Today is the International Transgender Day of Visibility. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m transgendered. I don’t have the dysphoria that seems to be almost universal amongst transgendered people; all I have is the fact that I’ve wanted to be female for a long time, and a sense that I’m more me as a woman than I am as a man. My greatest apprehension is that I’ll throw myself onto the transgender bus, turn my life upside-down, and then learn that it was just a fascination, or that I merely thought that the grass was greener on the other side of the fence. These are questions that, ultimately, can’t be answered other than by experience, and, as problems, they can only be resolved by decision. I don’t see any need to categorize myself anytime soon. So, I’ll wait and see.

There is one additional component, and it’s an important one: I’ve been repressed in many ways all of my life. There are hints of feminine expression in my distant memories, but only hints. And I’ve never exactly been comfortable as a man – which may be what first suggested to me that I might prefer to be a woman.

I’ll be paying my taxes next week, and scraping together every cent I can to do it. I don’t buy health insurance; my job doesn’t offer its own plan, and Obamacare is a joke. So, I’m paying the penalty this year, as I have every year since it was first assessed. Nevertheless, I decided that today I was going to buy my first article of women’s clothing: panties. And I did, and I wore them to the mall to go walking. They are very comfortable, perhaps the most comfortable underwear I have ever worn. I’m going to wear them to work tomorrow, and, if that works out, I may stop wearing men’s underwear altogether. They’re only cotton; I can’t wait until I can afford something more satiny. I think those will make me feel more like a girl.

What I really want is are some camisoles; I want to wear them instead of undershirts. I saw some on the Walmart website that were perfect, but they were out of stock. So, I found some that look acceptable on Amazon; if I have enough money next week, I’ll order them.

I knew it already, but I can say now from experience that I’m not a transvestite. There was nothing erotic about wearing the panties. I didn’t even feel a thrill thinking that no one at the mall knew I was wearing women’s undergarments. Really, what’s important to me is that I find what makes me comfortable, what helps me to express me, my true self. I suspect that self is more female than male; but whether that makes me transgendered is yet to be seen.

Oh, I have to talk about this! Yesterday, or the day before, I was watching “An Affair to Remember” on TCM, a film I’ve seen many times; but, this time, I was doing cartwheels over Deborah Kerr’s wardrobe. I want it! That’s the look I want! Long, elegant evening wear – wow. And Ms. Kerr is herself so elegant; I want to learn to walk and carry myself as she does in that film.

I’ve been dieting for almost two weeks, now, and I’ve lost eight pounds. A lot of that is water weight, but, still, it’s encouraging.

In the end, it was anti-climactically simple. For about a week, I’ve been eager to buy something girly; but whenever I went to the store, I would run into people I knew. I had basically given up; and then, out of the blue, it hit me.

Lipstick. I didn’t know anything about it other than what little I learned decades ago from watching my mother use it. I went on-line, read up on it, and then went to Walmart today before 7:00 am. I thought my chances of getting caught were slim at that hour; my plan was to pick one, get some baby oil (for removal) and high-tail it through the self-checkout.

However, as I was lingering over my options, a saleslady came up to me. “Can I help you?” OMG. I invented a lie on the spot. I told her that my wife had sent me to the store to get lipstick, but I’d forgotten which one she said to get. I was standing in front of the Revlon display, because that was the brand my mother had used. “Does she use Revlon?” I feigned embarrassment. “I *think* so …” I said. After exchanging a few more sentences, she went away and left me to my own devices. I eventually picked one that looked like the color my mother had worn.

As I approached the self-checkout, I saw that there was someone manning the cashier’s station. There were very few people about, and I thought the cashier would have a fair chance of seeing me buying a lone tube of lipstick; so, I picked up a candy bar and hid the lipstick behind it in my hand. I chose the farthest machine from the cashier, interposed my body between her and the scanner, scanned the lipstick and chucked it into a bag. A few minutes later, I left the store. Mission accomplished.

I was down the road a ways when I realized I’d forgotten the baby oil. I had to have the baby oil; that’s how, I read, to remove lipstick. So, I stopped at another Walmart. It was still early, so I thought I’d sort of mosey by the make-up section. I went crazy. In addition to the baby oil, I bought nail polish and acetone. One more successful trip through the self-checkout, and I was gone.

Despite the fact that I didn’t want anyone to see me buying these things, I was surprised that the act itself of buying them seemed completely ordinary. I could have been buying a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk. It didn’t *feel* unusual, as I had expected it to.

I had one more stop to make. My attempt at shaving my body hair had not been a brilliant success; so, I had also researched Nair. “Nair for Men” was what I wanted, and Walmart didn’t carry it; so, it was off to Walgreens. While there, I also bought a Nair women’s product for facial hair; I thought it might be an improvement on shaving my beard.

If any of you are thinking about using Nair for the first time, please, believe the warnings. If you leave it on too long, it burns. This makes me believe what they say about not using it in the genital area or on the nipples. But it does work. The hair had begun to grow back on my chest and belly, and it just wiped away. I was rinsing off in the shower when I decided I had to use it on my arms as well. This was something I had purposefully not done, since I often wear short-sleeved shirts at work and I thought someone would notice if I removed my arm hair. However, standing there in the shower, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I got out and applied the Nair, waited, and wiped; and it didn’t work. I’d forgotten: your skin is supposed to be dry when you apply it.

I eventually got it off. Let me tell you, if you have any breaks in your skin, it will burn those, too.

I’m frustrated about my genital hair. While I’m still overweight, I can’t really see that area well enough to take a razor to it. I guess it’s going to have to wait. Apparently Nair makes something for women’s “bikini area”; I didn’t see it at the store, but if I can find some I’ll see if it can be used where I need to use it.

I watched a few videos on applying lipstick, until I found one that didn’t involve any extras (concealer, lip liner, and s...

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I was at work yesterday, and suddenly realized I was really depressed; and I think it may have had something to do with the disjunct between the self I present to the world and the self that is me. I don’t think it’s existential; it passed relatively quickly. I hope it’s not a taste of things to come. I know that when I got off work, I was feeling so damned girly. I went to Walmart for a few groceries; and I couldn’t resist wandering through the jewelry section. I would like to have found something inexpensive and girly to wear around the apartment. Unfortunately, I was seen by two people who know me; so, I had to wander out again in short order.

When I was going through the checkout line, a casual acquaintance said Hello. This guy is a gay man who, several years ago, was my supervisor at work. He left the business soon after I was hired; but I stayed in contact with him for awhile, learning some things about gardening. Like others who have known me over the years, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m gay and in the closet, even to myself. Little does he know, lol. Yes, I’m gay, but not in the way you think, sweetie. I’m a gay *woman*.

Is there something girly that a man – without breasts – can wear, and not look ridiculous? I want to wear a skirt, or a dress, that will twirl when I turn. I may have mentioned it already, but I saw a dress the other day that I covet. Trouble is, it’s a little girl’s dress. If they made it in my size, I think I’d find a way to buy it. I love it.

Money has been really tight recently. For several days, I was basically penniless. My usual practice is to keep a stash of cash handy for emergencies; but I had to use that for something unexpected, and it left me broke. I got paid a few days ago, and it was good.

At my job, I spend extended periods alone, with limited fear of interruption. I find that, when I enter one of these periods, my inner girl comes out to play. I start gliding gracefully around the office, and it just feels so good. Did I mention that I’m on camera? Lol, Goddess, I hope they never review the footage.

I’ve been working on my handwriting. It seemed a little forced at first; then, suddenly, it started to flow. The transition isn’t anywhere near complete; but, when writing like a girl becomes natural, that will be huge.

The word “girl” is so empowering. I don’t know if anyone who hasn’t been where I am can really appreciate that. I see women in public who obviously take their womanhood for granted. They should have to take a trip through my life to learn to appreciate what they have.

Thought of something funny the other day, regarding breast implants. Women sometimes refer to their breasts as “the girls.” When you’re born with them, they’re natural girls; when you get them from surgery, they’re adopted. “Are those natural?” “No, they’re adopted.”

Yesterday, one of my co-workers was dealing with a client when I passed by her desk. The client was male, but his nails were painted with purple nail polish with sparkles. I was intrigued and stopped and entered the conversation. I wondered at the time if he was picking up on my interest and interpreting it the way gay men have interpreted me before; I wouldn’t be surprised. After he had gone, I asked my co-worker if he was gay, a cross-dresser or a transwoman. She told me that he was having the surgery next month. She said that she had seen pictures of him “as a woman,” and he was stunning. That’s kind of sweet. I’d like to have seen them.

I have a cat that’s 21 years old. She’s a bitch at times, but I love her. Cats and lesbians go together; don’t you think? I’m terrified of what will happen when she dies. Truly. I’m scared. I have no idea how it’s going to affect me, but I intuit that it won’t be pretty. I suspect she’s diabetic, because she drinks a lot more than she used to; but there’s not much I can do about it. She’ll endure until she doesn’t....

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I'm surprised anyone is reading these entries. Please don't think I'm seeking attention. I simply have to express these things publicly, somewhere, and it's the only safe space I know. Somewhere, I have to shout to the universe, "This is me! I am here!" and, here, I can do this, at least for now.

This program began with feelings of excitement and anticipation. It has begun to take on a life of its own, however, and my attitude is becoming a lot more serious. I'm changing, and I'm losing control of the process. I believe that's necessary; but that doesn't make it any less scary.

Monday was the first day of Spring – Ostara, if you believe that sort of thing – and I started my weight-loss program. I’ve lost a great deal of weight before – more than I need to lose now – so all I need is self-discipline. Cutting calories and exercise are the keys to success; but I’ve learned that it often takes more motivation than the dream of losing weight to stay the course. The last time, I made a sacred vow. This time, I’m older, and going without food is harder. I’m leery of taking the sacred vow route, because I don’t know if I’d be able to keep it. So, it’s my dream of getting new clothes – men’s for the body, and women’s for the soul – that hopefully will help me keep my commitment.

Exercise is mostly walking, although I also have a job that requires some physical exertion; and that helps. Sometimes I walk at one of the malls in this area. On Tuesday, I did that; and it was interesting seeing the women’s clothing on display with new eyes. To be honest, I didn’t care for much of it: too ostentatious. I did a double-take at the Birkenstocks in one of the display windows; but I could never wear them. These old feet are no longer appropriate for public display. Although, with socks, ….

I actually practiced lowering my center of gravity when I went walking. I don't know if I attracted attention, because I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I did hear a titter from someone shortly after I passed them, but it may have had nothing to do with me. Truthfully, at this point, I'm sufficiently overweight that any unusual sway of the hips might simply look like a fat man's waddle.

Someone sent me a private message this week, asking me what sort of woman the lesbian within me found attractive; and I was surprised to discover that the answer is not what I would have thought. I’ve always imagined myself a “lipstick lesbian,” attracted to the same; but upon reflection I realized that I find the more androgynous look much more attractive. The kind of woman who favors that style draws me like a moth to a flame. (And, yes, I, too, want to sleep with Shane.) That’s the sort of woman it’s worth being pretty for. I don’t find butch women attractive; that’s not a criticism, it’s just a fact about me. There are some butch lesbians I like as people. I know one IRL, though she hasn’t the faintest clue about me; and a certain film director is another.

Feminine expression is emerging from me unbidden. It’s mostly gradual, but occasionally something will just jump out. How long until I get caught by someone who knows me? When I'm at home, I find myself sashaying around the apartment; sometimes, *not* sashaying feels positively unnatural. At home, I am also finding my speech patterns changing, largely on their own – and, yes, I talk to myself. I'm guessing that, at home, I feel free to express myself without constant self-monitoring, so these tendencies are expressing themselves more easily.

There is this terribly feminine spirit inside me, and it's coming out. I didn't realize how feminine it was. I think I may have started an avalanche.

After embracing my inner girl, something I noticed right away was the feeling of freedom that accompanied feminine expression. Some of this came unbidden; for example, I would catch myself moving in a girly way without conscious intent. I admit that I have had some concern about how this kind of behavior is going to affect my personal relationships – because, although I spend a great deal of time alone, I know that sooner or later I’m going to out myself whether I intend to or not. And that does scare me.

At the same time, however, I don’t think I can prevent it. I’m trying to do what I can to consciously help my inner girl to emerge, to speed up the process; and, as part of this effort, I have been working on acquiring a feminine walk. (It’s amazing what you can find on the internet.) And I’ve had some success, much to my surprise. It feels a little awkward, doing what I have to do to lower my center of gravity; but I think that, in time, it will become second nature. It feels so right. In fact, everything girly feels right. I’ve found that it’s hard to resist doing it, even when I must risk getting caught. Due to the weather here, I’ve been wearing a long lightweight overcoat; and when I turn it whirls like a skirt – what a delicious thrill.

My plans for dressing up at home are on hold until I lose some weight. Maybe that’s a good thing; maybe I’m in danger of going too fast. I can still get started on the knitting project, though. As part of my weight loss program, I’ll be doing a lot of walking, which will give me lots of practice with my lower center of gravity. There is no way I can avoid being seen. Oh, well. By sometime next week, there will be people out there who will be convinced that I’m gay. Won’t be the first time.

Speaking of dresses, I find myself occasionally reacting to women’s clothing in a way I’ve never done before. I was at Walmart several days ago and happened to pass by a rack of dresses, and this particular dress just seemed fabulous. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a kid’s dress; but I wouldn’t have had the courage to buy it, anyway. A few days ago, I picked up a magazine with the picture of a woman on the cover. She was not unattractive, but not particularly attractive, either. But, OMG, her dress was to die for. The more I looked at it, the more I liked it and wished I could wear it.

I know I must sound like a budding cross-dresser, but I have no desire to leave the house in anything but male clothing – at least, what can be seen by others. Women’s clothes may have been made for me, but they haven’t been made for this body. I just think wearing some things at home might help me open up more easily.

I tried shaving body hair this week using an ordinary hand-held razor, with indifferent success. So, I bought an inexpensive electric razor; and, can you believe it, it performed worse. I think I’m going to have to buy a hair-removal device. The Silk’n SensEpil was recommended to me; but, OMG, it’s expensive.

I wonder how long before this double life explodes in my face. Like I have a choice.

And now for something completely different …

Something wonderful happened this morning. It has nothing to do with me and my inner girl; it has to do with divine providence. So, all you folks who think religion is a mental illness, you can stop reading now.

If my deposits to my bank fall below a certain threshold, I am levied a service charge of 8.00 when my statement comes out. I realized just this morning that my statement is coming out on Monday and I am probably going to get a service charge. I had enough money in the bank to cover my check to my tax preparer with 88 cents to spare – in other words, if the service charge and the check were to both hit before I get paid, the check would bounce and I’d be in trouble with my tax preparer, which would not be good at all.

I needed 7.13 to cover everything and leave a 1-cent balance in the account. (I learned years ago that a zero balance closes the account.) Scro...

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