At age 60 it has become safe for me to say I am still an amateur at crossdressing. I took an interest about a year ago and, with strong encouragement from one of my friends from FetLife, started to look at various Web sites devoted to crossdressing and where to buy what I would need to help me look, well … somewhat, like a woman.
Frustration with finding a girlfriend has made me lonely, disillusioned and, at times, bitter. People made the usual wrong assumptions about me because of the way I carried myself, my vocabulary and a habit of wearing spandex while on my 3-mile runs. One woman told me straight to my face that I would stand a better chance of “getting laid” if, in her words, I dumbed down my vocabulary.
By the same token, however, being single has afforded me the freedom to go wherever I want, do whatever I please and hang out with those few people who might share my interests.
I went to a FetLife party at a private residence just east of Youngstown, Ohio, over the weekend. I brought a change of clothes with several options along. Once I arrived I changed into my gaffe and body shaper and began the awkward change into Xeri. I needed some help with my bra and was blessed with the help of a younger lady who showed me how to apply makeup, eye shadow and eyelashes. With my tights, skirt and tops in place, I only needed a couple of adornments (jewelry, heels) and once I slapped on my skullcap and wig, I was Xeri.
It reads like a cliché, but a good time was had by all assembled, me included. Some attendees told me they liked my outfit, and I even met a married CD from Pittsburgh with whom we swapped stories and suggestions. It was one of those rare occasions that I felt as if I was in a place where I really belonged.
As midnight neared and the guests started to filter out, my time to depart followed. I chose to stay en femme, although the rain and sloppy yard necessitated my wearing street shoes instead of heels on my way to the car. I stayed within the speed limit as I journeyed home to the town I have come to refer to in Crossdresser Heaven as Hooterville. After the baseball game I tuned in had concluded, I switched to a country music station for the rest of the journey.
Somewhere between the rural home and a pit stop at a convenience store, Kelsie Ballerini’s “Peter Pan” blared on the car radio. And I thought. And thought some more. After many frustrating years of failing to hook up with a girl I had admired since adolescence, not to mention countless other girls I had wanted to be with, “Peter Pan” reminded me of where I have been, and why this single man has remained single.
I have enjoyed the freedom to go wherever I choose (ballparks, horse tracks, hockey games, movies, karaoke nights) and it has given me a great deal of enjoyment. And yet for all the desire I have had for sexual pleasure with a woman, I had chosen to play it safe, knowing that seemingly every attempt to find love has ended, and will likely end, in failure.
It is, for that reason, “Peter Pan” struck a chord with me. Maybe it’s not a matter of immaturity, as the song implies, that has led me to where I am. The ability to “fly away” because I know I can is a blessing to my psyche and a curse to whatever hopes I continue to hold for romantic fulfillment.
I pulled into the convenience store and changed back into my heels for the shortest precarious walk I had experienced in years. I tried to push my hips out but my chest and shoulder positions still left much to be desired. I totally forgot what song was playing on the loudspeaker; the only sound I vividly recall was that of my heels striking the pavement as I walked in to purchase a travel mug of coffee. I said nothing, even as the clerk thanked me for the purchase. I only nodded and smiled, all the while ignoring the dirty or puzzled looks that might (or might not) have been directed to me.
It was the strangest feeling I had experienced in a long time. But between the farm house and my house I enjoyed the sensation of feeling the panty hose pressed against my skin. I shook my head to feel the wig’s long red hair that would tickle my face as I proceeded back to Hooterville. On one occasion I checked the rear view mirror to see my still made-up face and the pink lipstick I had chosen for the evening.
I concluded when I decided to try crossdressing that it might be the only way I’ll ever have a girlfriend. Yes, Xeri has become my girlfriend. Xeri knows and understands me because we are one and the same. My boss will never see Xeri. Neither will my family, co-workers or friends outside the Crossdresser Heaven and FetLife circles of friends.
Xeri and I will be together as long as I feel like being Xeri and as long as I hold her close to my heart. We will fly away whenever we can because we know we can.
There always will remain a sadness to facing the reality that I could never and probably never will find love from any of the girls I have desired in the past. By being Xeri I give myself the love and comfort that I have long desired.
I have pursued many of the career goals and personal interests. My love of that freedom, as much as my awkward social skills, high-caliber vocabulary and esoteric interests, has probably led a lot of girls to turn to other men.
I take great comfort in knowing that Xeri is here for me.