by Cindi Jones
I tried to concentrate on school; Charlene suspended her education to provide most of the income. Sunday nights we would settle in together in the small couch to enjoy watching Mash. For some reason, the show had been taboo by the church at first but we quickly warmed up to it.
The band did well playing on weekends. As we lost our guitarist and drummer, we started charging more. Dick and I, as owners of the band and equipment realized that we could deduct more of the “take” for ourselves and hire a drummer and a guitar player. This almost doubled the amount we made for each performance. For some reason, the schools continued to hire us. The teachers liked us because we didn’t play too loud and the kids loved us because we played the perfect “clutch” music. You know, dancing where you don’t dance. You just stand there and “clutch” your partner.
Squirrel started up again full blast and it didn’t take long before my mind wandered easily drifting in and out of daydreams at any moment. I quickly became anxious and uncomfortable. I continued to get undressed in the dark.
“What is that?” Charlene asked one night. She quickly turned on the lights and threw down the covers. “Are you shaving your legs?”
Great. How was I going to get out of this one?
“Are you weird or something? You’d better let me know right now before we have kids,” she stated sternly.
“I don’t like hairy legs.” I said. “It’s hot. And when I used my Norelco shaver to do a trim, it cuts everything.” She didn’t like it but somehow, she accepted my answer.
“You had better not do that again,” she warned.
The frustration I felt in the following weeks was bringing down my performance at school. I needed a release. So I made a dress. No kidding. I went to the fabric shop, bought a pattern, and I used Charlene’s sewing machine. I had to be very careful that not one piece of thread or fiber of fabric were left as evidence. Charlene was an expert seamstress. I had watched her intently to learn how to run the machine. She made it all look so effortless. My creation was a disaster. But it was mine. And it went into my hiding place in the bigger apartment.
I was finishing up my degree. Corporate representatives were on campus interviewing. I talked to a few. I received offers from all of them. I soon was whisked away to Houston, Seattle, and the Bay Area to visit potential job sites. And the yellow dress always went with me. I would spend my evenings not out enjoying the town and dining, but sitting in my room wearing a sloppily made dress and avoiding the mirrors. The Squirrel had seized control of my soul. And he was squeezing hard.
Out of all the offers I received, the one I chose was not in some exotic place like Seattle or the Bay Area. It was in Salt. I accepted an engineering position for a company that made large engineering mainframe computers. The PC era was still a few years away. Mainframes had the real horsepower and I was to be a part of some very innovative technology.
For Charlene, it meant that she would be close to her family. And I must admit, I enjoyed being close to my family as well. So, off to work I went in nearby Salt Lake City, for a big company.
All of a sudden, our band quit doing gigs. I mean suddenly. One month, we did a job every weekend. And the next, there was nothing. There was nothing after. I always wondered if Dick had received calls to play and had been turning them down. He was getting along with his life. The band to him was just for fun since he had been working professionally for some time. It was the end of an era for the band. It had survived eight years. We had some good times. It was time to move on.
*****
We purchased a home and with it came a new need for a secret storage space. My desires were growing and dressing up no longer held satisfaction for me. At the time, Rene Richards was making a splash in the tennis world. I remember seeing some footage of her on TV. She was a transsexual.
“What is that?” said Squirrel.
“I don’t know, but I could never look like that. She looks like a man in a tennis dress,” I pondered. But it sent my mind and my psyche spinning in expanded directions. I started taking pictures of myself. I was quite ugly. I was quite depressed. I went to the library and found the book by Harry Benjamin about transsexualism. All the pictures had been torn out. But that didn’t stop me from reading the volume that very visit standing between the bookshelves. There was no way I was going to check out the book. I couldn’t be seen with it. Many things rang true, many did not.
For example, I didn’t “know” that I was a woman trapped in a man’s body. I never felt that way. I “knew” that I wanted to be a girl. I “knew” that I was a male. So, things didn’t quite jive. There wasn’t a good fit. I didn’t seem to fit in the delineated category. The differences may have been splitting fine hairs in semantics to most, but to me, I felt they were important.
I learned later about cross-dressing. I saw reference to the Rocky Horror Picture Show in a Newsweek article. I spent more time in the library researching cross-dressing. I didn’t seem to fit there either. Although dressing usually resulted in sexual climax, it was not the reason I did it. If I only wanted sexual release, I could have had the real thing with Charlene. I wanted no one else.
Still, the topics and terms were worthy of more study and investigation.
We moved on to a bigger house and I moved on to a better job. I designed more storage space.
*****
Charlene wanted a baby and she couldn’t get pregnant. She got a check up and was diagnosed with endometriosis. I got a check up and had a very low sperm count. It was a strange thing producing a sample for my test. I had to force it. When I was consumed in my secret, it was produced almost instantaneously. Nevertheless, it was a great revelation to find out I was shooting blanks. I didn’t tell her.
Charlene started taking fertility drugs. We had to time our intimate sessions according to her schedule. At the time, that was all right. I think that I could be with her six or seven times a day. That would have been swell for me. If I could do that, there would be no energy left for other thoughts, other desires, and disgusting deeds.
Five years sped by. At the most difficult time financially, Charlene announced that she was pregnant. Isn’t that when life’s little treasures hit you? Right when you don’t expect it? We had been trying for years. I had almost given up hope. Charlene worked to the very day she delivered. Our small son was adorable. His birth opened a new found passion of life; the love for offspring. My chest burst with pride at the very thought of the little guy. I had a real connection with my son and loved to hold him intensely, to teach him, and watch him grow.
The night she spent in the hospital was also the very first night that I dressed up and went somewhere. I went to an all night grocery store while my family was in the hospital. I walked up and down the isles very briefly and quickly escaped with my life as a couple of strong armed young men came running after me pointing and calling me a fag. Long gone were the days when I could pass myself as a girl. I had a five o’clock shadow, a lousy wig, and terrible taste in clothing. For what it’s worth, I still have a terrible taste in clothes.
The wig
I had never successfully been able to go out in public and “pass” myself as female after puberty. I had several wigs but they consistently failed to work for me. Typically wigs need work. I did not know this. I only knew that “my hair” always looked totally wrong. Although I still had many problems to overcome, I knew that this one thing was perhaps the most important.
I don’t know where I picked it up but I have a system for attacking a problem. In business, I would use the 80/20 rule. 20 percent of the real issues create 80 percent of the problems. All I had to do was figure out a way to measure the process and I’d be able to clearly identify those big problems. Now the 80/20 thing I learned somewhere in business school or some quality program. But… it is a thing so intuitive, it’s something that I’ve always used.
So here I was, analyzing a problem. How to better pass as a woman. Let’s look at this. “You are freaking crazy!” yelled Squ
irrel.
“Okay, shut up,” I told myself. How do I work on this problem when I have no idea what to do? I drilled through the library one day. Not much there on wigs. I studied articles on fixing hair. I was clueless in this regard as well. I’ve never been able to properly fix my hair.
I had a stop in Austin during a business trip and managed to meet up with one of my online acquaintances. She took me home and helped explain how to better do my make up. She also let me try on some wigs and showed me a bit of how to prep them. She didn’t solve the problem but I could clearly see some improvement in my appearance with her help.
I noted the make up tips for later reference. I knew that from her help, that I needed REAL help. I knew no one else. I had no one to give me additional advice. I was traveling a lot on business, taking my other suitcase along, and I was going to get into some real trouble. I could not stop myself. If I did not get this passing thing down, someone was going to kill me. There were so many times that I was laughed at and followed. I had snowballs, rocks, and sticks thrown at me. Security guards threatened me everywhere I went.
Finally, while attending a trade show in San Francisco, I decided to deal with this issue. San Francisco would be THE place to do the deed. I noticed that there was a wig and hair salon one half block away from the Saint Francis Hotel where I was staying. My time was free after the trade show. I called while at the conference and made an appointment for 5:30.
I arrived straight from the trade show. I had on my standard blues with a red silk power tie. And the Floorshiem shoes. I could think of nothing more embarrassing. Squirrel had been helping with the intro line all day. But as I entered the shop, I had forgotten all the clever lines.
“Okay, David, how may we help you today?”
“Look,” I began “I am either a cross-dresser or something else… I don’t really know. I’ve been having a very difficult time passing in public. Although I have several things to work through, I think that it is best that I start with my hair.” Wow, I had told the truth, straight up, without crawling into a hole.
“Why of course. That is very good thinking David. Why don’t you sit down here and we can discuss what needs to be done. Now the first thing you want to do is pick a wig close to the color of your own hair. You have beautiful hair and we’ll be able to comb it in up here in front.”
“Please slow down, what do you mean by combing it in front?”
“Where the wig meets your forehead dear.”
Yes he was flaming fun. I enjoyed the way he was treating me.
“A dead giveaway for a piece is that leading edge can often show. “So what we do is pull a little of your natural bangs out from under the wig and then comb them back into the wig. That way you’ll have a natural looking hairline,” he explained as he worked an amazing transformation.
“That makes sense. Do you have to use the exact same color as my natural hair?”
“No dear, you have a lovely color that would work with dark and light browns. Or you can dye your hair for an exact match.” I had tried dying my hair to match a wig. But it had been unsuccessful and I had been caught. Charlene noticed it right away… after we got to church. At least she couldn’t say much to me in the chapel.
“Now let’s see what might look good on you.” He pulled three pieces from nowhere. Okay, here is a blondish color…. No that won’t do. This auburn color looks very nice. Oh sweetheart, this is your lucky day. This brunette is YOU!”
He placed it on my scalp. It looked terrible. “I think that it doesn’t look very good” I whined.
“No dear, let me show you what I mean.” He got a comb and pulled my own hair along the front of the wig out and then combed it in. You have a wonderful mix of color… you can get away with this.”
I looked at the hair line and it indeed looked natural, but the rest of the wig was just a lot of straight hair. “Alright, so what’s next?” I asked.
“Well sweetie, we need to style this piece for you. Now that face you have… we have to get rid of this.” He said as he swished the hair on both sides of my head.
“How bout we give you a punk style cut sweetie?”
“Huh?” I had no idea what punk was.
“ Joan Jett, Pat Benetar, are you familiar with them dear?”
“Hey, I want to blend in, not stand out!”
“Girl, if you’ve got it, then flaunt it!” he said.
I broke out in laughter. The whole thing looked absolutely absurd. There I was sitting in a chair, in a three piece suit, looking at a full length mirror, wearing a dark wig.
“Okay, I said, what will it cost me?” I don’t remember what he told me but I recall it was less than 70 dollars. I quickly agreed and he started cutting. He cut the piece just as you would real hair. I was surprised at just how good he was. When he had finished the cut looked a little “punky”. It was poofy on top, longer in back and straight on the sides. He left it at shoulder length.
I was surprised to see how much hair was left on the floor. It looked like only one third remained on my head and I made a comment to that effect.
“Yes dear, we start with an empty canvas. Now how is this looking?”
“It’s probably the best thing that I’ve ever seen on me.” The power tie strangled my neck and I released it.
“Here, let’s put a wrap on to get rid of that dingy suit,” he said as he whipped a fresh cloth around my shoulders.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasped. The change was incredible. I had always thought that hair hanging around my face would cover me better. That was not the case. He had freed up my face.
“Look, you have a lovely face here.”
He proceeded to give me advice on applying make up. He showed me some shades that would work with my face and new hair color. He also showed me how to use shadows effectively to minimize my jowls and to bring out my deep set eyes.
“Here see… if you will put a bit of this dark shadow right back here at the back of your jaw, we can effectively reduce the squareness of your face.”
I couldn’t believe what he had showed me.
“To make an area look smaller or sink it, you will use a dark color. To raise an area or emphasize it, use a light color. Let’s try this on your nose.” He put an ever so slight streak of dark powder down each side of my nose. “See what I mean? You need to experiment to get the look that you like. And don’t forget that you will look different outside than inside. If you are going to be outside, use a lot less.”
“Now don’t put a lot on, just a little. You’re not a drag queen, love. When you are done, finish it off with a light powder. Here, these colors look good on you.”
I agreed and told him that I’d take them. I purchased the piece and a few cosmetics. He did not charge what I thought it was worth to me. I walked out for under 90 dollars an hour later.
That night, I went out to dinner alone. My clothing was very modest. I wasn’t clocked all night long. No one stared at me. No one even knew I was there as I sat in a quiet corner of a quiet restaurant. I was elated.
This particular piece stayed with me for years. After my transition, I wore my natural hair which is a streaked blonde. I used to use the wig on Halloween and dress up as a witch. Now that was fun.
Was this the end of my quest to pass? No. It would take years. The biggest problem in passing is self confidence….. and the 5 o’clock shadow.. I had my voice to work on. I had to look and feel natural. Additionally, I was still scared and frightened every time I considered leaving my room. The room was history however. I would never again stay in another lonely hotel room wishing that I could be a woman. I would, from now on, go out, meet people, and experience my life, my new life, my new and still secret life.
Socialization
Learning to walk, to talk, and behave is something a baby start’s learning shortly after birth. Interaction with her parents is the first thing she experiences. She learns right from wrong, how to eat with utensils, and how to dress herself. With any luck, she will r
eceive immeasurable love from her parents filling her with a sense of peace and belonging.
I once heard that Japanese must be an easily learned language. “How is that?” I asked.
“Well look over there at that three year old. He speaks Japanese quite well. It’s so easy a three year old can learn it!” was the reply.
Certainly, many of the most difficult things we take for granted are learned in the formative years. Babies grow and learn; they become socially interactive, and blindly accept their respective gender group. Girls band together to do “girl” things. Boys band together to do “boy” things. We acknowledge this process but most adults forget the enormity of it all. Young life is so malleable. It’s like a sponge, soaking up every thing in the environment.
Generally, younger children are delightful. They are curious, very open to discussion, and playful… then they grow up to be teenagers. This is when they experiment with their concept of self. They test their parent’s fortitude by rebelling against expectations. “They do stupid things” is an understatement. They experiment, evaluate, and validate their new found self. They form new relationships as their hormones drive them towards adulthood and the ultimate biological purpose in life; to procreate.
Development in a male or female environment fully consumes a child’s young life. As I attempted to move from my male-trained self into a feminine role, I faced brick walls at every turn. Society would not permit me entry into the classroom. I did not fit. I did not have time to try. I could not escape the male world to learn. I screamed for release.
David was “David” everywhere he went. And while living and working in the central valley of Salt Lake City, he never would or could be anything else. There were too many family, friends, and professional connections to prevent it. Every moment of his life was well tracked. There was no escape.
I could translate the technical jargon into marketing lingo. I could convince a potential corporate customer that our products made good business sense. And finally, I could be inserted into a new engineering group, help design software and hardware, as well as debug and resolve difficult technical problems. I was not an engineering genius, by any means. But I could evaluate problems and find solutions. It didn’t matter what the problem was. It could be technical, it could be personal, or it could be financial. I became known as an effective conduit between sales, engineering, and our customers. I could talk technical details without losing the uninitiated. I could explain marketing requirements in technical details to engineering. I became a valuable asset.