I started out scribbling short stories on post it notes. Little hundred word stories about anything and everything, but as years went by they started getting longer and notepads ended up being used, then it progressed up to a computer. These stories also went from mainstream romance and science fiction to more erotic subjects. The last year or two the subject matter changed to stories about transgendered individuals. Subjects like RuPaul, Caitlyn Jenner and others attracted my attention. I found a multitude of fiction sites about people like them, experiencing the female role and life.
For some reason this fascinated me, an individual living the life of the opposite sex day in and out. I read all I could; real life stories, fiction stories and articles on the subject. It is like I couldn’t get enough of the subject. I hadn’t dressed as a female during my twenty–five years of life, but the desire to learn and maybe experience it seemed unreal.
I have always been attracted to the female sex, loved to watch them, talk with them, and just be around them. I always associated with the females, got along with them and was included in most of their discussions. I was a good listener, a key to be accepted by others. I added to the conversations at times, but never tried to dominate it. My hobbies were unisex or slightly feminine in nature, collected music, tapes and CD’s primarily. Also loved to dance, taking courses in modern dance, even a few in ballroom dancing.
I guess you can tell from those statements that I am a male, twenty something years old and a would be writer. Stress on the would be part, nothing I have submitted over the years has had anybody interested in it.
I loved to read, getting my degree in creative writing from a staid little California college on the northern coast below San Francisco. They only offered degrees in English and creative writing. I think the total enrollment was in the low hundreds. The seven college professors employed affirming the limited degrees and small enrollment.
I easily passed my courses, the writing assignments a welcome relief from the boredom of the classes and the small town. In fact, I spent most weekends on the nearby beach watching the birds as they struggled to cope with the harsh conditions that the weather presented. I walked the beaches weather permitting, just lost in my thoughts. Always cold, the weather off the Pacific sharp and unforgiving. I doubted there was a day with the temperature above fifty degrees.
On occasion, I would spend a weekend in Frisco, several areas of town known for their female impersonators. I made no judgements, some were talented in their presentation and some seemed to want to explore the extreme sides of things. I stayed in school year around, with no family I had no home to go to and no place I called home. That allowed me to graduate in three years, saving a lot of tuition in the process.
Due to the nature of my parent’s death the insurance settlement made live comfortable for me. I didn’t eat out, kept my partying limited and did not drink or smoke. I was truly a boring boy. During my three years at college I had only one female that I found attractive and interesting. Although I liked her and found her attractive, she obviously didn’t have the same interest in me. I guess if I had opted for one of the major schools there would be a lot bigger group to select from, but for some reason the dating game had no real appeal to me.
With a degree in hand I decided to find a place to settle down to before all of my money got spent on other non-necessities. I chose a ranch outside of Flagstaff, Arizona. Actually it is way outside of town, nearly sixty miles. A couple of hundred acres, a small cabin, needing some repairs and a whole bunch of coniferous trees. There is some juniper, some pine and even a few cedar scattered around the acreage.
The elevation is about sixty-eight hundred feet above sea level, missing out on most of the warmer weather that Arizona enjoys. The land is rolling hills, with two streams wandering through the property. It had been foreclosed by the bank and I happened to be at the right spot to hear about it. I got the information and directions and went to look at the property. The cabin needed a little work, mainly cosmetic, but otherwise is in good shape. I walked a little ways looking at some of the acreage, even from the small amount I saw I fell in love with it.
I went back into town and met with the banker that I had talked to earlier. I counter offered what I had been quoted and wrote a check about an hour later when the bank accepted it. That afternoon I found a contractor that specialized in small jobs and he made the necessary repairs to the cabin the next week. I bought some furniture then hired a delivery service to take the items out to the cabin. The furniture company would not deliver that far out. I shopped for several days rounding up the things that I would need for an extended stay, then made my way to my new home.
There is phone and electricity to the property, the internet service barely adequate, but something has to be sacrificed for privacy. I bought myself a new computer, its main claim to fame being its extra-large hard drive. It took me over a month to put all of my partial scribblings on this computer. I got in the habit of writing in the morning, then an afternoon break and back to writing around four P.M. The afternoon breaks were usually spent walking around the property, finding out what secrets it held.
I took the most promising story and attempted to finish it. Two weeks later I had a rough draft, checked it for spelling and grammar errors, then decided to find someone to read it and give me their opinion. I had built a sizable list of acquaintances on the internet, told a few of them what I had accomplished and asked if any of them would be interested in reading my literary gem and give me their opinion. Maureen, a MTF from southern California volunteered. I sent her the story as an attachment to an email and waited for a response.
It was several days coming, I wasn’t sure whether she is a slow reader or didn’t know how to tell me my writing stunk. I received a fairly long email from her telling me that the premise is good, an involved plot with a lot of twists and turns. However, my description of dressing obviously showed that I had very little experience at it. Her suggestion is that you can’t write about what you know very little about. Take some time and spend it as a female, interact with people and live life. Your experiences will than lay a foundation for the descriptions in your stories.
After you get a little experience, rewrite your story and let me have another look at it. What Maureen said made sense, so I decided to make the conversion to the dark side, spend some time as a woman then tackle the writing again, hopefully this time with a better insight into the life of a transsexual.
I knew nothing about the life, so went to the internet and searched for some help. I found the Turnabout Gurl Salon, a chain of salons catering to both sexes, but specializing in the male wanting to experience his feminine side. I went to their website, astounded at all the things they did, and the pictures of some of their customers, before and after. When I searched their website for locations I found they had a branch in Flagstaff, even a mobile service available in Northern Arizona. I called the number asking a bunch of stupid questions, but the gal that I talked to had no trouble in answering most of them.
She suggested that she send out their roaming tech, I could talk to her finding out what exactly they offered and see what things I might be interested in. She could get me started, then I could make an appointment to come to the salon for further treatments. It sounded good, the appointment is made the next day right after lunch.
I rushed around getting the place cleaned up some, made some snacks to nibble on if desired and made sure I could offer several different kinds of drinks. I had left my number with them if there is any trouble finding the place, but the next day Becky drove right up to the place. She got out carrying a case and knocked on the door. I was surprised that a female would come alone to a stranger’s place, but she seemed quite confident in herself.
I invited her in, we did the introductions, then set on the couch to discuss what I might be interested in. As we talked she knew a lot more about me than I thought, She knew I was a writer, even knew Maureen in California. I told her what Maureen had said, that I needed to experience as much as possible, but still maintain a way to shop and buy groceries.
She brought in several more cases, after asking me to help her bring in a folding table. “Now, you need to get undressed and lay on the table face down. Hair removal is first, no decent female has any hair on her body, especially if she wears dresses and skirts.” Thus started my evolution to that of a female.
After a couple of hours a look in the mirror showed a feminine individual, with my hair styled, nails done, makeup and some breast prosthetics I at least looked the part. During the transition Becky and I talked about the salon, about my writing and about the gender female. The nearest salon in Flagstaff is quite large, the University and the larger than normal population in the area supporting the salon without question. Flagstaff had grown quite a bit over the years, a lot of people favoring the cooler weather afforded by the higher elevation, the University and the support businesses adding to the interest in the city. At present the enrollment at the school was around twenty five thousand students, its liberal arts reputation attracting quite a few students.
She suggested that I come with her for an afternoon of shopping, kind of getting my feet wet. I accepted and I followed her into town. We indeed shopped, hitting most of the ladies clothing stores in town, I saw several things I liked, but she told me to wait, we had one more place to browse at first. We pulled up in front of the salon, a huge place, the lights from inside the salon lighting up the early evening sky.
She led me through the salon to another set of doors at the right rear of the salon. Through those doors was the most incredible array of ladies clothing imaginable. I started going through the racks of clothing, picking out things that I knew would look good on me, Becky had trained me well earlier showing me the difference between different types of dresses, skirts and blouses as we shopped the other clothing stores. I had a handful before I even reached the end of the aisle. An assistant came down the aisle with a rolling rack for me to put my selections on. She hung them for me as I continued to shop.
It felt good, I used to hate to shop, even grocery shopping was a pain for me. Now it is like I have been reborn, a purpose in life, to look my best at all times, to be beautiful or pretty. It mattered not the word, I just wanted to be desired, to be cared for, to be appreciated. I finally checked out, an hour after the salon closed at midnight. They had stayed with me until I had found all that I wanted. Before I left I made an appointment for the salon, to experience a few things that Becky could not perform remotely. Also an excuse to come back to town dressed in some of my new clothes.
Story Incomplete At Present
© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker