A regular girlfriend and fewer opportunities to dress myself look like the future. My desire to cross dress won’t go away and the risks of discovery increase by the day. And there’s the question of going to Uni or not. Maybe that would be ideal and maybe I could meet others with the same feelings as me. Maybe Mum can give me advice, where nobody else can?

Chapter 12

Another occasion with the chance to talk to Mum in private came around before long. Dad was out playing stupid golf like he did every Saturday morning. Men only. No women, No kids allowed on the course. All very clubby. Mum was happy with this — happy to get him out of the house, I guessed. She was alone in the kitchen when I approached her. I thought, start about going to Uni — that would be a good place. For the first time, I made the first approach.

“Mum, I’ve been meaning to ask…… If I get through my exams, do you think it would be good for me to go to Uni?” “Of course, dear, you know we want what’s best for you.” “And would that mean me living away from home?” “Oh, I expect so — it’s all part of the experience, isn’t it? meeting new and different people.” We went on for several minutes, talking all about where I might study and what subjects and who I might meet there if I didn’t go with local friends to where they were thinking of going.

I went quiet for a moment or two, finding a way to turn the conversation in the direction of the sexual side of being at Uni.

Exaggerating a nervousness that I genuinely felt, I said “Look Mum, …” I suddenly changed the course of the talk…. “There are things I need to know before I go….” ….

“Like what, darling?” she asked, curious at my change of angle and tone.

“Well, about contraception and stuff…….”

“Ahhh, indeed, you’ll have to talk to Dad about that! It’s your responsibility. Never take it for granted that a girl will be on the pill. Most are these days it seems, but you can’t be sure.”

“Ok, I will — talk to Dad. But what about guys getting together with other guys… and girls with other girls…..”

“I’m surprised you ask, really I am…. Do you have feelings in that direction?” she asked, obviously concerned all of a sudden.

“Well, no, not at all, but what if I’m …. Well, you know… I’m …. Well, if someone’s keen on me?”

“Do you think someone is, honey? Do tell me.”

“No, no, not at all……. It’s just that I’m smaller than most guys and……”

“Darling don’t you worry. You have a lovely girlfriend and that’s the best deterrent to anyone else….”

Again, this had not gone the way I wanted. I wanted to tell Mum that, if I went away, I’d like to take girly things with me because part of me feels this way. And I didn’t and so, again, I was alone. With my thoughts. I knnow now that I was very unlikely to 'outt' myself to my Mother. So few of us do. The few mostly meet incompreheension and the disclosure is wasted, with shell-shocking results perhaps.

Disclosure, or 'outing' has been said to be something that is "done to" a transvestite person. Sometimes maliciously, sometimes by mistake.

I felt no fear of the disclosure itself at this age.... but great fear of the ridicule that my peer group would inflict on me. I didn't feel guilt, because there was nobody to whom I had given my love in return for their unquestionning love. (I have felt that since, especially when nearly divorced because of even the slightest suggestion that I enjoyed crossdressing).

Like 'Drea, to whom I give my thanks, the fear of discovery through the files of the "family" PC is too strong to bear. I'm not good enough at burying secrets within the memory there, so I am still vulnerable.

-- oo00oo --

Back to age 17:

On the days I felt able to wear my panties, which were fewer now I had a regular girlfriend, there was a new experience to indulge. I read an article — which is always dangerous because “articles” put ideas into your head….

Yes, I read an article about “sitting down to pee”, which crossdressers apparently did or still do (I know I do). And to make this more feminine, the idea was, said the article, to “tuck and tape”.

To tuck one’s bollocks back up into the groin area where they originally came from and to tape the skin that’s left empty across the length of the penis, forcing it down and backwards.. so that you pee the way a girl does. Apart from the tucking bit — which I thought would hurt — the rest seemed to be a great idea. For times when I went out. How much more secret could anything be?

I never did manage to tuck properly. There was no way, without incurring agony of an unspeak-able level, that I could get them inside… and then, I thought, how do you “un-tuck” them?? No, no, that wasn’t for me, I thought after the very first attempt. But the taping seemed quite ok, with my panties to hold me in, it was impossible to stand up and pee. I felt really quite girly, even though all this rummaging with bollocks, scrotum and penis made an unwanted focus on “boy-bits” that, when dressing, I didn’t want.

Saturdays, during the daytime were good days for this. I could engage in taping at least and sit with my panties round my ankles, peeing ‘downwards’ just like every girl would. I laughed out loud once at the thought I had, of a girl trying to pee standing up in a men’s room stall! I guessed there might be girls that felt the way I did — I mean, wanting to be guys for an occasional time? Did they? Were there female-to-male crossdressers?

Well, you couldn’t tell, could you… the way girls’ fashion was going, it was very easy indeed for girls to go out wearing guys' clothes… even their husband's or boyfriend's. It was ok for them… ok to look ‘androgynous’, that was the word…. Ugly word really. Why were girls allowed to do that when a guy like me couldn’t dress in a girly way and go out. I resented that.

-- oo00oo --

School days passed by, with examinations for Uni entry getting closer. Dates with my new girlfriend became more and more intense and the kissing more and more prolonged and, as far as I was concerned, more passionate. Would we end up having sex together? I hoped the answer was “yes, and quite soon”! The opportunity for privacy was a big issue.

The solution for that issue came when I passed my driving test. This promised freedom — freedom from staying in eachothers’ houses when parents were out. That was always a passion-killer, as I know from my own kids’ experience. We could, and soon did, have sex in the back seat of the car I’d bought.

We were an “item” as today’s terminology describes a couple. 18 and 16 we were. So, so young!

For the first time in my life, I had “wheels”! The freedom gave me the opportunity now to explore the surrounding suburban sprawl of London near my home. Inevitably, somehow, I found myself back in Golders Green. Where my salon experience had been first enjoyed.

I drove past the salon. I saw the Reception desk inside as I stopped the car. Angie, “my stylist” was at the telephone talking animatedly to someone. She didn’t see me — and wouldn’t have recognized me either, for sure. I headed for home, resolved to call her.

I phoned and booked another appointment. This time, I used my own voice (the same I’m sure as my irate “Father’s”) and said I had been told to book myself in for “more of the same”. The Receptionist — the blonde Bouffant — remembered me well and said so. “Did we do what was required last time?” she asked, obviously trying to engage me in a little conversation I paused, and for a moment I stammered: “We… we… w… Well, I guess it did. I kinda liked it which wasn’t intended, I’m sure…… my Dad’s lost patience with my hair growing so long….”

“Ahhh, we thought it was something like that. I did say we’ll shake him, or show him… Well, if he’s not completely satisfied, we’ll have to do and even better job for you this time. Would you like Angie to take care of you again?” she asked.

“If that’s possible, yes please.” I found it easier to talk this time. The first time, I had been like a rabbit in the headlights, unable to speak… “She was very kind last time.”

“And is there anything you would like done differently?” Bouffant continued, prolonging the conversation.

“I don’t think so, …” pausing for thought, I said……. But the words failed to come out…… (One of your temporary colour rinses would be nice…..) …. No, nothing different…. unless Angie thinks of something….”

End of conversation. I was upstairs in my bedroom, trousers off, panties down, tape ripped off, wanking hard, before I could think.

Youth Club that evening was great. The walk home to my girlfriend’s house was slow and we talked about so much that we could do together. It was perfect. I knew that, if we were together for long enough, I would get serious about her. If I went to Uni, I would want to keep her as my girl at home. It would be two more years before she went to Uni herself.

-- oo00oo --

“So you say your Dad’s lost patience with your long hair?2 Angie asked as I sat in her chair after having my hair back-washed again. The salon was very busy. It was mid-day on a school day when again I had bunked-off lessons. I had driven to Golders Green.

To this day I can recall the conversation with her. It was relaxed and, I believe, just as normal as that she would have been having with other clients as she set their hair.

“Did Beverly ask you if you wanted anything done differently to last time?” Angie asked me, looking into my face in her mirror. “Beverly, who’s Beverly?” I replied. “Her, Out there….. She owns the place.” Angie replied, in a tone that wasn’t endearing. “She’s told me to sell you a colour rinse. Anything to get you to spend some more money!”

“Well, it’s my Dad’s money….” I answered. “..but, really….” I felt courage drain from my veins, “… really, no, maybe next time…. (there would be a next time!) ….Just do what you did before, only have fun with it. I really don’t mind. It will offend him more if I seem not to care.!”

Angie started with the rollers, with a broad smile on her face. “OK, you said it!”

An hour and a half later, having paid good money to look girly from the neck up, I left the salon, pausing to look in their mirror by the door. I had a centre parting with a fringe and bangs curving round the cheekbones. My ears were covered now, as my hair had grown longer. The crown was back-combed high and the back shaped into my neck. “Forgive me if I cut a little shape into the style, won’t you?” Angie had said, going ahead without any agreement from me. I forgave her, but this was now more of a feminine style than I’d expected. How would it looked when it was washed out?

Chapter 13 brings a first time for me, pre-Uni, to buy and try some girly outerwear.