  I tried harder to push myself away.

        “Tank, stop it”,  I tried to whisper  to him.  He just  held me closer.  “Tank, please…don’t”, I said a little louder.

        Suddenly, Tank  let go and I  stepped back.  There was  Ed.  He had pushed Tank around and was looking really pissed. 

        “That’s my girl, ass hole!”  Then he pushed Tank back.

        “You little  shit…”, Tank started  to say  as he took  a step towards Ed.

        I yelled, “Eddie!”

        Tank took a  swipe at Ed and  missed.  But Ed landed  one solid punch on  Tank’s jaw and  Tank fell  back on the  couch.  Everyone stood there, staring  with disbelief.  Nobody, and  I mean nobody, had ever decked Tank.

        Ed took me by the arm and  said, “Come on Chrissy, this party’s a drag.”  He led  me through the crowd of kids  standing around to the door.  Lisa’s expression looked as though someone has skewered her with a hot poker.  Without a word, we left Lisa’s party.

        “Thanks Eddie”, I said softly.

        “Shut up”,  snapped Ed.  “It  wasn’t your  ass I was  trying to save…it was mine!  I  told you to flirt with Tank,  not pick him up.”

        “I didn’t!  I…”

        “Just when  I thought I might  have talked Lisa into  giving me another chance, you had to start coming on to Tank!”

        “I wasn’t!  I…”

        “Do  you realize  what  would have  happened to  us  if he  had started fondling you?  What’s wrong with you?”

        “I…I…”

        “Shit!  Now Lisa thinks I care more about you than her!”

        Before we got to the Suzuki,  we heard running footsteps behind us.  I was sure  it was Tank coming to finish off  both of us.  Ed turned around, but I couldn’t.

        “Hey Ed.  Where  you going?”  It wasn’t Tank.  It  was just one of Ed’s friends.

        “I dunno.   I guess I’ll just  take Chrissy home.   The night’s kinda ruined anyway.”

        Ed’s friend said, “Don’t do that.   That party was getting dull anyway.  A bunch of us are going to go to Harvey’s.  Why  don’t ya come too?”

        Harvey’s was a teen hangout, with a dance floor and loud music, video and pinball  games.  Ed always referred to it  as a training bar. 

I figured Ed would turn down the offer, but instead said, “That sounds good.  Sure, we’ll meet you there.”

        “Eddie!”, I said in a shocked whisper.  “Are you nuts?”

        “Maybe.”  He started  leading me back to the  Suzuki.  “Did you see the way those guys looked at  me?”  I shook my head.  “For the first time, those clowns were looking at me with respect!”

        I  waited impatiently  as Ed  tried  to unlock  my door,  which wasn’t locked (and the top was still down).  “Eddie…I don’t want to go to  Harvey’s.  I want my $50  and I wanna go  home!  My feet hurt.”

        Ed  jumped into  the driver’s  seat without  opening the  door. 

     “Sorry babe.  But I  have to go bask in my  glory!  That wuss Tank had just better watch his step from now on!”

        “Eddie, I’d  be careful if I  were you.  Next time,  Tank might not be  drunk, tired  from dancing  and trying  to give  someone a hickie.”

        “Naah!  He’s toast.”

        I  was feeling  pretty  miserable as  we  drove  off.  I  never would’ve thought that  I’d be the cause of two  guys fighting.  It was awful.  This was taking much longer than planned and the party had been a disaster.   I felt some tears well up  and when I wiped my eye, I saw the black smear on my finger.  I opened my purse and started digging around for a tissue and my compact.

        We  drove in  silence,  and  in a  few  minutes  we arrived  at Harvey’s.  From the looks of the parking lot, ol’ Harve was raking in the cash from us poor, jobless teens.  The place was packed.  Ed and I  stood in the entranceway for a few moments  surveying the  mass of  pimpled humanity.   I was  no longer self-conscious about how I looked and had become complacent about being mentally undressed by all these pubescent perverts.

        Someone called out, “Hey Ed!” and we turned in the direction of the pinball machines.  A  group of guys gave Ed a  thumbs up.  You could actually see Ed’s hat size increasing.

        “Come on, let’s dance!”   Ed said as he pulled me  to the dance floor.  As we danced through the  crowd, people who just yesterday wouldn’t  even have  wasted  spit on  Ed  were  greeting him  like life-long friends.  Girls  told me how lucky  I was to have  a guy like Ed.  I  started to feel sorry  for Tank.  All this  time, I’d thought he was popular.

        We  danced several  times and  during  the slow  dances, I  was starting to  feel kinda  dreamy.  I had  always been  considered a dweeb,  but now  I felt  intoxicated by  all the  attention I  was getting.

        After we had  finished with a dance session, Ed  looked down at his watch and said,  “Guess we better get, if I’m  to get you home by midnight.”

        “Do we have to?” I whined.  “I’m having too much fun!”

        Ed grinned, “And you were the one who didn’t want to come.  But I think we’d better go.”

                                    ***

        We were both silent on the way  to my house.  The events of the day kept  playing through my  head and I  kept finding it  hard to believe any  of it had  actually happened.   I just sat  there and enjoyed  the  summer night as the  wind blew through my  hair.  Ed put the radio  on the classical music station.  I  think they were playing the Bee Gees.

        Ed pulled  the Suzuki  to the  curb in  front of  my house  and turned off  the ignition.  He looked  out the windshield  a moment then said, “Well, I certainly had a good time tonight.”

        I was looking at my hands in my  lap, then looked up at Ed as I said, “Yeah, me too.”  Then I looked back down at my hands.

        Ed moved closer to  me and in sudden horror, I  thought, oh no!  He’s gonna kiss me!  There was a  long pause, and I was shocked to find myself thinking, oh no!  He’s  *not* gonna kiss me!  I looked up at Ed and then his lips  were pressed briefly against mine.  At first I thought I  was seeing stars, but as Ed  pulled away, I saw that it was just  a passing car.  Ed smiled shyly,  looked into my eyes, then kissed me again.  Longer this time.

        It  was  a   kiss  like  no  other.   There  was   a  flood  of contradictory emotions.   I’ve kissed girls  before, but  they had been nothing like this. 

        Ed finally pulled  away, slowly, and began an  intense study of the steering  wheel.  He  said, “Well,  I guess  I had  better get home.”

        I looked  at Ed for a  moment, not sure  what to say or  do.  I said, “Okay, Eddie.  I really enjoyed tonight.”

        “Yeah, me too.”

        We told  each other  goodnight, and I  got out  of the  car and watched Ed drive away.  Feeling both giddy and dreamy, I walked up to our front door, opened it and went inside.

        I’m not sure, but I think it  was the expression on my dad more than the one  on my mom that  belatedly reminded me of  my plan to sneak back in  through my bedroom window.  My dad  sputtered a few times in a vain attempt to say something.  My mom didn’t even try. 

     It was a Maalox moment.

                            End of Part One

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AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS

Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary

Attendee Stats as of November 1992

State Distribution

  AK.   1  AZ.   1  BC.   2  CA.  25

  CO.   1  CT.   5  DE.   1  FL.  12

  GA.   2  IL.   9  IN.   4  LA.   4

  MA.   8  MD.   4  ME.   1  MI.   3

  MN.   2  MO.   4  MS.   2  MT.   1

  NC.   2  NH.   1  NJ.   7  NM.   2

  NV.   1  NY.   7  OH.   5  OK.   2

  ON.   3  OR.   1  PA.   5  TN.   1

  TX.   8  UT.   1  VA.   5  VT.   1

  WA.   4  WI.   3  WV.   2  WY.   1

      154  Attendees

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 154 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!

GENDER CONFERENCE

Don’t forget to attend the Gender Room Meeting on the America Online BBS in the Gay/Lesbian area  in the Community Room at 9pm ET every Sunday evening.  For specific information, directions, or to order  back logs of the chats, Email Marsha J, the Gender Room secretary.

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AFTERGLOW

A Holiday Prayer

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

Thank you for our memories,

            That brighten our pleasures and dim our pains.

Thank you for our dreams,

            That in the midst of darkness we might see light.

And most of all, Thank you for THIS day,

            That guided by our memories, and inspired by our dreams, we  can  improve the quality of both.

————————————————————-

“May you never find occasion to say, ‘If only…..'””

————————————————————-

EDITOR’S NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free online to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free license for your specific purpose.

                            THE SUBVERSIVE

                               Number 6

                            December 1992

                                                (Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

Another issue of the online magazine I published in the 1990s

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 5

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue her own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE

The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com on Internet, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

Submission of original material for publication in The Subversive constitutes a NON-EXCLUSIVE license to Melanie Anne Phillips by the author or copyright holder to reproduce all or part of the material in any media.

EDITOR’S NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

——————————————————-

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Subj:  Update

From: DeniseAnne

To:     Melanie XX

Dear Melanie:

I have tentatively scheduled a court date of 11/13 to have my name changed to Denise Anne.  I will start full time on 11/16.  I am ready to get this show on the road.  If I did not plan on 3 to 5 hours more electrolysis before then, I would start tomorrow or next week.  I need a good going over first.

You were right about this being an exciting time of my life.  I feel like I am in a whirlwind.  33 days from today Denise will make her public appearance.  I am filled with excitement, but I am so frightened.

Meeting you and having you share some of your experiences with me has helped me tremendously.  I hate to keep asking what sounds like dumb questions, but I guess I am trying to see if people feel the same way that I do on certain subjects.

The EAP counselor asked if she could share my name and phone number with the minister of a local gay church.  She had had calls about other TS in the area, and until she met me, she did not know of any.  I would like to get enough together to have a support group.  That would be nice.

I hope that one day I can help someother TS the way you have helped me.  Someone on the outside can never imagine the mental torture of what a TS goes through.

Take care and I will talk to you later in the week.

Love,

Denise

—————————————————-

From Elaine P1

October 18, 1992

It has been much too long a time since I sat down to write.  Ever since the onset of summer, there didn’t seem to be much to share from day to day or week to week.  Correspondence with several of the Gender Room regulars fell off, at least from my end.  Suddenly, I sit here near Halloween, look back and realize just how much has been accomplished in the last few months.

I began attending a support group in May, then found another in September and joined it as well.  So far, I’ve been mostly just listening to others.  The groups are mostly TV, some of whom are dressed in public, while others leave their femme selves closeted.  The leaders of each group are pre-op TS’s, and they (so far) are the only other regular TS participants.  The Dallas group has seen two other infrequent TS members.  There is rumored to be a rather large contingent of post-op TS’s in the area, but none have surfaced in the group so far.

Finding a new therapist after leaving my first one in May has been a struggle.  Initially, I had just one name for follow-up, and it took until August to get a callback from her.  She runs a one-person office, and when she left town for six weeks of treatment for chronic fatigue syndrome, it became impossible to reach her.  She has since returned, and we had several abortive attempts at getting together.  Finally, I had to insist that we have an hour together on her nickel, so I could find out what to expect from a professional relationship with her.  She reassured me that we could work well together, but I remain unconvinced.  She comes highly recommended, as far as the help she can give, but it seems to me that she is all given out.  Owing to her medical condition, her work schedule has been drastically cut back, and I fear that her plate is just too full to accommodate me.

Some detective work netted me a bit of good news in late July.  There is another person in my job field (air traffic controller) who is a transitioning TS.  She has been full-time since July of 91, and will have surgery the day after election day.  Her case has taught the FAA everything it knows about dealing with a TS employee.  The experiences that she has been able to share with me will prove invaluable once I’m ready to make my public transition.  She flew to Texas to spend a weekend with my family three weeks ago, and I’m still trying to catch up on sleep lost during that time!!

Meeting with her provided another side benefit.  She got a lot of help from FAA’s Employee Assistance Program.  The EAP contractor is local to her, so they were able to provide particularly personal help.  She recommended them highly, and they were quickly able to refer me to a therapist in Dallas when I called them.  It was a huge relief to call and actually speak to someone in the office, rather than an answering service!!  The therapist is seeing me (at no charge to me) for an initial assessment.  When that’s done, he will keep me for further therapy, or refer me to someone more qualified in gender issues.  He has had several patients who have gone from hormones through surgery under his care, but none in several years.  He is not familiar with the Benjamin Standards of Care, so he may need some education. <grin>  I’m determined that I’ll be on hormones by summer of next year.

In August, I finally got myself together enough to go for a makeup lesson.  A TS friend in Dallas is a Mary Kay rep, and she arranged for a lesson with a makeup artist.  The two-hour lesson and a fistful of makeup came to less than $200, a bargain, I think.  Everything seems to work well, except for around the eyes.  It’s going to take a while to get the hang of doing eyeshadow and liner that doesn’t look smudgy.  But practicing sure is fun!!!

Meeting people is surely exciting!  I met my FAA friend this summer, and in the next month, I may have three new face-to-face friends.  They all come from the realm of cyberspace, so meeting them will be particularly satisfying.  One friend is coming in from California to have a session at Electrology 2000.  Another friend may be moving here, at least temporarily, from Florida.  And next weekend, my mother and I are taking a long weekend in New Mexico.  She wants to visit her brother, who is quite ill.  I get to tag along, because she has difficulty in driving long distances.  So I’m taking advantage of the situation to meet with a nearby cyber-friend.

I’m still working out the details of being Elaine while I’m there.  I can’t yet travel as Elaine, because I’m on “official business” while flying.  My uncle doesn’t know about me, and now’s not the best time to tell, owing to his illness, and the fact that I’m not nearly ready for full-time.  With any luck, something will work out.  I’ve already been forewarned that casual is the mode for New Mexico, so I’ll have to run out and find some “dress-down” clothes for the first time.

October 20, 1992

Today has not been a very good day.  It’s a day off from work for me, and I had hoped to get some other things done.  It was not to be.  We were adopted a few weeks ago by a small puppy who was wandering in the neighborhood.  She appeared to have been well-kept, and we assumed that she had owners who would miss her.  Rather than allow her to run the streets, we kept her in our back yard, in plain view, thinking that the owners would make the rounds looking for her.  That didn’t happen, and we found our family’s dog population increased by one.

Our other dog is a beagle, about two years old.  Charlie, the beagle, and Snookie made best friends very quickly.  They have been inseparable in the past few weeks.  Snookie had a wonderful influence on Charlie.  Before, Charlie was intractable when it came to going outside for the night.  If we had to resort to physically carrying him out, he would lose control of his bladder for just a bit – just enough to be a nuisance.  Charlie came to us from the pound, and had likely been badly treated by former owners.  With Snookie, Charlie was ready to go anywhere just to be near her.

Two or three days ago, we noticed that a chair on the back porch had been chewed.  It belonged to our dinette set, but the back had been broken, and we were trying to decide whether or not to have it fixed.  The dogs decided that for us, by tearing open the cover, and shredding the foam inside.

Shortly thereafter, we noticed Snookie making chewing motions, accompanied by drooling.  We assumed that she had ingested a piece of foam, and was trying to get it back out.  Today, Snookie was a big wet mess, from head to toe, and her bedding was soaked as well.  She was obviously not a well puppy.  We rushed her to the vet, thinking that he would be able to clear whatever obstruction was there.

He shocked us when he wasted no time giving us his opinion.  She had gone into one of the “chewing” convulsions just as we entered the exam room.  He immediately said that she very likely had distemper.  She had probably gotten the virus some weeks earlier, probably before she found our house.  She had probably had an initial reaction, had gotten over it, and this was the second phase.  There’s no chance of recovery, he said.

Together, we decided to have her put to sleep.  As difficult as this was, the worst was yet to come.  We had to tell our nine-year-old the news when he got home from school.  I hadn’t yet cried while the decision was being made, but his tearful reaction just tore me apart.  We had left Snookie at the vet’s office while we made the decision, but after making it, we had to return to sign some papers for the euthanasia.  Donovan wanted to go and say goodbye to his friend.  While I took care of the paperwork, Theresa and Donovan went to the back of the office.  She was being kept in a small carrier cage.  She had been fairly listless in the last day or so, which was highly uncharacteristic.  Donovan knew she was sick, and he gave her a last pat on the head.

All the staff in the office were very sympathetic, and they quickly finished my paperwork so I could leave to join my family in the car for a big group cry.  Theresa and I tried to make Donovan understand that crying and feeling hurt for himself because of losing a friend was OK.  At the same time, we suggested that he shouldn’t feel bad for Snookie, because she was better for our decision.  It would have been terrible for us to have selfishly decided to keep her alive for our benefit, and been forced to watch her die slowly.

Donovan cried himself to sleep tonight, with me sitting by his side.  I couldn’t help reflecting on my own situation.  I’ve never felt like a particularly good father, which is part of what makes me question my maleness in general.  But tonight, it made me feel good that I could comfort my child.  That comfort stemmed not from being a dad, or a mom, but from being a =parent.=  It told me that whatever success I had as a parent would be little altered because of the appearance I presented to the world.  And that was my day.

I can see why now my correspondence has suffered.  Half this letter was six months worth of news, and half was just today.  Could I churn out this much stuff every day?  Perhaps, but then who’d want to read all of that?

No promises will be made here for improved or more frequent letter writing.  I just hate having to break promises.  But I hope that the intervals between letters will become shorter in the future.

Peace and love be yours always.

Love, Elaine

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Reply to Elaine from the editor:

That is interesting about the six months letter equalling the two day letter.  I noticed that tendency and had to fight it every step of the way in writing my diary.  Your rhetorical question as to who would want to read that much written about each day – well, just look at how much interest there is in my diary of the same thing.  To you, it may seem overkill, but believe me, to those who have not even started, just the few words about crying, being a parent not a dad, and how you gave support to your son can be landshaking, especially to those who are so closeted they have not even allowed themselves to imagine or think about issues behind the moniker of “Change of Sex”.

You remember those days, right?  Don’t sell yourself short.  Those very thoughts ought to be shared wherever they can be, and in fact, you ought to publish them in the Subversive.  I have saved this letter in case you might want to do that.  Otherwise, keep it in mind for the future.  What you are going through is the most amazing and incredible journey you will ever take, because when you reach your destination you will have forgotten where you started.  In fact, you CAN’T reach your destination UNTIL you forget where you started.  That is, in truth, the purpose of the whole journey.  But the words you leave behind can remind you, at least in facts, of the events that happened, and can also chart the way for those who follow.  Leave a few bread crumbs and share your steps.

Love,

   Melanie

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From: Karen Day

To:     Melanie XX

I’m not sure if I wrote to you about this….if you think it might help others who are facing a similar situation, please feel free to pass this on.

I finally told my sister about me. It took a few weeks to work up the courage, but I had reached a point where I felt there was no choice. My sister and I share a garden home and though it’s big enough that we don’t keep bumping into each other I always felt trapped in my bedroom or basement office. After joining the local gender groups in August and becoming close with a wonderful person named Sharon (TS) I began to feel more and more frustrated that I couldn’t move freely in my own house. Often I found myself talking in a whisper on the phone downstairs, afraid my sister would hear me talking to Sharon or someone else.

I finally decided it was time to talk to her, but for two more weeks I couldn’t find the right time or place. In the final week I became obsessed with telling her, practicing in my mind what to say. But whenever I saw her, even when we talked quietly in the living room about problems, I still couldn’t bring it up. We even talked about gays and male/female differences. No matter what I did, I always felt like I would be bringing this up “out of nowhere”, so I always chickened out. By Friday of that week, I had broken out in a rash on my legs and my arms and was itching all the time no matter how much anti-itch creme I used.

On Sunday nights, I go to a small gender group meeting at a local hospital. That afternoon I wrote my sister a two page letter. It was the only way I knew I could ever tell her.

The letter opened by telling her I was deeply troubled by a problem  I could not face her with in person and was about to see a psychiatrist about it (Which I am). Then I discussed the local gender group and how I met a transsexual named Sharon who was now living as a woman. From there I mentioned that I understood she did not know my history and gave her a “hint” of how far back my problem went (6 yrs old as I can tell). I said there are some things I have said & done purely to “cover up” my feelings.

In the letter I told her I would probably not want to discuss this with her for at least a day. I promised not to flaunt it in front of her either. I told her I would not ask for active support, only understanding and that I would give her time and space. She was assured I am not suicidal, but that I would be prepared to move out if she was not comfortable with this. I also told her that no one else knew and to please keep it that way.

No where in the letter did I precisely say WHAT I was really talking about, I only raised the issue of transsexualism and that I had joined a gender group and had made friends with one. The letter kept open a lot, for further face to face discussion, IF she gave me a positive response.

All that evening I was edgy and felt sick inside at the meeting. I knew my sister was the ONLY one in my family who would be the likeliest to accept. If she didn’t I was washed out from them as far as I felt.

When I came home finally around 2am, I found a note on my bed from her. It said she was surprised but would back me 100%. She said it is my life and should be able to live it as I choose. I sat and cried after I read that.

Two days later, we sat down in the basement to talk. We talked for 4 hours and I began to reveal my true feelings. Basically, that I feel I want to be a woman, but need the time to find out through life experience and that NOTHING would happen suddenly in days, weeks or even months. I told her I may modify my clothes, but that I would not wear a dress in front of her or makeup until both she & I were ready for that. She was SUPER, admitting that would be a bit shocking at this time, but to give her time to understand and get used to it, and that she would never leave me hanging.

Within two days, the itching from the rash stopped.

Since, I have gone out during the day while she was at work. Last week I told her about it, that people on the streets had accepted me, even said hello to me. For the first time I saw some serious curiosity. She asked me what my wig looked like and my clothes.

I am still not wearing skirts or makeup in front of her, but she knows I am wearing androgynous women’s clothes nearly all the time now, she knows I have started electrolysis and am growing my hair, she knows I will continue to go out from time to time during the day to further test my confidence. She knows about the doctor and knows this may go a LOT further.

We continue to talk, everyday, just as we always did about all sorts of things…I DO bring up gender, but NOT everyday. I will not push her and it is working. It is becoming more normal. She sees me wearing a bracelet and neckchain, with clear nail polish and sometimes with eye lashes curled. It’s a slow transition in front of her, but I now have ONE family member I can count on to be there when the going gets rough.

I feel free, I am happy, I am exploring, deeper than I have ever before and feel like I am in control of my life at last. I still don’t know where I will end up, but I know that my sister at least will be there at the end of that road, that I am not alone.

Love,

Karen  🙂

————————————————–

From: Marsha J

To:     Melanie XX

These are the closing comments from the Jerry Springer show (a local talk show) that was covering some girls from the Baton Show Lounge (Local FI shows).  And though he ends up using the wrong terminology it was a nice close for the show.

Thought you might want to put it in the next Sub.   Check it for spelling and definitely punctuation.

Springer’s Final Thoughts  (Speaking toward audience)

I’ll be honest with you, I don’t get it. I can see it, I can listen to it but I don’t pretend to understand it.  But then again my frame of reference is limited. I’m a man, I enjoy being a man, I’ve never been confused about my sexuality. Indeed since the age of 13 I’ve loved being with a woman, its just I’ve never wanted to be one.

But I also understand that my frame of reference does not encompass all human expression or circumstance, that there are others that live differently, feel differently, and who am I to pass judgement?

Someone else is not less because they are different. I suspect that there are reasons, maybe genetic, maybe hormonal, maybe environmental. But this is a big planet, there’s room for all of us, and though the lifestyles of our guests today is not one I would choose, my certainty of my sexual preference doesn’t entitle me to impose this certainty on anyone else.

—————————————————–

Subj:  LA Law

From: Elaine P1

OK, all you pop culture mavens, it’s time for input.

I just now sat through, for the first time ever, an (almost) entire episode of L.A. Law.  It was an episode that included the reading of a will at the partners’ meeting, apparently the will of one of the firm’s senior partners.  During the reading, a lovely woman enters the room, and apologizes for being late.  “Caught in traffic,” she says in a soft voice.  She’s wearing a violet jacket and dark colored skirt, her shoulder length hair is very stylishly done, and she presents a very feminine image.  Although her face is pretty, it’s rather thin, and some of the features are a bit severe.

As the reading continues, the gifts grow larger, until this woman, whose name is given, but it escapes me, is presented with a cash gift of $150,000.  The bald-headed partner is outraged.  He wants to contest the will.  He stands and yells to the group, “This … =THING= … [who, by the way, is sitting at the bald head’s left] isn’t even a decent homosexual!!!”  At which point, the woman stands and says (something, can’t remember) in a very deep, masculine voice, takes a huge roundhouse swing, decks the bald head.  Then she very sweetly says some sort of apology to the group, and leaves.  She wasn’t seen again during the episode.

Questions:  Is this a recurring character?  Is this person’s usual presentation male or female?  Is the person TV, TS, or otherwise cross-gendered?

Maybe those questions are out of proper sequence.  I’m just surprised that, even as a non-L.A. Law viewer, I had never heard any rumbles about this character.  Anyone know any more about L.A. Law lore who can flesh this story out a bit??

Elaine

—————————————–

EXPLORATIONS

by

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

(Letters FROM the editor)

This is a reprint of a letter I sent in reply to a cross-dresser who requested some thoughts on how to deal with a non-understanding wife and family.  I felt the content may be of enough value to publish for others, however, I have deleted the name in order to insure privacy.

Dear (Anonymous)

   This is going to sound a bit technical, which will probably be the last kind of thing you would expect in response to a very emotional problem.  The difficulty with emotional problems is that you can’t measure them with emotions.  You can’t measure something by itself.  Here is the problem in terms of Reason.  The problem is not your wife and the problem is not yourself.  The problem is BETWEEN your wife and yourself.  Now, this problem is not caused by the way she is or the way you are, but by the difference between the two of you.  If she was married to someone who did not want to cross dress, no problem.  If you were married to a woman who understood, no problem.  This problem only exists because you cannot stop crossdressing and she cannot understand.

In order for the problem to be resolved, one of you must change.  Sometimes people can change or grow, and sometimes they truly cannot.  It is not blameful to be unable to change, it simply means that the area you cannot change about is too close to the heart of your personality, and as long as you remain YOU, changing is impossible.  So what can be done?  Well, you are probably convinced by this time that YOU cannot stop crossdressing.  So for you to change is probably not an option.  But your wife has only had a little time to adjust, so it is not certain if she will be able to change or not at this early stage.  When time has passed you will know better about the answer to that.

But what if she cannot change?  What is the solution?  There are three ways to deal with  every “unsolvable” problem.  Since the problem remains, none of them is completely enjoyable, but there are no other options if neither party can change.  The first way is for the two people to separate.  Then, they are not in conflict because they do not interact.  The second way is to avoid conflict by staying off the subject.  Conflict does not occur because the subject that creates the problem is not brought up.  The final way to deal with the unsolvable problem, is to continue fighting over it.  Eventually, this may lead to the other solutions of separation, avoidance, or even in some cases, change by one of the people, thereby eliminating the problem.

I wish I could offer a “quick fix” for your problem, but there really isn’t any.  Yet there is hope.  People do change in time, and even if YOU cannot change because the desire to cross dress is part of you, you wife may very well change because her attitude is probably not part of her, but more of a held opinion, and opinions change every day.  The real key is the strength of the love you share, compared to the discomfort, the pain of change, the love she has for her parents, and many other factors.  Also considering that love is seldom equally felt between two partners.

So, my best advice is to avoid conflict while you see if she grows to change.  You will know when enough time has passed to judge that.  Then, you can decide if there is hope to resolve the problem or if one of the other options is the best under the circumstances.  Take care, keep hope, don’t let one area of conflict taint the rest of your life.  There are many other pleasant areas to focus on while you wait to resolve this one.

Love,

   Melanie

(This letter was written to an AOL friend about my progress in coming to terms with secrecy about my past versus honesty about my past.)

Hi there!  So how was your week?  I had a great one.  Work went well, and also when I asked my friend who I am working for how long I could be sure I had a job once the project we are developing is over, he said that as far as he was concerned, I would get paid the same amount forever, even though there only may be enough work for me to come in a day or two a week.  What a friend!  So, our house is secure, and the future of my family looks good.  What a relief.  If it was just me, I wouldn’t worry at all.  I can live in a box and be happy, but I know Mary and the kids couldn’t.

Also, I called up the local amateur theatre and volunteered my services to usher and help paint sets and stuff, and they are really interested.  So, I will probably be starting maybe as soon as tonight!  It’ll be great to meet a whole new group of friends that don’t know about my past.  That has been another good part of the week: I finally came to terms with the issue of hiding my past or not.  I was mistaken in thinking that there was a great difference in the way people acted toward me when they knew or didn’t know.  The real problem was that I acted differently if I knew they knew.  As soon as someone found out, I would haul out the old Dave picture and tell them all about transition and make it an ongoing part of the conversation.  I suddenly realized that it was I who was making them treat me as a transsexual instead of a woman.

Most TS fall into 2 categories, those who don’t tell and live in fear of discovery, and those who DO tell and are always thought of as TS because they did like I did, keeping that image alive to be completely honest.  But IS that honest, to keep a former truth alive?  A truth that is only one of fact, not of feeling?  For me, admitting to the fact is essential for honesty, but continuing to dwell on it is not.  Making it a part of my life from the moment of discovery is dishonest to my feelings.  So, my decision is not to tell, but if discovered to admit to it, but not proactively keep the subject open.  I will answer any questions simply and without creating other questions.  When they have asked all they want to, I will let the matter drop and never bring it up again.

It is such a simple solution it is elegant, and also its simplicity is why I never saw it before.  The problem is not outside, it is inside – the solution is not in lying, but in not perpetuating.  Now, I can cover my tracks as best I can in name changes and evidence and conversation, but I need not fear discovery at all.  When it happens, I will admit and then let it drop.  The only “me” they will see is the “me” I am now.  How can they think of me as anything other than a woman if the single exposure to the fact of my past is outweighed by the continuing exposure to me as a woman?  Well, I’m happier than I have ever been about the whole transitional thing now.  This decision allows me to partake of support groups, write articles and books, even incorporate the knowledge of my past into my career, but then to relate in the world of my “civilian” friends as just one of the girls.

Love,

   Melanie

Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips

—————————————————-

And now for the another installment in a serialized presentation of the book:

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

November 3, 1989

Well, I’m back with more dirt on “The Secret Life of David Michael Phillips: The Untold Story”.

Age 14 or 15: One whole summer when both parents were working and I dressed nearly every day.

All through elementary school: For years I spent every recess hiding in the bushes or in the boys’ room from three or four “ruffians” who chased me threateningly every time they saw me on the yard.  I huddled in amongst the bugs and dust, fearing for my life and terrified they would find me.

Around grade four: A boy “called me out” to fight after school.  I waited for him and we raised our fists to have it out.  But I started to cry and my asthma kicked in so I could hardly talk.  He got disgusted, put down his fists and walked away, saying I wasn’t worth it, and we wasn’t going to beat up on me.  I screamed after him through the tears to come back and fight.  What developing masculine image I mayas had was shattered as I stood there, surrounded by a crowd that slowly broke up, knowing that I had lost face with every classmate I had.  (I had no friends that I could have lost.)

Junior High: Dressing in the locker room, hearing the other boys discuss what they wanted to do to their girl friends.  Wondering how anyone could want to violate anyone like that.  Where was the romance?  Where was the love?

Kindergarten: A group of girls calling themselves “The Kissing Girls” chased the boys around trying to kiss them.  I decided to form the “Kissing Boys” and chase the girls.  I couldn’t understand why the other boys didn’t want to join up.

Age 17: Going to a religious retreat with my step-dad and my best friend.  Laying in the top bunk across from my friend wondering what it would be like if I became a girl and he and I got married.  Damn!  I had suppressed that memory until this moment. Damn.  DAMN!!!

Age 18:  Sharing with the same friend my secret that I had made a super-8 movie of myself dressed as a girl (my first confession).  Telling him I was going to destroy it. him telling me he would destroy it for me if I gave it to him.  Sure…  I destroyed it myself.

Late teens, early twenties:  Making sure I didn’t miss a single episode of TV where they change bodies on Gilligan’s Island, where a spy has the body of a woman on “Get Smart”, where Darrin gets Samantha’s voice on “Bewitched”, “Goodbye Charlie”, etc.

Three years ago” Spending several nights, while Mary was away at night school sticking a pin through the foil covering on the back of her birth control pills.  Scraping an infinitesimal quantity of the precious powder off, then sucking it into my mouth through the pin-prick hole, just to know that I had hormones in my system.

Two years ago: Committing numerous felonies by calling up pharmacies and pretending to be a Doctor’s office.  Ordering a prescription in a matronly nurse’s voice. Giving fictitious phone numbers and addresses, but carefully chosen and written down so they were in the right medical buildings and the answers were right at my fingertips.  Then calling in with my female voice and ordering my prescription, “I believe my doctor just called it in…”  Picking it up with fear, taking my glasses off so I could not be recognized later, using the pills for 50 or 60 days, then chickening out and throwing the whole lot down the toilet.  Getting back on the phone two weeks later to do it again.

Well, I’m at the office and there’s work, REAL WORK, to do.  So this pleasant tea and gossip will have to continue at our Bridge game next week.

November 3, 1989, Evening

Today I visited my new psychologist, Dr. Jayne, for the first time.  I went in Dave mode as I had felt more comfortable lately appearing as I am in reality, nothing artificial.  We sewed a patchwork quilt of emotions, speculations, needs and dreams, creating the beginnings of a pattern that will take years to become a fully detailed picture.

The session was warm and filled with understanding, support with neither editorial perspective nor coercion. A simple series of questions, answers, and monologues from both client and psychologist quite unlike my other two sessions with the psychologist provided by my insurance company.  There I had walked into a windowless lobby, lacking even a reception window.  Instead, there was a panel of eight switches next to the locked door to the interior.  You flipped the switch labeled with the name of your counselor, activating a tiny light, then waited alone until the door was opened.  The sessions were worthless, as I spent most of my time in each simply explaining what a TS was to the poor man, who tried his best, but just had no understanding at all of the phenomenon.

With Dr. Jayne, I am getting not only an understanding of myself and a comparison to others who have travelled my path, but advice and guidance on how to make the transition smoother, less painful.  And the only rule in her therapy sessions is that a session never ends without a hug.  With this help, I believe I can possibly survive this.

One interesting side note.  Walking back to my car after the session, I stopped at a Pioneer Chicken store.  When the girl in front of me had finished ordering, the man at the counter looked back at me and said, “Can I help you ma’am?”  I was flattered to death.

November 9, 1989

Last night at two o’clock in the morning on Hollywood Boulevard, in the front seat of a 1965 Buick Regal, Melanie lost her virginity.  And, God, it was great!  It was so special, so fulfilling, nothing else in my life mattered.  This was it.  This was what I’ve always been looking for.

I’m totally slipping out of “writer mode” now.  I don’t care if the sentences come out right or not. And structure be damned. ‘Cause what I am feeling is so intense I can’t get the words out fast enough and I’m afraid I’ll lose some.

It all started when I went to a new support group for the first time with a friend.  No, it actually started about eight weeks ago.  I can’t do this in order, but you ought to know that it was my electrologist who I met two months ago on a referral.  And is a TS who spent three years as Karen, but has been back in male mode for the last year and a half.

When I first called up, we really struck it off on the phone.  At my first session I found out he was into Eastern religions, and both believed and practiced a spiritual love and joy.  But he had also learned the Chinese martial arts and the derivative arts of healing.  He was a computer buff, deeply spiritual, but iconoclastic as well.  Over the last eight weeks, we would joke and speculate an empathize over life, love, and the TS experience.  Gradually, although I come there in male mode (stubble and all) I began to “fem out” as soon as I crossed the threshold.  And the last two weeks I totally went submissive during the sessions.  I also began to wonder what it would be like to be in Melanie mode, held in the arms of this strong, yet gentle person.

Well, to shorten this up (too late!), I went to my usual support group meeting last Saturday and met a new person who wanted to know about starting hormones.  I gave her my number. Next evening I was working late at the office and she called up and said that she had to move out quickly because her roommate was on drugs and threatening her life with a knife.  I told her to get a taxi and come over.  She arrived in male mode.  It was an odd re-introduction as here we were, two men, who had first met as women.  I put her up at a motel that night with the last thirty dollars I had.

Next morning I came to pick her up for breakfast and it turns out her wallet was stolen during the night.  We barely scraped together enough money between us for a meal.  I told her she could sleep on my office floor until she found a permanent place to stay.

On Monday, I brought her (in male mode) with me to my session with Alan.  I actually thought they might strike it off and be good for each other.  By the way, “Nicki” is the most attractive non-hormoned TS I have ever seen -looks about half my age and “hot”.  I wouldn’t feel at ease wearing sexy stuff like that in a closet, but it looks good on her.  Anyway, they did strike it off, and we agreed to meet Tuesday night at a support group I hadn’t been to before that Alan had, so Nicki could find a place to stay.

On the appointed day, I didn’t have time to dress so Nicki went en femme and I went as Dave.  Afterward, the group always goes to a local coffee shop that’s “cool” and that’s where we met Alan who had to show up late.

Nicki and Andy did the “hug” thing, obviously happy to be close.  Since I was in male mode, I just said “Hi”.  But as Nicki started networking to find a place to stay, I ended up next to Andy  In five minutes, I had slipped into complete Melanie mode, even though I was dressed as Dave.  And I’ve never shifted like that in public before.

Well, earlier that day, Nicki and I had checked out the Gay Community Services Center in Hollywood for housing referrals.  (I was always too shy to be seen there, and besides, I’m not gay).  But Nicki just charges in with me in tow.  We find out there is another support meeting there the following night.

So nothing turns up Tuesday night at the coffee shop, and we tell Andy we’re going to try the other group the next night.  Andy says he’s been there and how about if Nicki and I BOTH come en femme and he comes in male mode as our escort.  Its something I very much want, but am also afraid of, so I allow myself to be talked into it.  But since Nicki is so hotly dressed all the time, I’m afraid to compete and tell Andy I’m going to wear a pretty skirt and top, but I’m not going head to head with Nicki!  But he convinces me to wear my 18″ mini skirt and get don up because he wants “a babe on each arm.”

So all day Wednesday, Nicki is dragging me around town, buying make-up in male mode, testing it on the two of us in stores where they only know me as Dave.  We went places and did things to get ready that I NEVER would have done on my own. Finally, we went back to the office and got dressed.

What, with the new make-up, new earrings and all, by the time Andy picked us up, we were a coupla hot foxes.  (And I thought I was too old at 36!)  All I needed was a little bit of Nicki in my life.

I do remember putting an extra spray of perfume under my skirt, just in case…

When Andy picked us up, he looked sharp: Green turtle neck with a tan blazer, black slacks and an incredibly thin gold chain around his neck. Wow!!

I let Nicki sit next to Andy as we drove off. At the meeting we entered as planned, one on each arm. But as the meeting progressed, Nicki drifted off looking for housing and I moved closer to Andy  He put his arm around me, and I put my head on his chest.  We hared glances and smiles while I stayed there for the rest of the meeting. Once, I laid my hand on his knee and I could feel him respond with a tighter squeeze on my shoulder.  It was an incredible kick to be held in public for the first time; just like your first date.

Afterward, the three of us and an old TS friend of Andy’s went for coffee.  We sat around the table while Andy read our Chinese horoscope charts.  He and I were both born in the Year of the Snake and have matching complimentary signs.

The other friend had to leave and Nicki wanted to visit a potential roommate.  So, at one in the morning, we dropped Nicki at the apartment.  She and I had talked about my feelings for Andy all day, and I knew she was just trying to give Andy and me some time alone.

Just before we dropped Nicki off, Andy had stopped for a six pack of Chinese beer.  As soon as she had gone, we started on the beers, sitting as far apart as possible on the front seat. Andy had two, I had three, and by then I could hardly talk.  Everything was spinning.  I almost couldn’t move, and my lips were numb.  I had kept saying “more” and taking another swig, which we both knew was as delaying tactic to let the strong Chinese brew loosen me up.

After the third beer, I slurred to Andy “Well, before I start to sober up and change my mind, come here…”  I opened my arms and he came to me with strength and gentleness.

Until this night, I had never even held hands with a guy.  And the only intimate relationship I ever had was with my wife. But everything was so right, so good.  I went completely fem.  My actions, responses, even my thoughts were female.  Not forced, but just the natural; responses I had always suppressed.  I’ve never felt so female, and it still has not gone away.

Somehow, my bra got pulled up over my baby breasts and my pantyhose ended up around my knees.  It was only oral sex, and with Andy’s hormone use, there were limits to how far it could be carried.  But as Andy said, “That’s not important.  It’s the sharing.”  and it was.

We phoned Nicki’s beeper and she came down.  We got some fast tacos (Andy buying) and Nicki stayed in the back seat while I snuggled and cuddled and melted into Andy as he held me close.  One or two more quick kissing sessions and we went home. We said goodbye, Andy left, Nicki up to my office, and me home at five in the morning to lie in bed next to Mary, to know that I have loved her for 14 years, but to also know that all the best times in those 14 years combined, were nowhere near as fulfilling as that one evening with Andy

As I fell asleep, I knew that all doubts had been erased from my mind.  I am female, I always have been female, always will.  If I died tomorrow I would be happy.  I would be complete.  But I want to live.  I want to live as Melanie for the rest of my life in the hope of losing myself in even just one more evening like this.  Dave is dead, if he ever really lived.  But Melanie has her whole life ahead of her.

November 14, 1989

Oh, God…  Get yourself together!  Its only the end of the world. Yeah, but its a great world.  Yeah, but its coming to an end.  Maybe, but we just don’t know yet.  True, but you said you could die tomorrow and be happy.  A smile on your face, even.  I remember, “A smile on my face”, your exact words.  Rhetoric, pure rhetoric.  You know I always exaggerate.  Well, not exaggeration so much as mistakenly believing that every emotional catharsis is final.  And that’s your downfall.  Yes, and also my upbringing.  So you blame your parents?  Hell, I’d hate ’em if I didn’t love ’em so much.  Uh, huh… but let’s get back to this latest mood swing….

Alright, I’m at the peak of fulfillment, staring in the abyss of… well, an abyss full of shit, actually.  And not just ordinary shit, mind you, but good, warm, gooey crap – the kind that gums up your hair and fuses your eyelids shut when it dries.  Shape it up!  Or should I say, cut the crap.  (There are ladies present!)  Ah, now we get down to it!  Finally, God Dammit!  What took so long?  You’ve never beaten around the…  Yes!  That’s it!  To have a bush!  Whether ’tis nobler in the mind, or grandeur than all hell in reality.  Reality becomes fantasy becomes reality and Quid Pro Quo.  If I become female, will being male become a fantasy, memory or fading nightmare?  Only my hairdresser knows for sure.

You see, I spent last night at Andy’s until midnight.  Electrolysis first.  Then hugging while I lay on his chest on the floor watching “Comic Strip Live”.  Still bearded, but feeling female, being treated same.  Curling up with my man or TS or whatever the hell he is, or she is or you can call me Ray, or… God!  Stop it!!!

So, shaving and dressing and painting my nails. Car door opened for me as my heels sink into the over-watered parking strip.  Ride at night, he’s in charge.  Slams door with fist to open stuck automatic window.  Macho Bullshit.  I love it.  Opens door at restaurant.  I think parking attendant reads me.  What am I doing wrong?

Great dinner.  I don’t gotta pay.  LOVE this!  Drive by the drive-in.  No shows good so we no show too.  Back to Alan’s.  His dad says “Hi”, as we occult the TV on the way back to:

Andy’s lair:  He makes us some tea.  Puts on Robin Williams tape, lays on bed.  I lean back against him, his arms enclose me. Slowly, joke by joke, I slide lower until we lay together; his front form-fitting to my back.  I roll onto my back, he moves onto me.  Female responses so strong.  I finally know what passion means.

Frustration as I yearn to respond with equipment I don’t yet have.  The “Phantom Limb” syndrome in reverse.  Waking up to realize that I have fallen asleep in his arms.  He is asleep, but still encircling me with protective strength.  I smile, half-groggy, and drift off again.

And the damn Cub Scout meeting tonight.  Leader training, adults only, but had to bring my son, but okay ’cause eight other boys there.  Self-conscious of my long fingernails; spend all evening trying to hide them.  Old stirrings of happy campers.  Good times in Boy Scouts ’cause code of behavior is regimented, by the book.  First time I knew how to respond.  Instincts don’t work.  How do the other boys know how to act?  What did I miss?  How am I different?

Mary knows about last night.  Still loves me, says so.  Happy, laughing, pets me on the head: she makes it so damn hard…  But I don’t like women anymore.  The old “Two Month, 180 degree Shuffle”, with a short deck.

All talked out and nowhere to go.  E-I-E-I-OOOOO.  And that’s the weigh it wuz.

Got help me.

November 17, 1989

Half my life has been lived in the last two weeks.  Nicki is still living on my office floor in Mike mode. And we talk every day, kind of a round the clock support group.  For me, still living at home with my family, this continuous flow of conversation with another TS has been perhaps my salvation, perhaps my doom.  For I have gotten so in touch with myself that the inner me has actually risen to the surface for the first time within memory.

And my experiences with Andy have been so fulfilling, so complete, that the painful tear in the fabric of my soul that has hurt so deeply for so many years has left me without a forwarding address.  I miss Andy every moment I am away from him.  And sure I know it is probably only a “first time” infatuation.  I am inexperienced, not naive.  Yet, this knowledge does little to diminish the warmth that rolls through me as I replay my closeness with him.

I went to my son’s Cub Scout meeting the other day as the Den Leader – described in the manual as a “male adult”.  Mary had picked up the uniform shirt I am required to wear and gave it to me that night.  As soon as I buttoned it on, I looked in the mirror and when I saw the military-looking doughboy who stared back at me, my skin began to crawl.  I forced myself through the meeting, trying to employ the techniques I have used comfortably for years as an adult leader in childrens’ groups.  But I just couldn’t pull it up anymore.  That part of my being had vanished completely.

By the time I got home, my heart was on my sleeve and my temper hair-trigger.  I lost control, yelled at my sweet six-year-old daughter and threw the can of Coke across the room.  And I watched as Mary dutifully wiped the sticky brown ooze from the wall paper where it stained.

I cheered up a bit that night, but slept fitfully.  Yet, when I awoke, the yellow Fall Sun was brightening the dried leaves still clinging thickly in anticipation of the first sharp wind.  I felt so at peace.  I looked down at my T-shirted chest and admired the growing mounds of softness, that even in recline rose gently above the valley floor.  I looked at my long fingernails and recalled the night before.

Suddenly, an emotion both strong and simple rolled over me, imparting undeniable knowledge.  Something had changed.  Something was subtly but powerfully different.  While I slept, my self-image had split apart and recongealed in a new form.  In my own mind, I had become female already.

Yeah, I know I’ve said things like this before, but each time previously it was always kind of just that I let myself feel female for a while without self-retribution.  But on this Thursday morning, I didn’t just KNOW I was female, I really FELT it.  Deep down inside.

So I cut off my fingernails.  I don’t need the crutch anymore.  And I knew I could pull off the leadership of my son’s Cub Scouts without fear of shrivelling my fresh, pink female personality.  It is locked in, secure and permanent.  My responses are my own, natural and unretouched for public consumption.  It doesn’t matter if you plop a female brain into Arnold Schwartzenegger’s body, you won’t bet a male.  And it doesn’t matter what I wear or don’t wear, or how long my hair is.  I am female, know it, accept it, love it, am unashamed of it.

So I shall continue to grow my hair.  And I shall remain on hormones.  And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to dress up and look pretty.  But that is not where I live.  It is not me, but merely the trappings. And SRS itself is not a sex-change, but merely cosmetic surgery.

I have come home to myself. To the person I never knew I was.  And I love being her.  I am overwhelmed by the joy of being surprised to find out I am truly someone different that I even thought our imagined.  And I am joyously anxious to set out on my new life of self-exploration and discovery.  Look out world, here comes Melanie.

November 26, 1989

My “femaleness” comes in waves.  There are times when I remember specific intimate moments with Alan that I can’t strangle an involuntary gasp as the deep satisfaction of that memory rolls over me.  And there are other times when the joy of playing with my kids or sharing something with Mary is warm and cozy.  I don’t think I will ever change my conception that I am truly female, but now the desire to complete SRS has changed from a need to a want.  And I must decide if my family is more important than that aspect of my transformation.

That I want SRS is uncontestable.  Indeed, my only fear is that I will end up an unconvincing freak, not representative of either gender.  But the notion of physically being female remains strong.  And yet, does it outweigh the established family?  Will potential loneliness as a female be more satisfying than unfulfilled but shared life as a male?  This I do not know.

Mary has said that even SRS would not drive her from me, as long as I maintained a male image for her.  I do not know if this is even possible due to the hormone use, but should it be, and should I be able to find a way around the “full time” requirement, I would surely opt for surgery at the earliest possible date.

You see, my male genitalia are really if little interest to me.  Sure it has served me well, and I do enjoy the pleasure of the sensation.  But the inner joy of my times with Alan (most recently with all our clothes on and never reaching climax) is so great the “sex” itself as a physical feeling pales into nonexistence.  The thrill of being penetrated, the ultimate  expression of closeness, is something I must experience before I die.  And I better do it before I’m such a shrivelled old hag that nobody would have me!

I went to the movies with Andy Friday night – my first drive-in!  And for the first time, I went out with nothing artificial.  My own hair, my own bustline: the real me.  The only difference between me and a complete woman was that tag of flesh between my legs.

Andy and I shared two six packs of smuggled-in beers while we watched “Eddie Murphy – Raw”.  We laughed together, snuggled together, and I cried on his chest while he told me, “It’s all right… Let it out, babe…”  Then we came back up to my office and had the final two beers.  I have never been so drunk in all my life.  I tried a coffee and liqueur as a nightcap and got violently ill.

I crawled to the women’s room on all fours and puked up in the toilet.  Then, I crawled out, got sick again in the hall and passed out on the floor.  Sometime later, I felt Andy picking me up to my feet.  I complained that I just wanted to stay there, but he would have none of it and herded me back to the office.

I awoke to find it daylight already (my first all-nighter).  Andy had covered me with a blanket from his car and snuggled up behind me.  I woke him, as I had to get home soon and pulled him to me.  I felt so female, so wanted, so sensual.  He rolled over on top of me, gently spreading my legs and pushed my knees up in classic missionary position.  and then, with all our clothes on, made love to me, his woman.

My responses were so natural, so uninvented. For the first time in my life, I knew how I should behave, not from the mind, but the heart.  I have never enjoyed anything so much as being made love to in that manner, my head cradled in his hands, his strong yet gentle thrusts pushing undeniably against me.  Even now, my insides go mushy just thinking about it.

God, its always been so hard to be male, to try and figure out how I should act, what I should say.  Every move second-guessed.  But now, as Melanie deep inside, I act by instinct, without consideration or censorship.  Moves I’ve never practiced are my true nature.  And the future?  Day at a time… just a day at a time.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

I urge you all to keep a diary of YOUR personal journey, whether it be through transition or not.  The attitudes and even the order of events becomes cloudy through time, and I am continually amazed to re-read things that memory would have me believe had happened differently.  If nothing else, it is a good way to see long-term patterns in yourself that you cannot see except in retrospect.  That objective view alone is worth the inconvenience of keeping a journal.

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MAKE UP TIPS

A continuing series by Mary Kay AND Avon representative,

Lynda J1

Silent Witness to the Soul

Before you open your mouth to speak, your fragrance says a lot about who you are.  Are you soft and romantic?  The earth mother type?  Exotic and mysterious?  Sweet and innocent?  Are you sophisticated or seductive?  Or are you the clean, fresh outdoorsy type?  Your fragrance, combined with your mood, appearance, and general personality gives a complete picture.

One fragrance can be chosen as a “signature” fragrance.  If you choose a favorite and wear it always, when someone you know smells that scent, it will remind them of you.  Some women don’t like to be limited to just one scent, but choose each day from several fragrances to fit their particular mood.

Choosing the right fragrance(s) can take some time.  When testing fragrance, test no more that three at a time.  Any more than that will start to smell the same after awhile.  Choose a fragrance whose “bottle fragrance” you like.  Pick up the bottle and sniff.  If it has a pleasing scent, try a little on your wrist.  Fragrance will mix with your the oils on your skin and your personal chemistry and will smell differently on different people.

Fragrance has layers of scent called “notes.”  Immediately after applying the scent to your wrist, you will first experience the “top note” of the fragrance.  As the base of the fragrance begins to evaporate, you will notice the “middle note” of the fragrance.  The middle note of the fragrance occurs as the scent reacts to your body heat and your personal chemistry.  This “middle note” may last for 30 minutes to an hour.  Finally, you will experience the “bottom note.”  This note can last from 2 to 6 hours.  Sometimes the difference in the top, middle, and bottom notes is very subtle, sometimes dramatic, and sometimes a fragrance has only one consistent note.

To make fragrance last longer, purchase several forms of the scent: talc or bath powder, bubble bath or bath oil, cologne, perfume, body and hand lotions, and some companies even offer deodorant or hairspray with the same scent as the cologne!  Colognes or perfumes should be applied to pulse points such as wrists and neck as well as warm places such as the crook of the elbow and the backs of knees.  A little applied to the ankles will cause the scent to follow you through a room.

If you can’t wear fragrance on your skin, you may be able to use it on your clothing.  Just be sure to test it in a small, inconspicuous area first to check for staining.  Spraying fragrance on your clothing is a good way to make the fragrance last longer too. 

                Another trick is to put a small amount of cologne on a cotton ball and tuck it into your bra or a pocket for all-day scent.  The cotton ball can be removed later and tucked into your lingerie drawer to lightly scent your undergarments.

If you’re like me and like to use a different scent for every mood, store your fragrances in the refrigerator to prevent them from deteriorating.

A few more tips:  NEVER mix fragrances.  The components of each fragrance are individually balanced and mixing them usually gives an unpleasant result.  Keep fragrances away from direct sunlight, whether in the bottle or on your skin.  Fragrances in the bottle will deteriorate more quickly and fragrances on your skin may cause photosensitivity or increase the risk of sunburn.  Also remember that sweet or flowery scents attract bees during summer months.  It’s best to save those fragrances for evening or indoor use during the summer.

Be considerate of others.  Dousing yourself in your favorite scent may be a wonderful experience for you, but can be an unpleasant experience for others in enclosed spaces such as cars or buses.  Also, be aware that too much fragrance at a dinner table can mean an unpleasant dining experience for those around you since smell and taste are intimately entwined.  Your dinner guests may not appreciate a mouthful of lobster that tastes like musk or sandalwood!  If you are unsure of how much is too much, ask a friend who will be honest with you.  Just because you can’t smell your fragrance doesn’t mean other people can’t.  If you’re applying your fragrance more than two or three times a day, it could be that your nose has just gotten used to the scent, while others around you are very well aware of it.

Fragrances considered “romantic” are usually the mixed or single florals such as “Tea Rose,” “Jasmine,” “Jontue,” and “Jungle Gardenia.”  “Orientals” or “exotics” are generally sweet and spicy.  “Animalic” fragrances have a musky smell, and “Greens” have a fresh, grassy, or citrusy scent.  The “sophisticated” or earthy scents have a blend of woods and mosses.  “Sweet and Innocent” fragrances smell powdery and light.  Is that important to know?  Only if someone wants to give you a gift of fragrance and asks the general category of fragrance you prefer or if you want to sound like a fragrance expert when talking to your friends.  The most important thing to know is what you like and how it makes you feel.

Personally, I like the florals and citrusy scents the best.  Most musks make me sick to my stomach after a few minutes and woodsy-mossy scents make me feel like taking a shower immediately.  I have been surprised occasionally by the description of a scent and the way it smelled on me.  Some floral mixtures are very overpowering and some musks smell fresh and powdery.  The only way to really tell is by trying it on yourself.  Don’t go by how a fragrance smells on someone else.  Everyone’s body chemistry and skin oils are different.

Most of all, enjoy the freedom and relaxation of choosing scents in different forms.  There is nothing as soothing as a bath scented with your favorite fragranced bubble bath or bath oil.  A slathering of scented body lotion on your legs after shaving makes your legs feel like silk.  Burning a candle scented with your fragrance can create a romantic mood for both you and your partner.  Wearing fragrance can make you feel more feminine and pretty, even on days when your hair has a mind of its own.  It can pick you up when you’re feeling down and calm your mood when your nerves are fried.  Fragrance is more than makeup for the mind, it’s a soothing balm for the soul.

As always, if you have questions or comments, please don’t hesitate to send e-mail to me, Lynda J1.  If you would like to receive catalogs to order cosmetics, jewelry, fragrances, and gifts through the mail, send a name (your choice) and address where you would like to receive the catalogs.  All information is kept confidential and you can stop receiving the catalogs anytime by notifying me by e-mail.  If there is a special topic you would like me to address in this column, let me hear from you!

Editor’s Note:  Remember, Lynda J1 is YOUR Mary Kay Representative.  Support her efforts here by placing your orders with her, a real nice way to say “Thank You!”  All orders are held in confidence, and orders will be shipped in plain wrapping.  And you’ll never find a more understanding or knowledgeable make-up consultant for your special needs.

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FEATURE ARTICLES

A Trip to the Voice Doctor

by Sarah Williams

aka: Sarah 6238

                I arrived at nine o’clock sharp and walked into the fanciest doctors office I’ve ever seen. Dark green plush carpet , tasteful antiques, about a million dollars worth of art on the wall.  The receptionist asked me to have a seat and said that the doctor was running a little late today. 

                My stomach was doing the most interesting things down there.  As is usual in surgery I had been asked not to eat before coming in.  It might have also had something to do with the fact that I’ve never had any surgery done before and the thought that this was the first big unalterable step on the way to becoming the woman I’ve always needed to be. 

                As I sat there, worrying, thinking about all the things that could go wrong, I could still hear Dr. Mayer going through the list of possible complications on my first visit, things like,  scarring,  infection, trouble swallowing, and five or six other things I can’t remember. The one that scared me the most though, was that my voice might just return to it’s old pitch sometime after surgery.  He said what ever happened there was no way to fix it again and that I’d be stuck with the way it turns out, good or bad.  He made it clear that he wasn’t making any promisees, or guaranteeing anything. 

                I asked Dr. Mayer, exactly what he was going to do to make my voice change.  He told me the technique was his idea, and that only he and god could do this, and that neither of them was going to tell anyone else.  He said he was afraid that if he told how it was done, some fool who wasn’t as good as he was would try it and screw it up.  Then the technique would get a bad name. Well OK, I didn’t like that much, but squeamish as I am I’m probably better off not knowing.

                I must have set in that waiting room for at least two hours, though it seemed more like a week.  Finally a nurse came and took me to a room and got me into one of those cute little hospital nighties. Then I was off to the operating room. I sat there for a long time, shivering, wondering if this is just a dream.  Then the nurse came back and started doing all those nurse things, installing all kinds of wires and sensors all over me. When she’d finished she told me to take it easy, don’t worry, and don’t pay any attention to the things the Dr. said to her during the operation.  She said it would sound like every thing was going wrong, but that this was just the way Dr. Mayer was during surgery, and it was really going to turn out fine.  I was to speak when he told me to and there would be times he would ask me not to swallow.  I had no idea how hard that would be.  She covered my eyes and the rest of me except for my neck and in came the doctor.

                As soon as he came in he asked the nurse “did you give her your little talk”.  She said she had and then he asked me to speak into a mini tape recorder for a few seconds.  He then began to shoot me up with a local anesthesia all around my adams apple and started drawing on my throat with a felt pen.

                As soon as I was good and numb he began to cut. The incision was about two inches long, it followed a line that already existed on my neck so it wouldn’t show later. As he cut he used an electric device to stop the bleeding. I could hear lots of sizzling and the sound of his scalpel.  I began to wish they had put me out entirely.

                From the time Dr. Mayer walked into the room, It had seemed he was in a foul mood, and though he was always polite to me , he was incredibly rude to his nurse.  This got worse and worse as we went along.  I, of course, couldn’t see what was going on, but from the sound of it he just couldn’t get what he wanted from her.  He’d say “OK, pull it up this way, no that’s too far, come on get it right honey.” “I can’t do this if you can’t do what I tell you”.  “NO, that’s not right  I can’t see”.  “Please honey, this is getting all screwed up, if this doesn’t work its all your fault”.  “Don’t be stupid, pull it over here”.  It got so bad I couldn’t see how she kept from punching him out right then and there.

                This all went on for about an hour. Sometimes it hurt a lot but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I could talk.  I could feel him suturing something that was very tough in my throat.  I think he broke several needles doing it. He kept repeating “don’t swallow,  don’t swallow”.  I tried to keep from it but the urge was incredible.  Sometimes I couldn’t stop and he’d say “OH SHIT, DON’T SWALLOW”,  you’ve got to stop swallowing.  As he worked, he’d ask me to say something. I’d try to talk, some squeaky noises would come out, and he’d put in another stitch.

                Finally he said “that’s as far as I can go, it sounds pretty good”.  I wasn’t so sure, but I was so relieved that it was over, I didn’t argue.  In a few minutes I was stitched up and he was gone. It felt like there was a huge lump in my throat when I swallowed, and it seemed like I was going to choke, but I fought the urge because the thought of gagging and coughing scared me to death.

                The nurse got me up and cleaned me off, and back into my dress.  She took such good care of me that I started to feel a little better.  She gave me the post opp instructions and I was out the door.

                There I was, in downtown Beverly Hills, feeling sick, scared and lost.  Here’s one point of advise, don’t do anything like this alone.  I found my rental car and sat there for a while just trying to breathe and get my head together enough to drive. I needed to eat so I stopped in at a fast food joint for lunch, which I promptly threw up in the parking lot.  I didn’t like that much, but it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it was going to. I felt a good bit better after that, and I went back to my room to see if I could sleep. 

                The doctor had asked me not to turn my head side to side or tilt it back for at least two weeks. this made driving in the big city kind of tough. I had a lot of pills to take for pain and swelling and to prevent infection.  It figures, the antibiotic he gave me was a pill that would choke a horse,  but I managed to get them down anyway.

                If you should ever get desperate enough to try this crazy operation, there are some things you should know. The first is that no matter what anyone tells you, it hurt.  It hurt a lot for the first two weeks, and for the next two it felt like I had a cramp in my throat.  The pain is almost gone now after six weeks, but my voice is still hoarse most of the time. I don’t think that I was one of Dr. Mayer’s big successes, they said that the goal was to give me a voice that sounded female on the phone. I still have trouble convincing people on the phone that my name is Sarah, but as I get back more and more control of my voice, it’s slowly getting better.  At first I had almost no dynamic  range.  Now I’ve gained back about half the range I had originally and I feel it stretching a little every day.

                The voice modification surgery, as its called, cost $4,000 not including travel and expenses.  They ask that you stay in town for at least two days after surgery, so they can check up on you.

                Looking back, though the whole ordeal was as hard as anything I’ve ever done, I’m very glad I did it.  The change I got wasn’t all I had hoped for, but it did help a lot. It gave me at least $10,000 worth of confidence. I’m no longer afraid to talk and person to person I seem to pass without question. I feel reborn and my new life feels so right.

                If you wish to get more info you can write to the doctor at: 

                The Beverly Hills Institute

                of Aesthetic & Reconstructive Surgery

                416 N. Bedford Drive

                Suite 200

                Beverly Hills, CA      90210 

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PREPARING FOR FULL TIME

By

Denise Anne Fell

When I first began on hormone therapy I knew that the day would come when I would have to start the Real Life Test or as commonly called Full Time.  I began planning how I would prepare

for this day but even more important how I would prepare the people that I work with.  I mean going to work one day dressed as a male and coming in the next dressed as a female is not an everyday occurrence.

I made an appointment with the head of our Employee Assistant Program provider.  I explained my feelings to Cynthia at the first meeting and told her of my plans.  This was prior to my first injection.  I had an appointment between the first and second injection and we talked about what I should do.  At one point I actually thought about requesting an early or disability retirement or just resigning and start working out of my home.

As things began to develop more rapidly that I expected, I knew that I was going to have to let someone in management know.  I gave some serious thought about who I would feel comfortable talking to about this matter.  I decided on the Section Chief.  She is between my immediate manager and the Branch Chief.  I asked her if we could have a private talk.  When she suggested her office, I asked for the Conference Room.  She gave me a funny look and said she could meet with me at 1:00 that afternoon.

It was a long 3 hours.I sort of beat around the bush, and finally asked if she knew who Christine Jorgensen was.  She replied no.  I said Dr. Renee Richards, she said no.  I said Tula?  She said yes.  I said “He is going to be a she.”  She said who?  I said me.  I asked her if she had noticed anything different about me.  She said your hair is longer.  I said, no, something else.  I sat up straight and her reply was, Now that you mention it.I explained that I had thought about retiring or quitting, but I did not want to.  She said then don’t.  She also assured me that I would not be harassed by anybody in the Branch, at least during working hours.  I told her that I had scheduled an appointment with a Labor Relations Specialist and that I would talk to her about my options. We left if at that and went back to our respective areas.

We met again the following week.  I said that I would like to have a branch meeting, at which I would not be present, but I would arrange to write a letter to my coworkers and that I would ask the EAP Counselor that I had been talking to about coming to this meeting.  She said that sounded like a good idea.  I then went and talked to the Branch Chief.  She handled it very well and had no problems at all concerning this upcoming change.  I received a lot of reassurance from her and I also told her of my problem of getting the new manager that I was scheduled to be assigned when we decentralized the branch.  I was told not to worry, I would not be assigned to her.  That eased my mind of a potential problem.

I next made arrangements to have a meeting with my immediate manager.  I told her of my upcoming plans.  She was totally shocked and stared at me in disbelief as I told her of how I had felt for so many years.  All she said is that she would handle it when the time came.I had my meeting with the Labor Relations Specialist.  After the initial shock wore off, she replied that she was there to see that my rights were not denied.  That I not be harassed by coworkers but on the same hand that this not disrupt the work in the Branch.I told her that Cynthia had agreed to come to the meeting and talk about transsexualism.  We set the tentative date for this meeting to the morning of October 8th.  That was fine and I felt much better about the entire situation.

I had trusted a few close friends with my so called secret, but that could have been a mistake.  I believe that I was betrayed by one of the last that I told.  That is incidental, but I would caution about telling more than one person.  That way if it gets out, you know who to blame.

Well, all of the sudden my breasts had some rather rapid development.  It got to the point that people were asking questions, not to me, but to my manager and the other managers.  My breasts became almost impossible to hide, and to be honest, I did not particularly care to hide them.  I had wanted to have my own breasts for as long as I can remember.  I was happy as could be about the development.I began to think that maybe the meeting was too far off.  I was getting such rapid breast development and I knew that I could not hide it for long.All of the sudden, I began to get asked questions.  Finally, one of the people I trusted said your secret is out.  I really began to get nervous.  This is not what I had planned.

I went and talked to the Labor Relations Specialist, and asked about an earlier meeting with my coworkers.  We agreed that it would be on the afternoon of September 24th, provided everything could be arranged.Everything was changed and the only change was that the letters that I had written could not be passed out at work, but I was assured that everything would be covered.  I agreed with reservations.I left prior to the meeting.  I had asked a couple of people that knew to call me and give me their view of the meeting.  Everyone that called told me the same thing.  It went better than they would have expected.  Between all the people that called me, only three comments were heard.  Two were negative and one was marginal.  The comments came from people that I expected to accept with no problem and the people that I expected to object seemed to take it very well.  You can’t second guess human nature.  I was pleased with the response from my coworkers.

The following week I told a few other people that I associate on a daily basis, but do not work directly with.  The response was, “What’s your point?”  “Do you expect me not to associate with you because you wear a dress.  A friend is a friend.”  I received almost total support from my friends both at work and those that I associate with on a social basis.  I did lose one friend, but maybe he wasn’t such a close friend after all.

The main problem seemed to be my younger brother and youngest sister.  They have totally ignored me.  My younger sister has more or less accepted this and still associates with me.  I guess that you can say that sometimes “water is thicker than blood.”

I have no illusions of this being easy.  I expect that my going to work the first day as Denise will be one of the hardest things I have ever tried to accomplish.  My coworker’s acceptance of this will make it easier, but it still will be difficult.I have no doubt that I will be read for quite awhile.  That too can be overcome, because I will be working towards a dream that I have wanted all my life.  When you see the light at the end of the tunnel, you can face tests that you might not have wanted to try in the past.I hope that this will help some of you decide on how to announce that you are going to start your Real Life Test.  This is something that you have to come to grips with.  Planning everything out will make a difference and it helps if you can have the support of your employer and gain the acceptance of those you work with.

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REVERSE PASSING

By Tracy WH

Yes, you guessed it from the title, I have to try to pass as my male self for the first time in nearly a year and a half!  None of you know the background so I’ll fill in the blanks.

I’m working as a legal assistant for a firm in Salt Lake City as a woman, and have been for the past 17 months.  I’m serious about my life as a woman, to the point of having my breasts augmented nearly 7 months ago.  I’m a 34c and quite proud of my figure.  I’m waiting for the “right time” to go all the way and do the surgery thing.  For right now I’m content with my life, and am in no hurry to finish.  I’ve recently turned 24 and have plenty of time for that later (after I’ve saved up the rest of the money). 

As my male self I traveled to S. Korea with the Peace Corps and learned to speak Korean quite well, and used that language skill and experience on my resume.

Another firm in Salt Lake has a client that is opening an American business in Seoul.  They had heard that I spoke Korean, and are willing to hire me as a translator/legal advisor for two to three months while they are getting things set up. 

To make a long story short, my passport is as a male, and the people that are going to hire me know me only as a woman.  Here’s where the conflict arises.

I had known that this might come up, and had been doing some asking around on line, and reading some of the downloads concerning legal identity changes.  I didn’t really think that it would go this far, but here I am with a South Korean visa in one hand and a plane ticket in the other.

I’m really puzzled as to how I’m going to get through customs/immigration, but I have a plan.

I had to submit a photograph of me along with my visa application, and did myself up as a man quite well.  The photos matched close enough, and I only had to practice my male signature a few times to get it right.

However,  a photograph passing, and a living breathing (and potentially nervous) person passing are two TOTALLY different things.  I’ve been practicing in preparation for the big day, and have a few tips on “reverse passing” as I’ll call it.

First, anatomically there is the problem of the “units” attached to my chest.  That shouldn’t be too much of a problem, I just buy a very tight jog-bra and wear a really loose sweatshirt on the plane (corporate types don’t care what you wear on a 14 hour flight).

Second, hair can be pulled into a tail and worn in a hat.  Shouldn’t be too much of a problem, besides, many men have ponytails these days.  The biggest problem there would be the cut and style difference from the passport to the “actual head”.   

Again, easily explained.

Third is the removal of all makeup and traces of ANYTHING.  One thing I have been doing is wearing only one earring when “reverse passing”, and then it is a simple gold hoop.  If I let my whiskers grow for about 3 days, I look like an adolescent teenager with a light beard.  With the singular earring the effect is pretty good.

I have been buying wine coolers and beer as a man in the supermarkets around town to make sure and get ID’ed to see if I can “reverse pass” effectively.  So far, so good.  Much to my amazement.  One funny story about buying alcohol.

The first time I went to buy coolers as a man since living as a woman, I accidentally took my purse in.  WHOOPS!!!!  I didn’t realize what I had done until I had gotten to the checkstand and had to actually take out my license.  I had it in a Dooney-Burke billfold (very feminine looking) in my matching purse.  I was so nervous I’d be “read backwards” (this does get a bit confusing) that I dropped my license on the floor.  As I bent down to pick it up, I thought I saw the check-out boy look down my shirt and see my breasts.  I could have died!  I tried to regroup and just handed it to him with a $20.  That’s when I looked down and saw my well manicured nails.  Luckily I only wear clear enamel, but no man I know of has nails this pretty!  The checker gave me a quizzical look, but I rationalized that off as being an old ID.  He didn’t say anything, but I was so paranoid I was sure that he knew.

I hurriedly took my change and ID and stuffed them in my purse.  I took the coolers, and BRISKLY walked out to my car.  All the way out the door and to my car, I imagined a hand grabbing me on my shoulder and asking me to come back into the store for a “little chat”.  I got to my car and threw myself inside.  My head was spinning, my heart was pounding, and I was nearly out of breath!  I just sat in my car laughing/crying at myself for being so stupid!  I am usually so methodical and plan things out, but I just got lazy and didn’t think before actually going to the store. 

I went home laughing the whole way, sat down in front of the TV and watched Vertigo while drinking my trophies.  I felt pretty good after about 3 of them.

That story got long really fast.  Sorry.

Anyway, here is where it has gotten tricky.

All of the partners in the business have decided to travel together.  This would pose a problem for me if I were to have to pass as a female to them, and as a male to the customs people.  Again, this has been taken care of with a little schedule juggling.

I suggested in one of the organization meetings, that I travel ahead a few days, set up short-term accommodations, purchase a vehicle, and schmooze the Korean partners before their arrival.  This was met with warm welcome, as none of them had ever been there.

So, as far as they’re concerned and will ever know, I’m a woman, and will work with them as one.  I’m  pretty proud of my little trick, but still a little nervous.  I hope that this goes off smoothly and have no glitches.

I’m not sure if any of this means anything to any of you (how many “any’s” can you put in one sentence?), but I thought it might be interesting nonetheless.

Let me know SOON if any of you have advice or tips that might come in handy.  I leave on Oct. 18, and don’t have much time.

Keep sending logs, mail and gifs.  I’ll be calling Honolulu to check out how things are going in the gender community while I’m gone.  I’ll be sending things back as well.

I can leave a mailing address to anyone who would like to get letters mailed to them on disk.  I am taking my powerbook and can format for either IBM or Mac.  I run Word 5 on Mac, and can convert to WordPerfect from DOS.

Well, I’ll wrap this up.  Thanks for listening, and for any advice that might come my way. 

Don’t forget me!

Tracy WH

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AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS

Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary

Attendee Stats as of October 1992

For you spatial thinkers,

Geographic distribution

AZ.   3  BC.   1  CA.  22  CO.   2

  CT.   4  FL.  12  GA.   1  IL.  12

  IN.   4  LA.   4  MA.   7  MD.   2

ME.   1  MI.   3  MN.   3  MO.   3

  MS.   2  MT.   1  NC.   2  NH.   1

  NJ.   7  NM.   2  NV.   1  NY.   5

OH.   5  OK.   2  ON.   3  OR.   2

  PA.   5  SC.   1  TX.   6  UT.   1

  VA.   3  WA.   4  WI.   2  WV.   2

WY.   1

Total 163

For you temporal thinkers

:

Of those I have records of, we’ve the following ages

one attendee under 20

4 between 20 and 30

12 between 30 and 40

14 between 40 and 50

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 163 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!

GENDER ROOM MEETING

Don’t forget to attend the Gender Room Meeting on the America Online BBS in the Gay/Lesbian area  in the Community Room at 9pm ET every Sunday evening.  For specific information, directions, or to order  back logs of the chats, Email Marsha J, the Gender Room secretary.

If you have a particular topic of interest and/or would like to host (or hostess) a Gender Room meeting specifically addressed to that topic, please send pertinent information and we will publish an announcement in the Gender News of the upcoming talk.

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AFTERGLOW

This month I am turning over the final thoughts to a long-time friend of mine.  I met her as the wife of my film partner at USC when I was still Dave.  From the first moment of my transition she supported and befriended me, and since that time we have become the closest of friends.

As many of you know, the past two years of my career have been spent in developing a new psychology called Mental Relativity.  It is the basis for a revolutionary new theory of story called Dramatica that is to be released as a computer program by Screenplay Systems in the first part of next year.  But story is only a small part of the applications Mental Relativity can be employed for.

Primarily, the theory describes the relationships between the processes of the mind.  As such, it clearly delineates the intrinsic biologic differences between male and female thinking.  This does not indicate that one is better than the other, rather that they are equal but different.

Beyond gender, however, Mental Relativity provides the tools to make objective decisions about subjective problems.  In this regard, my friend Juni M (AOL) has written the following article about how she employed the theory in a practical situation of everyday life.

MENTAL RELATIVITY MADE PRACTICAL

(Number 1)

by Juni M

How do you know if two people make good business partners?  This is what I was trying to figure out so that I could decide if I should join their company.  Using the four elements Purpose, Evaluation, Methodology, and Motivation to compare the partners, I found an answer.

First, I compared their Purposes for starting the business.  One, let’s call him “A”, saw the business as ego gratification, something to control, explore, and ultimately become very rich and important.  The other, “B”, also wanted to become rich, but had a little less ego involved.  “B” would be satisfied to just support his family in a comfortable manner.  Both parties seemed to be in some kind of agreement.

Next, was Evaluation.  What criteria were they using to judge the business success or failure?  “A” thought the business was successful as long as he was contacting more and more people.  Even if their projects were way off in the future, the greater his network, the more successful he felt the business would be.  While “B” judged success by steady cash flow and repeat business.  So, while one liked a constant flow of new clients, the other would have been happy servicing the same old ones again and again.  Not much of a consensus here.

In terms of Methodology or day-to-day procedures, “B” was very linear and methodical.  He could focus and get a job done very efficiently, while “A” liked to spread himself thin and have many “irons in the fire”.

In fact, their Motivations (as mentioned earlier under Purpose) were very different.  Since “A” had ego involved in most of the processes and liked to think of himself as a visionary, this was in disagreement with “B” who really only wanted independence and a stable income.

It would appear that they were only vaguely in agreement on wanting to make money, and even then, not in agreement as to how much.  Perhaps if they had agreed in 2 areas, their differences would lend a balanced dynamism to the company and propel it forward.  But disagreement on 3 out of 4 areas could lead to nothing but bickering.

I decided to wait and see what would happen to these two before making any commitments.  Chances could be that they break up before they add new members to their company, and then the remaining partner will set the tone and direction for the company.

Meanwhile, I could still get along with them both if I only confine my conversation to the one area they seem to be in agreement on: making money.

Juni M

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EDITOR’S NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free license for your specific purpose.

———————————————————–

“May you never find occasion to say, ‘If only…..'”

———————————————————–

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 5

November 1992

                                                (Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 4

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue her own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

HOW TO GET THE SUBVERSIVE

The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com on Internet, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

—————————————————–

LETTERS  TO THE EDITOR

From: Karen Day

To:     Melanie XX

Thank-you for clearance to give the Gender groups here the Newsletters. There’s one TS and one TV group. I’ll hand over a hardcopy of the newsletters with instructions to keep them complete.

I will be attending my first TS meeting this Saturday morning. It’s a small group of about 8 I’m told. I have become pretty good friends with the leader, we have clicked on many, many thoughts. In fact, it’s the first time I really noted a difference. The TV group leader & I had problems discussing the “deeper” issues every time we met, so we keep it pretty superficial in that dept now. Sharon & I hit it off on every level the very first hour we spoke. This I suppose should tell me something … truth is I’ve always had these feelings but didn’t like to SAY it, since I never saw any real possibilities…that is slowly changing. Although I’m not going to rush out quite yet and announce myself. I’ll work on zapping the beard, losing weight and making new friends first. Then, well, we’ll see what happens. (I’ve waited 35 years, I may as well TRY to be methodical at this point)

Things are definitely improving for me Melanie. I have done things, gone places and met people I never would have dreamed of just 4 weeks ago. It’s been like the breaking of a dam. My very first outing to buy a wig turned into a wonderful experience. The woman who did the fitting is a former co-worker. She was my bosses secretary for 4 years at a radio station I worked at. She was THRILLED and we got along so well. Since we’ve been able to talk a few times. Armed with the proper attire, I finally went for a morning walk in the daylight on Labour day. It was a holiday and few people were up, but it felt so good not be hiding in the dark shadows at 3am. I can’t say I’d “pass” at noon hour, but that will come in time. Last weekend I was at a gender meeting at a hospital at 8pm, I was able to go dressed. A lot has happened in a few short weeks, my emotions have been on a big roller coaster. One day I want to start a transition as soon as possible, run over tell my family and live my life the way I want to. Then I think, no…better to cool off a bit first and prepare properly for whatever decision comes, when the time is RIGHT. My only real regret is that I didn’t have this kind of support when I was 20, when I was dressing a lot and walking alone on the streets at night. But I won’t lament my past life, rather try to enjoy my new found piece of freedom and see where it all goes one step at a time.

My most sincere thanks to you. It was the AOL group that allowed me to find the Ottawa gender groups and to learn about the possibilities from those like yourself who have found happiness and know it is real. It’s to know that the possibility IS real and to conquer the fears, there I will find peace.

Love

Karen 🙂

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From: Debbie M1

To:     Melanie XX

Dear Melanie,

It’s been so long since I’ve last written to you and much has happened since then. I would like to say thank you for dropping a little note to me and, yes, I very much appreciate the opportunity to fill you in on what’s been happening.

You were probably aware of my not being online for a considerable length of time earlier this year. A lot of things happened back then Melanie. I was saving up money so that I could make my move, a bit of setback for my parents and I had to bail them out, a number of freelance jobs came in, a summer teaching opportunity as well as my introducing a number of new courses. It has been a long, hard year and now I’m back into the thick of the regular academic year.

I stayed away from AOL for awhile and, at one time or another, considered dropping out altogether, if it wasn’t for Anna. She kept writing to me, letting me know how much I was missed and that I would be welcome back at anytime. I really appreciated that. In July, I was finally able to move out and be on my own. After 37 years, I had finally left home! It’s a beautiful little apartment Melanie. I have a gorgeous view of Lake Ontario up on the eighth floor. It’s quiet, with all the comforts of home and much more. I enjoy it very much here.

When I first moved out, I nearly went crazy. All those years of hiding in the bathroom at home, dressing whenever I could and then taking everything off within 2 hours didn’t change overnight. For the first two weeks, I had to wear everything (including makeup) that I had at least once a day.. I nervously watched the door to my apartment thinking that it was going to fly open and people would see me… it took almost 4 days to get me out of the bathroom! But I eventually learned to relax and I enjoy the difference now. I just feel happier now. I learned that I do not have to get dressed to the nines to be feminine… a simple T-shirt can do. My wig doesn’t have to be fluffed out every 5 minutes… put it up in ponytail! Little things Melanie… that’s what I discovered I liked doing. It was me. It’s my life and it’s now a routine.

After I moved into my apartment and as I became more active on AOL, I had the good fortune of meeting another Canadian here and that made things all that much better for me. Because for all the people and friends that I have here, none of them were close to home and I longed for someone who was. I met Karen Day by sending her a simple note to say Hi and, since then, we have not missed a day in writing to each other! Karen lives within 6 hours driving time from here and that is very reassuring for me. There’s more… we’ve also found that we have a lot in common, that we share similar feelings and concerns, that we are making the same discoveries as we progress and explore that same path that you have already taken. Knowing that I have a very good friend here has really helped Melanie… We are already planning to meet someday and we are hoping to start phoning each other once in awhile next month.

Much remains to be done… I’ve taught myself so much in such a short period of time. The photo that I sent you is evidence of that… but there’s more. Lynda J1 has been helping me, and yes, I intend to follow through on her advice. I’ve just recently joined a support group near here and I hope, I just pray and hope, that I will be lucky enough to find someone who is as supportive as Karen is. I am buying clothes… casual clothes. I now know where to shop without fear, and it won’t be too much longer before I will be able to take my first steps into the world. As far as electrolysis goes and seeing a counsellor is concerned, these are goals that I hope to start in the new year. I am just simply setting my own pace and I am enjoying everything… especially life.

That’s about everything in a nutshell Melanie… I have so much more to talk about but I’ll save it for another time. There is much that I don’t know and I hope that I may be able to prevail upon you to help me. Thank you so much for all of the work and dedication that you have put into the conference and The Gender News and, more recently, The Subversive. Reading your diaries is an inspiration for myself and, I’m sure, for many others as well.

Thanks again Melanie.

Love,

    Debbie 

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From: Denese F

What can I say about the past two days.  I have never been on an  emotional roller coaster like this.  This is 48 hours that I would never want to relive, and yet I know that there will be more of

these roller coaster days as my transition into womanhood becomes a reality.It started on Thursday.  I had a great morning.  I felt good and  after lunch I had a nice talk with Melanie.  I was on top of the  world.  That’s where the downward trend began.

About the time I hung the telephone up, a coworker asked to see me  in her work area.  I asked what’s up.  She said, “How are you feeling?”  I replied, “Great!”.  Then it began.  She said “I heard a rumor and I know that to get the truth you should get it from the horses mouth.”  I replied, “What did you hear?”  Her reply, “That you were going to have a sexchange.”I asked where she heard this.  She said across the hall.  I thought Oh boy!  I said yes, but it is not to be general knowledge just yet.  She said it was being discussed and she had overheard it.I went and found Candy and said that I needed to talk with her.

When she got off break, she came and got me and said lets go.  We went into the conference room where she laid it out.Just after I saw her, the Branch Chief came and found her and said you are to call Natalie Clark, The Labor Relations Specialist, ASAP.This is where she found out that the District Director’s office had been bombarded with phone calls all afternoon asking if this was true.  He finally, called Natalie and said he wanted it stopped right now.I do not know who found out and started the talk which spread like wildfire.  I was told that people noticed the longer hair and my budding breasts.   They put 2 and 2 together and assumed that good old me was going to have a sex change.  They were right, but they sure assumed a whole lot.It was suggested that I stay in the branch, I really should not worry about breaks and maybe I should eat my lunch at my desk.

This is not a happy solution for me, but like she said, “Out of sight, out of mind!”  I don’t buy that, but it will do for the minute.I came home last night and I was one upset person.  I really was

ticked off.  I went to my scheduled basketball practice, mostly to help take the edge off the frustration.  I came home and after a hot shower did not sleep a whole lot.I got up this morning and I went to work.  I was not a real happy camper, but I thought, what the hell, it will make the day go faster.  I was just getting to my desk when a manager that will cause me a problem came up and said, “Well, when are you going to retire?”  I said, “Maybe tomorrow”.  Her reply was “GOOD!” and she turned and went back to her office.  My first thought was not very

lady like.I did what would normally take me 6 hours or so in about 2.  I then went to my acting supervisor, and said “I am taking 6 hours leave,  I may be back Monday, or I may not”.  He asked what was wrong, and this is a real nice person.  I replied ask Candy and I left.

I got home and I was totally irrational.  I was furious, and I kept thinking, “How dare them to judge me.”  “What the hell do they know about what I have been through.”  I was totally bent out of shape.  I then took a short nap, or tried to, and gave it some serious thought.  I decided that “THOSE BASTARDS ARE NOT GOING TO BEAT ME.”

I am now more resolved than ever to succeed and to succeed on my present job.  It was beyond me how these good church going people could judge me on a subject that they have no experience.I got up and went and got my nails done.  I then went and put two new wigs in layaway.  The hell with all of them.  DENESE LIVES AND WILL SOON COME OUT AND SHE WILL BE READY FOR A FIGHT, IF THE NEED ARISES!

I called the office this afternoon and the managers had finished their meeting with the Labor Relations Specialist and the Counselor from our Employee Assistance Plan.  The meeting has been moved to this coming Thursday afternoon.Once this is properly explained, maybe things will calm down.  I do know that I am not going to take any crap from anybody over this.I am so pleased with the way my breasts have developed so far.  I mean I won’t have to wear the prostheses, like I thought that I would and most likely fill a Ccup before full time begins in late

October or early November.  But right now, I wish that they were tiny little pebbles that were not noticeable under my clothes so that I would have more time to prepare for full time.  Not so much in the emotional sense, but in the getting everything that I wanted in clothing and accessories, etc.I guess that you can’t have your cake and eat it too.  So the hell with it, onward towards full time and I hope that the emotions settle down for a little while.

I hope to see you Sunday.

Love,Denese

——————————————–

EXPLORATIONS

by

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

“Remembering to Forget”

I’ve gone through nearly five years since the first moment I seriously considered becoming a woman.  I’ve had hormone therapy, RLT, SRS and learned to pass so well, that close friends are amazed if I tell them of my past.  I get wolf whistles, horn honks and heads turning most everywhere I go.  So what is it that makes me still feel like a man in woman’s clothing?

No matter how successful I was, no matter how accepted I became, I still could not shake that inner feeling that something was missing, that somehow I was not the same as other women.  And I desperately wanted to be.  What more could I do?  What else could I be?

Then it hit me:  You can’t become someone only by being like they are, but must also NOT be like they AREN’T.

What does this mean?  It means that people and roles are not only defined by what the INCLUDE but also by what they EXCLUDE.  But for me, this goes against the grain!  Becoming a woman should be an ADDITION to my life, not a DELETION of any sort!

Any yet, I knew it was true.  All I had to do was look around me at some of the other TVs and TSs I knew.  How many times have you seen a gorgeous CD who slinks up to the bar and says, “Gimme a beer!”?  There may be any number of ways a woman might order a drink, but that is definitely not one of them!  The point being, this person had done all the right things to be completely passable, but had ALSO done something that was specifically not part of the role.

This is fine for passing, but what about for my mental state?  Was there something I was doing MENTALLY that I needed to stop?

Yes there was.  I was keeping the memory of Dave alive.

You see, all through transition, especially AFTER surgery, I enjoyed my new role by constantly comparing it to the old.  Every morning when I awoke, my hands would find their way to the new smoothness between my legs and I would smile, thinking back to how it USED to be and how much better it was now.  Then, throughout the day, every time a stranger accepted me, every time I attracted the interest of a man, I thought about how that never would have happened before, and the strangeness that it should happen now.  What irony!  What magic!  What a mistake!!!

I was engaging in a mental activity that no woman has ever gone through.  My whole euphoric experience was built on patterns of thought that were not appropriate to the feminine role.  I had been everything a woman MUST be, but was still being something they MUST NOT!  In a sense, I had not become a woman at all, but only a very successful transsexual.

But to give that up!  To let go of that comparison that brought so much pleasure.  What an emotional loss!  Did I really want to do that?  Who would know but me.  Who, indeed….

Suddenly I realized that all through transition I had been telling everyone I met that I used to be a guy.  I even carried an old photo of a bearded me in my purse to whip out and shock people.  I enjoyed that.  To me it was measurement of my success as to just how shocked they were.  Every time it happened, I felt so PROUD of myself – so accomplished – so SPECIAL.  And therein lies the problem.  If I based my “specialness” on having been a man, that man would always be a part of me.

I had a lot of justifications for telling, of course.  Mostly, it seemed the only truly honest thing to do.  After all, I really WAS a man before, and wouldn’t it be lying to keep it hidden?  In fact, the closer the friend, the bigger the lie it would be.

Well, from a logical standpoint, that is true.  Physically, I WAS a man.  But what about the emotional side?  Did I ever FEEL like a man, no.  Did I ever THINK like a man, no.  Did I ever THINK OF MYSELF as a man, no.  I never felt like a woman either, but only because I didn’t know what a woman was supposed to feel like.  But for sure, I never felt like a man.

And what was my purpose here?  To revel in a job well done?  To have a way to become the center of attention at any party?  Surely those are interesting powers and temptations, but was it what I really wanted for my life?  Was it the kind of person I had fought so hard to be?  No.

Then what was I to do?  Did I need to hit myself over the head and become an amnesiac, waking up in some unknown park, wandering the streets of a strange city, then begin a new life never knowing of my male past?  Maybe in the Twilight Zone, but not in Burbank.  They don’t allow that kind of thing here.

So how do you go about intentionally forgetting something anyway?  Well, it depends on what you are trying to forget.  Okay, then, what was I trying to forget?  That I ever was a man?  Not really…  I don’t think I could EVER forget THAT! What then?  What else was there?  If not facts…  Ah!  That was it!  I didn’t want to forget the I WAS a man, I wanted to forget what it FELT like to be a man!

All right… so how do you go about forgetting feelings?  Well, actually, it happens by itself.  The more you find yourself separated from situations that created those feelings, the less you will remember them UNLESS YOU CONSCIOUSLY KEEP THOSE MEMORIES ALIVE.

That was my problem, I had not let go.  I was constantly regenerating those feelings by the very act of comparing the present ones to the old ones.  Each time I did this I dredged up the old feelings and gave them new life.

The solution was simple: let it go.

Once I realized this, implementation was easy.  When I awoke each morning, I still might examine the female nature of my body, but not so that I might compare, rather so I might simply enjoy it for what it was.  On the street I would simply smile to myself in response to a wolf whistle because it made me feel good to be attractive.  At work, my conversations lingered less and less on the gender aspects of my history and more on the things I had done, the place I had gone, and the current and future activities I was engaged in.

And I made a commitment: to begin to lie.

No longer will I share my story with new friends or acquaintances.  Depending on the situation, there are some who will find out, either by circumstance or from others, but they will NOT FIND OUT FROM ME.  When I speak of my past, I will no longer temper the truth by saying, “when I was a child”, but will bold-faced state “when I was a little girl” AND MEAN IT.  Because although it may be a lie in terms of logic, it is God’s honest truth in terms of feelings.

This week I have made an appointment to change my school records to Melanie from Dave, and I am beginning the process of altering my birth certificate and obtaining a legal name change.  I have spoken with a counselor, and will be registering for the spring semester for continuing education at the community college.  On Monday, I’m calling Parks and Recreation to find out how I can volunteer to help backstage at the local amateur theatre.  And all of the new people I meet will only know me as Melanie.

Does this mean I will no longer write about transition and gender or no longer be involved in the community?  No, the KNOWLEDGE I gained is valuable and is the basis for my current and future career.  I intend to expand my efforts in these areas and explore the relationships between the genders as far as I can.  But all this will be done under the name Phillips that I was born with, whereas all my personal relationships will know me only under my step-father’s name that I have used since I was nine.

It may not be a perfect solution, but with the nature of my work and my career, a perfect solution is not possible.  Yet it is a far better solution than I HAD been employing.

Now…  now that all this is said and done, how do I FEEL?  I feel like all the woman I ever wanted to be, because although I know I used to be a man, I can’t seem to remember what it used to feel like.

Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips

———————————————–

And now for the third installment in a serialized presentation of the book:

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

October 2, 1989

Today was my long awaited lab test session with Dr. Smith.  First off was the blood sample – they left me with none….  Next was the EKG, an interesting test not for the procedure but the protocol.  During previous EKGs with other doctors I was simply bare chested.  But here, they gave me a disposable paper “blouse” to preserve modesty, a commodity reserved exclusively to women.  So, Indeed, an interesting change in society’s attitude toward my person is beginning to congeal, even if only for the moment in the artificially created environment of my doctor’s office.

And yet another aspect of my visit was most complex in its simplicity.  Chris, the male nurse, had previously mentioned that some of his patients had never come “dressed” and he wondered what they looked like as women.  So, I brought a long a coupla photos for him to see – me done up with wig and all.  He said, “Very nice.” but then, “When are you going to start growing your hair?”  Now, on the surface, it was a simple question.  But the ramifications….  What he MEANT was:  1) That the course I was following would make long hair a necessity very soon, and I had better start growing it now.  I hadn’t fully emotionally realized how quickly things were going to happen once they got started, but this really drove it home.  2)  That it is not only okay for me to have long and sensuous hair, but desirable as part of my image.  The concept of dressing and appearing in a manner that would attract men is only now beginning to creep into my conscious thought.  Whether or not I am attracted to men is beside the point.  If I am to truly become a woman, THEY will be attracted to ME!

I thought about this last point all the way home.  And during the evening could often be caught checking my minimal profile out in the mirror and wondering what it would be like to be lusted after….  Oh, well….

October 4, 1989

It’s kind of a strange day.  I’ve been off the hormones since Dr. Smith told me to go “cold turkey” until he got a base-line blood panel.  That was only two weeks ago, but the depressions I’ve felt are largely due, I believe, to the lowering of the hormone levels.  Indeed, it feels like “super PMS”!

So as soon as I came back from the blood sampling two days ago, I popped a Premarin pill and took another that night.  I know of at least one TS whose doctor prescribes that exact dose, and without the injections it should be safe enough.

It only took until this afternoon to see results.  My emotional stability is back to its usually cheery self.  And my bust development which had diminished noticeably puffed right back up to new heights.  I suspect that is fat redistribution rather than any growth in real breast tissue, as it happened too quickly, but I’ll take it whatever it is!

Of course my doctor would frown at this,  but I just can’t wait until next Monday when I get my complete physical exam and hopefully my new prescription.

Strangely, just before the puffiness kicked in, early in the afternoon, I felt certain male-oriented thoughts creeping into my mind.  At one point, I wanted nothing more than to cut my long fingernails back to the quick and dive in the mud after a football.  I wonder whether I would have had that thought if the estrogen levels were still high.  For that matter, just how much is my thinking influenced or altered by the introduction of these hormones and suppression of others?  I’m not sure any definitive study has been done, but it is possible that my resolve to be female would evaporate if I went off the medication fro a say month or two?  Would I have already drifted out of the yearning cycle and come back to enjoying the male life as I have done so many times before?  Is this need that leads me into hormone use strengthened by that very use in a vicious circle that masks the true level of my intent and becomes a self-feeding, self-fulfilling prophecy?  Sure, why not?

But then, what do I do?  Do I quit entirely and let the demon brew filter from my system, finally releasing my mind to its true and natural course?  Hell, no!  But I will always wonder how I would really feel if I had gone off the juice and let equilibrium re-establish itself.  A question for the ages, as if they cared….

October 8, 1989

Title:  “Tarzan in a Teapot”: The human interest story of a small boy who, when he hears the kettle whistle, believes he has the Lord of the Jungle trapped inside.  Erma Bombeck, look out!

Well, enough frivolity, as they say.  Here’s the semi-regular, semi-daily report:

Last night was the first time anyone who has always known me as Dave has seen me as Melanie.  To be sure, I have shown pictures to many of my friends, but I know that they are able to disassociate that svelte creature from any connection with my male self quite easily.  But the actual confrontation face to face would necessitate a complete re-evaluation of how they saw and related to me.  So it was with utmost trepidation that I waited for the moment to begin my preparations for my debut with Mark and Juniko at my support group meeting.

For the entire morning, I moped about the house, unable to concentrate on anything, terrified of the vulnerability of stripping away my defenses and exposing my inner being to those I most care about.  I had made arrangements with Mary and my Dad to take the kids out to the park at about two o’clock so I could dress unmolested.  And at 1:55 I found myself alone with the clock ticking.

I had not dressed as Melanie in three weeks, and it took some time before I felt comfortable presenting myself in that fashion.  To help take the rust off, I had arranged to meet a post-op friend from my support group for dinner so I could ease into the role, which always requires several hours for the defenses to melt.

At 4:00 I arrived at Natalie’s apartment and spent just a few moments in general conversation before we left.  Natalie drove us to a small coffee shop where she and Barbara, her post-op roommate, are known and accepted.  So in addition to feeling that I passed casual inspection by the clientele, the waitress was also not a problem as she was used to this kind of thing with Natalie.

We spoke of many things, not always related to the gender issue, but that subject was indeed the most potent.  This was the first deep conversation I have had with a post-op, and we explored the most intimate aspects of the transition process.

Natalie had lost a wife and family of two children in the journey.  Happiness still alludes her, but that is tempered with a deep inner comfort that makes it bearable.  There are obviously many tears to be shed along the way, but if you truly are transsexual, the undeniable need almost pulls you along in spite of yourself, and no amount of pain is great enough to dissuade you from your course.

By the time we returned to her apartment, I had loosened up considerably.  We spent perhaps half an hour discussing music, families, and futures.  Then it was time to go.

I arrived before Mark and Juniko did, and found that it was much easier to break into conversation and present myself without second guessing that it had been on either of my two previous meetings there.  In fact, instead of artificially raising my voice to a feminine pitch, I spoke in my usual tone, but with feminine annunciation and affectation.  The voice seemed passable enough with those at the meeting, but they are much more tolerant than the public at large.  Soon I must run some kind of independent test to see if my normal speaking voice is high enough to pass.

When Mark and Juniko arrived as scheduled at 7:00 I rose to greet them.  The Moment of Truth had come.  But then it was gone again.  It actually never happened.  I was amazed that they registered no apparent shock.  They greeted me in the same openly affectionate manner they always had, and I found myself easily being Melanie in front of them.  Indeed, all of the fear and nervousness was for naught, as they were neither revolted nor I embarrassed or ashamed.

We had the opportunity to talk for several minutes before the meeting began.  Strangely, the relationship hardly changed at all.  I still cracked the same awful jokes, they still ribbed and kidded. The only real differences seemed to be in the subject areas I was now allowed to participate in.  And I was allowed to react in whatever manner I chose without fear of ridicule.

The meeting was loosely called to order for the “workshop” portion of the evening.  This is a two hour lecture/discussion/question-answer period to help people understand themselves and others, and how they fit in the general scheme of sex/gender.

As usual, there were only about five of us for the workshop, and it IS rather boring.  But I could see that both of my friends were trying sincerely not just to absorb the information, but to truly understand what their friend was going through.  They were both insightful in their questions and candid with their answers.

Toward the end of the workshop, people began to drift in for the “rap session”, a “round robin” where each person is encouraged to explain as much or as little of his or her situation to the group for guidance, support or just to open up and let it all out.  About half the group each month is repeats and the others, new faces or infrequent attendees.  Each has tale to tell, and not of them have had a smooth time of it.

An interesting side note:  During the rap session, I mentioned I was sitting under the air conditioning vent and thought I was catching cold.  Shortly thereafter, Mark got up and left.  Moments later, that was a nudge to my shoulder.  I looked up and he had returned from his car with a sweater for me to wear.  I revelled both in the thrill of being “looked after” in a manner that never would have even been thought of with me as Dave, and also in the status with my group of having my friend treat me publicly as the woman I will soon become.  I gladly accepted the sweater and draped it over my shoulders for the remainder of the discussion.  And I must admit, the comfort of that sweater was almost as warm as the glow inside me.

Several hours later, we had all had our say and broke up for the “social” portion of the evening, where we are free to intermingle and hob nob with whomever about whatever.  There, I had my second long discussion with a more progressed transsexual and found many similarities between her and myself.  I suspect a friendship may grow there.

Mark and Juniko spent time both with me and alone with others, truly finding the humanity behind the carnival and pathos.  However, I kept waiting for that moment when our relationship would irrevocably change:  that cataclysmic instant in which everything would be altered forever.  But there was to be no cathartic explosion, no thunderous bolt.  I suddenly realized that I had already been reclassified by my friends and our relationship had not suffered for it.  Yes, I sense a slight separation between Mark and myself that I had never felt before.  But is not one of diminished feeling, but one of respectful distance that occurs between most friends of opposite gender.  So our feelings of friendship are as strong or stronger than ever, but the comraderie is no longer a part of it.

However, Juniko is much closer now, both in a mental and physical sense.  We share an occasional private smile and an unspoken sense of “being on the same team”.  In fact, that very neatly defines the feeling.  It is as if I had been on a professional sports team and just got traded.  I still have the greatest affection for my former team mates, but now am developing closer ties with the new ones.  This was driven home just before I drove home for the evening.  As I parted company with them on the front walk, Mark did not offer the traditional handshake he usually had, however Juniko gave me a sisterly hug.

So I seem to be already partway through the transition as the mental state suffers considerably more during that period and the body takes care of itself.  I know it is a long and sad road ahead of me.  But with true friends like Mark and Juniko who care for the inner person that they have come to know, I am sure I can withstand whatever demons leap from the shadows on the path to my destiny.  I love them both and will cherish their friendship forever.

October 9th, 1989

134 days to live.  That’s what Dave has.  For on my natural birthday, February twentieth, nineteen hundred and ninety, I will go full-time as Melanie and Dave will cease to exist. 

I shall morning his passing.  He’s a pretty nice guy.  I think perhaps to celebrate his wake I’ll take Melanie to dinner.

Today was THE day:  the day that I finally bean hormone therapy again under a doctor’s supervision.  But this time, it is part of a program.  THE program, so this is THE day.

Dr. Smith is the one who signs the letter to Dr. Biber giving the recommendation for surgery.  And Dr. Smith is the one who will guide my physical transition into womanhood.

One week ago I was given the blood panel, EKG, and chest X-ray.  Today, the complete physical and a reading of the results.

I arrived at the doctor’s office right on time at 10:15 am.  And after  brief meeting with Chris, was ushered into an examining room and told to remove all my clothes.  I was given a large paper towel with which to cover the lover half, and that silly paper shirt, that upper modesty should prevail.  I considered not wearing the paper blouse as Chris had said it was optional, but relented to my pragmatic side which insisted I might as well get used to this kind of thing.

So I waited alone for thirty minutes.

Finally, Dr. Smith came in and went over the lab results: almost perfect, down the line, except for slightly high cholesterol, which initiated a low-cholesteral diet.  AS far as bodily functions my private flirtation with “hot” B.C. pills, followed by the Hollywood doctor’s “hormone roulette” had not inflicted noticeable damage.  In Dr. Smith’s words, I was “starting clean”.

Chris was called in to take notes, and Dr. Smith gave me the most thorough physical examination of my life, discovering a slightly bent spine, congenital blockage in the left nasal cavity, and “numerous quiescent internal hemorrhoids”.  Bleech!

I was shown how to do a monthly breast self-examination, and was pleased to hear the diagnosis of Gynacomastia, with “breast buds” of 4cm on the right and 3cm on the left.  Dr. Smith seemed to feel that this indicated a sensitivity to hormone stimulation that would lead to substantial growth.  YES!!!!

I was also shown how to check for blood clots in the veins of the leg (try not to think about it), and told to buy a “breast pump” (used for lactating women) but to be employed as an enlarging device for my nipples so they would appear more genetic in size.

Finally, I was left to dress and told to report to the doctor’s office.  I sat myself down on his couch as he wrote out prescriptions fro 1.25mg Premarin daily, and one pill per day of Aldactone, a drug which reduces body hair to female levels -one side effect, gynacomastia, an added benefit.

Earlier in this diary I promised to give a nuts and bolts description of the process as it occurred, so this is the beginning.  High on the informative content, but low on emotion.  I must interject however, that on the freeway on the way home, I clutched my prescription and drove with one hand, both afraid it would get away and triumphant that I had achieved it.

All medication at the Hollywood doctor’s had been provided or administered there, adding to the feeling that what I was doing was somehow wrong or illegal.  But here in my hand was an actual mainstream prescription to be honored by druggists everywhere, coming soon to a drug store near you!

So I drove to Sav-on, our major local chain, and boldly presented the note, waiting to savor the moment when I could smirkly say, “No, it is not for my wife, its for ME.  I am a transsexual and this is part of my hormone therapy.”  The female druggist held out her hand for the prescription.  I placed it confidently in her palm.  She looked it over and told me pleasantly, “It’ll be about 15 minutes.”  She was gone before I realized nothing was going to happen.

So I moped around the store for 15 minutes, killing time, thinking, “Okay, she just didn’t see the name or the drug name or didn’t make the connection. Wait ’til I pick it up!”

I came to the counter.  I said, “Prescription for David Phillips.”  She said, “Oh, yes.  Here it is.”, plopped it in a bag, stapled it, and handed it across the counter.  DAMN!  I never get any rejection to overcome to prove how determined I am.  DAMN!

So I picked up the breast pump, took it to the front counter and shoved it at the female clerk.  Who rang it up and gave me the change.  What do you have to do to freak these people out?  I give up!

Anyway, I feel good tonight.  The dosage is much smaller than before, but much safer.  And I am in the care of people for whom the word “care” truly has meaning.  I am on the road to womanhood (sounds like a Hope/Crosby movie, doesn’t it?).  And every day takes me a little bit closer to that far off land I’ve dreamed of seeing since my childhood.

But only 134 days!!!  DAMN!!!

October 10, 1989

I have a most startling discovery to report.  It is 7:02 am, and scant minutes ago I woke up with an incredible revelation.  It is not something I “worked out”.  It is not a conclusion based on analysis of facts.  It is a conviction of such depth and meaning that I do not have it within myself to question it.

I wanna be both.

Very simple, very true.  Fact is, after the misery of the “Vegas Weekend”, after the joy of kidding around with Mary in the week following, Mark and Juniko’s acceptance at the support group meeting, the workshop discussion of being “bi-gendered”, and the thrill of having my kids grab hold, look up and smile, “I love you daddy…”, I have awakened to the realization that I truly enjoy both roles.

My infatuation with the feminine gender has been a pendulum swing born from the so-long suppression of same.  And I do not wish to mix my modes.  But just as I have discovered that I am Transsexual and Bi-sexual, I have now learned with my heart that I am Bi-gendered as well.

My mother would have had a fit!  As for myself, I wonder how I can possibly cram any more “Bi”s or “Trans”s into one person.  I certainly seem to be as unique as I always egotistically thought, although not in the same areas I had gloated over in earlier years.

So what does this mean?  How can I deal with feelings that are so far beyond the limits of social acceptance as to never have appeared on a talk show?  Life my friend Steve always says, “Deal with it!”  And so I shall.

I cannot change the way I feel, but I can devise a plan for my life to allow for the greatest fulfillment of my feelings at the least possible cost.  So, I shall remain “daddy” and “hubby” here.  And I shall fill the role both from duty and enjoyment.  I shall relish my time as Dave.  But not at the expense of Melanie.  I am continuing on the hormone program.  And I will probably opt for SRS  when the time comes.  But even THAT will not prevent me from living both roles.  For today, I know and feel with the greatest certainty I have ever known that I cannot be happy as either, I must be both.

October 11, 1989

I’ve found this great trick for getting my numerous creditors off my back.  When they call on the phone demanding payment, I tell them, “Hey things are tough right now.  I’m on hormone therapy for a sex-change and the medical expenses are killing me!”  They never call back.

But enough of this mamby pamby gender puppy love.  Let’s get down to the nitty gritty.  I called Mark and Juniko last night.  Mark had not yet arrived home, but Juniko and I had a long and meaningful conversation.  This was the first time I had spoken to her since my “debut” last Saturday, but we only spoke of that briefly.  Instead, we somehow got on the subject of the second class status of women.

I’m not sure, but I think it is only because of MY changing status with HER that she allowed herself to open up so completely and frankly, as we had a true “woman to woman” talk.

I’ve always been in love with condescending attitude of men toward women.  It goes hand in hand with not having to go to war, getting doors opened, and having your seat pulled out.  But aside from a passing thought, I have never really considered the downside.  According to Juniko, it’s substantial.

She told me tales of sexual discrimination against her in the workplace.  Nothing blatant, mind you, but just that her small mistakes were less forgivable than male co-workers’ large ones.  And that attitude was so pervasive that she actually began to question her own worth.  She tells me it is this way for all females in male controlled environments.  And since Juniko is neither a bitter person nor an ardent feminist, I surely believe her.

As a corollary:  I was in the store the other day and a young mother with her baby were ahead of me at the counter with the check-out girl.  The mother dropped something and said, “Oh, I’m such a klutz!”  The clerk said, “I know what you mean.  Usually I’m just an airhead, but today I’m a real bubble brain!”  MY GOD!!!  They were doing it to themselves!!!

Apparently the years of subtle brainwashing by the media, the church, and daily interactions with men lead to such a completely submissive loss of self-worth that there are very few left with the stamina to fight back and change it.  Add to this the chemically induced aggression of males and the tendency toward submission by females, and it’s hard to imagine the status quo changing at any time in the future.

So now the question is put:  Am I ready for this?  Can I accept a station in life where I am continually considered less competent?  Where my ideas are immediately suspect?  Where any move to better my condition is met with disapproval or outright venom?  And what effect will thirty years as a woman have on my own sense of self-worth?  I wonder if I can accept this “silent slavery” as a price for satiating other needs?

Big questions, little answers.  For now, they will have to remain rhetorical as I surely must experience this aspect of female life first hand to really determine the effect it will ultimately have on me.

October 11, 1989, Evening

Just a quick memory flash:  While sorting though the pile of mixed possessions and memories that little the top of the pool table in the den-we-call-our-bedroom, I came across the first tape recorder I ever owned.  One of the first portable models ever made: a reel to reel affair roughly the size of two paper back books, stacked, that took tiny three-inch reels and ran off four “C” cells.

The reason for the sharp little prod of the past?  At age nine, I used up all my collected allowance to purchase the machine because I wanted to learn to speak female and needed the device to see what I sounded like.  I recorded one tape in bad falsetto, then gave up, frustrated.  The machine was briefly used for more commonplace endeavors such as recording sounds from around the block, then fell into disfavor and, as far as I know, remained packed away until I unearthed it just moments ago.

Gad, what a life….

October 14, 1989

I’m sitting here at the L.A. Convention Center at a Las Vegas Gambling show, writing this in the open spaces on a racing form with a giveaway pen proclaiming that “Commerce Casino is L.A.’s Friendliest”.  That may be true, but I hope I never have the opportunity to find out.  For I am bored silly, and if not for my determination to keep Mary happy, I could not have been dragged here.  But Mary wanted to come, so here I am.

But this kind of discontentment engenders (there’s that word again!) a plethora of thoughts about what might have been.  Like, am I making this transition to escape from a stifling relationship that I feel trapped in, yet cannot leave as that is not my nature?  Pretty hefty thought to start with!  Could be, as I often wonder what life would have been if I had married a pretty blonde who shared more of my basic loves – camping, philosophy, arts and crafts, cooking, eating; in short, the development of my current needs may be solely due to a lack of fulfillment in areas at my most fundamental levels. Add to this our continuing financial distress and the slow/no growth of my career, and there is more than sufficient cause to create a “scapegoat scenario” and blame uncontrollable needs rather than my own wants.

And this is driven home by the boredom I feel to the point of anger as I sit behind Mary in this seminar room while she very nearly coos in glee at practicing “Pai Go” poker at a makeshift table.  But this feeling is both amplified and confused by the “helpful” drogue standing behind my wife, frequently placing his hand on her shoulder and patting her on the back as he guides her through the maze of unfamiliar rules.

But how can this be?  That I am simultaneously trapped and jealous, seeking both my freedom and the status quo?  I think I’m full of shit.

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It is an hour later, and I am CERTAIN that I am full of shit.  Mary told me she knew I was uncomfortable and went out of her way to hold my hand and nuzzle.  And now we have sat through a seminar that I completely enjoyed.  And so I have not only learned about “craps” but that I am full of it.

Last night, we were intimate again, the first time in the new house and the first regular “consummation” type sex in perhaps four months.  This hiatus was largely due to the mega-dose of hormones I had received from the Hollywood doctor, which made erections both soft and unsustainable.  But due to the three week vacation between doctors and the lower dose with the new, both function and desire have returned to near “normal” levels.  I had thought that part of my life was gone forever… SURPRISE!!!

However, there is the odd confusion growing from this return of testosterone to my system.  For hormones affect both the body and the mind.  And every day I have felt more aggressive and actually enjoyed it.  Again, the question arises: If I had not remained on hormones for so long, would I have followed this course so far?  I suppose I may never know, but even on this low dose I still enjoy the physical changes enough to continue.  And so I shall, for now….

October 24, 1989

I’ve moved my computer to the office, but find that my thoughts are inspired toward diary entries in the evenings at home.  Hence, this is being laid down in long-hand: more personal perhaps, but far less frenetic as my thoughts keep tripping over my words.

I’ve entered a period of surprising calm; the calm before the storm perhaps, but still, and peacefully quiet for the moment at least.

Mary and I have had a truly “adult” heart to heart conversation without tears and in the friendliest of terms.  We reaffirmed our love for each other and our sure knowledge that our love will remain all of our lives, even if they must by circumstance, diverge.  And yet, we are agreed that I can never be content until I have explored my feelings fully and come to know, in truth, how my life must proceed.  So as friends and lovers we have agreed to separate for a time some six months in the future, when I go “full time”.  For that is truly the only way to experience life on the “other side” and thereby determine if the reality is equal to the hype.  Then, the decision is ultimately left in my hands.  Should I discover that my new life is not the utopia I have imagined, Mary will welcome me back with open arms.  But should this new role truly assuage the hurt and frustration, we shall remain separated on amicable terms.  She is a remarkable woman: To know that I could never be happy until I know the answer and to have the love and courage to risk losing me and with me her dreams, so that I might find peace.

Lately, perhaps due to this new openness, I find myself slipping more into the role of Melanie in speech, body language and dress.  As I write this, I am wearing a T-shirt exposing my shaved arms and the shape of my small but obvious breasts.  My choice of inflection and even the pitch I strike are creeping ever nearer to an acceptable female level.  I suppose that now that a split seems almost unavoidable, I have nothing to lose, or at least no reason to soften the impact of my transition.

And yet, Mary and I still laugh together and tease and cuddle and kiss and make love. We have verbalized our desire to have “one hell of a good time” as long as we remain together.  And so far, that is exactly what we are doing.

October 25, 1989

Confused as hell.  That’s what I am: confused as hell.  Every time I get my head on straight I find my body’s backward.

So here I am, just getting tearfully, then resignedly used to the idea of separating from Mary.  Here I am feeling more and more feminine and slipping pleasurably into the role of Melanie.  When out of nowhere I get a call from a production company in response to a recent mailing of resumes.

Only twenty resumes.  Twenty of my old male resumes sent because now that I am becoming Melanie, my mind is free to consider career moves instead of just gender issues.  I never expected a response, but only wanted to exercise my new-found interest in my craft.  I am free to promote my career.

But out of my freedom comes a new prison.  For this production company is interested in my work as a director – a MALE director, no doubt.  And the lure of fortune and glory gums up the works.

So here I am, halfway submissive with a solid milk chocolate coating of macho bullshit.  Old fire-dog yearnings clawing through the gossamer pink flesh of a newly reborn psyche, leaving stiff and lifeless scar tissue smoldering in its wake.  Leaving me hurt, leaving me happy, leaving me confused as hell.

October 26, 1989

“Professor, you’re full of whimsy!”, she says.  “That always happens when I eat beans…”, replies Grouch Marx in “Horsefeathers”.  And “full of whimsy” describes today pretty well.

The sky is clear two days after a purifying rain, and a crisp fall breeze gently rustles my clothes, staving off the first frost of fall, even as it functions as harbinger of same.  My thoughts drift quietly as the soft white clouds across the blank blue cold warmth of my mind.

Minor lack of sleep has combined with too many cups of coffee in creating a null state of mind where conflicts peacefully cross paths without interference.  James Taylor croons in earthy tones that mirror and amplify my gentle feelings of well-being.  Questions are emasculated into dormancy as their drive to procure answers fades into the picture-images of happier childhood days of the same season, when gender was an unknown word and only the wind and the sound and the music mattered.

I know that these frozen moments that thaw in the matrix of a balmy day are truly contradictory, yet none of their fervor has substance.  I wand to grow old with my wife, raising our children, buying our own home, sitting by the fire and the non-consuming burning of our love.  I want to lay in the arms of a gentle man by the same fire and nuzzle against his chest, secure in the knowledge that he will protect me from the winter winds.  I want to strike out on my own and find my true love: a girl of music and laughter, philosophy and empathy, and I want to protect HER from the chill.

But today, this rare and beautiful day, all these dreams, hopes, and fantasies merge together in that wordless general feeling of well-being.  Somehow these contradictory futures pass through my mind, then move on before they clash with the next.  And in their passing leave behind the glowing embers of contentment that endure, to combine with those that supplant them, until this satisfied contentment permeates my entire being, leaving no room for cacophony in the eternal fleeting moment of this day.

October 26, 1989, Afternoon

Is it wrong for girls to like Jules Verne?  I wonder what parameters can be set to delineate the differences between appropriate male and female interests.  Rosie Grier crocheted and Amelia Erheart conquered the skies.  Yet somehow I continually find myself trying to pigeon-hole my feelings, to sort them by zip code and seal them with a cast iron kiss.

I love the Civil War; I mean I really LOVE it.  So is that out the door?  Can’t be, doesn’t make sense.  But how do I fit in if I won’t fit the mold.  Maybe I’m just half-way, never to be satisfied and never to be at home.

Amazing the mood swings in two short hours.  Sonofabitch!

October 29, 1989

What a day: up, down, and sideways.  Right now: watching TV at 7:00 pm with my family; I glance down at my foot – Nike tennis shoes and tan socks protruding from my blue jeans.  Suddenly, for the first time, I feel like I am in drag wearing male clothes.  Everything looks out of place and feels strange.  I imagine pantyhose and heels, and the superimposed image is so right, so comfortable.  I realize another frozen gear has given way in my subconscious as I redefine my self-image.  And as I sit here now, the edginess continues.  So odd, since “dressing” has never been a large part of my TS experience.

Earlier today I suffered a trauma of devastating proportions, largely I suppose, due to hormonal side effects.  I lost my composure completely, suddenly overcome with a sadness so deep, so profound, that my future withered before my eyes.

In conversation alone with Mary, we had begun to speak of our impending separation in tangible terms that thrust the concept from conjecture into harsh and terrible reality.  I knew then that this next Christmas would be our last as a family.  Never again would I waken to the gleeful cries of young voices eyeing the bounty Santa had left.  Instead, I pictured myself silently watching old home videos alone in a darkened room on Christmas morning.  Then, regretfully placing a gun to my head and ending my suffering once and for all.  Blood on the TV screen, clotting in the hot static over smiling faces of times past.

Enraged by this image, I threw my coffee across the room and actually tore the house apart, looking for my grandfather’s rifle, while Mary cried in near-hysterics.  I suppose if I had found the weapon, I would have pointed it at myself.  And at that moment, I might have pulled the trigger.  For in that instant I realized that no one kills themselves to die.  They kill themselves waiting for someone to stop them.

Fortunately, the gun remains in unknown quarters, and I remain among the living.  Mary and I have both recovered, but I, as she, am drained and hurt.

What has been set in motion can no longer be stopped, and “suffering” is its secret name.

October 31, 1989

Exactly 33 years ago to the day I became transsexual.  At age three.  To be precise, on Halloween night, 1956, in Burbank, California.

My mother had been divorced for two years and we were living with my grandparents.  We had (the week before) taken a car vacation to Chicago where the family hailed from, and most of them still reside to this day.  While there, my mother borrowed a dress from a six-year-old cousin of mine for a Halloween costume for me.  While my grandfather returned cross-country with the car, my mother and I enjoyed my first plane flight, an old four-engine prop job that rattled and heaved through the night sky.  I don’t remember much of the trip itself, except something about the small of bacon when we arrived.

As I recall, the plane trip was made specifically so that I wouldn’t miss Halloween at home.  When the appointed night arrived, the dress was brought out along with an auburn wig with a long braid on each side, that my mother had worn in a “Little Theatre” production of, I believe, a melodrama.  I remember being told to raise my arms, and I can still feel the rough cloth of the gingham print dress scratching down across my face.

I told my mother I didn’t want to do it, but she would have none of it and fastened a draw-string behind my back.  I begged to be let free, but she firmly placed the wig upon my head.  I told her I didn’t want to go out like this, but she said it was the only costume we had and – no costume, no trick-or-treat.  Before we left, the final humiliation was to be a series of black and white pictures taken as a remembrance of “how cute” I looked.

I remember crying as she led me out the door.  I don’t know how many houses we went to, and only one can I recall.  But it remains fixed in my psyche with the clarity of a photograph.  I stood on the porch, my mother next to me, and rang the bell.  The door opened revealing a lady who looked down, smiled, and said, “What a cute little girl!”  I knew she didn’t have any idea I was a boy dressed as a girl, but she actually thought I WAS a girl in a cute outfit.  I was devastated, and cringe inwardly at the memory of that event to this day.

October 31, 1989 – Other Thoughts

In looking back on that awful night, I suddenly realized that I have not here included the early years of my struggle for personal identity.  Since my first appointment with Doctor Jayne Thomas, a well-respected gender psychologist, is in three days, and I intend to use this diary as background, I shall endeavor to fill in the gaps.  This will be more a chain of thought and out of any discernable order, wherever the Synapse Express pulls into the station.

Age five:  I remember walking past the open closet in what was the bedroom I shared with my mother.  (It is now my daughter’s bedroom.)  I glanced in and saw a gold metallic skirt glistening in a truant ray of sunshine, and I remember thinking, “That’s so pretty!  I wish I could wear that!”  But even then, some deep guilt informed me that I shouldn’t entertain such thoughts and I passed on.

Age three:  I used to play with the little girl from next door that summer.  I had a small sandbox in our yard and we would build castles and dig tunnels, endlessly filling our little plastic buckets with the dustless sand.  She was three as well, blonde, and cute.  She was my first friend.  I remember she had a “sunsuit”, a legless full-torso playsuit with string-tie shoulders.  I wanted to wear one too, and I have seen a long-lost picture of me in my own string-tied sunsuit.  (She also used to dump sand in my hair… I would cry.)

Perhaps two years later, a boy my age moved in next door on the other side.  All I remember of him was when I reached through the chain link fence to introduce myself, he grabbed my arm and twisted it against the rusty metal.  And later, when he had come over to play, he beat me over the head with a baseball bat.

At age seven:  My mother had just remarried and we had moved into a new apartment.  Times were great, as my new step-dad bout me a cowboy hat like his, and a scarf and boots as well.  He was only 22, just 15 years my senior, but he had just returned from an army tour of Japan, had grown up back East, and had many tales to tell.  Everything was new and wonderful.

At age eight: My mother started to take in ironing to help with the bills.  Her primary customers were neighbors from the old street.  On day (I cannot fathom what possessed me to do so) I rummaged through the laundry and found a pair of slacks from a girl near my age I had played with.  They were pink, with a criss-crossed lace-up front and, most exciting, NO ZIPPER!

I remember holding them, wondering what it would be like to wear them, what it would be like to be a girl. When my parents were out across the street to the store, I nervously tried them on, adrenaline surging through my system.

There was a strong “high” from the danger of being caught, but there was something else as well: a feeling that to this day I cannot put into words, but as nearly as I can, it was a feeling of contentment, of rightness, that mixed with the guilt not only of the deed but of the enjoyment of it.

I frequented the laundry piles many times that year, until she stopped doing that work and my needs had to be satiated elsewhere.

At some age between seven and eleven: For some months my major hobby was making paper mache breasts from toilet tissue when ostensibly using the bathroom.  I would go in, wet and wad up the tissue, making little points for the nipples, then place them under my shirt and admire my profile in the mirror until my mother hammered on the door inquiring what was taking so long.  Then I would flush the evidence down the toilet and return to the real world.

At age eleven:  I spent the summer days at my grandparent’s house, the house where I had grown up, while my parents both worked.  I would sneak into my grandmother’s room and try on her point contour-cup bra, which would give me a shape bigger than imagination.

One day, when the parents of the little girl who owned the pink lace-up pants were on vacation, I snuck into their house through the fireplace grate in the backyard.  I leafed through the father’s playboy magazines, getting my first look at naked women, but spent most of my time in their bedroom, trying on the wife’s clothes.  From underwear to tank top and skirt, I revelled in approximating the look of this attractive woman.

That night, under the claustrophobic press of guilt, I admitted my sin to my mother.  She exploded in a rage the intensity of which I had not seen in all my years with her.  I cringed as she pulled my underwear down and demanded I look at myself.  “Look at it!”, she screamed.  “You are a boy, someday you’ll be a man.  Even if you cut it off, you’d still be a man!”  Cut it off?  The thought had never occurred to me.  But after that night, it never left me.

Age eleven and a half: I had been feeling strange things between my legs for a couple of months.  I asked my step-dad, “How come my penis kind of moves around when I think of certain things?”  What kind of things?”  “Uh, things like, uh… POLITICS!”  “I see.  Well, that’s normal.  Don’t worry about it.”

That was the extent of my “birds and bees” speech.  Until I was twenty-one, one year before I got married, I thought the “normal” way of making love was “doggy-style” because I had seen dogs “do it” that way.  Front to front never occurred to me.  When I found out (I can’t remember how) I wondered for weeks, “How can front to front be any fun?  You can’t get a good grip on their breasts.  Besides, you have to look at each other and that’s too embarrassing.”  I do remember my mother saying, “Don’t worry.  When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”  Sure, ma.

Age eleven and a half:  THE DAY I CAME OF AGE.  I had learned of the joy of manual stimulation.  But my creative mind didn’t stop there.  I decided that placing our battery powered, waterproof electric toothbrush against my penis was just the thing to increase the fun.  So every night when I took my bath, I would thrust the device under the water to muffle the noise, then rub it up against myself and enjoy the feeling.

Only in the last month did a sudden flash of insight open a memory I had completely suppressed.  I suddenly remembered that while using the device I was always fantasizing that is was a man making love to me as a woman.

The guilt of enjoying this was so great that I actually completely lost this memory until my recent opening up.  In fact, this was not a homosexual fantasy, but a transsexual one.

In any event, one night the toothbrush felt exceptionally good.  Then, suddenly, my penis went into spasms and spewed white gooey liquid that floated to the top of of the water and stuck to my legs.  I was terrified; I was sure I had killed myself.  The fear was so great I vowed never to do it again, and kept that promise until the next night.

At age nine:  My mother caught me with a sex-doll of my own creation: a pair of pants stuffed with dirty laundry to fill out the legs.  She was mad again, demanding to know whether it was male or female.  “Female!”, I lied.  “Then why did you use pants?!”  “Because I tried stockings and they wouldn’t hold straight.”, I wept.  (This much was true, but I didn’t tell her the real reason I switched was because the stocking fantasy wasn’t “doing it” for me – whatever “it” was.)

At age 15 or 16: Getting my natural father to buy me a “bald cap” for Halloween, then cutting it up and taping it between my legs to make me look female.  The surge of happiness and shock when I turned around, thinking of something else and caught a glimpse of my naked, penis-free body in the mirror.  For a brief moment, the fantasy was reality, until my eyes focused and the poor make-up job became obvious once more.

Another Halloween:  When I tried to get my natural father to buy me a braid of hair and some “spirit gum” to stick it on with, ostensibly to make hairy arms for a monster.  Actually, to get the braid so I could have long hair.

Halloween, age twelve:  Convincing the twelve year old girl across the street that she should lend me her mom’s wig, so I could go as a girl.  Then chickening out because my mother’s “Even if you cut it off…” speech was still a fresh wound in my memory.

Age sixteen:  Dressing in my mother’s pull-over dress that fit my taller frame like a mini-dress, then parading in the back yard and darting back in the house.  This for several days, then actually going out in the alley behind the hard.  Bad mistake, bad timing.  The red-neck machine shop guys in their twenties were taking lunch in the alley and saw me.  I tried to keep up my composure, but they started cat-calling and then following me.  I picked up my pace, and they, theirs.  Frantic, I turned the corner to the front of our house, then jumped the fence (quite a sight in pantyhose!) and darted into the house.  I remember my heart pounding like a hammer as I peered through eh front curtains and saw them looking all around, wondering where I had gone.  I didn’t dress again for months.

Well, the list goes on and on.  From fantasies to realities.  Risk taking, but with careful planning.  Hidden videos and secret drawings.  Clandestine stories penned then destroyed.  In the next couple of days I shall add to this weird accumulation of shadows in the attempt to cast light on my psyche.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

I urge you all to keep a diary of YOUR personal journey, whether it be through transition or not.  The attitudes and even the order of events becomes cloudy through time, and I am continually amazed to re-read things that memory would have me believe had happened differently.  If nothing else, it is a good way to see long-term patterns in yourself that you cannot see except in retrospect.  That objective view alone is worth the inconvenience of keeping a journal.

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MAKE UP TIPS

A continuing series by Mary Kay representative,

Lynda J1

Finding Your Personal Rainbow

Choosing the right colors is a matter of personal choice and intuition.  It’s also a matter of fashion trends, personal coloring, and a little know-how.

The first key to color selection is to take a good look at your face and hair color.  Grab a mirror right now and take a good look.  The first thing we’re going to do is to determine the relationship between your skin tone and hair color.  This is called your contrast level.

Determining Your Level of Contrast:

Do you have light hair and ivory skin?  If so, your contrast level is low.  A low contrast level is marked by a similar color intensity of skin tone and hair.  A good example would be silvery-gray or platinum blonde hair and ivory skin.  A low contrast level also occurs with darker blonde to light brown or light red hair and a beige skin tone or black hair and deep bronze skin tone.  You can see that the color intensity of hair and skin tone is similar in these examples.

A medium contrast level occurs with medium brown, red, or auburn hair and ivory, beige, or bronze skin tone.  The contrast level is just slightly more pronounced than the low contrast examples above.  There is just a little more contrast between hair and skin tone.

A high contrast level occurs with dark hair and ivory, beige, or light bronze skin tones.  For example, someone with ivory skin and dark brown hair would have a high contrast level.  So too would someone with a medium skin tone and black hair.  A good example of this would be the black hair and lighter skin of most Orientals.

Choosing Your Color Statement:

The next thing you will want to consider in color selection is the type of look you are trying to achieve: natural, career, or dramatic.  Imagine two women, one with very light blonde hair and ivory skin, the other with dark bronze skin and black hair.  Both fall into the “low contrast” level.  Now imagine both of them wearing red lipstick.  The woman with dark bronze skin and black hair achieves a natural look while the woman with light blonde hair and ivory skin achieves a look that is much more dramatic.

Low Contrast Level-

Women with a low contrast level can achieve a natural look by choosing colors that are of similar intensity to their personal coloring.  A woman with light blonde or gray hair and ivory skin can achieve this look with softer, more subtle lip, eye, and cheek color such as Azalea or Apricot cheek colors, Mauve Elegance, Toffee, or Ginger Pearl lip color and Pink Opal, Polished Pewter, Spun Silk, Whipped Cocoa and Oyster Shell eye colors.  A woman with dark bronze skin and black hair can achieve this look with colors of similar intensity to her hair and skin tone such as Crimson or Cranberry lip color, Mulberry or Cashmere cheek color, and darker shades of Tuxedo Brown, Blackest Black, Classic Navy, or Smoky Plum eyeshadows.

Now, lets take these same two women and give them a career look.  The woman with light blonde or gray hair and ivory skin should choose colors in the medium range such as Heather Rose, Exotic Purple, Periwinkle Blue, Misty Pine, or South Sea eyeshadow and a Garnet Frost, Antique Rose, Dusty Rose, or Pumpkin lip color.  Her cheek color should remain the same as for the natural look, staying with Azalea or Apricot.  The woman with dark hair and dark skin should go a little brighter with her lip and eye color using medium/dark shades.  Her cheek color can go a little lighter, but carefully!

A dramatic look can be achieved by the woman with light hair and ivory skin by going slightly darker and brighter with lip and eye colors.  Periwinkle Blue, Smoky Plum, and even Black Onyx eyeshadows can be used with care as long as they are used as an accent to a base of lighter eyeshadows.  This can be achieved by using a soft color over the entire eyelid from the base of the lashes to the eyebrow, then using the darker or more intense colors in a wedge at the outside corners of the eyelids.  The woman with darker skin tone and black hair achieves a more dramatic look by using more intense colors with the same care: a brighter shade of lipstick and a bolder, brighter selection of eye color.

Medium Contrast Level-

A medium contrast level can achieve a natural look by using colors that fall into the medium range, not too light and not too dark.  The more muted shades of Cranberry Glaze, Copper, or Toffee lipsticks, Wild Rose or Coral cheek color, and medium shades of eyeshadow work well for those with beige skin tone.  If your hair is medium brown, red, or auburn and your skin tone is beige, medium shades such as Whipped Cocoa, Heather Rose, Periwinkle Blue Misty Pine, Emerald Green, Shimmering Rust, or Polished Pewter eyeshadows will give the most natural look.  If your hair is brown and your skin tone is a medium bronze, Smoky Plum, Black Onyx, Shimmering Rust, and Classic Navy eye colors are good choices.  Lipstick shades include Cranberry Glaze, Copper, or Plum.

A career look can be achieved by going a little darker or a little brighter, but not too much.  The cheek color should remain the same.  Lip colors such as Copper, Pumpkin, Plum Blossom, and Mandarin are good choices for both Beige and bronze skin tones.  The eyeshadow colors are basically the same as the natural look with the addition of colors such as Exotic Purple, Oyster Shell and Peach Chiffon for the woman with beige skin tone.  A woman with bronze skin tone could add Emerald Green and Polished Pewter eyeshadow shades and Sunset, or Crimson lipstick.

A dramatic look for women with a medium contrast level can be achieved with colors that contrast with their hair and skin tones.  A woman with a beige skin tone can go both brighter and darker while a woman with a bronze skin tone can go brighter and lighter.

High Contrast Level-

                A high contrast level occurs with dark hair and ivory skin tone or black hair and a light bronze or beige skin tone.  Colors that contrast slightly with skin tone give a natural look.  For the ivory or beige skin tone, Antique Rose, Ginger Pearl, Sunset, or Dusty Rose lipstick are good choices.  Women with bronze skin should choose colors like Sunset, Plum, or Cranberry Glaze lipstick.  Eyeshadows such as Whipped Cocoa, Shimmering Rust, Smoky Plum, Exotic Purple, Pink Opal, Spun Silk, Polished Pewter, South Sea, and Heather Rose work best for ivory or beige skin tones while bronze skin tones look best with Smoky Plum, Tuxedo Brown, Misty Pine, Periwinkle Blue, and Classic Navy.

A career look can be achieved by a little higher intensity of contrast than the natural look.  Fuchsia, Really Red, Plum Blossom, and Sunset lip colors look best.  Smoky Plum, Exotic Purple, Polished Pewter, Tuxedo Brown, South Sea, and Pink Opal eyeshadows also work well for a career look.  Those with bronze skin tones can add Black Onyx to that list as well.  Notice that the brighter colors of lipstick give a career look to this group while those with low contrast achieve either a dramatic or a natural look with this combination.

                A dramatic look is achieved by those with a high contrast level by using darker, richer lipstick shades and darker eyeshadow shades for ivory or beige skin tones and lighter shades for bronze skin tones.

Cheek Color for All Contrast Levels-

Cheek colors in all cases should be chosen to blend with the natural blush of the cheeks.  For example, those with ivory skin tones look best with lighter, softer shades of Azalea or Apricot.  Those with beige to light bronze skin tones look best with Wild Rose or Coral cheek colors and those with bronze skin tones look best with deeper shades of Mulberry or Cashmere cheek colors.  Slightly deeper shades of cheek color can be used with each of the dramatic looks described, but be careful!  Use a very light touch and apply after you have applied lip and eye color to make sure the shade complements rather than detracts from the look you are trying to achieve.

Cheek color should look natural and should blend into your foundation.  There should be no discernible line between cheek color and foundation color.  One should meld into the other.

Key #2: Wardrobe:

Wow!  Did you get all that?  Sounds pretty complicated doesn’t it?  But like I’ve said before, it takes practice.  Also keep in mind that these are only suggestions, not hard and fast rules.  A lot of color choice depends on personal preference and intuition.  And breaking the rules is part of a woman’s prerogative!

There are two more keys to choosing the right colors.  One is wardrobe colors.  The other is eye color.

Wardrobe colors fall into three general categories: warm, cool, and neutral.  Lip, cheek, and nail colors should be chosen to harmonize with your wardrobe.  Generally speaking, you should wear warm lip, nail, and cheek colors with warm-colored clothing and cool lip, nail, and cheek colors with cool-colored clothing.  Neutrals such as black, gray, white, and dark navy look good with either warm or cool colors.  The exception to this would be a greenish gray which would look best with cool colors or off-white with yellow undertones which looks best with warm colors.

It’s not always easy to decide which colors are warm and which are cool.  Colors with yellow undertones such as orange, coral, warm reds and yellow-greens are considered warm.  Colors with blue undertones such as green, deeper reds, pinks, and purple are considered cool.  Browns are usually warm, but very deep shades such as coffee can fall into the cool category.

If some of the clothing in your wardrobe contain both warm and cool colors, go with the dominant shade.  If there is no dominant shade, choose either.  If you are wearing a cool-colored jacket and a warm blouse, you should consider the undertone of your accessories.  For example, if you are wearing gold earrings, choose warm shades.  If your earrings match the cool-colored jacket, choose cool shades.  Another choice is to go with the undertone of the clothing that you wear closest to your face.  For example you should choose cool colors like Azalea cheek color, Pink Orchid lip color, and Mauve nail color with a blue blouse or sweater.  When wearing an orange blouse, choose warm colors such as Coral cheek color, Mandarin lip color, and Sundance nail color.

It is not necessary that lip and nail color match, but they should be in the same color family, either warm or cool.  For example, you could wear Plum Pearl nail color and Pink Orchid or Mauve Elegance lipstick with cool-colored clothing.  Pumpkin or Ginger Pearl lipstick and Apricot Ice or Mandarin nail colors look great with warm-colored clothing.

A true red is considered neutral and can be worn with warm, cool, or neutral clothing.

Warm lip, cheek, and nail colors look great with warm metallics such as gold or copper.  Cool lip, cheek, and nail colors look wonderful with cool metallics such as silver or blue.

Breaking the Rules:

Now lets consider breaking these rules!!  Sometimes doing the exact opposite can have a dramatic and beautiful effect.  For example, try a coral lip, cheek, and nail combination with a medium blue outfit.  It can look wonderful if your personal coloring allows you that choice.  The only way to decide is to try it.  Another way to break the rules for those with ivory skin and dark hair is to try wearing fuchsia lip color, exotic purple and smoky plum eyeshadow, and lilac cheek color (applied with a very light touch) when wearing purple, fuchsia, or blue clothing next to the face. 

With evening wear, try wearing lighter or frosted colors and a touch of lip gloss to catch the light from candles.

Eye Color:

 Finally, let’s talk about choosing eyeshadow colors to complement your eye color.  Shades of pink and plum can make blue or green eyes sparkle.  Women with blue eyes can combine Pink Opal and Periwinkle Blue, Heather Rose and Smoky Plum, Polished Pewter and Black Onyx, Whipped Cocoa and Spun Silk, Pink Opal and Smoky Plum, or Pink Opal with South Sea.

Green eyes look especially attractive with combinations such as Exotic Purple and Oyster Shell, Smoky Plum and Polished Pewter, Whipped Cocoa or Tuxedo Brown and Peach Chiffon, Pink Opal and Smoky Plum, or Shimmering Rust and Peach Chiffon.

Combinations such as Smoky Plum and Classic Navy, Tuxedo Brown and Pineapple Freeze, Misty Pine and Spun Silk, Smoky Plum and Exotic Purple, or Shimmering Rust and Black Onyx make brown eyes even more beautiful.

Hazel eyes shine with combinations such as Pink Opal and Smoky Plum, Tuxedo Brown and Peach Chiffon, South Sea and Exotic Purple, Emerald Green and Whipped Cocoa, or Heather Rose and Tuxedo Brown.

Choices:

These are only suggested color combinations and you are certainly not limited to these choices.  I have found that when I wear eyeshadow combinations that harmonize with my clothing I get a more “complete” look.  It’s only a personal preference, but I enjoy combining Exotic Purple and Smoky Plum eyeshadow when I wear purple, Whipped Cocoa and Tuxedo Brown or Pink Opal and Heather Rose when I wear red, and cooler shades of Smoky Plum and Polished Pewter or Polished Pewter and Periwinkle when I wear blue.  I have also seen women wear a monochromatic color scheme including Azalea cheek color, Pink Orchid lipstick, and Heather Rose with Pink Opal eyeshadow for a soft, romantic look.  That look could also be varied by using a soft touch of Whipped Cocoa, Tuxedo Brown or Black Onyx as a third accent color in a wedge at the outside corner of the eyes.

Telling Secrets:

The secret to wearing any color combination well is a set of good makeup brushes.  Choose a set that is well-constructed and made with natural bristles.  Purchasing a quality set of makeup brushes is worth the investment.  They will last for years and create a professional look.

Your set should include a large, loose-powder brush, a blush brush (3/4 to 1 inch wide), a sponge-tipped applicator and eyeshadow blending brush, an eyeliner brush and a lip brush.  An eyebrow brush and a lash separating comb are optional, but very handy.  For example, unruly brows can be tamed by spraying the eyebrow brush with hair spray or rubbing the bristles with a tiny dab of styling gel or mousse, then combing the brows in place.

Use your makeup brushes to blend colors.  One option is to apply your foundation, eyeshadow, blusher and loose powder, allow a minute for them to “set”, then lightly go over you eyeshadow with a clean, loose-powder brush to blend.  Use a light back-and-forth motion across the eyelids.  Use downward strokes on the cheeks to blend blusher, then finish up your look with eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.  Be sure to keep your makeup brushes clean by washing in mild soap or shampoo occasionally and allowing them to air-dry.

Don’t be afraid of blue eyeshadow.  Blue eyeshadow has received  some bad press in recent years and that is understandable.  The wrong intensity of ANY eyeshadow can look ghastly if overdone.  For example, a woman with beige skin tone, dark hair, and brown eyes who colors her entire eyelid with bright blue eyeshadow doesn’t look very attractive.  A woman with ivory skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes who uses tons of bright green eyeshadow doesn’t look any better.  The trick is in choosing the intensity of blue or green (if that is your choice) that goes with your personal contrast level.  Brown eyes can look wonderful with a combination such as Smoky Plum and Classic Navy if her contrast level and the look she is trying to achieve call for that particular combination.  The same is true for the blonde with blue eyes.  A combination like Pink Opal and South Sea look wonderful on her.

If you smoke or drink a lot of tea or coffee, you may find you leave most of your lip color on the cigarette filter or coffee cup and have to reapply your lipstick more often than you’d like.  To make your lip color last longer, choose a lasting color lipstick and lip liner pencil in coordinating color.  Line the lips and apply lip color.  Blot with a tissue, then dip your loose-powder brush into loose face powder.  Tap the brush against the side of the container to shake off the excess powder, then lightly tap your lips with the brush.  This tiny amount of loose powder “seals” the color so it won’t smear or come off as easily.  This also makes it almost kiss-proof!  It does give a matte finish, but that is usually the look you want to achieve for day wear.  If you prefer a glossy finish, line the lips with lip liner pencil, then fill in the lips with the same pencil before applying lipstick.

Medium color eyeshadows such as Exotic Purple, Emerald Green, and Periwinkle Blue can be made to look darker by mixing with Black Onyx.  This takes a little experimenting and practice.  For example, try applying Black Onyx in a wedge at the outside corner of the eyelid, then go over it with a medium eyeshadow color.

                The intensity of any lip color can be muted by combining it with Intensity Controller.  So if you find a shade of lipstick you like and find it’s too bright for a natural look, just tone it down with Intensity Controller.

Finally, don’t be afraid to experiment!  You’re pretty safe if you keep your lip, cheek, and nail colors in the same family, warm or cool.  Pink lipstick just doesn’t look good with apricot cheek color.  With eyeshadow colors, the doors are wide open to experiment.  I hope the suggestions I’ve made give you a good springboard for your own choices and creativity.  Most of all, relax and enjoy!

MORE Information:

(I realize this is a lot of information to absorb all at once!  If you find this overwhelming, I suggest that you print this article and either highlight the portions that apply to your personal coloring and contrast level or cross out anything that doesn’t apply to you.)

I sincerely recommend the book Inside Beauty if you want to learn more (yes!  there is more!!) about color selection, skin care, hair care, nail care, fragrances, highlighting and contouring.  It’s loaded with information including full-color photographs, step-by-step instructions, and ideas for doing your own makeovers.  It is available in major bookstores for $19.95 or you can order it from me at the special price of only $10.

If you need personal consultation, have a question or comment, or would like more information about ordering, just send e-mail to Lynda J1.  All orders are sent in plain wrapping to any address or name you specify.

                Since some of you are new to this service, you may have missed previous articles.  Reprints of previous articles that have appeared in this publication are available upon request.  Also available is a questionnaire that will help you determine your skin type and the skin care products you should be using.

Editor’s Note:  Remember, Lynda J1 is YOUR Mary Kay Representative.  Support her efforts here by placing your orders with her, a real nice way to say “Thank You!”  All orders are held in confidence, and orders will be shipped in plain wrapping.  And you’ll never find a more understanding or knowledgeable make-up consultant for your special needs.

Also, I have a copy of the book, Inside Beauty, and found it just as useful, educational, and FUN as Lynda indicated.  This book explains everything I every wanted to know about makeup (but was afraid to ask).

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Submitted by Denese F

PROBLEMS CAUSED BY RAPID BREAST DEVELOPMENT

Although I am pleased with the progress that I have made since starting on hormones on May 20, 1992, it has caused me many problems some of which I was not prepared for.Prior to starting hormones I could put on a 40A bra and need to put a foam breast form in the cup to fill it out.  I had no breasts so to speak.  This morning when I got up I put on a 42C bra  and there is only about 1/8th of an inch remaining to completely fill the cup.

My recent blood/hormone level tests were within normal limits and my doctor sees no reason to change the dosage or frequency until after the first of the year.  He then plans on me taking one injection every three weeks instead of every two weeks.For the record, I take 1 cc of Estradiol Valerate Injection and 1 cc of hydroxyprogesterone Caprote in each injection.

This rapid breast development has caused a few problems at work.  The main problem is that people are noticing that I have breasts.  Only one has approached me to ask.  The others go to my manager or their manager to ask if there is a problem.When I originally started the hormones I thought that I would have 9 months to 1 year before I even had to worry about anything really showing.  I will have plenty of time to get ready.A meeting has been scheduled to tell my coworkers what is happening on the afternoon of September 24th.  I now estimate full time beginning anywhere from late October to Mid November of this year.  This is approximately 6 months early.

Although I had purchased some feminine clothing, I had wanted to really round out my wardrobe before going full time.  I don’t have time now.  I have had to move everything up.I just put two very good wigs (same style and color) on layaway until the 1st of October.  The reason being that they were on sale 20% off.  It was a good choice, because after trying on 3 or 4 styles, that left everyone knowing that this was a male dressed as a woman to, I’m not sure that this is not a woman.  This was without makeup and with my male eyeglasses on.  Getting the right help from a professional can make all the difference in the world.I have a Mary Kay Representative coming to my house on October 3rd to spend some time with me showing me how to hide the defects, which there are many.  This was arranged by Lynda J1, our online Mary Kay Representative.  She explained the situation, so this poor lady will not be totally shocked when she arrives.

I am really trying to lose the weight and I have a smooth face for the first time ever.  I plucked those rascals out with tweezers and most are regrowing a littler finer.  I know that in the next

couple of weeks I am going to have to spend some a lot of time with the electrologist.  I am fortunate that I have always had light facial hair.Another major problem is that I do get some mood swings.  They are not as bad as they were in the beginning, but I know that there are times that I want to cry for no particular reason.  I am really beginning to appreciate what women go through from puberty to menopause.  It’s like going through puberty at 47.  It’s not real easy, but something that I am more than willing to accept to achieve my goal.The only advice that I can offer anybody is don’t do hormones on your own.  Get them through a doctor that has knowledge on the effect they will have on your system and be ready to help you if you need help.  The effects can be devastating if one is not prepared for the changes that will occur.On the plus side, there is only one thing.  It’s the biggest  and the best.  Denese is about to be born. 

HORMONE UPDATE

Contributed by: Marsha J

Before listing this excerpt let me first say the following

1. I read almost everything I could get my hands on.

2. I give more weight to those opinions that agree with my own   🙂

3. My own medical case, have never had any health problems, I’m not a drinker or drug user.  (I tasted a beer(ugh) and have had bottle of Sangria(much better) in the last year).  Overweight but active.

4. Use a doctor, read all you can.  My top recommended reading is

_Hormones_ 1992 Edition, Sheila Kirk, MD. an I.F.G.E. publication.

Excerpt from _Hormones_ 1991 Edition, Sheila Kirk, MD. an I.F.G.E. publication. 

p.1

     As I review the literature written by transgendered individuals for transgendered readers, I’m struck by the generous mixture of good information and that which is really poor … conjecture and personal opinion mixed generously with second-hand information…

     … what I tell you in the pages to follow is quite accurate and reliable, not because it comes from me, but because it comes from a large collection of recent medical literature dealing with what hormones do for and to human beings.

     p. 14-15

     estrogen, progesterone and testosterone… are in the bloodstream of both male and female at all times … They are in full form in very small amounts, but the greatest amounts are bound to serum proteins and released as the need is made known … destruction or breakdown of these hormones in the liver cells is efficient and without harm to the individual in the short and the long term.  It is the damaged liver (from infection and/or substance abuse) that has a real problem…

     p. 36

Larger studies … indicate strongly that estrogen use does not pose a major concern for developing liver disease … in one study of 303 M-F transsexual individuals,

{ words between curly brackets are Marsha’s paraphrasing of a long paragraph }

{ 22 had adverse liver changes, in 12 changes the function returned to normal even with continued use, of other 10, six had history of overuse of alcohol, eight had history of hepatitis.}

Of the 22, only two individuals had no known reason … the presumption is that the hormone regimen may have been influential … This was considerably less than 1%.  This should reassure those using hormones, with no history of liver disease or potential for it with alcohol abuse … Estrogen is metabolized in the liver, to be sure, but a healthy liver handles it well indeed.

Personal accounts, Now back to Marsha

Emotional

I’ve been on various amounts of hormones for 8 months now.  No major unexpected emotional changes.  I tear up more often and have cried a couple of times in the past couple of months, but nothing major.  The most times I really notice ups and downs is while I’m reading the logs or Subversive, so many similar feelings and experiences to mine.  I’ve always been quiet and non-aggressive so there’s no easy gauge there.  What I’d really like is a nice stress free month to better observe emotional changes but haven’t had such luck so far.  And no, the decision to start the hormones wasn’t stress induced, I’ve thought about it for 14-16 years, back before high school chemistry I would think, get a bunch of the right elements and just whip up some synthetics.

Physical

First, it probably hasn’t helped trying to lose weight at the same time as doing hormones.  Dropping fat intake means the fat has to either redistribute or have slow development.  Having never gone into the “male” thing, I’ve always had relatively soft skin.  Only ‘bad’ effects I’ve seemed to have is GI disturbances the first few days of my cycle and the few days right before adding Provera. 

I’ve somewhat avoided doing any measurements to keep from being discouraged, also I have to remember that it usually takes years even for genetic women, so I should be patient.  But, I’m not saying no changes have taken effect.  The “male fat chest” I had has become more feminine and sensitive.  And speaking of comparisons, the thing I would suggest doing, now that I missed my chance, is before and after semi-nude photos.  That way one has an objective view of the positive changes.

Different types of hormones effect and are absorbed differently for different people. While the Estinyl, Premarin and injections all seem to work for me one of the latter two seems to definitely cause more pleasant tenderness in my breasts; I’m not quite sure which (hormone type, not breast) but will know within a month.

In the last 3 weeks I’ve managed to break 8 of my fingernails. I’ve no idea if injections were that powerful and it was brittleness I’d never had before, or if it was just coincidence.

I’m not much of an off-the-cuff speaker or writer, so if you have any questions bring them up during a chat or mail.

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USEFUL AND INTERESTING INFORMATION

Subj:  Inverness One Touch

From: JaniceTV

To:     Melanie XX

Just wanted to let you know that I have been able to locate an Inverness One Touch with help from Karen Day and Heather.   With a call to an 1-800-631-0860, its easy to mail order one.  They recommend the purchase of two extra “stylets” for $5.00.   The price of the One Touch is $35.00 and $2.00 shipping and handling.  The address in case anybody else needs it is:  17-10 Willow, Fair Lawn, NJ  07410.

I appreciate all of your help, and can hardly wait to zap my way to smoothness.

Love,

Janice

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AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS

Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary

Attendee Stats as of October 1992

For you spatial thinkers,

Geographic distribution

AZ.   3  BC.   1  CA.  22  CO.   2

  CT.   4  FL.  12  GA.   1  IL.  12

  IN.   4  LA.   4  MA.   7  MD.   2

ME.   1  MI.   3  MN.   3  MO.   3

  MS.   2  MT.   1  NC.   2  NH.   1

  NJ.   7  NM.   2  NV.   1  NY.   5

OH.   5  OK.   2  ON.   3  OR.   2

  PA.   5  SC.   1  TX.   6  UT.   1

  VA.   3  WA.   4  WI.   2  WV.   2

WY.   1

Total 142

*

For you temporal thinkers

:

Of those I have records of, we’ve the following ages

one attendee under 20

4 between 20 and 30

12 between 30 and 40

14 between 40 and 50

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 142 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!

———————————————–

AFTERGLOW

“Too Old to Die Young”

(From the album, “Too Old to Die Young” by Melanie Anne Phillips)

When I was young I made me some dreams,

so the praise of my days would be sung.

I got stuck in a web of impossible schemes,

and now I’m too old to die young.

I made such great plans but they turned out a mess,

and the cheats and the thieves should be hung.

I used to wear pants and now I wear a dress,

yet I’m still much too old to die young.

     Work for the future, Ignore what you’ve lost

     Pretend that the end J’s the means.

     Keep paying the price, no matter the cost,

     And don’t see the film for the scenes.

I tried to succeed, but the seed it just sucked,

though the compost was heavy with dung.

Like the Ancients, my patience, it just got me fucked,

and now I’m too old to die young.

With all of the places I didn’t quite go,

and the things that I’ve never begun,

I’ve worked like the devil with nothing to show,

But I’m still much to old to die young.

     Now is there a moral?  Why don’t YOU tell ME?

     But I’m still going to go for the gold.

     And as long as I’m kicking, my thoughts will stay free,

     And I’ll be much too young to die old.

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

————————————————————

May you never find occasion to say, “If only…..”

————————————————————

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free license for your specific purpose.

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 4

October 1992

Third issue of the online magazine I published in the early 1990s

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue his own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE:

The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet and various BBS around the world.

Letters to the Editor

Subj:  Re: The Subversive #2

From: MariaCD

To:     Melanie XX

Thanks hon so sweet of u and the writing is very good, would luv to read u in a book… hope to do that soon..

 bye xxxx

MariaCD

————————————————-

From: Eve b

To:     Melanie XX

thanks for sharing your beautiful life with all of us. just wish i could have even your down moments to me would be great. please enjoy and keep up with your dreams.

EXPLORATIONS

by

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

Tradeoffs: the name of the game.  Few things in life are both 100% good and independent of anything else.  So, you always have to take the bad with the good, and give up good things to try to get better things.  Remember Monty Hall and “Let’s Make a Deal”?  Do you want the box or what’s behind door number three?   Well, that’s life for you!  You’ve got a sure thing that isn’t exactly what you want.  Its not bad, mind you, just not utopian.  Then along comes this temptation for something that holds the POTENTIAL to fulfill many more of your overall criteria, but the downside risk is, you have to give up the sure thing first.  Sound like the old story of the dog, the bone and the reflection in the pond?  The grass is always greener?  There’s no place like home?  Well, society would be destabilized if no one made commitments and everyone left to follow their dream, so the fair tale always ends with the individual losing everything if he tries for the brass ring.  Yet sometimes the grass IS greener, and sometimes its a good thing that there is no place like home, ’cause one of those is enough.  And sometimes (and this is a societal nightmare) you can move from a good situation to an even BETTER situation without losing a thing!  But, sometimes you can’t.

   Do ya wanna take a risk?  I do.  You look at the safe gamblers and they wager just a bit and play out of their winnings and overall they usually come home slightly ahead on the average.  They seldom strike it big but they NEVER lose it all.  But what a mamby pamby way to go through the only life you’ve got: playing it safe and close to the vest.  No, not me.  I would rather be a spectacular failure than a small success, so I take chances.  But I still wanted to hedge my bets, so every time I added something new, I wouldn’t give up the old.

    It is exactly this attitude that almost tore me apart six weeks ago.  I went for it all and came up short (or so I thought at the time).  Every time opportunity knocked, I just added one more activity to my list of things to do, never realizing that the infrastructure has to be serviced.  Behind my back all the obligations I had made had piled up to the point I had no time for myself: Melanie was strangling in success.

    Finally the strain was too great: there wasn’t even room to turn around – every waking moment was pre-sold.  Still, I could not decide what to lose, WHO to lose.  My solution was to avoid choosing who to hurt, by running away from it all and hurting EVERYONE, so no one would feel I had deserted them specifically, and then maybe they wouldn’t reject me, but just pity me and leave me alone..  I was ready to throw in the towel and fly off to Never Never Land, cash in my chips, buy the farm, milk the damn cows!  BUT – I got lucky one more time.  Those around me told me to wait must a moment, give myself some space and see what happened.  So I took a moment to catch my breath.  And I realized that DAVE had made these obligations: MELANIE had not.  And though it sounds like a cop-out, it’s absolutely true.  I would NEVER make those kinds of obligations today in the first place.  They were all made to protect myself from rejection by giving away the store to others.  But I no longer feared rejection since I had finally accepted myself.

    Still and all, I didn’t feel right about cutting anyone off completely, as to THEM, I was still the same person who had made the commitments and THEY had honored their part.  That’s when the inspiration hit: maybe telling everyone to back off a little bit would make the space I needed and STILL not play favorites because I was spreading the backing off of obligations equally around.  So, Mary and the kids help with the housework now, I work four days a week instead of five at my primary job for the same amount of pay, I broke up with my occasional lover who was becoming an obligation and limited our relationship to letters and occasional visits.  I shifted the Gender News into a new format as a Monthly, I closed my sideline small business of seven years and moved it into my garage because the overhead was killing me and waited for the smoke to clear to see the results of what I had done.

   Is the grass greener here than where it was a month ago?  Damn straight!  It’s positively chartreuse!  Now I have the time to unwind, the time to be creative, the time to clear my mind and just experience without thinking about it.  For the first time since I first seriously considered transition, I am at peace.

   So what about the future?  How can I avoid filling up all my time with new obligations?  Simple!  Instead of starting out creating Lose/Win situations so others will accept me, I start out with Win/Win situations that are fair to everyone.  And if I can’t find a Win/Win solution, I won’t make the obligation.  And finally, if I’m forced into a corner and can’t find a Win/Win situation and can’t back out, then its gonna hafta be Win/Lose.  That way I look for a fair solution first (which keeps me from turning into a selfish Ice Bitch) but if cornered, will fight like a vixen.

   Well, I guess I’ve about talked this one to death.  But the most amazing thing to me is how we all seem to do so many things we don’t like and worst of all NOT do things we REALLY like just so people will like us, just so we can keep what we have, just so we can go through life and lie on our deathbed discontent and say in our last breath: “If only….”

And now for the second installment in a serialized presentation of the book:

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

September 1, 1989

A most unusual day.  I had already scheduled to meet with Bill again today, as well as my weekly trip to the doctor.  But late last night, when I was signed on to the “Feminet” computer bulletin board, Barbara Chambers, the sysop, came on-line to tell me she would be in Burbank on business today, and would I like to get together?  Of course!

The Feminet board is the top system in the nation for communication among gender dysphoric individuals, so I was singularly thrilled to meet her face to face, instead of just on the network.  I made arrangements with Mary to handle my extended hours as Melanie, which she graciously agreed to.

I arrived at Bill’s and he had finally raised the courage to appear as Julie in front of someone else.  He looks a little like Agatha Cristie!  When I heard over the phone that he would be Julie, but didn’t have a wig, I surprised him with a blond jobby I had bought, but never worn.  He was thrilled, as he intends to come to the support group meeting as Julie, a big step for him!

Julie made lunch for me, but since I was late, we had little time for more than gossip before he went to the doctor for a vasectomy, of all things, and I went to my doctor for my hormone shot.

While I was at the doctor, I got a referral to an electrologist.  I have had such mixed thoughts about losing my beard.  As I have mentioned, it has been a shield and mask to me to bolster my insecurity as a male, and losing it would be tough to deal with.  And yet, I just cannot feel truly female until it is gone, not to mention the practical benefits in dressing!  We shall see…

As soon as I left the doctor, I went to meet Barbara at the airport.  I arrived just exactly at the time we had agreed on.  She had travelled as a male to see a specific client, which is the only time she is not in female mode anymore.  So I had the singular honor of seeing her in more or less her original persona, although the physical changes made her noticeably feminine even then.  (I wonder if the same will happen to me, and how I will deal with it?)

We came back to my house so she could change, then went to the Black Angus for dinner.  I expected to feel very nervous (and also perhaps elated with an adrenaline high) during my second ever outing as Melanie that was not by myself – and the first time I would actually be ordering things at a restaurant and truly living the role of a female.  …Nothing.  Absolutely NOTHING! The experience was very pleasant, but because of the conversation, the meal, and the company; not because of any excitement.  In fact, I felt so totally at ease as Melanie that I frequently forgot all about my outside appearance and became lost in the conversation.

Sure, there were many times I was aware of an inappropriate gesture or tone of voice on my part, and yet, I felt more…  I dunno… “comfortable”, I guess, than I have ever felt before.  And that, I suppose, is the real truth of the matter.  Being Dave is not bad, not bad at all.  But being Melanie is better, much better!

So life goes on, and so do I.  Where and how far?  I do not know. But still, I do not want to stop or return to what I was.

September 2, 1989

Today was my second support group meeting.  This time, I was a lot more prepared – and not nervous at all.  In fact, I spent the hour before I got ready making chocolate chip cookies for the pot luck!

Mary and I had gone to the store earlier, and she helped me pick out the right ingredients.  Then, she was very supportive allowing me, to dress in the other room, closing her eyes when I had to pass by to get something.  No freaking out on her part .  As I left, I asked her if she wanted to see what I looked like, as I had done a knock-out job on my make-up and outfit.  She declined, but said (surprisingly) “Maybe next time…”

Still, there was no nervousness driving to the group.  But, strangely, I couldn’t get into feeling like Melanie.  I kept feeling like Dave in drag.  The wig felt dead and lifeless, more like a mop than hair; my make-up like plaster and greasepaint.  Overall, I felt like a clown.  I began to worry that perhaps I had crossed the line and run out of steam on my path – that somehow, it had worked out of my system.

I found a spot to sit, and noticed that Bill had indeed come as Julie.  I smiled at his courage in finally going in front of a group as his alter-ego.  I was also happy that I had been honored as the first to see Julie yesterday.

During the next few minutes, I was amazed to find that my feminine gestures had become second nature.  In fact, whenever I even consciously checked what I was doing, I discovered that I was completely consistent with a feminine image.  I still felt like a truck driver, but I think (in retrospect) this is because I feel the hair is a cheat and the make-up covers the real physical me, even as it mimics or represents (or presents) the real mental me.  And besides, I’ve heard that genetic women often have days when they feel like disgusting blobs for no apparent reason.  All in all, it was an awful feeling!

I spent some time in conversation at the kitchen table with Julie and several other friends I had met last month.  My real kick was when someone near the table asked who made the cookies, and another girl answered, “I don’t know, but they’re GREAT, aren’t they?!”  It’s amazing to fall so easily into a mental attitude where the culinary arts become a status symbol and a badge of personal pride.

During the “rap” portion of the evening, Julie and I both spoke of the events that had occurred in the month elapsed since the last meeting.  The speed at which we had “progressed” as well as the openness with which we related our story were met with more than a few raised eyebrows, but with even more supportive smiles.

One woman, the wife of a TV who is supportive of his “hobby”, was very nearly incensed by our admission that we had actually kissed.  This is largely due, I suspect, to her own fears of what a similar scenario would mean to her if it had happened to her husband.  Such a situation would be intolerable to her, and lead to the dissolution of the carefully structured and balanced lifestyle she had crafted.  But, in fairness, there is much truth in her warnings that this would throw a serious monkey wrench in Bill’s (and Julies’s) relationship with his wife.  Which is why he and I had already agreed that such an incident would never recur.

Later in the evening, Julie shared her driver’s license picture with another TV so they could see what each other looked like “in real life.”  I offered mine, specifically to break Bill of thinking of me only as Melanie, and hopefully deflate the attraction he held for me.  This was a difficult decision, as I need to explore much more fully my intimate feelings toward men, and I myself am greatly attracted to him.  In fact, even as I was showing him the photo, I was aware that I may never again have the opportunity to experience a relationship with a man I can truly trust, Probably not with one I am so strongly attracted to, and certainly not in the near future when I need it the most.

It must have worked, since the next two times he referred to me in talking to the other TV, he called me “he”, a mistake he had not previously made on any occasion.  It hurt, but I knew I had done what was best for Bill and his wife, and my love for him, whether it is sisterly or more than that, is sufficient to put his needs before mine.

I arrived home, checked massages on my computer gender bulletin boards, and went to sleep.

September 6, 1989

Two nights ago, Mary made her first breakthrough in dealing with the physical changes brought on by my hormone use.  Up until this point, she had refused to even see my arms or legs uncovered, as the thought of my being smooth and hairless was pretty much revolting to her.  Therefore, it was with some shock to me that the following transpired.

I had strained my shoulder muscles moving heavy boxes over the weekend as part of our packing to go to the house on California Street.  Mary had already rubbed some ointment into it the previous night, in the dark, so she didn’t have to see anything.  I, of course, felt rather dirty and ugly that she couldn’t even bear the sight of me.  This is particularly disturbing at the time, as I am desperately trying to bolster my self-image as a fairly attractive and feminine woman.  Instead, I ended up feeling like a leper.

Well, this time I said it was rather foolish to go hide in the dark; how about if she just didn’t look past my shoulder and she did it right in the comfort of the well-lit living room.  She agreed.  As she was rubbing the salve in, sitting behind me, she had to lean a little forward to get it on the front of the shoulder.  I told her was kinda ridiculous to hide like this.  I felt like the Elephant Man.  How about if she just took a look at my chest and got it over with?  She said she had been thinking the same thing herself.  So I turned around and she looked.  Her only comment was, “That’s not any more than a fat man would have…”  I said, “Not yet…”   We left it at that, but later, she said, “I still hope you’ll change your mind.  If it doesn’t get any worse than this, though, I think I can handle it.”  I told her it was my intent to go substantially beyond what I currently had.

The next morning, for the first time since she knew I had shaved my body hair, she did not leave the bathroom when I came in to undress for the shower.  She stayed busy with her make-up and we didn’t talk about it, ut she never flinched or left.  Nothing else was said, but she obviously is coming to terms with this.

Last night, I had dinner with Mark, my long-time friend from my USC film school days.  He had been the first I had told when I began to go public two months ago.  I had kept him informed in person and by phone of the latest information, but the last I had spoken to him was on the day of my first doctor visit.  After that, he had left for a vacation to England with his wife and has just returned.

At dinner, I filled him in on all the news, changes, and discoveries I had made.  He remained the wonderful and loyal friend he has always been: empathizing with my troubles, sharing my joy, and keeping me humble by laughing at the ridiculous!  Interestingly, I offered almost off-handed to take him to my next support group meeting.  Surprisingly, he accepted, and will be the first friend to see me as Melanie, who has only known me as Dave.

I’m a little concerned, of course, as my mannerisms and voice will appear to be some kind of put-on or act, as opposed to the simple uncensored release of my inner self as it truly is.  But we spoke of this, and he seems to feel he can handle it.  I hope I can!

This morning, Mary again stayed in the bathroom while I showered.  I suppose that I wouldn’t be surprised by anything she does in the future!  Certainly, my hopes of some sort of continued relationship in the same household are considerably bolstered.  At worst, I imagine we would have separate beds, not share intimate physical moments, but live more like good friends, sharing a house.  Perhaps that might even be preferable, as it could conceivably allow me to date the male population without fear of losing my most valued relationship.

This afternoon, four events happened that changed the way I think of myself.  The first was a phone call I made accidentally to a wrong number.  I was just calling as Dave, but when they answered the phone at the business I mistakenly reached, they stumbled for a pronoun, not sure if I was male or female by the tone and inflection of my voice.  This was significant to me, as I was not trying to put on my Melanie persona consciously, but merely ask for information.

The second event was when I awoke from a nap at home this evening.  (It is still light, even as I write this, as the days remain summer-long).  I glanced at myself in the mirror and, for the first time, saw myself as more female than male.  There was nothing specific I could put my finger on – perhaps a rounder face due to the hormones, perhaps the bangs that had fallen on my forehead (although my hair is still very short overall), perhaps the way I hold my lips, or glance with my eyes; I just don’t know.  But there was definitely something considerably feminine about my image in the mirror.

The third event, was walking up to the office here.  There is a large, plate-glass window on the front of a shop, just before the office.  It is slanted so that as you walk past, your reflection can be seen.  I was not intending to check myself out as I walked past, as I wanted to get in here and start work on a film project I’m behind in.  But as I passed, my image caught my eye and, for the first time, i read myself as female, even in “male mode”!  In fact, in that brief moment – that tiny glimpse, everything from my walk to my carriage to the way I swung my arms read as female.  It was indeed quite a jolt – a pleasant jolt, mind you, but a strong one.  Imagine, looking in the mirror and seeing someone else!

The greatest, of perhaps most significant moment, however, was later when I rushed out to the post office to check my P.O. Box.  As I approached the front door, a small boy came out followed by his father.  The father looked up, saw me, and his initial reaction was to hold the door for me.  Within a split-second, he re-read me and was so confused/embarrassed that he actually let go of the door and nearly let it slam in front of me!  The significance is, that even in male clothing, even when I wasn’t trying, I was read as female!  WOW!!

September 11, 1989

Today was the first day of school after summer vacation for my kids.  Both Mary and I dropped them off, but since she had to go to work, we took separate cars.  I went in with my daughter to find the line for first grade.  The whole time I was there I was surrounded by women – mothers – of roughly my age.  It was strange to think that as the next school year begins, I could be one of them, instead of one of the few obtrusive men who were there seeing off their children.

I ran into the mother of a kid who was in Keith’s YMCA Indian Guide tribe, of which I had been “Chief” for two years, then an advisor.  We chatted for a while, but when another female friend of hers showed up, and then another, they moved off into their own little group, excluding me.  I definitely felt left out and wondered how it would feel to be part of the “girl talk”.

A little update on the last few days.  Late September 6, just after my last entry, I got a call back from the electrologist I had been recommended to.  Currently, he is Andrew, although for three and a half years, he lived as Karen.  He has, however, just re-started hormones, with the same doctor I have, which is how I got his name.

We struck it off over the phone very well.  He seems about my age, works occasionally in the video biz, knows a lot of the same people, and is/has going/gone through all that I have and more.  We arranged for my first appointment on Thursday, next.

When I came home that night, I really felt the need for some commitment from Mary, one way or the other.  I’m afraid I pushed the issue and worked myself into a tizzy.  In fact, I began to cry so hard I couldn’t talk.  I felt totally alone.  I desperately needed someone to hug and hold me and tell me it would be all right.  But Mary didn’t feel comfortable touching me, so I ended up in the back yard at midnight, sobbing away so loudly that the neighbors came out to see what was wrong.  I’ve never felt so deserted and naked in my life.  Finally, Mary came out and gave me a hug.  But it was out of duty, not love.  I could feel it in her arms.  That was worse than no hug at all, and I completely fell apart.

I finally came in and my daughter, who was in bed, asked Mary what was wrong with daddy?  Mary replied that daddy had “some problems” he was trying to work out.  “Some Problems”!  Suddenly, that struck me very funny – hilarious, in fact!  I began to laugh through the tears.  For twenty minutes I laughed.  “I might never see my kids again! – HahahahaHAHAHA!!!!”  The more depressing the thought, the funnier it was.  I could barely catch my breath.  I have heard about hysterical laughter, but until that night, I had never experienced it myself.  Let me tell you, it’s frightening.  It is totally losing control of your emotions.  Of course, I’m sure a lot of that was due to the effects of the hormones, but I was still out of control.

Finally, I brought myself down, went to bed alone, and cried myself to sleep.  When I awoke I felt dead inside, but hurt nonetheless.  I dragged myself into work and struggled through a lifeless day.  Thoughts of suicide seriously drifted across my mind for the first time ever.  In desperation, I told my partner, Tom, about what had happened.  And lo and behold, he managed to say just the right things at just the right time.  I don’t know if it was accident or brilliance, but he saw through all the smoke and told me what he saw.

He said that I was looking at the worst case scenarios.  I was trying to force the issues and suffer the grief now, so it wouldn’t hurt so much later.  He said I was causing most of the bad feelings with Mary, as all she had anymore was a miserable sniveling wreck instead of a husband.  Instantly I realized he was right.  He told me that this time of exploration should be one of joy.  I can’t do anything about the way I feel, so just take it day by day.  In time, things will work THEMSELVES out.

Mary called shortly after that, and I relayed the conversation.  She said that she had been trying to tell me that for weeks.  Nothing is definite.  She doesn’t know what she’ll ultimately do.  For that matter, neither do I!  She said, just take it slow, give us both time to adjust.  And if a day of reckoning does come, it won’t be a sudden event, but something we plan for and deal with in the most comfortable way possible.

Suddenly, my heart was lightened.  And for the first time in weeks, I was no longer afraid.  I told her I loved her, and also for the first time in weeks, she said she loved me too!

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we spent packing our household goods for the move.  And these were some of the best days of our marriage.

P.S.  Mary just called from work, and after chatting, I hung up by saying, “I love you.”  Again, she said, “I love you, too.”  And it wasn’t put-on or considered.  It was just natural, like this entire transition is, really: just natural!

September 13, 1989

I was working late at the office last night, editing music tracks for an educational film I had edited for a friend of mine, Brian, who had directed.  Both Brian and Tony, one of my USC cronies, were with me helping to complete the project.  At about 11:00 I got a phone call from Mark, who was also working late.  I asked if he wanted to get together and he said sure, he’d be over right away.

I finished the project just as Mark showed up, and after we viewed the completed twenty two minute edit, Brian and Tony left and Mark and I went out for a drink.  Mark drove and I talked, which is the way to Hollywood, but I was so caught up in my dysentery dissertation, that I paid no attention.

Finally, we parked and I asked where we were going.  He said there was a little restaurant down the street.  We set off walking and entered the facility.  Without a word of warning, Mark paid his cover charge, then I had to shell out six bucks from mine!  Some restaurant!  Well, the throbbing disco music thundering from the door was the first indication that things were not exactly Kosher…  Turns out, Mark had just taken me to a transvestite night club!

It seems Mark had told a mutual friend, Sean, about me.  And Sean was forcefully opinionated that I was making a horrible mistake.  In fact, he said that Mark was being a poor friend in supporting me, as it was his DUTY to try to change my mind before I ruined my life.  He should be trying to save me from myself!

Well, Mark being a self-effacing Polish-Catholic lad from the mid-west and prone to impulse buying any guilt trip offered on the open market, he felt it was now his personal responsibility to show me the error of my ways.  He went so far as to refer to himself as “The Ghost of Phillips’ Future”!

He led me through the writhing mass of horny flesh: half men and half women, except the women were men!  Indeed, these men were some of the best looking women I had ever seen.  The dance floor was alive with the sensual moves of mini-skirted, tight-shirted babes who flowed to the music as if they could see it and were outlining it with their bodies.

To Mark, this was a scene from Sodom and Gomorrah together again – with just a pinch of Dante’s Inferno thrown in.  He saw the old and the ugly, the lonely and the grief-stricken: the abandoned wrecks of pathetic former human beings reduced to outlandish parodies in their grasping efforts to quench the unbearable pain with even a brief encounter of pseudo affection.  And there were several of these poor, burnt-out shells staggering through the ranks to be sure.  But no more than at any hot-music club that attracts the discontent like moths to a nuclear bomb.

But I saw people, some like myself, but most of the transvestite persuasion, encountering other human beings in the manner and mode they felt driven to employ.  I felt at home with the crowd, almost intoxicated by it, as I had never been in the company of so many of the lost souls at one time.  And there they were, smiling, talking, dancing, flirting: guys in drag actually touching and kissing other men.  Things I’d only imagined but longed to try.  Here was a place where socially scorned behavior was the order of the day.  Here, it was normal.

Well, Mark became increasingly frustrated that I was not put off by the pathos he wished to paint.  In fact, after one beer, I told him that one more beer would have me wishing I had brought a change of clothes.

Now, I’ve only been in a night club of any kind two other times in my life.  And I’ve been one to gravitate to the dance floor.  But as I shifted my thoughts into Melanie mode, I could see that the thrill of getting caught up in the music and moving in sensual waves that sparked erotic attraction in the onlookers circling the floor had a drug-like effect on my mind.  I could see myself out there, flaunting all I had, competing with every babe in the place for the attention of the male animals that cruised the periphery like sharks, waiting for their prey.  Indeed, if there was not such a threat from AIDS and VD, I would’ve been back there the next night, done-up to the teeth!

Mark could see that he was failing.  Finally, his uneasiness combined with a sense of failure, and he suggested we leave.  I felt sorry for him as he struggled to understand what I saw that he didn’t and vice versa.  But I’m convinced that no one who is not themselves afflicted with the TS bug can truly appreciate the forces that drive us.  To be sure, they can intellectualize the compulsion, but they can never empathize with the feelings of frustration and futility in leading a life in the wrong gender mold.

I hope he is not too depressed.  After all, he is one of my few closest friends.  And out of all those who have now shared my secret, he is the only one to take the time to try and make an impact; the only one who is so concerned for my well-being that they suffer on my behalf.

But someday, I hope he will realize that I AM female, I ALWAYS HAVE BEEN female.  And no one, no matter how well-intentioned, can convince me to be other than my true nature.  But, thank you, Mark….  Your effort last night was truly one of the most comforting expressions of brotherly love I have ever received.

September 14, 1989

I’d been putting off this moment since I first seriously considered following the path to SRS.  But here I was, laying down on the treatment table to have someone begin to permanently remove my beard.

What a terrifying concept: that the mask I’ve hidden behind since puberty, the major outward symbol that I was masculine would be stripped forever from my face; that should I ever change my mind, I would be naked to the world, forever struggling to prove myself for the rest of my life.

For me, the hormone therapy, even the surgery itself was psychologically minor compared to the loss of my beard.  For the results of these other steps can be reversed or hidden from the world unless I choose to reveal them.  But the daily stubble, the 5 O’clock shadow, is undisguiseable and its absence undeniable.

This simple act became for me the major mental boundary line between flirtation and commitment.  As one persona had put it on one of my bulletin boards, “Electrolysis really separates the boys from the girls.”  And so, after months of putting it off, the time had come to take a stand.

All morning I had spent with my dad, trying to keep my mind off the clock.  The appointment was at noon – HIGH noon….  And I struggled to lose myself in picayune details.  But nonetheless, the time arrived, and I had to go or forever hold my piece.  So I went.  There was really no other choice.

The drive was uneventful and the directions good.  And after knocking at the front door for several minutes, I went around back just as Andy/Kathy appeared from the back room.

Even though Andy was currently living in male mode, I could easily see the two modest bulges beneath his loose T-shirt.  There are some things that always remain.

He greeted me and ushered me into his tiny studio.  Crossing the threshold was like stepping into Berkeley in the sixties.  Incense and classical music fought for airspace in the converted garage, while a Taoist goddess presided serenely over an offering of scented candles.  A slick, high-tech computer nestled among dirty laundry and ancient herbal remedies, “This one enhances the female aura, try some?”

I, as usual, launched into an extended telling of the story of my life, while Andy made Cranberry Mist Tea.  Having completed my nervous spiel and exhausted my supply of pre-selected prying questions, I stood in silence while Andy struck a small hammer against a display of six differently tuned bells as a Taoist prayer to the goddess.  Supplication made, we drifted to the table where the event would be committed.

There are two types of electrolysis, Andy explained: Straight electrolysis with a DC current, and Thermalysis (or “Flash” with an AC current.  There was, for the undecided the “Blend” method, combining both in one needle.  NEEDLE, not probe, not pointer, but NEEDLE!  The first method was permanent but took nearly one minute per hair, although relatively painless.  The second, a 20% regrowth at only 10-20 seconds per hair, with a higher level of pain.  Then, the combined method with an 80% regrowth rate, just 5 seconds per hair, and suffering beyond human comprehension.  I opted for that method.

My reasons were cowardly:  If I could take the pain, the results would be less than permanent.  Most of my mask would return home to daddy if I turned tail and ran.  So the dials were set, the alcohol dabbed across my two-day stubble, and Andy’s face appeared distorted through the magnifying light as he hovered over me, pondering the eradication of my security blanket.

We began on the upper lip, which was the most sensitive area both physically and psychologically.  The first few tentative stabs were easily tolerable – not pleasant by any means, but well within my pain threshold.  For nearly 30 (I am proud to say) minutes – THIRTY MINUTES, one half hour, one 48th of a day, I suffered in silence and bore my pain like a man.  But then, the more sensitive areas were violated and THESE hairs had an attitude.  Each one felt like hypodermic needle piercing my lip and skewering it through.  Some were worse than others.  It got so I could anticipate the pain of the current by the pain of the probe’s initial entry.  I tried to hold on, I really did.  But this became easily the most excruciating experience I have ever endured.  And finally, I could endure no more.  I asked to try the blend method, and found it much more acceptable in pain level.  So we continued for the remaining time in that style.

I had been told that this method led more frequently to scarring and, in addition, took four times as long for an initial “clearing”.  But “Flash” is definitely not for the squeamish.  Eventually, after what seemed like days, the session ended.  I dropped thirty sweaty dollars from my pocket to the table and verified next week’s appointment.

With growing anticipation, I strode to my car to view Andy’s handiwork in the rear view mirror.  I slipped into the scorching plastic seat and tilted the mirror to reveal my face.  My lip was quivering and swollen, but I could see small, almost miniscule patches where hair would grow no more.  And suddenly a chill of joy ran down my spine with the thought that in a matter of months, I would have a face as smooth as any woman’s.  I started the car and pulled out into reality with a smile on my face, as I knew the threshold had been crossed and the commitment made.

September 16, 1989

Only one note for today, but a major one indeed.  As the day wore on, with us moving our possessions by trailer to our new abode, Mary and I began to have more and more fun with each other.  Later, when my step-dad took the kids for their weekly overnighter at his house, we got even closer.  Finally, after a particularly fond enjoyment of something or other, I mentioned I’d really like to make love to her tonight.  Well, later, just before bed, I broached the subject again, and incredibly, she was VERY interested.

Without going into private details, suffice it to say that we had a most enjoyable tryst.  This was the first time we have been intimate since I told her I was serious about SRS two months ago.  I don’t know if this is a sign that things can work out, a final stab at some kind of normality, or a goodbye, but it is definitely preferable to the leprous feeling of being outcast that I have endured for these last eight weeks.  I love Mary very much and hope my chosen course will not force our separation.

September 20, 1992

Today was my initial visit to Dr. Smith, who had come highly recommended by both Natalie and Barbara from my support group, and Alan/Kathy.  I had been yearning for this day, not knowing exactly why I was going except for safety reasons, but suspecting that somehow I was missing the boat, or not with the program.

I paced around the office all morning, trying to busy myself with work, but unable to keep my concentration on the job.  Finally, it was close enough to leaving time to take off, which I did with no further delay.

The location of a doctor’s office shouldn’t have that much influence on one’s evaluation of him.  But somehow, my weekly trips to the Doctor in Hollywood had always seemed rather “seedy”.  After all, Hollywood is home to every kind of immoral or lewd profession known to man.  Prostitutes, both male and female graze the streets like so many cows in heat, and sex shops and X-rated movie houses abound.

So every journey to that office passed through this decadent hive and left me feeling “dirty” just for having passed through it, as if the sins of the soul and corruption of the body had somehow rubbed off or polluted my being merely through the sharing of air.  And also, although I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to express myself as Melanie, I felt as if I were in costume or “clown-like”, as I had to cover up my beard and don a wig in order to pass as something I had not yet become.  In fact, that very attitude had led me to refrain from outings as Melanie for nearly a year, mainly because I felt like a liar for “false advertising” something which I could not deliver.

In any event, Dr. Smith’s office is in the San Fernando Valley (my home stomping ground) scant miles to the north of Beverly Hills and smackdab in the center of a burgeoning industrial complex of modern high-rise buildings.  (High-rise for California, of course, meaning six or seven stories).

I opted to park in the expensive three level structure, rather than searching for a metered street space, allowing myself this small luxury as a reward for my diligence in looking after my health and courage in following through.  (I love to pamper myself when I feel I deserve praise!)

I arrived on the seventh floor and entered the suite.  My first impression was an overwhelming sense of warmth.  This was not the typical medical sterility I had become accustomed to, but a bright, cheerful environment whose function was to care for the whole person, body and soul.  (I get a lot from wallpaper and indirect lighting!)

I approached the reception window and was greeted by a smiling Dorinda, a cute blond girl who held no pretense or revulsion, not even condescension in her face.  Indeed, I suspect her face to be incapable of holding such an emotion, even should the need undeniably arise.  Still, I was operating at about 80% male mode, as I still fall back into the old ways whenever I get nervous.  Her manner was so open, however, that by the time I was called inside, I had lowered down to 70% male mode and was tenaciously trying to hold on to that!

The door opened, and Chris, the male nurse (completely hetero and proud of it!) ushered me into the examining room.  In spite of his definite anchor on the world of “normal” preferences, I soon discovered he possessed an overwhelming empathy for people in my situation.  “Gender Dysphorics are my favorite patients….”  I truly believe him.

He asked me several questions, but more importantly, offered several answers on his own that I had to pry from my other doctor.  He gave me whatever information he thought might be useful to me, set me at ease, and went out of his way to explain what things meant, and the procedure they normally followed.  He even brought me a cup of “Swiss Mocha” (which happens to be THE coffee I will die for – I carry a tin in my car for emergencies) and introduced me to another TS who came in for a check up.  This other patient, Elizabeth, and I had a wonderful conversation while I waited for the doctor.  And by the time Dr. Smith arrived I had fallen to about 50% male mode and dropping.

Dr. Smith, ah, Dr. Smith!  Short of height but tall in stature, he strode into the room with a confident friendliness that stripped my well-built defenses in a single, gentle breeze.  Looking like a genetic blending of Paul Newman and an elf, his easy manner melted whatever preconceived dignity I thought I possessed and plunged me instantly into Melanie, the center of my being.

Never before have I given up my mask so easily, nor expressed myself as Melanie so naturally.  And this, mind you, in male clothes: an event which I would have thought impossible.  Mixing my modes?  Unheard of!  Unthinkable!  Happening before your very eyes!!!

As I heard his concise and educated discussions of the therapy he offered, his humanity penetrated my soul, and Dave (if there ever really was such a beast) vanished without a trace.  This man spoke to ME, not the carcass that faced him, but the woman hiding inside, peering through the bushes nervously.

Dr. David Smith is a seer, but he is also blind.  No, his eyes work perfectly, but they are notable for what they do not see.  He is blind to the physical incarnation as if it were transparent.  And he SEES the soul as if it were a glowing gem suspended in a jelly-fish.

He spoke to ME, as if I already WAS a woman.  And he seemed not the least distracted or even aware of the body that I wore.  And yet, I was here to alter the body, and his job was to get that done.  The incongruity of his concern with the inner person, while his vocation was the outer, only served to strengthen the calm certainty that I had not only found protection for my body, but a refuge for my psyche.

There are so many nuts and bolts of medical data he covered, and I shall cover them as well as they are applied.  But the true value of today was not what I learned, but what I felt.  And I felt good – very good indeed.

September 21, 22, and 25, 1989

I’m afraid (don’t be afraid) that I have fallen behind in my diary entries.  Heaven knows, I’ve tried!  But the best laid plans of mice and… well, whatever the heck I am….

So here is the brief, bite-sized, shrunk-wrapped, condensed reconstituted honest to gosh truth, as told by proxy.

On September 21st I had my second electrolysis session. THIS time I came prepared!  I bought a bottle of KANKA topical oral anesthetic with the last three dollars to my name.  I applied some in the car before I left.  My entire lip went numb, even as the stuff stained the skin a bright, obnoxious orange (you’re only supposed to use it on the INSIDE!)

But, beauty was secondary at the moment, as the pain of my first trip remained fresh in my addled mind.  So, I applied another liberal coat just before I entered Andy’s lair.

What I was not aware of was that topical anesthetics work only on the mucus membranes and do nothing for the interior of the flesh.  What a wonderful surprise when the process hurt even more than last week (I would’ve sworn an impossibility!) as the nerves went into over-drive to compensate for the partial loss of sensation.  Well, live and learn (in agony!) I always say….

Friday the 22nd was my first day as a no-show at the Hollywood doctor.  I truly missed the opportunity to go out as Melanie, but simultaneously enjoyed the freedom of not having to work out all the logistics, rush around, and only relish my female self for a lousy hour before all that work had to be undone.

This feeling grew into the certainty that a dual life, such as Mary and I had discussed, while great on paper, would be harder than blazes to accomplish in reality, and for all practical purposes was impossible.  However, I also determined that I should move toward full-time living as a woman over a period of months, rather than in one bold stroke.  This gradual change would be better for my friends and easier for me, as my mannerisms and voice could shift slowly to my new station.

In line with these thoughts, on Monday, September 25th, I began my First Official Day of Androgyny (or F.O.D.A. for short!).  For twenty years, I have worn a belt nearly every day of my life.  But this day, I merely switched to a tucked in T-shirt.   And my beloved laid-back courderoys gave way to unisex blue jeans.  The part in my hair was lost as I brushed (not combed) it straight forward in rather appealing bangs.  Overall, this manner of dress could belong to either sex, and therefore is my authorized uniform during the transitional period.

So much for catching up: I’ve been way too efficient, and it might just be habit forming….

(Written on the 26th of September to catch up on days I hadn’t felt like writing.  The following entry is from the middle of that period, the one day I DID feel like writing.  Due to financial difficulties, Mary, the kids and I were forced to move from our wonderful three bedroom rented house in the Burbank hills to the house I grew up in, in the flatlands of Burbank.

This move came in the middle of the rift that had developed between Mary and myself over my transition.  It seemed to be the worst time that an unwanted change of location could have occurred.  Nevertheless, there was no choice in the matter, so we packed up our belongings and said goodbye to the last house we would ever share as a “normal” family.

Mary had gone to Las Vegas with a girlfriend the last weekend we had to pack: the first trip she had made without me since we had been married.  I found myself sitting alone in the empty corner of the bedroom where we had last made love, crying for half an hour.  That night, I drove to the family house and slowly increased my speed until I was driving at sixty miles per hour along the residential streets.  I weighed the advantages of simply driving into the side of building and ending it all.  It was a tempting scenario.  But as I neared my new address, I gradually slowed, having flirted with suicide, but not seduced by it.

The following weekend we packed the last few items that remained at the old house, locked the door on our happy family life, and relocated to our uncertain future.  That evening I wrote the following entry.)

September 23, 1989

As I sit at the keyboard this evening, my mind is filled with strange emotions.  It is 10:30 and it is our first night in our new home.

Perhaps the term “new” is a misnomer.  This is the house I grew up in from age one to age seven.  It is the house of my earliest memories, my formative years, and the beginnings of my need to be female.  It is my Grandfather’s house and he is dead.

He died on the 25th of June at age 83, a bitter man, alone and defeated.  And now, I live in his house.

My Mother died on January 30th of bacterial pneumonia infecting the sack around the heart.  That is what the death certificate says, but the real cause of her death was my grandfather.  All his life he had withheld even the tiniest show of love, approval, or even affection from my mother.  And she spent and ultimately lost her life trying to obtain these.

Shortly after I was married in 1976, my parents were forced to leave the rented house we had lived in for 12 years, and elected to move into my grandfather’s house to help take care of him and my grandmother.  A few years later, they brought back my grandfather’s sister, Kay, from Washington state, as her husband had died some time previously, and she was slipping mentally.

Within a couple of years it became apparent that Kay had developed Alzheimer’s disease, and her ability to take care of herself suffered greatly.  At the same time, my grandmother began to slip into paranoia and mental confusion.  My grandfather started losing the ability to discern reality from fantasy.

And so, my mother and step-father took care of these people with the patience of Christ himself, and humbly subjected themselves to my grandfather’s overbearing and aimless wrath, which grew almost daily as his illness progressed.  Ultimately, my grandmother suffered three strokes in quick succession. She was unable to respond coherently, to speak or even to be more than marginally aware of the world around her.

Due both to my mother’s and grandfather’s wishes, and against doctor’s orders, my grandmother was released to home care.  She was permanently on a feeding tube, was incontinent, and required care every 3-4 hours, twenty-four hours a day.

For two years, my parents struggled to provide humanity to a household weakened by illness and withered by the cancerous bile of my grandfather’s anger.  Eventually, Aunt Kay was placed in a home.  But my mother continued to care for her parents to the point that she did not leave the house, even to cross the street, for six months straight.  Eventually, she caught the flu, and due to her weakened condition, it developed into bacterial pneumonia.  And yet, she would not go to the hospital because she wanted to continue to care for her mother. Also, my grandfather constantly chided her for slacking off in her duties.  When she could not longer get out of bed, she finally agreed to be taken to the hospital, but by then, it was far too late.

I sat with her in the emergency room of the County hospital all night, waiting for care.  She had no insurance and would not be accepted into a standard emergency ward.  All that night, I struggled to stay awake, as I had only had two hours sleep the night before.  Several times I mentioned to her that I would have to leave soon, which I regret to this day.  But every time, her condition worsened and I stayed on.  Her blood pressure dropped to 80 over 40, and I waited for a second reading on the machine before I called for help, again to my regret.  Instead of holding her hand and touching her face as I had on and off through the night, I was sitting in a chair across the room when she slipped into unconsciousness.  Later that day, she died.

When we brought my grandfather to see her body in the hospital he looked at the remains of the daughter he drove to death, and his only comment was, “Well, you had to go and do it.  You had to die on my birthday.”  I will always remember the date of my grandfather’s birthday.

I placed my grandmother in a convalescent home for her health needs, and face the wrath of my grandfather for the first time myself.  But as he realized he needed me for transportation and food, he softened and at least tolerated me.

My step-dad continued to live in the house and take care of my grandfather.  A noble act considering he felt the man had caused his wife’s death.  My grandfather finally entered the convalescent home to be near his wife.  But when I last saw him alive, a week before his death, he did not know who the woman across the room was.  I rubbed his back with ointment as he had requested, my fingers bobbing over the bony protrusions under his parchment skin.  I told him I would see him again soon.  I left.  He died.

And so, when I returned to this house several weeks ago to plan our move, and was alone in it for the first time in my memory, I found myself pulled to my grandfather’s room, the very room I had grown up in as a child.  I stood in the center, drinking in the present, drowning in the past.

I cursed my mother for the memories of the doll house, stove, and refrigerator she had bought for me, knowing that these toys had been partially responsible for creating a female personality within my body.  I laughed at the memory of waking up from my afternoon nap to a gingerbread man, placed on a shelf by my bed as a surprise.  I could see the coloring book bear that I had painted “orchid” and remembered that the bear had been given a different colored balloon every night I had avoided sucking my thumb.  Eventually, the bear had a whole bouquet of balloons and I never sucked my thumb again.

All these things and a thousand more, the highlights and hurts, the love and the warped directions leading to transsexualism, all flooded over and through me.  And I stood in the center of the room and cried.

And now, on this first night, I feel all these things again.  And as this house must be sold in a few short months to pay for my grandmother’s continued convalescence, I am overwhelmed.  I am coming home: home to the causes of my pain and the source of my love.  But I am here to prepare the house for sale.  And in effect, I am selling off my past.

So now, as I am about to embark on a new future, a future as a woman: now, as I begin the six month transition to full-time living in my new role, I come to bury memories, to lay to rest the roots of my personality.  And I find it ironically appropriate that these should coincide.  As I begin a new future, I bury the past.

I have come full circle, to face the causes of my needs and revel in the roots of my strengths.  Soon I must move on to a new life and leave the old behind.  I will be a new person who only vaguely resembles the one who blossomed here so many years ago.

And I must leave all that behind, perhaps more completely than one should be forced to.  But for a little while longer, I have my memories, I have my past, and David is not yet dead.  For a few brief moments I am a small child running through the tall grass, amazed by everything and joyful just to be alive.  For a few brief moments, I have come home.

September 28, 1989

Today was the fulfillment of a life-long dream.  It was my coming-of-age, my initiation, my rite of passage.  Today I killed my mustache.

I had fantasized about this monumental event for years and planned it for weeks.  The concept of having an absolutely smooth face is so exciting, so sexy, so feminine, that even now, six hours after, I can barely contain myself.

In the West, we believe Man’s soul can be found, if anywhere, in the brain.  In Eastern religions it inhabits the heart.  Since puberty, my psyche resided in my upper lip, the symbol of my manhood, the likeness of my self-image.

But today, it’s home of twenty-four post-pubiescent years was wrested from it.  And like a game of “Musical Lips”, the theme song ended and Psyche found itself without a chair to sit on.

So, now, this poor homeless wretch must find new accommodations: an abode more suitable to its new stature; more appropriate to its changed self-image.  Perhaps it will lodge in my developing breasts.  True, cramped quarters at the moment, but when plans for expansion are fully realized, Psyche will hopefully enjoy a palatial estate in keeping with the manner to which it wishes to become accustomed.

The deed is done; the commitment made.  The relief, amazing; the joy, uncanny.  I have joined one club and turned in the executive washroom keys to the other.  And surprisingly – at least to me – there are not only no regrets, but an unequalled sense of completeness beyond anything I have ever experienced.  I feel content.  I feel female.  I feel good.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

FEATURE ARTICLES

MAKE UP TIPS

A continuing series by Mary Kay representative,

Lynda J1

Focus on Eyes: The Colors of Autumn

Smoky, sultry, smoldering eyes can be yours this season.  New fall eyeshadows are here and they’re bolder, richer, and dramatically outspoken.   All you need is a good eyeshadow brush or sponge-tipped applicator and the smoldering new shades that are the hallmark of this season.  Don’t be afraid to try new shades and new combinations.  With the following techniques, you can wear almost any shade, even if you have very fair coloring.

Take some time to practice these techniques, try new shades, and find the look that’s just right for you.  To see the dramatic difference of each technique, apply to only one eye and compare.  Most of all, have fun!

There are four basic techniques to make the most of your eyes:

The Centered Eye – gives the eyes vertical lift and adds depth.  This can be worn by anyone and is especially effective for those who wear glasses. 

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2. Feel for the center of the eye in the crease of the eyelid.  With darker shadow than that used for the base, “turn” color in a small circle, making a dot in the                                   center of the crease.  Brush color lightly back and                                    forth, coloring along the crease of the eyelid.

The Cornered Eye – just as versatile as The Centered Eye.  This technique makes the eye look larger and gives the most dramatic effect.

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2. With darker color than that used for the base, “turn” color in small circles at the inner and outer corners of the eyelids.  With clean shadow brush, blend darker color from corners toward the center along the crease of the eyelid.

The Smudged Eye – gives depth and drama and is especially effective for those with close-set eyes.

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2. With darker color than that used for the base, “turn color in a small circle at the outer corners of the eyelid.  Smudge by moving eye shadow brush along the crease of the eyelid from the outside corner toward the center of the lid.

                The Wedge – a versatile technique for anyone.  This technique also allows the use of more dramatic colors for those with fair skin.

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2.  With darker color than that used for the base, brush color along crease of eyelid from center to outer corner, then along base of upper lashes from outside corner to the center, just above the iris.

For even more drama, a third eyeshadow color may be added to any one of the four techniques for highlight on the brow bone (the bone that protrudes under the eyebrow).  For day time wear, try a soft pink, oyster shell, or soft yellow to highlight the brow bone.  For evening, try shimmering gold.

                Instead of eyeliner along the lower lashes try stroking a medium or dark eye shadow color just under the lower lashes from the outside corner to the center of the lower lid.  Use the very edge of your eyeshadow brush or sponge-tipped applicator and blend well.

Remember, if you wear glasses, it’s okay to go a little bolder, a little more dramatic to draw more attention to your eyes. Eyeshadow colors should blend together.  One color should flow naturally into the next.  There should never be a definite line between colors.  If eyeshadow looks too intense or if the colors do not seem blended, use a clean, loose-powder brush to blend.  Close your eyes and brush lightly back and forth across the lid.  But be careful not to blend all the color away.

For those with oily skin or skin that tends to absorb color, Mary Kay’s eyeshadows can be used wet.  Just use an eyeshadow brush to blend the eyeshadows with a little water, then apply.  This will give you all-day (or all-night) wear.  These shadows can also be used with an eyeliner brush and mixed with water to create an instant liquid eyeliner.

Eyeliner is used to define and enhance the eyes.  There are  basically two types of eyeliner: eyeliner pencil and liquid eyeliner.

                The most important thing to remember about eyeliner pencil is to have a good, sharp point to your pencil, then dull it slightly by applying light pressure with your fingertip.  This will give a softer line.

Eyeliner pencil can be used to line the upper lid and the lower lid along the lash line.  When lining the upper eyelid, hold the pencil at a slant and draw the line along the lashes with the side of the eyeliner tip, not the point.  This technique gives more control and helps keep the tip from breaking.

                When lining the lower lid, use the tip to draw a thin line just under the base of the lower lashes from the center of the lower lid under the iris to the outside corner.  Use a cotton swab or sponge-tipped applicator to smudge the line for a softer look.

Liquid eyeliner with a fine point is the easiest for beginners to use.  When using liquid eyeliner, hold the brush at a slant, nearly parallel to the eyelid and stroke on a thin line from the inner corner to the outer corner of the upper eye lid.  Liquid eyeliner can also be used along the lower lashes, but it must be smudged with a cotton swab or sponge-tipped applicator quickly – before it dries.  An easier choice is to use an eyeliner pencil in a coordinating color under the lower lashes or brush a medium to dark eyeshadow along the base of the lower lashes with the edge of a brush or sponge-tipped applicator.

Remember, every woman who wears eye make-up has learned through many hours of practice.  Don’t get discouraged.  Learn from your mistakes.  Get some good close-up pictures from magazines and try to copy a look you especially like.  I also have available a limited number of charts with close-up detail of eye color looks for fall.  If you would like a free copy, send e-mail to Lynda J1 (notice that is Lynda J”one”).

                If you have questions about make-up or skin care, I’d be happy to answer them for you.  All questions or comments will receive a personal reply.  Questions of general interest will be addressed in this column (no names will be used).

Editor’s Note:  Remember, Lynda J1 is YOUR Mary Kay Representative.  Support her efforts here by placing your orders with her, a real nice way to say “Thank You!”  All orders are held in confidence, and orders will be shipped in plain wrapping.  And you’ll never find a more understanding or knowledgeable make-up consultant for your special needs.

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Going to the wig store

Adventures of Char & Pam

By Pam36C

Golly here I am again! Yawl let me know if you get tired of hearing about this nonsense will you?

OK here Charlotte and I are. She is feeling a little blue because of personal problems. Me, I’m trying to cheer her up, lending a well chewed on ear. Mind you I don’t object she and I are kindred spirits. Plus she is one of my Alpha Omega sisters and I would be there for any one of them. Well being there for her to talk to was OK but she needed a little more than an ear to absorb her concerns and frustrations.

Well what do you gals do when your down in the dumps? YOU GO SHOPPING or GET YOUR HAIR DONE right? Guess what we did, we did both. We went shopping for wigs. Being a crossdresser, transvestite, bigendered, or what ever, we all want to look like a lady. Hair is an important piece of that puzzle we want to put together so off to Rolling Acres Mall we went.

Going up we talked some more mostly about a collage of subjects all tied together with a pretty bow, so to speak, and that is crossdressing. This always makes our jaunts around town interesting. Arriving in no time at all we were walking into the mall and towards our destination. Of course a few stores on the way lured these two boyish looking girls to their windows.

Picture this if you can, two girls, wide eyed, and noses pressed to the glass. Dreaming of all those pretty clothes hanging in their closets. Just ready to be put on that feminine self we all share and taken out to a party or dinner. Yea, your right gals,no guts no glory so we pressed on towards the wig store still dreaming though.

We headed to the wig store like I told you and walked by checking it out so to speak. The coast was clear so we walked in, a little bit nervous yea, but united we stand and all that stuff! We casually started looking around and lo and behold here was this bubbly sales girl. We’ll call her Nancy,she was very nice and reassuring. She let us know right off the bat that we were not the first guys to want to buy a wig. We (well Charlotte) talked for a few minutes about Alpha Omega. Nancy said she has heard of us. She also said she had been to a Parase meeting once for a wig presentation.

We continued looking and talking and once again observant Charlotte nudged me and said “Look out there on that bench”. Directly outside the store was a courtesy bench about fifty or sixty feet from the store front. Sitting on the bench were three guys, one or two had beards. They were watching the show in the store quite intently. My memory of them is vague at best because neither of us looked at them too long.

Well the shopping and talking continued, Charlotte even sat down at one of the two booths at the rear of the store to try on three wigs. Nancy all this time kept the conversation going, Charlotte following her lead and me jumping in there occasionally. We made our selections but they had to be ordered. The colors we wanted weren’t in stock,       OH WELL whats’ a girl to do I know WAIT!

The more I do this shopping thing the more I think my fears are exaggerated. At least until something really catastrophic happens. YOU know like going into a store say a dress shop. Asking the store sales girl if I could look around or would she help me find a certain style. Then she turns and yells at the top of her lungs “Hey this guy wants to buy a dress!” That  would be catastrophic right?

All in all I’d say this excursion went very well. Nancy was very professional, fun and knowledgeable about her merchandise. Not to mention TOLERANT of our life style. She even asked us to come back dressed. Well maybe that was just an off the wall statement not to be taken seriously but it was nice to hear. WE left, walked around a little more, fantasizing about the fashions we saw through a bunch of other windows. Well girls that’s it for now here’s to your new “doo”.

Love, Luck, Laughter    Pam36C

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SOME FASHION TIPS

From: Anna A1

(Editor’s note: Recently, Anna had the opportunity to attend a fashion show.  She wrote me a letter describing some interesting tips she had learned.  Thinking that our readers might enjoy the information as well, I asked her if I could reprint the portion of her letter that described these neat tricks.  Here are the excerpts from Anna’s Fashion Show Report: )

The real highlight of the evening was a presentation by two woman from “Caren Charles” Women’s apparel store to demonstrate how to mix and match eight articles of clothes into 32 outfits :).

This presentation was primarily oriented toward business dress.  There were 3 blouses (one white, one black, and one mustard)  2 suit tops (one red, one red and black plaid) 1 black pair of pants (very sexy thought I) and 2 skirts ( one red, one Mustard).  They displayed them on a vertical rack and simply move the blouses and skirts and pants back and forth on the hangers to create “completely different” outfits.  The mustard blouse and skirt were shown together, then the mustard blouse was shown with the black pants, then the plaid suit was added and so on and so forth.  The products had popagalio (spelling?) and Caren Charles labels and cost $619.00 all combined. But, Ta Da (here’s the pitch), that’s only $19.00 an outfit for an entire month’s worth of outfits.

They pasted out a “closet inventory” which if you want to create one is as follows:

There are 5 columns labeled HAVE, NEED, COLOR, DESCRIPTION, & WORKSWELL WITH.  The rows are labeled SUITS, BLAZERS, BLOUSES, SWEATERS, SKIRTS, PANTS, DRESSES,COATS, SHOES (remember, this is business dressing – you can replace the row labels with what suites you.

The instructions are

1. Arrange your clothes by types

2. list you wardrobe “haves and “needs” and bring this closet inventory to the store with you.

3.  If you have a favorite item, build a ward robe around it.

I know this isn’t rocket science, but hearing this presentation and allowing my self just to “be there” was a new experience for me.

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HORMONE UPDATE

By Melanie Anne Phillips

Well, I have some more data on the hormone thing.  This month I am on the .50mg daily Estinyl only until the last 10 days of the cycle, then 10mg Provera each of those days.

I have noticed in the past that nipple soreness and sensitivity as well as post-op sexual arousal have been directly related to how far in the cycle I have been.  The highest sensitivity and arousal occurred about 7 days after I went into the 3 day “off cycle”.  Within 3 days after that, it all dropped significantly.  Bust development that had shown promise each month nearly all went away by 10 days after the END of the off cycle.  Then it was a full month to build-up again.

This month I am not going off cycle at all.  I know several doctors who do not believe in “cycling” – Dr. Biber included in this group (although he prescribes only .05mg Estinyl daily as opposed to the .5mg I am taking.  The decision to try not cycling is based on several considerations.  I have always had leg cramps at that 10 day after off cycle time and then again at varying times into the cycle as the hormones built up again past some trigger point.  On either side of the trigger point, when the hormones were lower or  higher, the cramps went away.  So it seems there is some point you have to pass through going up and coming down in hormone levels.  I have heard the same from genetic women I know who are on pills after surgery.  So, it is my contention that the body does not completely stop producing hormones in genetic women, but rather slows down a bit.  This month, as I indicated, I will not go off cycle and see what happens.  I suspect I will get VERY sore breasts with great development, and not experience the cramps.

eventually, I think I might lower the dose to .25mg when I have developed enough for my liking and not use a cycle anymore.  Good news is, the shortness of breath I experience last month when taking 5mg Provera every day of the cycle instead of 10mg on the last 10 days, is obviously caused by the extended Provera use, since it went away when I went off the Provera last month and hasn’t come back.  So my advice here is: When on pills, use the Provera only 10 days a month as prescribed.  More later.

Love,

  Melanie Anne

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USEFUL AND INTERESTING INFORMATION

Alternative to Divorce as a Requirement for Surgery:

I had been told that divorce was required in order to obtain Sex Reassignment Surgery.  My spouse and I, however, did not want to get divorced.  I talked to a lawyer who said that we would have to undo all our financial ties with each other, get divorced, then retie the finances.  This would cost about $1200!  In addition, we would lose tax and insurance benefits that would put a financial strain on our relationship for the rest of our lives.

In desperation, I called up Dr. Biber’s office and explained the situation.  Marie (his secretary) told me that Biber did not require a divorce anymore.  This was news to me!  In fact, it was only a recent decision on his part.  All they required was a legal document from my spouse that she did not oppose the surgery.  What a relief!

I called our lawyer back, and he said that being the case, he could prepare a document for us for only $100!  Not only would we save $1100, but we would be able to retain our married couple status in the eyes of the law for taxes, insurance, and all other business dealings.

A friend on America Online recently wrote me saying that a friend of hers who was going to have surgery also did not want to get divorced.  She asked if I could make a copy of the document available, so here it is, just as it was accepted by Dr. Biber, sans names.

RELEASE OF ALL CLAIMS AND HOLD HARMLESS AGREEMENT

THIS IS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT I, (Spouse’s name), UNDERSTAND THAT MY HUSBAND, (Your name), AKA (Your female name), IS ABOUT TO UNDERGO MALE-TO-FEMALE GENITAL SURGERY.  I AM FULLY AWARE OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE SURGERY WHICH IS TO BE PERFORMED BY STANLEY H. BIBER, M.D., AND SPECIFICALLY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT (Your name) WILL NOT PERFORM SEXUALLY AS A MALE OR HAVE A MALE SEXUAL ORGAN AS A RESULT OF THE SURGERY.

WITH THE FOREGOING IN MIND, I, (Spouse’s name), SPECIFICALLY APPROVE, CONSENT TO, AND DO NOT CONTEST IN ANY MANNER, THE MALE-TO-FEMALE SURGERY TO BE PERFORMED ON MY HUSBAND, (Your name), AKA (Your female name).  I DO, FOR MYSELF, MY HEIRS, EXECUTORS, ADMINISTRATORS AND ASSIGNS, FULLY AND FOREVER RELEASE, DISCHARGE AND HOLD HARMLESS, STANLEY H. BIBER, M.D., FROM ANY AND ALL CLAIMS, DEMANDS, ACTIONS OR CAUSES OF ACTION WHICH I NOW HAVE, OR MAY OR MIGHT HAVE IN THE FUTURE, PERTAINING TO CONSENT FOR, AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE FACT THAT, GENDER SURGERY IS TO BE PERFORMED ON (Your name), AKA (Your female name).

BY (Your Spouse’s name, signed above the typed name)

DATED:

STATE OF CALIFORNIA  >

                     >  SS

COUNTY OF LOS ANGELES>

ON THIS______DAY OF________________IN THE YEAR 199_, BEFORE ME, (Notary Public’s name), A NOTARY PUBLIC, PERSONALLY APPEARED (Spouse’s name), WHO IS KNOWN TO ME AND/OR HAS PROVED TO ME ON THE BASIS OF SATISFACTORY EVIDENCE TO BE THE PERSON WHO EXECUTED THIS RELEASE AND HOLD HARMLESS AGREEMENT.

                                  (Notary Signs here)

(NOTORIAL SEAL)                  NOTARY PUBLIC FOR THE

                                  STATE OF CALIFORNIA

If you have any legal documents or other information that might be of use to the gender community, why not share them with the community?

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AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS

Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary

Attendee Stats as of September 1992

State/Province location

AZ.   3  BC.   1  CA.  21  CO.   2

  CT.   4  FL.  11  GA.  1  IL.  11

  IN.   2  KY.   2  LA.   4  MA.   6

  MD.   2  ME.  1 MI.   1  MN.   3

  MO.   3  MS.   2  MT.   1  NC.   2

  NH.  1 NJ.   7  NM.   2  NV.   1

  NY.   6  OH.   4  OK.   2  ON.  3

  OR.   2  PA.   4  SC.   1  TX.   4

  UT.   1  VA.   3  WA.  4  WI.   2

  WV.   2  WY.   1

      133 Total

      133 Total Current Attendees

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 133 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!

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Gender Room Meeting

Don’t forget to attend the Gender Room Meeting on the America Online BBS in the Gay/Lesbian area  in the Community Room at 9pm ET every Sunday evening.  For specific information, directions, or to order  back logs of the chats, Email Marsha J, the Gender Room secretary.

———————————————————————————–

AFTERGLOW

A short visual poem

I AM YOUNG – MY WORLD IS FULL

I AM YO NG –  Y  ORLD  S F LL

I AM YO  G    Y  ORLD    F  L

I AM     G       ORLD       L

I AM             O LD

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 3

September 1992

Another issue of the online magazine I published in the early 1990s

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 2

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue his own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

                                 –signed,

                                                 Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

——————————————–

WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE:

Available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com on Internet, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

————————————————————

EXPLORATIONS

by

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

As a professional writer, I kept a transition diary from my first day or hormone therapy to arriving back at the station from Sex Reassignment Surgery two and a half years later.  From time to time, I have printed excerpts from my diary in the Gender News.  The response has been so positive that it has become my desire to publish that journal as a book. But since it is difficult to find a publisher for such subjects, and since there is a one to two year lead time from acceptance by a publisher until the book hits the stands, I have decided to share it with those who can use it most in a serialized presentation here in The Subversive.

Each month, I will print one month from the diary.  Which means the entire series will not be completed for another two and a half years!  Still and all, at least it will be available to those who might benefit from it.

In respect for those who are represented in the text, some names have been changed to protect those who might be compromised by the frank nature of this document.  And now, without further discussion, here is the first installment of my book, ” RAISED BY WOLVES: A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY”

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

FOREWORD

As I write these words, I am still a man.  But that will soon change.  The hormone therapy I began two months ago is already altering both mind and body.  Soon, the person known as Dave will cease to exist and the new person of Melanie shall be born.

So it is with a strange mixture of sadness and elation, suffering and joy, that I pen these words.  For in order for Melanie to live, Dave must die.  No, I am not a “split” personality.  But just as there are many aspects of Melanie that cannot be expressed in the role of Dave, there are many facets of Dave that can no longer be explored as Melanie.

So, my life as a man has reached an impasses.  My development as a male is to be cut off, both figuratively and literally.  And yet, I gladly lay my life down for her.  For I have come to know Melanie intimately as a beautiful person: warm compassionate, creative, insightful.  I love her.  Indeed, if I were able to meet Melanie face to face, I would surely remain Dave and devote all my days to pleasing her and basking in the blow of her joyous outlook.  But such can never be, and Dave must die for Melanie to live.

I do not know what the future holds; no one ever does.  But I do know that the course I have charted is truly the only one open to me.  Any other path leads to certain disaster, as great, gaping chunks of my personality would whither, fester, and die.

So, I close with a wish for the new woman about to be born:  May your outer beauty match the inner beauty I have come to know and love.  May hour days be long and fruitful.  May you find happiness where I have found pain, and contentment from my frustration.

And may you have no regrets.

David Michael Phillips

Burbank, California

October 3, 1989

SETTING:

As my first entry starts somewhat into my story, a brief background is essential to an understanding of the text.

As of August 1st, 1989, when this journal began, I was living entirely as Dave – father, husband, small business owner, and free-lance writer/director/editor in the film business.  I had been married for thirteen years to Mary, with a ten-year-old son, and a six-year-old daughter.  My family life was good, my career growing, my future bright, but still something was missing.

I had first felt “different” in kindergarten, where all the other little boys seemed to know instinctively how to act, but I had to struggle to learn the male role by rote: it did not come naturally.  I never considered the possibility I had the instincts of a female; I simply thought I had none at all.

By age seven, I was regularly sneaking off to dress in the girls’ clothes my mother brought in as part of her short-lived ironing business.  This was well before puberty and was not an erotic experience, but rather a feeling of completeness and contentment.

Throughout my teenage years, the need to dress as a female came and went in waves, sometimes intense, sometimes absent for years at a time.

I was nonagressive in school, both in sports and dating, and excelled at neither. My only erotic interests were not in what I could do to or with a woman, but what it would be like to be one.

I married as a virgin in 1976, and the longings to be female vanished more than they were there.  But, gradually, as I progressed through adult life, the waves became stronger and more frequent.  Only twice in my life (both times in my early teen years) had I ventured out as a female, both with such tension from fear of discovery, that I did not attempt this again until three years before this journal began.

Suddenly, the need to move in society as a woman became overwhelming, and within two months, I had made nearly a dozen outings, tentative at first, then growing more bold as I gained confidence in my ability to “pass” without being “read”.

I never confided in anyone, relative, friend, or professional, and was never “caught”.  I began to take an interest in hormones as a means of edging closer to the female self-image I had created in my mind.  I began with low dose mail-order hormone creams, then, finding them to be practically useless, began forging prescriptions over the phone for birth control pills, all to avoid admitting my situation to anyone, even a qualified physician or psychologist.

Throughout this period, I was constantly “purging” myself of this “awful” desire.  Full of guilt I would throw away all my pills, wigs, clothes, and any other accumulations, only to be driven to rebuild my accouterments scant days later.

Finally, I came to the decision that this secret side, if not dealt with openly, would lead to self-destruction and the loss of not only my self-respect, but the love of those I loved.  So, at the end of July 1989, I mustered the courage to call a gender “hotline” and get a referral to a doctor who provided hormone therapy to transsexuals.  This Diary begins with my preparations for that appointment.

————————————–

August 1, 1989

I was incredibly nervous as I prepared to venture out as Melanie for the first time in nearly a year.  I had made arrangements with my dad to watch the kids for the day, and had taken my old clothes, make-up and wig out of plastic bag storage in the garage.  Earlier in the morning, I had used my old supply of “Nair” to get rid of the hair on my legs and arms.  Once again I felt the excitement of feeling soft and sensual!

It took a long time to get everything just right, but eventually, I was satisfied that even if I looked awful, it was enough to convince the doctor that I was serious.  In truth, I needed to make the breakthrough into the mainstream of actual medical care so strongly, that I would have walked a gauntlet or red-necks in three-inch heels to latch onto a program that would lead where I wanted to go.

I checked my appearance one final time.  Hair – ratty, make-up – cakey, skirt – laughably short, high-heeled shoes – preposterous.  In summary, I was ready.  I sneaked out of the house, slunk into my car, and boldly set off to find my destiny.

Driving through the city and down the freeway was exhilarating.  I knew that I was a woman to all who saw me, and I anxiously hoped with every fiber of my being that the doctor would see fit to make that dream a reality.

The medical center itself was a modern ten-story facility, not the sleazy back-room affair I had anticipated.  I parked across the street and (after some hunting) found the front entrance.  I went looking for room 1009, but there were only two levels in this part of the building.  I had no idea where to find the office, nor the certainty that I could (with my nervousness) pull off a conversation to get directions.

Just when I was feeling most distressed, a ten-year-old boy showed up out of nowhere, took one look at me and asked if I needed some help.  I told him, in a breaking voice, the number of the office I wanted.  He said it was in the other building, and asked if I knew how to get there.  I replied in bad falsetto that I didn’t.  He said, “Do you want me to show you?”  I gagged out, “Sure…”  He said, “Come on…” and bolted down the hall.

I don’t know if he was the son of someone who worked there, or perhaps a patient himself.  But he darted down the corridors and around corners like he had designed the place.  The only question he ever asked was, “Are you going for plastic surgery?”  Thanks a lot, kid!  Anyway, after two minutes of mind-boggling twists and turns (him run-walking and me trotting gracelessly down the slippery floors in high heels) we arrived at the elevators.  “Tenth floor”, he said, smiled, and left as mysteriously as he had arrived.  “Thank you!”, I croaked as he disappeared around a bend.

Fortunately, the elevator was empty, and I was unmolested, embarrassed or ashamed on the way up.  The doors opened revealing the tenth floor: the location of my destiny.  I stepped into the hall and checked the office listings until I found the prescribed number.  Gripping the knob with a sweaty but determined hand, I gave it a turn and stepped inside.

The room was small, but well decorated (by waiting room standards).  There was one short, round lady sitting in the corner and the reception desk straight ahead.  I walked up, asked for Ann, as I had been instructed to do, and was told to sit down and wait.

No sooner had I lowered myself, as lady-like as possible into a chair, but the plumpish, weathered woman began to speak.  In broken English, she told me the story of her life; her days in San Francisco, her stint as a land-lady and run-in with the Housing Authority, the death of her husband and how she coped.  All the while, she rarely required a reply (thank God!) content to have a live body as audience that had not been initiated into her life previously.

I nodded with sympathy and understanding, peppered with an occasional “uh huh…”, and she seemed not only satisfied, but almost euphoric.  Once, the nurse caught my eye and smiled knowingly, in empathy with my ordeal.

Finally, my name was called, and I stood to the window to fill out information and answer questions.  Then, out of nowhere, the nurse asked if I wanted to buy the pills today.  I was shocked!  After years of felonies committed forging prescriptions for birth-control pills, suddenly here was another human being, a qualified, legitimate medical professional just GIVING them to me!  “Yes!”, I stammered, fumbling the required twenty-two dollars out of my purse.

Bill paid, the door opened and I was beckoned inside so meet my future.  I flushed from head to toe as I crossed that threshold into the unknown.

I was ushered down the hall to an examining room, where the nurse sat me down, handed me a bottle of 100 2.5 mg estrogen pills, “Take one a day, and don’t miss any!”, and took my blood pressure.  I just kept staring at that bottle, unable to take my eyes from it, transfixed to the reality and weight of the decision I was about to make.

The doctor came in, asked some routine questions and told me to “bend over the table.” for a prostrate exam.  I hardly noticed the pain.

Finally, Ann came back with two syringes, one for vitamins and one, the fateful one, with a mix of estrogen and progesterone in sesame oil for slow release.  She asked me to stand and raise my skirt.  I complied, my heart racing as I contemplated the path I was beginning, the reality of a lifetime of dreams.

I stared out of the tenth floor window, across the city, bustling with thousands of ant-like people, going about their daily routines, unaware of the change of life that was about to occur 100 feet above them.  I stared out toward the ocean, across the universe, across the years, as my entire life collapsed into an abstract desire whose fulfillment would begin with the sharp prick of the needle that hovered behind me.  And then, I felt the tiny pain as the steel shaft slid into the tissue of my derriere, then slowly deposit its cargo of womanhood, rushing into my system, realigning the workings of my entire anatomy, so that its new responses would ultimately transform me into a true and undeniable woman.  That brief moment lasted an eternity for me as I savored the upwelling of emotion, knowing that I had the courage to take that first step.  And, now that I had, there would be no going back.  I was on the road to womanhood, and I would not stop until I reached my destination.

I fixed my clothes, left the office, and felt incredibly feminine as I sashayed down the hall, riding the most pleasurable high I have ever experienced.  Down the elevator and back to the car.  Onto the freeway and across town.  Into the driveway and the house.  It all blurred together with the knowledge that the hormones were working already.  Carrying their undeniable commands to all parts of my body.  Telling my most basic systems, “This is a woman, do your job!”

I didn’t come down all day, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

(Written the morning after, August 2, 1989)

[Author’s note:  There are about three weeks missing between the first diary entry and the second.  I had no idea at the time, that I would be documenting my transition so fully, and had only written the first entry since I am a writer by trade and by love.  Writing for me has always been a natural way to work out my feelings.  Nonetheless, several important events transpired before my entries became regular, so I document them here for clarity.  The Saturday following my first Doctor’s appointment there was a support group meeting hosted by the fellow who had recommended the hormone doctor to me.  Mary did not yet know about my recent hormone use, although I had told her of my fantasy of being female a year ago, and had even confessed I had tried hormones briefly.  After that, I had grown a mustache to prove to her that I would not follow that direction any further than fantasy.  So, I elected not to tell her I was on hormones, but tell her only about the support group meeting and use that as an excuse for having shaved off my mustache.

She did not like my going out dressed as Melanie, and refused to see me dressed as a woman, instead taking the kids to a movie so I could get ready in peace.

It took me three hours to put myself together in those days, and I needed every minute.  I was more nervous than I had ever been as the time drew near.  Being summer, it was still light when I finally left at 6 pm, sure that the neighbors would find out.

The drive was scary, but exhilarating.  I had actually never met another transsexual and had no contact or knowledge of the community so I had no idea what to expect.

The meeting was at a private home in the San Fernando Valley, in the midst of a typical suburban neighborhood.  I parked my car and gingerly made my way up the walk.  I couldn’t tell where to enter from: there were several doors.  I knocked on one, but got no response.  I began to fear that I had the address or the time wrong and that some angry homeowner would leap out with a shotgun and end the adventure right there.

Finally, I moved around to the alcove and saw a note taped to the door: “Welcome, Come on in”.  Would there be five people there?  Fifty?  Would any of them also be “dressed”?  (I was wearing the same outlandish outfit I had worn to the doctor’s – it was the only one I had).  Most important, would they think I was pretty?

I was the second one to arrive.  The host, Lee Risenburg, introduced me to the first guest, a middle-aged man named Bill.  I was the only one dressed as a woman.  I felt like an absolute fool.  Lee urged me to sit anywhere.  I selected a spot on the couch across from them.  And they returned to their animated conversation.  I felt completely out of place.

Three or four other men arrived for the 6:30 pre-meeting class on Gender Identification, and none of them were dressed either.  At this point I would have left in a flash, except THAT would have embarrassed me even more.

Finally the class started, and Lee illustrated the differences between anatomical sex (male or female) sexual preference (straight, gay, or bi) and gender identity (masculine or feminine).  He explained how none of them were tied together and any combination was possible.  I finally began to understand for the first time, just what nature of beast I was.

Toward the end of the 90 minute class, other people started to filter in for the support group portion of the meeting.  And some of them were “dressed”!!!  FINALLY!!!! I was not alone!

Eventually, about 30 people had arrived: gays, bis, TVs, pre-op and post-op transsexuals.  REAL transsexuals!  I had never been so close!  Everyone was warm and friendly, even the truck drivers in the tutus (not really, but that was the impression a couple of them gave.

The one thing that impressed me the most, was that each of these people was friendly, sincere, respectful, and willing to accept everyone for whatever and whoever they were.  No ridicule, no recrimination.

The format was a round robin, and at my turn, I had my first experience impressing people with who I was.  I was nervous, to be sure, and my voice was a joke.  I kept trying to gesture in a feminine manner, but managed only to look stiff and stilted.  Still and all, the group accepted me as one of their own and I felt like I had come home.

Afterward, I ended up talking at length with the guest who was there when I  arrived, Bill  It turned out that was HIS first meeting as well.  He was TV, but had never dressed in front of anyone.  He was also a writer and asked if I might like to co-author something with him.  I agreed, and we exchanged phone numbers.

Later in the week, he called and invited me to lunch at the Rose City Diner in Pasadena, not far from the route of the Tournament of Roses Parade (whose official film I had edited for two years previously.)

I arrived with excitement, as I had never gone to an eating establishment as a woman before, nor had I as a woman had lunch with a man.

He greeted me outside with a handshake.  When we walked to the door, he opened it for me.  Hey, this was great!  He gave his name to the waitress and it was only a moment before a table opened up.

It never occurred to me that the woman is supposed to go first behind the waitress (you never think about what you don’t do) so it wasn’t until he indicated I should that I finally realized I was screwing up already!

I then realized that here was my first trip out that wasn’t just a quick romp and he had selected the busiest diner in all of Southern California at the peak of lunch hour!  And the tables were all open, so I would be in full view with nowhere to hide.

I looked over the menu, and selected the Chicken Salad, as the item least likely to attract attention.  He ordered for me, “The young lady will have…”  We talked for a while, man and woman out for lunch, and then the order arrived – with fanfare!

Here was the biggest chicken salad I had ever seen!  A tostada shell filled about a foot high with every imaginable garnish.  The waitress had to strain to carry it!  Every eye in the place turned to see who had ordered this monstrosity.  So much for anonymity!  (To this day, I have not been able to order a chicken salad in a restaurant!)

Well, I made it through the meal, and actually had a good time.  After lunch, we walked up and down the streets of Old Towne Pasadena, stopping in shops and talking about his story that we might work on together.  We said goodbye with another handshake and went our separate ways.

Meanwhile, the hormones began to take affect.  As predicted, on the 10th day after my first shot, my nipples began to swell slightly – actually more of a puffiness – and became tender.

I have never been able to keep a secret from Mary, so once again, I broke down and told her everything.  She was upset, but we did not have an argument.  In fact, we discussed the issues rather calmly, and even arrived at a tentative agreement that would allow us to stay together.  The confrontation I had dreaded never really materialized.  In fact, it was something of a let down.  I almost yearned for, no, REQUIRED a major event, just to mark or prove my resolve.  But it didn’t happen, and that left me feeling somewhat unsettled, almost as if nothing had really happened at all.

It was in this state of unfulfilled confusion that I made my next entry.

August 25, 1989

So much has happened, but nothing’s occurred.  The hurricane I call my life surrounds my quiet eye with a turmoil of events, and yet all of them collectively are a process, not a condition, and nothing tangible has congealed in the gale; perhaps it never will.

It all goes back to my childhood, and with any luck, it would’ve stayed there. But such is not my lot.  The seeds planted in my young mind by environment, were nurtured in the fertility of my genetic stew.  The twisting vines that sprang forth have so entwined my psyche as to be indistinguishable from it.

I believe myself to be female, from the inside out.  The question poised upon resolution is: have I become female from subconscious efforts on my part to achieve that condition, or have I always been of that kiln and only now am realizing it?

Hopefully, Time will tell, while it heals all wounds.

August 25, 1989

Bill called me again a couple of days after our first “date”.  I thanked him for a good time and told him how natural it had felt for me.  He told me that he had to keep reminding himself that I wasn’t actually a woman, and I put on a breathy voice and told him, “Don’t remind yourself.”  He said okay.

Our conversation drifted through many areas including my admission that for the first time in my life, I was attracted to a man.  I told him I found his quiet strength, but gentle eyes very sexy.  He admitted that ever since the support group meeting, he had been extremely attracted to me. But he was worried, as he was married and totally straight.  I told him not to worry, he was just responding to the woman he saw, not to the remaining male underneath.

He had told his wife about our meeting, but not that I was meeting him as Melanie.  She responded that it was okay, as long as he didn’t bring me home.  But as the conversation ended, he asked again if I wanted to write with him and I told him I very much wanted to.  He decided that it was best to meet at his home, so we agreed.

All week long, I thought about the upcoming meeting and found myself hoping that I would have my first experience with a guy.  If things went as I wanted to, I’d experience my first kiss.

The day before our meeting I found myself doing all kinds of female things to get ready that I had heard about but never done myself.  I bought a new skirt: a pleated, frilly thing, just so I would look more desirable and feminine.

The day of the meeting I spent twice as long as usual with my make-up, intentionally wore the pull-over top he had first seen me in, and added a second spray of perfume.  In short, I was a female planning to trap my man.

When I arrived, we began to work on the story, but as he is TV and I am TS, the conversation naturally drifted.  I re-iterated that I was confused by my new feelings toward the “opposite sex”.  He admitted that he was worried by how much he was thinking of a relationship with me, when he was a happily married man.

I allowed myself to begin to cry, knowing exactly what effect that would have on him.  And he responded as planned.  He opened his arms and said, “Come here…”  I melted into his embrace and clung to his strong arms while he held me tight and comforted me.

It’s hard to describe the feelings that went through my head at that moment.  For the first time in my life, my need to be cuddled and protected was being fulfilled.  I was not expected to be strong, to hold my emotions in check.  I could respond as I felt, weak and helpless, and let him take control.  These were the same needs I had gotten married in order to fulfill fourteen years ago, but had never found in my marriage.

Well, I pulled myself together and we returned to the story for the few remaining minutes before we both had to leave.  But at the door, as I was fiddling in my purse for my keys, I heard him say again behind me, “Come here…”  I turned and found his arms open for me.  I eased into them and felt him hold me tight.  I held him close, then, in mutual need, we loosened our grips slightly, looked into each other’s eyes for a fleeting moment, as if to confirm what we both wanted, then our lips met for mere seconds in a tentative, almost brother/sister kiss.

We again fell into each others arms, then broke away and nervously fumbled our way to the door.  We each left for our cars without another word or glance.  But all the way home I basked in the afterglow of the completeness I had finally achieved for the first time in my thirty-six years.

Afterward, I went to my weekly doctor appointment, more anxious than ever for another dose of the medication that was making me into the woman I wanted to be; the woman I NEEDED to be…

August 29, 1989

Mary has been much more content today, and her almost-happiness has made my depressive clouds evaporate.  It seems she has accepted my offer that I will not appear in her presences as Melanie, will not tell the kids until they find out for themselves, and will remain faithful to her as long as we stay together.  In exchange, she will remain through the hormone treatment and even SRS.  I can have an outside life as Melanie, as long as it doesn’t get back to her.

Now I realize, of course, that this is only a temporary solution.  Within the space of several moths to a year, it will be extremely difficult for me to successfully appear as a male.  And as soon as the kids crawl up on my chest, they’re going to know something is up!

Plus, there’s the terrible strain of leading a double life, while trying to develop one of those lives and whither the other.  But at least it gives us both time to find ourselves, and most important, it gives Mary the chance to accept the changes and perhaps even allow me to go “full-time” and still keep our relationship.  And after all, it works for Clark Kent, doesn’t it?

August 30, 1989

It’s so hard to know when I’ve really decided anything.  Just as soon as I think my true drives and emotions are coming into view, another life-changing revelation jumps in to screw things up!  But today, so many pieces QUIETLY fell into place that I trust this new view, as it cam in like a lamb.  A very STRONG lamb, to be sure, but not with bells and whistles.

I was at the lumber yard with an old Boy Scout friend, Chuck.  While he was having some cutting done, I wandered down the isles of stacked lumber, breathing in the fragrance of freshly cut wood.  Pleasant emotional memories began to filter through my mind like sunlight through the sawdust.

I remembered my woodshop days in Junior High; the smooth, solid feel of the finished pieces, the deep glow of the polished varnish, the satisfaction of creating an object of beauty and function from a simple block of wood.  And I remembered trips that Mary and I had taken to the lumber store throughout our marriage.  I re-enjoyed the thrill of picking out just what I needed for a project: a project that had her totally confused.  Not that she couldn’t have easily done the job herself, but that it was MY domain, the HUSBAND’S domain, and she chose not to tread there.

Suddenly, I realized that these were aspects of the male life I didn’t want to give up.  Sometimes I enjoy and want to continue to enjoy being the knowledgeable protector and handyman.  This didn’t lessen my desire to be the submissive and protected partner, but rather to add that to the other facets of my life as well.

In that moment, in a gentle revolution, my male and female persons merged and melded for the first time.  I was not longer Dave or Melanie, I was me.  ME!!!  I didn’t have to conform to either role, regardless of the sex I ultimately choose to be.  All at once, I didn’t care what others thought of my attitudes, gestures, or activities. All I needed was to be true to myself in either role, and the rest of the world could come along or get lost.

This was not an emotion of vindictiveness, but of freedom.  I cannot recall a time in my life when I was not secretly terrified to cross a street for fear of what the oncoming pedestrians would think of me.  It didn’t matter what I thought of myself, but just the image I projected to them; and I was not at all sure of that!  I was self-conscious of my walk, my arm movements, my thin wrists.  I frequently would pretend to scratch an itch on my face, just to raise my wedding ring where it could be seen: a badge for all to acknowledge that at least someone thought I was male enough to marry, so I must be okay, no matter what YOU think, NYAHH!!!

But that afternoon, I walked down the street outside my office, drifting with the clouds, feeling the light breeze on my face and listening to the rumbling sound of the traffic, like mechanical babbling of a concrete brook.  And everyone encountered was not a test to be passed, but a fellow human being of no greater or lesser value than myself.  Thirty-three years of affected gesticulation fell away, and I walked without conscious control, swinging my arms without concern in whatever manner felt natural, without censorship.

I cannot recall a time in which I had not constantly been aware of every movement, at least on a subliminal level, to prevent any possibility of disapproval by even casual acquaintances, even STRANGERS, for that matter!  But today, I simply let all that go, or perhaps it was taken from me.  Today I became myself, not anyone’s expectations of me.

This evening, at home, Mary told me she had shared our problem with a friend at work – a gay guy whom she often jokes with.  That, to me, was her most significant reaction since this all started.  Because, what this really means is that she has finally accepted that what I have been telling her is real: not just a strange imagining.  She may never come to terms with it, at at least she is truly acknowledging it.  Thank God!

August 31, 1989

Today may have been the most uneventful since this all began.  It’s strange to contemplate that someday, the changes I have set in motion may seem commonplace.  Then years later: the excitement has worn off, the struggle nearly forgotten.  The strangeness of my new body has become its normal feel, and the question, even awareness of what sex I am, what gender, never enters my conscious thought.

What then of my life?  The wind still blows, the sun still shines.  What will I have gained?  Perhaps nothing.  So what will I have lost?  Perhaps everything.  Or perhaps the other way around.  Ask me again in ten years.

Tonight, Mary told me she had confided in another friend at work.  This confirms my view that she is coming to terms with the reality of the situation.  She was given a recommendation by both of her confidants to see the same psychologist for counseling.  Amazingly, she has taken the advice and intends to meet with a professional.

I worry about her; I worry about myself too, of course, and THAT is mostly what I consider at the intellectual level, but for Mary I worry with my heart.  I do not know if I can live a life without her.  But I suspect I could not live a life without following my own needs.  If the two diverge, I am not sure what I will do.

So, now that she is facing it all and now that she is talking to someone who can help, I know that she will become strong.  There is a deep sense of loss in this, as I know that I will no longer be the one she comes to for strength, but will either find it within herself or from someone else.  Rather than being her source of conflict, I will, or perhaps have already, become the object of her fears or anguish.  I cannot wish her not to find that comfort; I love her too much, but as I write these words, my eyes fill with tears that I am not the one providing it.

Mixed with my own fear and anguish is a strange excitement, an almost giddy elation that at thrity-three years of dreams may ACTUALLY become REALITY. To really awaken in the morning and know that I am truly a woman, not in fantasy, not in costume, but in actuality, fills me with a jittery nervousness of anticipation: a school-girl rush just before her first date.

I intend to let Mary read this entry when I am through, and though I know she will be disheartened, perhaps even disgusted by these admissions, I need her to know.  I need her to know that I do not bring this upon us from lack of love or insensitivity, but from a driving force so strong that, left denied, it would have torn us both apart in years to come, or at best doomed me to a private hell of always wondering, yearning to find out and feeling my life had never been more than a series of days.

If I could change this, I would.  And the fact that I enjoy it so much makes it all the harder to defend as a need.  But the lack of joy is the need, and the need fulfilled becomes the joy.  Will I follow this through?  Can I live without the half of my life that Mary represents?  Will God smile upon me and let me have both?  Somehow I doubt He will.  There is always a price for inner peace and perhaps perpetual grief is mine.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

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MAKE UP TIPS

A continuing series by Mary Kay representative,

Lynda J1

“BLUSHER”

Blusher is often more difficult to apply than eye makeup.  You may be wondering which type of blusher is right for you,  what color you should choose, and how to apply it correctly.

First let’s talk about types of blusher.  There are basically 5 types of blusher:  liquid rouge, cream rouge, cream blusher, powder blusher, and blushing gel.  Liquid rouge is a very thin, water based cheek color.  It is difficult to blend and without LOTS of practice, very difficult to keep from looking like you have a high fever!

                Cream rouge usually comes in one neutral color.  It can be used alone or as a base for powder blusher.  Alone, this formula is recommended for dry and normal skin.  When used as a base for powder blush, it gives “all day” color that needs very few touch ups.  This combination is perfect for those with skin that seems to absorb color.  Either way, cream rouge in one neutral color is a versatile product that blends well with any skin tone so there’s no chance of choosing the wrong shade.  It provides long-lasting color with minimum touch-ups.

Cream blusher (Mary Kay’s Creamy Cheek Color) blends easily with a few finger strokes.  It gives natural looking color to dry, normal, and combination skin types.  This too can be used alone or under powder cheek color for long-lasting wear.  This formula blends especially well with cream or liquid foundations.

                Powder cheek color gives a natural color and a matte (no shine) finish.  It can be used alone or with cream rouge or Creamy Cheek Color.  Powder cheek color is compatible with all skin types and is especially recommended for oily skin.  One word of caution for those of you with dry skin:  be sure the powder blusher you choose has conditioning ingredients for dry skin.  Some powder blushers can irritate dry skin.

Blushing gel gives a natural looking color, but it will often remove foundation and if you try to blend too much, it will come off, taking the foundation with it.  It works well on bare skin when just a hint of color is desired.

Choosing the right color is a little more complicated.  The most important thing to remember is that the color should look natural.  You want to have a healthy blush, not the look of a straining weight-lifter!  Of course if you want a day off work, you could apply with a heavy hand for a “high fever” look.  🙂

The best way to find a shade that is right for you is by determining your level of contrast.  For example, if you have fair skin and blonde or gray hair, your level of contrast is low.  If your skin is fair and your hair is dark, your level of contrast is high.  If you would like more information about determining your personal level of contrast and specific recommendations of colors that are right for you, please don’t hesitate to send e-mail to Lynda J1 stating your hair, eye, and complexion colors.  I would be very happy to help by making recommendations for colors that are just right for you, personally. 

The next thing you will want to determine is your wardrobe colors.  If you wear mostly cool colors like blue, cool greens, purple, and the darker shades of red, you’ll want to pick a blusher shade with cool undertones such as light pinks, rose shades, or those with a hint of lavender or dark red.

If you wear mostly yellows, oranges, and bright reds, you’ll want to select a blusher with warm undertones such as coral or peach shades.

I Want to Make You Blush!

 Cream rouge gives a natural looking blush and is easy to blend.  T-or lose Your level of contrast determines which specific shade in a color family will give you the best results.

Besides level of contrast and coordinating cheek color to wardrobe color, it is important to apply the blusher correctly.  The secret to correct application is first to locate the cheek bones.  These are the bones just under the eyes.  Use your fingertips to feel the cheekbones from just under the temple under the eyes to the center of your nose.  This will give you a general idea of where to place your blusher.

For liquid rouge, blush rouge, creamy cheek color, or blush gel the general rule is to place three tiny dots of color along the cheekbone:

1. Just below the temple.

2. At the outer edge of the eye.

3. At the outer edge of the iris.

Then, gently blend with fingertips using outward strokes toward the hairline at the temple.  Finish with loose powder to set the blusher.

For powder blusher, set foundation with loose powder first, then begin applying blusher just below the temple (where you want the most color) and blend along the cheekbone toward the nose.  Your blusher brush should be 3/4 to 1 inch wide depending on the size of your face.  Smaller faces need the smaller brush.

For those with an average or wide face shape, blend powder blusher along the cheekbone, no closer than two fingers-width from the nose.  For those with a narrow face, no closer that three fingers-width.

When blending powder blusher, use a straight brush stroke for a wide face, an underhand stroke (like a smile) for the average face shape, and an overhand stroke (like a frown) for the narrow face.

A few final notes on blusher.  New lip and eye colors for fall are rich and sultry.  When you use strong color on eyes or lips, keep the cheek color subtle so colors don’t compete for attention.  Coordinate your cheek and lip colors by keeping them in the same color family, warm or cool.  If you look a little washed-out when wearing black, don’t automatically reach for more blusher.  Try a rosier shade of foundation first.  That will give an all-over, natural-looking skin tone that looks great with darker colors.

Next time:  Eye Color.  If you have specific questions about eye shadows and/or eye liner, write to me.  If you have suggestions for future articles, I’d love to hear about it.  I’m here to serve you!  If you have questions or comments, send e-mail to Lynda J1.  All questions will receive a personal reply.  Those of general interest will be addressed in this column (No names will be used.)

Editor’s Note:  Remember, Lynda J1 is YOUR Mary Kay Representative.  Support her efforts here by placing your orders with her, a real nice way to say “Thank You!”  All orders are held in confidence, and orders will be shipped in plain wrapping.  And you’ll never find a more understanding or knowledgeable make-up consultant for your special needs.

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“Crossdresser in JC Penny’s”

By Pam36C

Lingerie Anyone?

On a recent lingerie buying trip at J C Penny with a girlfriend Charlotte we were standing at the cash register, trying to carry on a casual conversation with the store

representative. Charlotte noticed something and she nudged me then nodded in the direction of an elderly couple. They looked as if they were in their sixties plus or minus a few

years, and we could tell they were intently shopping for a bra. In the next few minutes we noticed that it was he who was accepting or rejecting her choices. He was looking for a

certain style and/or size bra.    Upon further scrutiny and a few giggles (silent of course) we noticed a very clean shaven face on this man. For a few seconds we both watched him locked in an almost obsessive trance. We were watching the couple but primarily

him. Suddenly they separated, she, still looking at the various styles, he, looking and touching certain styles and a certain size 36’s.    He very nonchalantly walked around this one display of

beautiful bras. Looking at some high up, above eye level, he pulled one of the bras slightly away from the others. Then he inspected the inside, No! This wasn’t the right one.

After some other inspections he came to a rack a little closer to us. He was still by himself, touching and looking for just the right bra. It seemed longer but I know it

probably only took a few minutes. We were unaware of everything around us, as I said earlier we were sort of in a trance. This man knew just what he was looking for. He was

undistracted in his determination and to the point of almost robot like in his search.    Charlotte finished her transaction and we turned to leave. Quietly we briefly discussed if we should have

approached this man and given him an Alpha Omega card (if we would have had one). Alas discretion regained control of us and we went our way, back to an accepting dress shop. More on that one later I hope.    Incidentally Charlotte and I are, and I hate to admit this, boys. (HEY LIGHTEN UP I’M JUST KIDDING! ! !). We were dressed in male clothes, of course, and also very nonchalant when we were shopping for Charlotte’s nighty.    Writing about this incident I happened to think about Charlotte and me inspecting nighties. It made me wonder if perhaps another crossdresser across the store in the dress
department might have been observing us. Touching, looking, commenting on each nighties attributes or drawbacks. Then I wondered if THAT crossdresser had been observed by still another pervious crossdresser.    Isn’t that a weird idea, like a progressive observation club. It could be that all over the world this club operates anonymously. Without dues, membership rolls or a constitution. So the next time you are shopping for that special someone quickly glance over your shoulder. Maybe just maybe you’ll catch one of us watching you. If you’re lucky you may observe someone else and that automatically enrolls you in the club too!    Yea I know it’s strange idea but I feel we have to accept ourselves and have fun with it. I guess we’ll never know for sure if this club really exists unless this article brings in a flood of observation sightings. Remember girls I’m a BLONDE and that allows me to be dingy he he he ! See you in the lingerie department sometime.

Love, Luck, Laughter    Pam 36C

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HORMONES

By Melanie Anne

The subject of hormones is a hot one.  These chemicals are essential to feminization and transformation, and yet they are very poorly understood.  Medical experts around the country stand firmly behind the information they supply.  The problem is, they all disagree!  So what’s a girl to do?  How can learn the REAL story on hormones?  Well, as a small step in that direction, I am opening the discussion here today.  I would like to hear REAL LIFE comments from those who are on or have taken hormones about the effects and side effects they experienced.  Pills vs. Injections, emotional effects, physical complications, desired physical effects.  In short, let’s gather our OWN data base of information from real people who are actually USING hormones.

The most important thing to remember is that

HORMONES ARE DANGEROUS!!!!!

They are not candy, they are not recreational drugs, they are not womanhood in a bottle.  So, in the traditional warning: “Don’t try this at home!”  You could kill yourself.

I know a doctor here in LA who will give you whatever you want.  Just tell him the dose and he’ll inject it or sell you the pills.  Now THAT’s REALLY dangerous!!!  Unless you know what you are doing, you might just end up on a slab or a mental vegetable.

You see, one of the gravest dangers of hormones is blood clotting (or Thrombosis).  When clots form, they might be so small as to be undetectable.  Yet if that clot is dislodged and thrown into the blood stream, it can lodge in the heart, lungs, or brain, and cause everything from heart attack to stroke.

And then there is the liver.  Anyone taking hormones by pills needs to have regular checkups to test for impaired liver function.  Injections bypass the liver, going directly into the bloodstream, but pills are processed by the liver and the wrong dose can permanently damage it.  The liver does not regenerate.  Once it is damaged, it STAYS damaged for the rest of your life.

So, a physicians care is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL for ANYONE on ANY KIND of hormones.  Now, many of us ignore that, trying to get on the ‘mones without anyone knowing, or afraid that a doctor would not prescribe them.  And even those of us on professional care often change dosages to our own idea of what they should be because we are dissatisfied with our own progress.

That last point is pertinent to me.  My doctor saw me through all my hormone therapy and all the way through surgery.  He had always told me that after surgery, you need to drop your dose.  But, right after surgery, he retired and moved out of the area with no forwarding address.  He turned over his records to another doctor, but the new doctors were just general practitioners, not Transsexual experts.  So, I switched to my S.O.’s HMO plan.  The doctor there was very accommodating.  He looked at my dosages and said, “I don’t have much experience with hormones, but these levels look about right.”  So he just rubber-stamped my pre-surgery levels, not even knowing they were supposed to come down.

Now, Doctor Biber gives you an “ad lib” or “for life” prescription for HIS recommended dosages: .05mg Estinyl daily, 10mg Provera one week per month.  He does not believe in “cycling” like with birth control pills, for example, where the standard prescription is three weeks on and one week off everything for a 28 day “cycle”.

Now the dosages I was taking from my HMO were .25mg Estinyl (5 times as high as Biber recommends) PLUS 5.0mg Premarin on a 25 day on, 3 day off cycle.  Then 10mg Provera on the last 10 days of the cycle.  Quite a difference!!!  But, this was all prescribed by my doctor.  So, who is right?  What is right?

Well, that brings me back to the purpose of this article: to find out!  To start the effort off, here is a portion of a letter I wrote an online friend earlier in the month about my attempt to find the proper hormone type and dosage.

“Well, I have been dissatisfied with my bust development.  I knew it felt like there was more of an effect when I first started on injections three years ago, but I don’t want to go back on them because I had some severe mental effects.  That’s why I switched to pills after two months.  Before the injections, I used B.C. pills.  I used the 1/50 kind, which I understand to be 1mg of Provera and either .05mg or .5mg Estinyl.  Now, after about 60 days of that, I developed trouble breathing and a general lethargy and tiredness and weakness.  I stopped and the effects went away.  I was not sure if they were caused by the pills or not.  On the dosages I had from my doctor, which ended up at .25mg Estinyl and 5.0mg Premarin daily on a 25 day on 3 day off cycle with 10mg Provera on the last ten days, I had no ill effects.  But I also never got that breast tenderness I had experienced with the injections and only ended up an A cup.  I had heard that Estinyl was 10 times as powerful as Premarin, meaning the 5.0 Premarin amounted to .5mg Estinyl.  But the two drugs also have slightly different effects.  The Premarin sneaks past the glands and is not noted as an increased Estrogen level, but the Estinyl is noted and before surgery, the body increases Testosterone to counteract the Estinyl.  But the Estinyl is what increases the breasts best, so it is a catch 22.  But AFTER surgery, you don’t need the sneaky Premarin, and you can use all Estinyl with no backlash, thereby getting the good effects.  Also, after surgery, you are supposed to lower your dose.  Well, my doctor moved out of the area after 16 years here, just after surgery.  So I went to the HMO and they just rubber stamped my old prescriptions.  So I wanted to lower the overall dose, but get more effects.  So, I stopped the Premarin, (the equivalent of .5mg Estinyl, and added .25 to the Estinyl to bring it up to .5 total.  That way, it cut down the effective dose by 33% but added more of the good stuff.  I also switched to a daily dose of 5mg Provera, amounting to the same overall amount taken over the full month.  Well, I got a BIG boost in development (especially around the nipples from the Provera).  But the weakness and breathing problems came back.  So, I am in my 3 day off cycle now.  I stopped the Provera and Estinyl.  I will go back on the regular cycle except I will use the .5mg Estinyl daily and only use the Provera on the last 10 days as before at 10mg daily.  I cannot be sure if it is the higher estrogen level or the Provera that causes the problem, nor which one is the cause of the extra development, but this last test should clear that up.  I’ll let you know what happens.

Love,

  Melanie”

Okay, so there’s an opening salvo in the war against Hormone Ignorance.  If YOU have any REAL experience or knowledge of hormones, PLEASE take the time to make that information available to the community in this column, so we can be all that we want to be at the smallest possible risk to our health.

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AFTERGLOW

The words to a song I wrote just before transition:

THE COMPANY SONG

By Melanie Anne Phillips

Every morning I cling to my bed,
While lost opportunities dance in my head.
No time for problems or pleasures or life,
I gotta win bread for the kids and the wife,
SO I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

Race through the door so the card gets its punch,
Open my locker and throw in my lunch.
Hundreds of papers and thousands of parts,
When they blow the whistle the whole damn thing starts,
AND I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG

Every two hours a ten minute break,
But don’t fall behind on the things that you make.
Meet all your deadlines, your quotas and goals,
And maybe you’ll get a small raise, but who knows,
WHEN YOUR SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

When I was younger, I used to wonder
What would I be when I grew?
I never considered the way its turn out,
I would’ve stayed young if I knew.

Privateer politics, cloaked in good will,
Backstabbing rumors that wound more than kill,
Lack of respect and the pain that it brings,
These are a few of my favorite things,
WHEN I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

Don’t make suggestions and don’t act too smart,
Or thirty-year fools will take you apart.
Humor the fools and buy them their beers,
And you’ll be a fool in thirty odd years,
WHEN YOU’RE SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

Now that I’m older, sometimes I wonder
How it turned out this way?
But somehow the answer becomes more obscure,
Or just matters less every day.

Now, I’ve got security, you understand,
In a ten percent vested retirement plan.
And if I should die, well there’s no need to grieve,
They won’t let me go ’cause I’m out of sick leave,
AND I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG,

I’m singing the company song.

— From the “Tarnished Karma” album – Melanie Anne Phillips

                                                (Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose.

The Subversive

Number 2

1992 Melanie Anne Phillips

The Subversive

Number 1

   Today marks the beginning of a dream I have had since I was twelve: the first issue of a newspaper devoted to the free and open exchange of ideas.  At that early and innocent age I had read the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin and was deeply influenced by the wide-ranging iconoclastic topics he had addressed in his publications as a young adult.  In my own life, the boredom of an intellectually oppressive school system and the mundane pablum doled out by the mass media left me feeling as if the Age of Enlightenment had withered up and died.

   I yearned for a forum, a platform where the energetic, inspired thinkers of MY time might gather to debate whatever artistic, political, scientific, or social subjects that peaked their skewed perceptions.  I sought a meeting place where works of insight and merit might be published and shared with others.  But, alas, there seemed to be no such body available to a small child with an odd way of looking at the world.

   So I adapted myself to what opportunities I DID find, went to film school and became a writer, director, and theorist in the film industry.  I married, had children, and established a successful business.  Then, about five years ago, I sat back, surveyed what I had accomplished, and realized that my life had become as boring and mundane as those institutions I hated as a child.  I had become one of “them”.

`   I took stock of my life, soon realizing that these external achievements had done nothing to satisfy that curious twelve year old child.  What was more, there was some hidden inequity, deep within that found no solace in these material things.  Old fantasies re-surfaced and played across my mind’s stage.  I could not make them yield, nor could I shut them out.  I became obsessed, compelled against my will to search them out and know myself in honesty and depth.

   On January 9th, 1992, I had Sex Reassignment Surgery, fulfilling the destiny I found there, and bringing equity to my sense of self for the first time ever.  I assumed the future would be one of internal peace and contentment, free at last from the secret torment of a lifetime.  But the woman I had found inside was still not satisfied.

   Through my transition, I had managed somehow to hold everything together.  I kept my friends, maintained my family, enhanced my career.  I made new friends both in personal dealings and in the extended world of the computer modem.  I became involved in a project at a major software company that seeks to describe the very essence of how and why self-aware conscious thought even exists.  And, just over a year ago, I began and organized a gender group on America Online that has grown in twelve months to 117 members.

   More accomplishments you say?  Yes, objectively it would seem so.   But what of that twelve year old child?  What of the dreams of a traffic in inspired thoughts?

   A week ago Friday, that child threw a tantrum.  I called up my “wife” of nearly seventeen years and told her I might not be coming home that night, nor any night after.  I walked into the office of the company vice-president – my friend and writing partner of 15 years, and told him that was most likely my last day, and the project could crumble for all I cared.  I called up my lover and told her not to expect to see me again.  And I came home to pack my bags and move to Arizona to be a waitress.

   You see, just as I had become obligated in a male role for so many decades, AFTER transition, I had become obligated in relationships and duties that did nothing to satisfy that childhood need.  I went from caring about EVERYONE so MUCH that I could not say “No” to them, to someone who did not care what happened to ANYONE, least of all me.  I needed some space, some time, a chance to recapture the wonder I had felt at simply being alive.  If I had been left alone, you would not be reading this now.  But those who love me would not let me go.  Not without a fight.

   My writing partner sat me down in his office for half an hour and urged me to take some time off – yes, but not to burn my bridges by proclaiming I would never come back.  My “wife” took the afternoon off from work and insisted I sit next to her while she held me.  I felt suddenly tired.

Encircled by her arms, my eyelids slowly closed.  I slept.

   When I awoke some minutes later, the truth of what these two special people had told me became apparent.  I realized that I had over obligated MYSELF and left no room to simply “be”.  I needed Melanie Time, time to sit and watch the clouds,  time to listen to the breeze, time to put my thoughts into words and song – time to make that twelve year old’s dream come true.

   I got up and called my writing partner on the phone and told him I need to switch to a four day week at the same rate of pay, so that I might have a day to devote to that child.  He agreed without hesitation.  I told Mary I needed more help around the house, and wanted the whole family to assist me in housework an hour a night until we were back on track.  She agreed immediately.  I called my lover and explained that I cared very deeply, but could only spend one day each weekend with her.  She accepted the need.  And I made a commitment to spend less time with the gender group on America Online.

   For the last year, I have put in an average of 20 hours a week, hosting the Sunday meetings, answering mail from both the strong-willed and the fragile souls in need, as well as producing a new edition of The Gender News every couple of weeks.  This I have done out of love for those, who like myself, are seeking an understanding of who and what they are.

   But there comes a point when the draw is greater than the capacity, when the needs are greater than the resources.  Like an electric circuit, the demands can grow beyond the potential.  That Friday was a brown-out, a near-failure of the system to accommodate the pull.  The next step would have been a black-out.

   It is hard for me to admit that there may be more needs than I can meet, more suffering than I can salve, more questions that I can take the time to answer, even when I know the answer.  I HATE inequity in all its forms, and have sought always to bring things into balance wherever I could.  But the inequity I had not expected, not perceived, was the inequity of overtaxing my own compassion.  I STILL care for all in need, very deeply, but now realize I cannot help them if I fail as a system myself.  So, I have reorganized my commitments: four day working week, more help around the house, less time with my lover, less time with the Gender Room, and, I am changing the Gender News into the Subversive.

   The Gender News will still be a section in the Subversive, with just as much, if not more, material in every issue.  There being two primary differences:   Rather than a bi-weekly, the Subversive will appear every month or so, whenever time permits.  And rather than addressing ONLY gender issues at the expense of all others, the Subversive will be open to all manners of conjecture and experimentation providing a framework and outlet for all my other interests as well.  The Gender News, will still be its own section in the Subversive, and since it will be published only once a month, it will have even more articles per issue than before.

   I do not see this as retrograde motion, but as another step forward in the evolution and growth of the Equity Movement: the philosophy I founded that does not seek the same things for everyone, but equal opportunity to seek what is most meaningful to each individual.  Men and women ARE different, the old and the young ARE different, blacks, whites and all races ARE different in many, many ways.  But we are all the same in the depth of our feeling, the strength and validity of our needs, and the right to try and fill them.  By providing a forum for self-expression and creative exploration, the Subversive exists to aid that Equity Movement toward the freedom to be oneself.

   In a famous movie, Charles Foster Kane issues a “Declaration” in the first edition of his new newspaper that pledges to print the truth and champion the common man.  Let this serve as the Declaration of the first edition of the Subversive:

“This journal exist to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue his own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

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WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE:

The Subversive is FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com on Internet, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

NOTICE:  Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

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LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

From: Jami1

To:     Melanie XX

I’m not much of a poet, Lynda beats me by a country mile. But, here’s one for the Gender News if you like it. It was a last ditch effort, 10 minutes before my last appointment, to impress my psychologist who suggested I explore my masculinity. This pretty much says it like it is for me. I’m not a TS anymore, TG maybe. Too much at stake. I was willing to do that, and the idea was very appealing, but I’ve gotten to a place, where I am, that has suddenly made me realize that it is no longer necessary. I’m all here in one piece/place. I love it. I have you and others to thank. What you’ve given me is invaluable and extremely precious, wonderful and fulfilling. The sages and mystics have it. A wise old (American) Indian once commented that he wondered how long it would take me and others to realize we already have it.

My doctor told me a story which I must relate, then the poem:

    A Tibetan monk’s task in the monastery on his road to enlightenment was to go down the hill, fill his bucket with water, haul it back up the hill, past the monastery to water the garden at the top of the hill, which he did many times a day.  After ten years he attained enlightenment.  What do you think he did the next day?  He watered the garden.

 FRIENDLY GENDER

 —————

On advice bordering obscenity

I explored my masculinity,

not finding what I thought

was right in front of me,

but rather, beside me.

Now it all comes clear,

there’s nothing more to fear,

what seemed so far away

was really very near.

Jami

Thanks, Jami!  A great note and a great submission for the News!  I’m glad to hear you are happy where you are.  You know, the fact is, you better be happy where you are because you’ll never be any place else!  Take care, and

Love,

   Melanie

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FEATURE ARTICLES

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM

By Pam 36C

BACKGROUND; I was born in February 1947. In the spring of 1950 my family (Mom, Dad, Sister and Me) moved to California because I was asthmatic. It didn’t help my chronic attacks so in 1952 we moved back to Ohio, and our old neighborhood. The new house we moved into was about ten blocks away from our old house. My sister was and still is very pretty but back then we played quite allot together. My sister is 353 days younger than me.

My first memory of crossdressing is in this house. As children go we got bored with our toys and make believe scenarios. We played grocery store, house, cowboy/cowgirl, etc. Well I can remember my sister asking “What can we play now?” On this one occasion I responded “Lets play dress up you be the boy I’ll be the girl” Of course she went along we were completely oblivious to the gender stigma attached to clothes. As I remember this only happened four or five times until she didn’t want any part of this make believe game. Try as I might she rejected the game each time. My next exposure to crossdressing would be by myself quite a few years later.

At about this time I started having a nightmare. I call it this now because then it was a very traumatic experience when it occurred. I would wake up each time very scared, distressed and confused. Here I must say the dream was the same every time I dreamt it. I had three or four a year over a period of probably five or six years.

As the dream started it was like the description of an out of body experience you hear about. My mind would be watching a scene unfolding. Though I would not be conscious of that mind being in a body. It was sort of like only my consciousness or intellect observing this 3D Technicolor panorama unfolding. It seemed as though I were a very great distance above a lightly wooded area. Not being concerned with the forest in particular my attention would immediately be drawn to a log cabin resting gently on a very green patch of perfectly kept lawn. The lawn subtly rolled away from the cabin in all directions, peaceful was the only way to describe it.

Looking at the cabin I am then drawn into it almost automatically and only by sight or so to speak telescopically. After the first few times dreaming the dream I tried to resist this but I couldn’t.. As I zoom in on the cabin it becomes transparent and I am suddenly gazing at the scene inside. The walls of course are logs. The light inside is soft and warm but I don’t know where it is coming from. Then I notice a very attractive very young very blonde little girl. She is sitting in front of the only window that I am aware of. Sitting, rocking just gazing out that window content and happy looking. The rocker is a child’s rocker, you know small, but real old looking.

She is very pretty in her pink dress with lace at the collar, cuffs and hem. Her hair is as soft as corn silk and about that color too. In her hair is a pink ribbon holding back her hair so only part of her ears are showing. Soft gentle curls cascade out of the ribbon and seem to flow from it. The curls sway easily a tiny bit as she rocks back and forth. With all this that I see I can’t remember ever seeing her face though.

I am aware of her emotions also almost as if I am connected to her feelings. She is content, happy and pleased by the sights outside the window. Rocking in the little chair and gazing out

the window makes her very happy. Then an overwhelming feeling sweeps over my whole consciousness. I have an unmistakable knowledge that I am that little girl in the chair, I knew it, I

could feel it, all my being knew I was her and she was me. At best I was completely confused by this sense of a connection with her. I didn’t understand any of this but I knew what I knew. That person in the rocking chair was me! Why, how, or what for I didn’t have the slightest idea. I could feel the contentment the peace inside this little girl. I knew she was happy where she was and what she was. All this peace, contentment and connection I could feel.

Then I became aware of a rumbling, distant sound. You know the kind of sound that when you hear it, even for the very first time, you know it isn’t a good sound something bad is coming.

Well, that’s what this brought to me, pure fear. As the sound came closer the little girl’s joy turned to terror. Still watching out the window as the sound and apprehension increased her rocking decreased. Then she stopped rocking and just leaned towards the window, watching and waiting. She knew what was approaching and she knew what would happen. I could feel her fear mounting.

Then just as in the beginning of this scene my consciousness zoomed backwards out into space. Automatically, as if someone just pushed the button on a rocket and I flew back out to my original, detached, safe position. Once there the otherwise pastoral scene was transformed into a terrible scene of destruction. The quite calm cabin was about to be crushed by an avalanche of large rocks and earth.

As I watched from my lofty and safe observation point I could still feel the little girls’ emotions. The peace, warmth, and happiness now were replaced with terror and panic. It filled me to my very core and I would cry out and weep uncontrollably. Then the emotional transmitter ceased and it’s now terrible transmission silent. The little girl was dead and so was that part of me that she was. At this point I would wake up usually drenched with sweat and filled with that lingering terror that something in me had really died, but I was still alive. Many times after I quit having that dream I wondered why she died what this nightmare meant. Then one day it hit me I killed

her, each time I denied she was in me. She was the girl in me sitting patiently, awaiting her time to leave that cabin. Waiting to breathe Gods fresh air, see the beautiful world He made and show off that pretty pink dress she wore. Time after time the avalanche of guilt would crush her and the beauty inside her.Leaving me empty, alone, and crying because I killed her again and again.

Then the dream stopped sort of by itself. As I remember it may have stopped around the first time I put on one of my sisters’ dresses when we moved into another house in 1959. Time clouds many of the dates but the sights and emotions that
happened over and over I’ll never forget.

Well, we are proud now who we are.

We are alive and living our lives together now.

We are at peace now that I have accepted her.

We both are happy now that she is out of that cabin and I am out of that guilt.

We may still not be able to venture beyond that soft green velvet lawn and out into that forest of unknowns, yet.

We have put up a welcome sign in the yard finally. The most important though is I will never lose her ever again. The rest of our lives will be at peace, happy and together.

Love, Luck, Laughter

Pam 36C

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From: CarynKR2

To:     Melanie XX

 Dear Melanie,

As you know, I run a bbs. You mentioned that I could post The Gender News on my bbs and it has become a popular feature. But no one has wanted to submit anything until now. So that is the motivation for this letter.

From: Lori Mcvay

To: Caryn Roberts

Subject: Gender News

Hi Caryn, it’s me again.

I would like you to post a message for the Gender News.

How have people in the Federal workplace handled their transition.  Since the feds are covered by different rulings, has anyone had success transitioning in the federal government.  I recently saw a interview with Dr. Biber and one of the girls was from a federal base (Army, Air Force, I forgot which one) so it must be possible.

By the way, I really look forward to reading the news.  I especially like the quotes from her old diary before transition. I edited one of her messages because it described my thoughts better than I could say it and let my wife read it to prove to her that there is not all happiness in going through this gender identity plus I showed it to my therapist who said that it expressed my feelings very well but I let him know that it was from the Gender News (I can’t write that good).

Anyway, Caryn, rephrase the above anyway you want to but I’m hoping that a USA wide reading might get me some answers.

Love ya, Lori

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Once again, I would like to thank you for putting The Gender News together. I know it is a big job.

Huggz,

Caryn

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Contributed by: Heather121

Monday July 13th 1992 the Jersey Shore System BBS, a pioneer gender BBS, celebrated it’s 10th birthday. If you’re familiar with JSS, be assured the rumors of it’s demise are greatly exaggerated.

   As explained by sysop Paula Keiser, JSS almost didn’t make it to it’s decade anniversary, but the perseverance of the sysop and the resources of friends have resuscitated JSS.  Here’s the story in the sysop’s own words:

    “I’m sure you’ve noticed that JSS has been thoroughly missing since April. A catastrophic hardware failure caused first the demise of JSS’s main drive, and then, later, the  computer’s main drive. Finally, the main input/output system of the computer failed and took part of the motherboard.

        Getting it fixed continues to be a project worthy of the Keystone Kops!  I am now using a borrowed computer with  limited storage space, STILL waiting for the return of my own computer.  Consequently, in the interest of just getting the system up, I have installed a minimal system with message base only. 

        In the crash, both the message base as of April as well as the backups, have been lost, so we’re beginning the message base from scratch.  Also, the user log and its backup were lost, but fortunately I found a backup from November, 1990 lying around, so all is not lost.  Just ALMOST all!  If the system recognized you, welcome back!  If not, you will have to re-register.

        I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.  Believe me, I didn’t do it on purpose!  Please help me and all the other callers, new and old, to restore JSS to it’s prominence as the oldest BBS

in southern New Jersey!

Paula (SYSOP)”

JSS is actually 2 BBSs in one. A first time caller and all casual callers will be greeted by the general-interest BBS. The gender section is “invisible” to general users. JSS can be reached at 609-693-8849. If you’re a new user (or have become a user since 11/90), you can log onto JSS, and obtain access to the gender section by logging on as first name APRIL last name MAY password FRIENDS. All 3 words MUST be entered in capitals. JSS is case-sensitive. You will then be walked through a brief questionnaire, and access will usually be granted within a day or two. JSS does not carry the gender echoes available on other BBSs, but has varied and active message bases and files unique to itself.

   For the record, JSS was only the third gender-oriented BBS in the U.S. and the only one of the three which has survived to this day.  The first was GenderNet in Oakland, California… the model on which JSS is based.  The other was “Passing Fancy”, which was a “pay” system in Virginia. It’s a testament to the tenacity of the Sysop that JSS – one of the pioneers in on-line self-help for the gender community – is still an active, vital resource today.

  JSS has been there for us for 10 years. If you haven’t discovered this marvelous BBS, call today. And be sure to wish the sysop a happy anniversary!

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Contributed by: Anna A1 In response to her questionnaire posted to members of the Online Gender Group, regarding which would be preferable: to change the body to match the mind, or the mind to match the body?

As to the first question: Well, I am a struggling CD/TV. ( I dress only at home when I am safe, due to my build I only dress as a woman from the waist down)  I had stop dressing for years and only recently began again, however due to my build and features I do not look much like a woman.  I am heterosexual and enjoy making love to woman so I don’t know where I fit in many times. 

Altering my body to fit the mind would do nothing to further my situation than altering my mind to fit the body.  I am in a ‘limbo’ situation until I decide whether I should be a fulltime TV or not.  Also of late I have stopped dressing totally to see what my path is, but one thing I am sure of is that I have no desire to be a TS or see myself as ever becoming one.  That is my personal feelings/opinion as I am sure that I am heterosexual meaning I prefer sex with women.  To adjust my body would make me a TS who prefers women hence a lesbian.  While this would seemingly settle my situation, it doesn’t.  I do not want to be a woman, but feel a need and comfort when dressed as on, particularly when I’m writing.

Anon

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Oh, this one’s easy.  By all means, change the mind…CHANGE THE MIND!!! 

The pain of our condition is three-fold: First is the pain of unknown origin…the pain we’ve lived with all our lives.  Something is wrong with us, but we don’t know what it is.  Then comes the second source of pain — we unearth a name for who or what we are, and realize there must be steps taken to overcome the pain.  For some of us, that includes changing our outward appearance to match that of our psyches.  Therein lies the third source — the reactions of others, especially for those of us who have married and begun families.  For some of us, we find we must reject that which we have built, those whom we love, in order to achieve happiness.  This third source of pain could be avoided entirely if it were possible to alter the mind to fit the body.  At least that way, we could continue in our original roles to those who love us. 

We define transsexualism as non-congruence between the mind and the body.  All we desire is to have the mind and the body of the same sex and gender.  To alter the body, we must affect everyone around us.  We force them to perceive us in a new way.  This is difficult for many to accept, and becomes the reason many of us lose friendships, loved ones, jobs, etc.  To change the mind would allow us to view ourselves as mentally and physically congruent without putting all of our outside world relationships at risk.

Our goal is mental and physical congruence.  If altering the mind was as easy (yes I know — a relative term) as altering the body to achieve congruence, wouldn’t it be better to choose the path of alteration that affected the fewest number of people?

Elaine P1

If there was a choice of adjusting the mind to fit the body or adjusting the body to fit the mind, would you choose one or the other and why?

I would choose to adjust the body to fit the mind.   I would much rather be female than male. I am TV.  If life circumstances were different I would most definitely venture toward the TS end of the gender spectrum.  But as things are today, I am and have the responsibilities of a husband and father which I take very seriously.

I would rather be female but I don’t have to be.  And at this time being female runs contrary to my responsibilities of a husband and father.  So settling to be TV rather than TS.  No one is forcing me to choose this path, In following it of my free will.  There are too many people whom I love dearly will be burden if I choose otherwise.

I don’t feel that I was born in the wrong body.  I just would rather be female. (no therapist would give me letters of recommendations for surgery with that answer.)

I’m sure that I would have been a great wife and mother. 

I hope my answer makes sense.

Leslie10

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I believe adjusting the body to fit the mind is the most appropriate since the mind is who and what we are. The physical attributes should match how we view ourselves.

Ellisa

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I would rather adjust the body to the mind. The mind is far more powerful then the mind and therefore cannot be adjusted. One cant deny there true feelings for long

Julie85042

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I am a pre-op-TS (MtF). I’ve been on Premarin since last Christmas along with electrolysis, etc.  I go full time next New Years day.  In response to your GenderNews question, I would never want to change my mind to fit a male body. 

I wouldn’t be me anymore.  I thought about this before I went on my TS path.  I was to see a therapist to “cure” my transgender feelings.  As my appointment got closer, I began to think of what I would be loosing if indeed I could develop a male mind somehow (It wouldn’t have worked anyway!).  I love my femininity, my soft, emotional nature.  My love of pastels, flowers, and pretty things.  I love my women friends, AS FRIENDS.  I’m glad I made the right decision.

Love, KristineTS

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Hmmm, adjusting the mind to fit the body or adjusting the body to fit the mind… 

I think that adjusting the mind to fit the body is much easier.  In my case accepting is the key.  I have spent 27 years trying to convince myself that I was not a Cross dresser.  Then I discovered the book written by Virginia Prince and found out that I was not alone nor was I much different than many other males. 

Adjusting the mind to accept what I am as much as Who I am.  Knowing that I will never have the body of a female and I must accept this also is part of the acceptance.  

HUGS,  Sarah 3182]

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For me, I would prefer that my body be adjusted to fit my mind. I prefer the female way of thinking and doing things. Since I don’t like male ways now, why would I want to force them on myself. All this macho stuff men have to put out is stupid and certainly not to my liking.

Any ways. I know this has been a short response, but that’s all I really have to say on the matter.

Love,

Wendy TG

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I’d rather change the body to match the mind.  That way you stay the same person and the body would match the person.  Changing the mind to fit the body, you would no longer be the same person.

Melanie337

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Speaking as a 12+ year post-op transsexual — if I could have changed my mind or my body (and I stress “could have”) — I would have changed my “mind.”   The pain, the anxiety — all of the turmoil to family and friends would have been avoided — and I would be at peace with myself.

However, one can’t change one’s mind.  It’s impossible, medically or psychologically.  The body is a different matter. I did change my body — and from a 12-year perspective:  YES! I WOULD DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN.  No if’s, no doubts, no but’s!  I am at peace with myself.

Jeanne

(Note:  Jeanne responded to a posting on compuserves Genderline)

        That’s an easy question.  Adjust the body.  I don’t want anyone messing with my mind, I do enough of that myself.  I know it’s hard to be a woman, hell, it’s hard to be a human being, but unequivocally, without a doubt, yes.  I never wanted to be a man, rarely thought of myself as one, and have gone through the craziness we all have, long dark nights of the soul wanting to give this up but unable to.

I am Cheryl (or Joyce or Karen or Jackie or Joanne or Susan), for good or ill, I can’t conceive of being someone else.  I am a girl, dammit (banging head against the wall) and will consider no other possibility.

I refuse to recognize that I might have a penis, uggh! the thought turns my stomach.  I’ve gone this far as Cheryl, I’m not going to deny it now.

        I’m going to paint my toenails and not even think of the question.

                                        Hugs,

                                        Cheryl 

(Note:  Cheryl responded to a posting on compuserves Genderline and has mentioned that she will be joining in on AOL soon)

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I would prefer to have the body match the mind.  My mind has the desire to dress and act feminine but my body does not look the part.   I wish that I could get my body to more resemble the female body for a better fit of clothes and for looks.

As I said before.  Thanks for taking the time to do this Anna. 

It is OK to use my name in the gender news if you would like.

LeAnne CD

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Adjust the body to suit the mind.    It just makes more sense since we know more about the body.

Susan TS.

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I would adjust the body to fit the mind….I’m not sure why I feel the way that I do , but I know that I have felt the need to crossdress sense I was about five…These urges have presented a constant challenge to me , and often I’ve prayed to have them go away…I do believe there is a reason why we have these urges and I know in my heart of hearts that they are both a blessing and  a possible curse…I cursed and did not except these desires for a long time…now, finally I am beginning to give in  to my desires and that is a blessing…I say bring on the magic pill that will help me be all that I can be.

Gemini8606

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I would choose neither choice. As a Het TV I don’t feel there is a problem with my body or my mind.(Well the body could use some work physically!!) If I couldchange someone else’s mind about TVism I think that might help.

                                                  Leesha

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I   would choose adjusting the body to the mind.  Although I  believe I am not a transsexual, I would  find it would be much easier to be a  female  than a male because of the strict  rules that the dominating male  society puts  upon people.

I am a TG, primarily Androgynous, but I do crossdress with some women’s clothes. As  a woman, I would be more free to express my individuality.  A born  female who is  androgynous, is more likely to be accepted than a born male would be.

I  was born a man with a female personality, which makes it difficult to live in  a masculine dominated  society.  If I could change to be a woman, then I  would. I would feel more comfortable  around people and myself. I could look into the mirror and feel  serenity. 

Love,

Storm Face

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It depends

Mind to body…my  fem mind to a fem body yes..but there is not all that much fem (that I know of) in me. When I’m dressed it comes out and especially when I’m with my wife I feel “soft” but I don’t know how far it goes In the other direction Body to mind since it is a male body I’ve never completely experienced the 100% male thing (due to the TV inclination). Perhaps I’d like too…but then since I have this cross thing (I’m defiantly hetero) I treasure those soft moments

A hard question to answer

JoNelle

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                  Hormones: When Reality Takes A Break

                           by: Wendi Pierce *

    Recently I saw a cartoon in Tapestry that took a little while to sink in. The cartoon was a take-off on the drug addiction awareness ads running in many national publications. The original ad went something like this, “This is Crack, this is your brain on crack”. This cartoon substituted “Premarin” for “Crack” and showed the brain image as flowers, rainbows, etc.. At first I thought it amusing and a novel parody but the more I thought about it, the more serious it became.

    The mind and what it perceives govern our lives. We as members of the “gender community” have decided to explore our minds and likewise our inner desires. In many cases, we are now able to express that inner self publicly. We have allowed our “inner self” to come out into the light of day, to be expressed openly and we are, “on a grow”, as a good friend of mine puts it.

    However, we need to be clear headed and rational in our exploration of this inner self. We need to be able to evaluate ourself clearly and choose the right path at each and every fork in the road, less we wake up some day realizing that where we are now is not the place that we started out heading toward. Worse yet we may have no way to go back.

    Everyone knows the physical effects which hormones produce. However, a powerful influence which may not be apparent to some is the effect of hormones on our mind. Most people do not realize that these chemicals have a dramatic effect on our mind as well as our bodies. If you want proof, just ask any “natural” woman how her mood, attitudes, and ability to function varies at times due to her natural cycle. In the case of a person on large doses of hormones being used to cause a gender change combined with the natural hormones present of the person’s original gender and one may end up with a mental state the equivalent of a bottle of nitroglycerin ready to blow at the slightest jarring.

    For those who choose to experiment with hormones in a non-controlled environment, the situation is extremely dangerous. Supervision is the key here. Not just physical supervision which is usually provided by a family doctor or an endocrinologist but psychological supervision by a professional trained in “gender therapy”. A professional who is keenly aware of the mind altering properties of these drugs and a professional trained to observe subtle attitude shifts. One needs this kind of care to prevent the worst from happening. It would be horrible to wake up one day and realize that during a long sleep we now have mutilated our body, have lost the support of our family, are broke, without a job and on the verge of suicide.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not negative on hormones. I feel that they can perform nothing short of a miracle to modify one’s physical and mental being thereby correcting what I feel is a major birth effect, but the key is to use these chemicals in a controlled environment.

    A good friend of mine related to me how he (she) was on a rocket ship for about six months. At the beginning of the period she began a program of hormone treatment wanting to become more feminine to “see how it felt”. After about four months on a fairly high dosage program (5-7mg/day), she was seriously contemplating a trip to Colorado for reassignment surgery. Within a month after she stopped treatment, she was still positive about being able to express her internal “second self” but surgery was no longer an immediate goal. She may someday have surgery but has decided that for now, the immediate gains would not be worth the price which must be paid, i.e. the loss of her family and career.

    For others hormones and the effect on their minds had meant the opposite. The effect seems to have been to allow these people to more clearly see how comfortable they are in their new chosen gender. After hormone treatment their path became clear and the internal conflict which had been a life-long strife was resolved.

    Hormone therapy can both resolve and create problems and should be administered with this in mind. In most cases, I would advise that the person discontinue use for a period after the initial effects have begun to take hold. This break will allow for the “hormone high” to subside and give the person a time to reevaluate where they want to go. A period of a month or so won’t hurt any long term progress that is desired and it will give the person’s mind a chance to return to their pre-hormone thought patterns. Therapy during this period is very important, and an in depth consultation should precede the continuance of hormone therapy. Questions such as “what am I gaining and what am I giving up should be asked. If the answers are not conclusive, then continuance of hormone therapy should be postponed until some point of resolution of there questions is possible. If hormone therapy is reinstituted at this time, it may conceal the true inner self and the  replies may only be those reflecting the person’s “hormone high”.

    Successful “gender therapy” is the desired result and proper application of the methods and therapy (including hormone therapy) are the tools. These tools should be used under the close supervision of a trained gender therapist. If the methodology described here is followed, I feel that the person has a better chance of attaining a true peace and contentment with the true inner self.

* (C) Copyright 1990 by Wendi D. Pierce. All rights reserved. Permission to reprint this article in publications of the gender community is hereby granted provided that this article is published in it’s entirety including this notice and credit is given to the author.

USEFUL AND INTERESTING INFORMATION

From: JeriTV

To:     Melanie XX

Here is an interesting one for the News.  “Cross Dressers Anonymous.  Just like AA.  A group of 8 TV’s in the Austin Texas area have gotten together to form this group.  Their goal is to stop Cross Dressing by supporting each other, much the way AA works.  It seems these 8 people have determined that compulsive cross dressing can be disruptive to their normal daily lives.  They have tried all kinds of different ways to stop.  But have come to the conclusion before forming this group that it was near impossible.  So far the group has been together for 6 months and so far so good.  Anyone seeking information about this group can contact CD ANON on CIS, ID# 72037,3306 or write R.P. Foster 5114 Balcones Woods Dr Suite 231 Austin, Texas (no zip code given).  CD ANON the organizer of this group has gone through two divorces because of his cross dressing and doesn’t want to risk a third.  I know this could be an explosive subject when discussed in front of other TV’s.  It was in the CB Channel on CIS late Sunday night.  But I thought that it provides an interesting bit of information to the readers of Gender News from a different slant.

Gender BBS Numbers:

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Subversive Poetry

To start off the Subversive with something odd and arty, here are a few short poems and prose poems I wrote on the plane on the way to Florida last week:

Untitled #1

Rows on rows,
like stacked sardines,
their easy chairs propel
them ‘cross the heavens

Untitled #2

Running down the aisle,
the small boy
stops
to smile at a cloud

Untitled #3

The movie ends,
the watchers rise,
walking backward
in the skies.

Untitled #4

The pig on my plate,
in the form of ham,
in the skies over Texas,
unknowingly,
slides down my gullet,
an aerial fate,
as I ponder
that pigs CAN fly.

Untitled #5

Waves of air report against
the fragile silver shore,
Waves of grass remain embedded,
moving while they stay,
Riding high above the land,
yet standing on the floor,
Tricking time and bringing near,
the closing of the day

Afterglow

I hope you have enjoyed this first expanded edition.  Join the fun, express yourself, get something off your chest.  There is no better place than this to share what you are thinking, feeling or experiencing.  Life is an adventure if we choose to take it that way.  We only sink in the quicksand if we stand in one place too long.

Melanie Anne Phillips,  Editor

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)