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A number of years back I attended my first Seahorse Ball. Seahorse is the support group that I belong to and they have two specific annual functions. One is a Christmas party on a dinner cruise boat they charter for the evening. It’s somewhat private with little public involvement, save for the inevitable group of fishermen who are at the wharf when the boat returns at midnight. By that stage of the evening I’m almost always hoping at least one of the wolf whistles is for me.
The other function is a ball, a huge event held at a public hotel, with up to 160 people attending and fully in public view. As most of us like to make a whole weekend of the experience, on the Friday night before the Saturday night ball we usually have an informal get together for dinner in the hotel restaurant.
This then is the story of my very first ball weekend, specifically the informal dinner on the Friday night. Come with me as I share my feelings for the night.
The weekend began with a drive from where I live to the venue of the ball, a hotel near Sydney’s international airport. The trip takes about three hours so I had plenty of time to work through every possible scenario for this, my first venture into a very public environment. Up to that time my outings were confined to the previous year’s Christmas cruise where pretty much no-one but CDs and supporters were involved, and the monthly support group meetings where there were only ever CDs and supporters in attendance. I had the chance to think about what a great time I was determined to have but I’m afraid that there must have been something in the atmosphere because the closer I got to Sydney the more I began to worry about what might go wrong or what a fool I’d make of myself. It even crossed my mind to give the whole idea a miss and turn around but the cancellation policy of the hotel would result in a large expense for nothing. The skinflint in me won out and I continued on to the hotel.
On arrival I checked in under the booking I’d made. As there was a discount room rate for ball attendees I knew there’d be a link on the booking page to point out I was one of ‘those’ people; guys who love to dress up in women’s clothing. I hardened myself for the knowing stares and sly looks, psyched myself into accepting the barbs of their comments and fronted up to the desk. The young lady there smiled politely and in a calm voice said “Good afternoon Sir, may I help you?” Boy, that was the most pathetic sly look I’d ever seen. As for the knowing stares of the other receptionists, aren’t you supposed to actually look at people when you do so? Why were they just going about their business? The young lady confirmed my details, forgot how to make sarcastic remarks and simply said “There you go, we have you in room 415, on the fourth floor, for two nights. Have a pleasant stay.” as she handed me my room key.
I knew it was just a fluke, that maybe they were briefed to wait until I was all frocked-up. That made sense. I took the elevator up to the fourth floor, the journey taking all of 20 seconds, and then wheeled my suitcase along the hall to my room. The key worked, the door opened and I was filled with relief as it closed firmly behind me. Safe! Once settled with a cup of coffee, ground coffee from a French press no less, I was able to re-read the information on the evening. We were to gather at 7 pm in the restaurant where a table would be booked for ‘Seahorse Dinner’. It all sounded easy, providing I made it there. That’s when the jitters, obviously from the coffee, kicked in. I had to dress, get made up and then actually walk alone to the restaurant. Damn, how long was that hallway again? How many floors up am I? Crikey, I’m doomed.
I got all my stuff out of my bag and laid it out on the bed. I’d been instructed to make sure my outfit looked right by being neatly pressed. No suitcase creases allowed. Oh dear, where was my adviser when I needed her? I checked the dress then got the iron on to the few wayward creases until I’m sure it would have passed inspection back in the good old days, though I’m sure my Chief Petty Officer would probably have found something wrong. Oh wow, what am I saying? He’d have cacked himself laughing. Anyway, as the hands on the clock steadfastly refused to move I decided to watch some television before I went to have a shower and start the laborious process of trying to transform myself into something akin to feminine.
For a big city Sydney’s Friday afternoon television is terribly boring so I decided that as dinner was at seven starting to get ready at 4 pm might just give me enough time. After a long shower and a shave of everything I could reach, well, mostly everything, I exited the bathroom already sweating. It couldn’t have been fear so it must be the air con on the blink. Maybe if I dial it down to sub-Arctic I might feel better. With the temperature now approaching something that’d make Scott and his party feel more at home I set about doing my makeup. Have you ever had those moments in a school exam where you wished you’d paid more attention in class? I was about to take a final exam with the judging panel no doubt going to be the hotel staff just awaiting my emergence from my room, after they’d tipped off all the hotel guests of course.
I won’t go into all the details of how I did my makeup, other than to say I was particularly worried about the darkness of my beard shadow. Despite having shaved to what I’m sure was six inches deeper than I’ve ever shaved in my life I could still see the darkness taunting me. Am I the only person to have ever wished to be blonde? Hopefully I followed all the steps I’d been shown before then, some maybe even in the correct order. Once done it was time to dress. Despite the shivers of fear I was certain I was now feeling I managed to get all the relevant limbs into the appropriate garment holes, no panties dangling around my left arm for this girl, and was finally able to look in the mirror to check my appearance. Wig on straight, forms not showing, no bra straps visible – the Chief would be happy, when he stopped laughing – and no creases visible in the dress. Good to go. If only I could stop shivering.
I glanced at the clock. Bloody hell, the hands have moved alright, it’s now 6.45 pm. Where did the time go? The shivers and the roaring in my ears told me that I must be so terrified I was about to pass out. I gave a great sigh and suddenly my breath clouded before me. Oh crap, it wasn’t fear causing the shivering it was the icy blast of the air con. At least if I’d carked it the Coroner would have found a well-preserved corpse. With the air con off an eerie silence settled on the room and I glanced at the clock. The hands have stopped again, for sure. Still, I think it’s time to go. Seven o’clock they said. It doesn’t pay to be early but I don’t want to be late.
Finally I walk towards the door but it seems the carpet has suddenly become sticky and my steps falter. Can I do this? What will I do when I open that door and see every other room door open with one or two heads poking out, laughing at me? Will I manage the two hundred metre walk to the elevator? Fair dinkum, what am I doing here? The carpet reluctantly gave up my shoes and my bejewelled hand reached for the door handle. Final check; bag, purse, lippy, compact (one day I’ll learn how to use it properly), room key, all correct and accounted for. Time check – 6.57 pm. Okay, let’s get this door open and stare down those other guests. I pulled open the door and stepped out to see that every other door was still shut. Well bad luck to them. I turn and see the five hundred metre walk to the elevator before me. Thank heavens I didn’t wear tottering heels. Away I go. What a weird drumbeat that is, must be someone practicing in their room. Hang on. The sound is coming with me. Phew, it’s just my heart. At least that means it’s still going. I made it to the elevator lobby and pressed the button. In the hour it took the elevator to arrive I wondered what I’d do if someone else came to the lobby while I was waiting. What if it’s one of those sniggering staff people? What if there are people in the elevator? Does my arse look big in this?
Suddenly there was a ‘ding’ and the elevator door opened. Oh no, there’s a gob-smacked couple standing there. Let the elevator go. I’ll get the next one. But what if the next one is full? How long before sniggerers arrive? Oh, damn it, just get in there girl. I step in and smile at the elderly couple there. They smile back so I say, as softly as I can, “Hello”. The lady says “Hello” back while the bloke just smiles. I turn to face across the cabin, it seeming a bit too rude to turn my back on them and try to compose myself as I feel their damning looks boring into me as the elevator descends the fifty two levels to the ground. Feeling almost like Swiss cheese I hear the familiar ‘ding’ and the doors open. I beckon for them to exit and they both smile and say “Thanks”. So they should, it’s been a long trip down.
Now for the hard part; the walk along the passage to the restaurant, past every other guest in the hotel. Something is wrong though. There’s no-one there; no-one to laugh, to sneer or to even question how well I manage the heels. They’ve all missed the memo. Before I know it I’m at the restaurant reception. “The Seahorse table please” I whisper. “Certainly ma’am, this way please.” (Hah, I must have fooled her, ma’am indeed. It has to be the low lighting). The young lady took me to a table and indicated a seat. Oh lordy, now what do I do? Have you ever seen the Da Vinci painting of The Last Supper? Okay, so now imagine that scene minus twelve disciples and JC himself. That’s what I was faced with. I glance at my watch. Spot on 7 pm yet I was the first one there. Worse still, the seat she indicated was on the far side of the table, facing out into the restaurant. Obviously a cunning plan so that every other diner could giggle and laugh at me. Oh thou heartless wench.
Taking the indicated seat I set about rummaging through my handbag to make it look like I was occupied, and thus not needing to meet any of the curious stares of the other patrons. ‘A woman’s handbag contains everything but the kitchen sink!’ So untrue. There was nothing in mine that could alleviate my renewed sense of isolation. One can only do so much with a small, non-smart phone, a lipstick and a few tissues. I’ll just have to slowly raise my eyes and face the sneering masses. Oh, joy, it must be the poor lighting again. No-one is even looking this way. Even the couple at the adjacent table seem interested in their own conversation. Relief.
Suddenly there’s a voice at my elbow “May I get the young lady a drink of some form” I hear. I glance around expecting to see a waiter at a nearby table but he’s right there, smiling at me. How well he’s hiding his knowing look. He even looks happy. “A glass of wine perhaps” he suggests. “It’s included with your dinner.” Sir, you have won my heart “Yes, please. That would be lovely. A glass of sauvignon blanc if you will.” I mumble back and he’s off with a smile and not even a glance back. Then, before I know it I’m surrounded by others like me, girls laughing, talking, smiling and just being people. I steal a glance around and the other diners are still ignoring this table. No-one is staring, there’s no giggling at our expense and the ceiling isn’t caving in. I take another look at my watch. It’s 7.02 pm and I realise that I have somehow survived the longest five minutes of my life. My knight in laundered white arrived with a frosted glass of chilled sav blanc and with a devilish wink he smiled and said “Enjoy. Have a great night.”
We did indeed have a great night. Before I knew it I was happily talking to other girls, meeting new friends and even chatting with the waiting staff as they served our meals. There were no “knowing looks”. Everyone was polite and respectful and even the other diners seemed to be enjoying themselves. My knight plied me with a few more drinks at my request, and I even found the confidence to stroll (does a lady swagger?) to the bar to see what else was on offer, thereat engaging a lovely lady in conversation while she too waited for a drink. “You all look lovely” she said and I thanked her. “You seem to be having a good night, having a party?” so I told her all about the night, and the ball the following night. It was an easy and comfortable conversation for both of us before I bade her good night and carried my drink back to the table.
The night ended with a short walk back to the elevator, including a smile to the two blokes at the bar as I passed, a quick twenty second ride up to the fourth floor and a confidant, happy stroll along the passageway to my room. My first night ‘out there’ was over and I was alive and very well indeed. The only down side was that I now know I should have taken a camera but at the time that seemed a step too far. I have learned my lesson.
Jane,
I so llok forward to you posting. The way you tell a story, is such a gift. The fluidity, i always feelbas though im the fly on the wall. With that said, thank yyou for sharing this psrt of tour life, & journey.
Wow! What a fantastic story JAne! You are absolutely amazing. I should never try to write again in comparison! (I will-- but will always fall short go your masterpieces!)
It was fun to revisit this story. So much water has flowed under the bridge since then that the paper boat I cast afloat that night would be almost to Mexico by now.
These days I go out to cafes, restaurants and the occasional bar (though I am a 'mature lady' not a party animal). I have yet to experience those 'stares', I've not yet heard snide remarks and so many people smile at me that I've come to think that I must have something green permanently lodged in my teeth.
This last week I have received three lessons that we must live life to the full every day we have. We never know when it will be taken from us and that is not the time to suddenly think "Oh I wish I had..."
2016_personal stories: CDH JS original post:
A number of years back I attended my first Seahorse Ball. Seahorse is the support group that I belong to and they have two specific annual functions. One is a Christmas party on a dinner cruise boat they charter for the evening. It’s somewhat private with little public involvement, save for the inevitable group of fishermen who are at the wharf when the boat returns at midnight. By that stage of the evening I’m almost always hoping at least one of the wolf whistles is for me.
The other function is a ball, a huge event held at a public hotel, with up to 160 people attending and fully in public view. As most of us like to make a whole weekend of the experience, on the Friday night before the Saturday night ball we usually have an informal get together for dinner in the hotel restaurant.
This then is the story of my very first ball weekend, specifically the informal dinner on the Friday night. Come with me as I share my feelings for the night.
The weekend began with a drive from where I live to the venue of the ball, a hotel near Sydney’s international airport. The trip takes about three hours so I had plenty of time to work through every possible scenario for this, my first venture into a very public environment. Up to that time my outings were confined to the previous year’s Christmas cruise where pretty much no-one but CDs and supporters were involved, and the monthly support group meetings where there were only ever CDs and supporters in attendance. I had the chance to think about what a great time I was determined to have but I’m afraid that there must have been something in the atmosphere because the closer I got to Sydney the more I began to worry about what might go wrong or what a fool I’d make of myself. It even crossed my mind to give the whole idea a miss and turn around but the cancellation policy of the hotel would result in a large expense for nothing. The skinflint in me won out and I continued on to the hotel.
On arrival I checked in under the booking I’d made. As there was a discount room rate for ball attendees I knew there’d be a link on the booking page to point out I was one of ‘those’ people; guys who love to dress up in women’s clothing. I hardened myself for the knowing stares and sly looks, psyched myself into accepting the barbs of their comments and fronted up to the desk. The young lady there smiled politely and in a calm voice said “Good afternoon Sir, may I help you?” Boy, that was the most pathetic sly look I’d ever seen. As for the knowing stares of the other receptionists, aren’t you supposed to actually look at people when you do so? Why were they just going about their business? The young lady confirmed my details, forgot how to make sarcastic remarks and simply said “There you go, we have you in room 415, on the fourth floor, for two nights. Have a pleasant stay.” as she handed me my room key.
I knew it was just a fluke, that maybe they were briefed to wait until I was all frocked-up. That made sense. I took the elevator up to the fourth floor, the journey taking all of 20 seconds, and then wheeled my suitcase along the hall to my room. The key worked, the door opened and I was filled with relief as it closed firmly behind me. Safe! Once settled with a cup of coffee, ground coffee from a French press no less, I was able to re-read the information on the evening. We were to gather at 7 pm in the restaurant where a table would be booked for ‘Seahorse Dinner’. It all sounded easy, providing I made it there. That’s when the jitters, obviously from the coffee, kicked in. I had to dress, get made up and then actually walk alone to the restaurant. Damn, how long was that hallway again? How many floors up am I? Crikey, I’m doomed.
I got all my stuff out of my bag and laid it out on the bed. I’d been instructed to make sure my outfit looked right by being neatly pressed. No suitcase creases allowed. Oh dear, where was my adviser when I needed her? I checked the dress then got the iron on to the few wayward creases until I’m sure it would have passed inspection back in the good old days, though I’m sure my Chief Petty Officer would probably have found something wrong. Oh wow, what am I saying? He’d have cacked himself laughing. Anyway, as the hands on the clock steadfastly refused to move I decided to watch some television before I went to have a shower and start the laborious process of trying to transform myself into something akin to feminine.
For a big city Sydney’s Friday afternoon television is terribly boring so I decided that as dinner was at seven starting to get ready at 4 pm might just give me enough time. After a long shower and a shave of everything I could reach, well, mostly everything, I exited the bathroom already sweating. It couldn’t have been fear so it must be the air con on the blink. Maybe if I dial it down to sub-Arctic I might feel better. With the temperature now approaching something that’d make Scott and his party feel more at home I set about doing my makeup. Have you ever had those moments in a school exam where you wished you’d paid more attention in class? I was about to take a final exam with the judging panel no doubt going to be the hotel staff just awaiting my emergence from my room, after they’d tipped off all the hotel guests of course.
I won’t go into all the details of how I did my makeup, other than to say I was particularly worried about the darkness of my beard shadow. Despite having shaved to what I’m sure was six inches deeper than I’ve ever shaved in my life I could still see the darkness taunting me. Am I the only person to have ever wished to be blonde? Hopefully I followed all the steps I’d been shown before then, some maybe even in the correct order. Once done it was time to dress. Despite the shivers of fear I was certain I was now feeling I managed to get all the relevant limbs into the appropriate garment holes, no panties dangling around my left arm for this girl, and was finally able to look in the mirror to check my appearance. Wig on straight, forms not showing, no bra straps visible – the Chief would be happy, when he stopped laughing – and no creases visible in the dress. Good to go. If only I could stop shivering.
I glanced at the clock. Bloody hell, the hands have moved alright, it’s now 6.45 pm. Where did the time go? The shivers and the roaring in my ears told me that I must be so terrified I was about to pass out. I gave a great sigh and suddenly my breath clouded before me. Oh crap, it wasn’t fear causing the shivering it was the icy blast of the air con. At least if I’d carked it the Coroner would have found a well-preserved corpse. With the air con off an eerie silence settled on the room and I glanced at the clock. The hands have stopped again, for sure. Still, I think it’s time to go. Seven o’clock they said. It doesn’t pay to be early but I don’t want to be late.
Finally I walk towards the door but it seems the carpet has suddenly become sticky and my steps falter. Can I do this? What will I do when I open that door and see every other room door open with one or two heads poking out, laughing at me? Will I manage the two hundred metre walk to the elevator? Fair dinkum, what am I doing here? The carpet reluctantly gave up my shoes and my bejewelled hand reached for the door handle. Final check; bag, purse, lippy, compact (one day I’ll learn how to use it properly), room key, all correct and accounted for. Time check – 6.57 pm. Okay, let’s get this door open and stare down those other guests. I pulled open the door and stepped out to see that every other door was still shut. Well bad luck to them. I turn and see the five hundred metre walk to the elevator before me. Thank heavens I didn’t wear tottering heels. Away I go. What a weird drumbeat that is, must be someone practicing in their room. Hang on. The sound is coming with me. Phew, it’s just my heart. At least that means it’s still going. I made it to the elevator lobby and pressed the button. In the hour it took the elevator to arrive I wondered what I’d do if someone else came to the lobby while I was waiting. What if it’s one of those sniggering staff people? What if there are people in the elevator? Does my arse look big in this?
Suddenly there was a ‘ding’ and the elevator door opened. Oh no, there’s a gob-smacked couple standing there. Let the elevator go. I’ll get the next one. But what if the next one is full? How long before sniggerers arrive? Oh, damn it, just get in there girl. I step in and smile at the elderly couple there. They smile back so I say, as softly as I can, “Hello”. The lady says “Hello” back while the bloke just smiles. I turn to face across the cabin, it seeming a bit too rude to turn my back on them and try to compose myself as I feel their damning looks boring into me as the elevator descends the fifty two levels to the ground. Feeling almost like Swiss cheese I hear the familiar ‘ding’ and the doors open. I beckon for them to exit and they both smile and say “Thanks”. So they should, it’s been a long trip down.
Now for the hard part; the walk along the passage to the restaurant, past every other guest in the hotel. Something is wrong though. There’s no-one there; no-one to laugh, to sneer or to even question how well I manage the heels. They’ve all missed the memo. Before I know it I’m at the restaurant reception. “The Seahorse table please” I whisper. “Certainly ma’am, this way please.” (Hah, I must have fooled her, ma’am indeed. It has to be the low lighting). The young lady took me to a table and indicated a seat. Oh lordy, now what do I do? Have you ever seen the Da Vinci painting of The Last Supper? Okay, so now imagine that scene minus twelve disciples and JC himself. That’s what I was faced with. I glance at my watch. Spot on 7 pm yet I was the first one there. Worse still, the seat she indicated was on the far side of the table, facing out into the restaurant. Obviously a cunning plan so that every other diner could giggle and laugh at me. Oh thou heartless wench.
Taking the indicated seat I set about rummaging through my handbag to make it look like I was occupied, and thus not needing to meet any of the curious stares of the other patrons. ‘A woman’s handbag contains everything but the kitchen sink!’ So untrue. There was nothing in mine that could alleviate my renewed sense of isolation. One can only do so much with a small, non-smart phone, a lipstick and a few tissues. I’ll just have to slowly raise my eyes and face the sneering masses. Oh, joy, it must be the poor lighting again. No-one is even looking this way. Even the couple at the adjacent table seem interested in their own conversation. Relief.
Suddenly there’s a voice at my elbow “May I get the young lady a drink of some form” I hear. I glance around expecting to see a waiter at a nearby table but he’s right there, smiling at me. How well he’s hiding his knowing look. He even looks happy. “A glass of wine perhaps” he suggests. “It’s included with your dinner.” Sir, you have won my heart “Yes, please. That would be lovely. A glass of sauvignon blanc if you will.” I mumble back and he’s off with a smile and not even a glance back. Then, before I know it I’m surrounded by others like me, girls laughing, talking, smiling and just being people. I steal a glance around and the other diners are still ignoring this table. No-one is staring, there’s no giggling at our expense and the ceiling isn’t caving in. I take another look at my watch. It’s 7.02 pm and I realise that I have somehow survived the longest five minutes of my life. My knight in laundered white arrived with a frosted glass of chilled sav blanc and with a devilish wink he smiled and said “Enjoy. Have a great night.”
We did indeed have a great night. Before I knew it I was happily talking to other girls, meeting new friends and even chatting with the waiting staff as they served our meals. There were no “knowing looks”. Everyone was polite and respectful and even the other diners seemed to be enjoying themselves. My knight plied me with a few more drinks at my request, and I even found the confidence to stroll (does a lady swagger?) to the bar to see what else was on offer, thereat engaging a lovely lady in conversation while she too waited for a drink. “You all look lovely” she said and I thanked her. “You seem to be having a good night, having a party?” so I told her all about the night, and the ball the following night. It was an easy and comfortable conversation for both of us before I bade her good night and carried my drink back to the table.
The night ended with a short walk back to the elevator, including a smile to the two blokes at the bar as I passed, a quick twenty second ride up to the fourth floor and a confidant, happy stroll along the passageway to my room. My first night ‘out there’ was over and I was alive and very well indeed. The only down side was that I now know I should have taken a camera but at the time that seemed a step too far. I have learned my lesson.
