I had no idea that nearly two and half hours had gone by since we started talking. I went out into the parking lot. It was drizzling just a little. I got in my car as it started to rain. I just sat there for a while listening to the rain, feeling emotionally drained. I could not fathom how this meeting would be such a pivotal point in my life. Everyone can look back at their lives and think of several events or people who have played a role in shaping us into who we are. This was one of those where-were-you-when-the terrorists-flew-the-planes-into-the-World-Trade-Center moments.
I finally left and went home. I am sure Deb knew something was up because to go out on my own on a Saturday night was out of the norm. I wanted to tell my wife, but I just was not ready. Deb was not home when I arrived; I was a bit relieved and a bit saddened—I could have really used someone to talk to, but the years of being reserved left me with no one close enough. I carefully hid the brochures and papers in my car so no one would find them. It was still drizzling but the sky was getting lighter. I put on my biking gear, filled my water bottles, and headed out for a long bicycle ride.
I was emotionally numb at that point. Not happy, not sad, not excited, not melancholy. I was just there. The bike felt good; the steady pumping of the peddles felt great. I had ridden my training route so many times I did not have to think about it. I just rode. I am not sure what I was thinking or even if I was thinking. I just needed the fresh air. After a couple hours bike riding, I returned home in time for dinner. Deb had arrived home while I was gone but can’t recall saying anything to her. I can’t remember anything more of that evening except being in a daze. I had just revealed my deepest darkest secret to a total stranger.
A boulder had been lifted off my shoulders. It is very hard to describe how I felt, because one question was answered that day, giving me great relief, However, the burden in some ways grew because I was desperate to come out but could not. I guess somehow I knew that the meeting I had with Diane had significantly altered the course of my life. I had no idea how much it would change my future. I guess it felt like the whole cosmos had just shifted for me. Everything that was in perfect alignment all of a sudden changed and shifted. The pink fog had set in, and it was hard to see clearly.
The next morning I looked over the material that Diane gave me. The next meeting was the following weekend. I wanted to go and yet did not want to go. I rode a lot of miles that week trying to make a decision. I procrastinated and never made a decision. In life many people have trouble making a decision, but what they don’t realize is that if they don’t make a decision, life will make one for them, and the outcome is not always the one they would have preferred. Well the weekend came and went and so did the meeting. The next week I started lying to my wife.
Up until that point my wife of two years did not know about “Linda,” so I never had to lie about her. But now the lying started. For the following three weeks before the meeting, I started making up an elaborate lie of where I had go on Saturday night. It was a stretch from the norm because we always did things together and now I needed a Saturday night out alone. I am not sure what lie it was, but I do remember making a plan and having everything lined up. I had put all my clothes and makeup—the little I had—into the trunk of my car a week ahead of time. I was ready; I was going to do it. The time slowly ticked by—then came the day.
I was nervous. When I get nervous I am a bit chatty. Well this is one day I could not be chatty, could not let anything out. I so wanted to tell someone, I needed someone, but again I was alone. Dealing with the fear, anxiety, elation, excitement—it was great big cloud of pink emotions just floating in my head, swirling and obscuring my thoughts. I left early for the meeting, but ended up late because I drove around the hotel for a half hour.
I left my “girl” stuff in the car. I was not sure what awaited me inside the hotel as I walked through the automatic doors. The front desk clerk was currently helping someone, for which I was greatly relieved. I think I would have wet my pants if she had said, “May I help you?” I would not have had a clue how to answer that question. I would have done an about-face and headed out the door. Much to my relief, there was a small sign that read “IME Meeting Room 108” with an arrow.
I quickly headed down the hall, trying to look inconspicuous. The door was closed to room 108 when I got there. I could hear muffled voices, but could not distinguish any of the words. I paused at the door and probably would have stood there indefinitely, but after thirty seconds of enjoying the wood grain, it opened! I stood face to face with a tall, transgender woman. This was the first time I had ever met another transgender person—I would later find out her name was Sara. She said hello as she brushed past me and headed down the hallway to use the restroom. There I stood in the wide open door staring into a room of about 25 individuals. I would guess about two-thirds of them were transgender and the remaining were significant others. They stopped their discussion and turned and looked at me with an intense, inquisitive silence.
The silence was broken by Diane. In a hushed voice she said, “Welcome Linda, I am glad you could make it. Come in and introduce yourself.” I sat in the closest empty seat and said in a meek, trembling voice, “Hello, I am Linda.” At that point I was a 20-year-old bicycle racer. I was slim but with not an ounce of feminine features present. I surely did not look like a Linda. I wore a snug polo shirt that showed off my physique. A few girls said, “Welcome Linda.”
The room went silent for a few seconds before it was interrupted by Fred, the therapist supervising and advising the group. He would later become my therapist. He had a very firm voice, but as firm as it was, I could feel the caring in it. He said, “Welcome and you are just in time—we had a little bit of a late start, and we were just about to go around the room and introduce ourselves.” He started with himself and then motioned to the woman sitting next to him. Thank goodness, I was half way around the room from him, so I had time to collect my thoughts.
Everyone gave their names and short bios. Some were brief; others talked a bit longer. It took about 15 minutes before it was my turn. I did not say much, just that this was my first time at the meeting and that I was a college student, which is all I could think to say. The bio train continued around the room in pretty much the same fashion. I just sat there nervously listening. Fred talked about security issues for the support group and reminded everyone of the need for confidentiality. What was discussed in the group must only be discussed in the group and was not to be discussed or disclosed to anyone outside the group. Expulsion was automatic for anyone who did not adhere to the code of conduct and bylaws for the group.
The trans-women in the group varied significantly. There were some who looked very nice and refined and others who looked very harsh. Some wore dresses—at this point I was wishing I had dressed—others were in casual clothes, and others wore something more like costumes, nothing you would see on the street unless it was midnight and you were in the red light district. Even with the diversity, everybody was polite and courteous to one another as topics where brought up.
After about 45 minutes the groups separated into significant others and the “trans” group. I am not sure what was discussed in the significant others group—they did not share any information when they finished and returned to the main room. Ours started out with bathroom issues and bra sizes, but slowly deteriorated into a bitch session. I was sitting next to a woman named Stephanie, and we started to talk amongst ourselves when the others went off on tangents until the moderator brought things back into focus.
The meeting lasted about 45 minutes and then the door was opened so that the significant other group could come back in. I had been excited so far but no real fog had developed yet. The potluck and social came next. There was a $10 charge for anyone attending the social, and you had to bring one thing. I only had to pay because it was my first meeting. I went through the line and sat back down next to Stephanie. A girl named JoAnne joined us later. We started with small talk and then Stephanie st
arted to tell me her story, while JoAnne interjected hers throughout the conversation. Pink fog started to drift in and goodness did it get thick fast. I could have been in their stories, only changing the name of sisters or towns they lived in. I could not believe it—they were exactly like me! I think I said, “Me, too” a thousand times that night. The feeling was unforgettable. It was not until I had facial surgery that I ever felt anything similar, if I did even then.
Time just passed. I have no recollection of what else happened that night. Once the fog slipped in, it obscured everything else. I could only see the things closest to me. The time went from 7:00 to 10:00 in the blink of an eye. Diane must have noticed the heavy fog floating around in my brain because she came over and talked to me at the end as everyone was leaving. She told me to not make any decisions tonight; instead, wait a couple of days and think everything through before I did something. I thanked her for letting me come, and said I would be back next month as we walked out to our cars.
When I got to the parking lot, there were a couple of girls discussing where they were going to go. This group of girls looked more refined, experienced. They were the ones who would go to the gay bars after the meetings; only a few girls ever felt secure enough to go out in public in femme. I wished them goodnight and then I got in my car. How I wished I could have gone with them.
It was 10:30 by that time, but I was not ready to go home. I was so intrigued with Stephanie’s and JoAnne’s stories. I had not eaten much so I decided to go to a nearby Denney’s restaurant. I do not remember what I ordered or even if it was any good; the pink fog was still very thick. It was late when I left, but I still was not ready to go home. So I drove around and eventually ended up at home. My wife was already sleeping. I could not sleep, and as it turned out, I did not have to. Twenty minutes after I lay down, my wife’s water broke and we were off to the hospital; in eight hours my first son was born. It was the most exciting 24 hours of my life.
The birth of my son saved me from making some big mistakes that night.. They say there was a time and place for everything, and telling my pregnant wife that I am transgender did not seem like the best time when she was giving birth. Hey, love look it is a boy, and oh yes I have been meaning to tell you I am a woman. His birth helped clear the fog. I was so excited I just wanted to tell everyone that I was not weird: there are other nice people just like me. I am not a freak. Others have also struggled with being transgender all their lives. It is hard to describe the weight that was lifted off my shoulders. The weight that was lifted by the revelations soon returned as the weight of reality came rolling back. I had just now realized what I was searching for all my life. It would take another twenty years before I could put down the burden and actually be free. The birth of my son was an exciting time, but I had just had such an emotional discovery of my own. I was emotionally exhausted, but a bit apprehensive for what the future held for me.
In the following days, I felt great: the excitement of my first child and the discovery of who I was, aware that others struggled with the same thing I did. I had read about people who are transgender before, but now I had met them face to face. I did not feel so alone any longer. But even though I did not feel alone, I still felt very lonely: I had all this new information, knowledge, or whatever you wanted to call it, but I could not tell anyone.
The time dragged on to the next meeting. I kept busy at work; one of the senior engineers retired and I was promoted to his position. I was excited about the promotion even if it was a promotion to a dead-end job. The job was designing control systems for nuclear power plants, but nuclear power plants in the late 1980s were being shut down. The days ticked by and finally the day came. This was it. I was coming out—even if only to the support group. Linda was going to make her first appearance to the world. I chose “Linda” simply because I liked the name. Several emotions, ranging from elation to fear, shot through me at once— I can’t think of one that was more dominant.
I was one of the first to arrive at the meeting. Thankfully I recognized someone from the previous meeting whom I just followed. I did not want to ask someone where the “IME” meeting was: “You know, the one for those creepy transvestites.” I got to the meeting room where another individual was setting up the furniture in a U shape. I just stood there with my camouflage duffle bag. The bag was a carryover from my Marine Corps days, and I used it to camouflage my girl stuff. It had been used to store my old uniforms; I kept it in the back of the closet. I had removed the uniforms, put them in the shed, and replaced them with a dress, accessories, wig, shoes, and a hodgepodge of makeup.
I must have looked like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, not sure where to go, what to do, or even what to say. Jenifer looked up from what she was doing and said to me, “You are either a female to male transsexual who passes very well, or you are looking for the changing room. If you are looking for the changing room, it is across the hall in room 143.” I think I said thanks and went across the hall, getting ready to show the world Linda.
The door to the changing room was propped open with the security bolt so that it would not lock. I gently pushed the door open. There were two others already getting dressed, discussing something, but stopped when I came in. They said hello and introduced themselves. Neither of them had been at the previous meeting; they were from a sister organization out of Indiana. After these quick introductions, they went back to their discussion.
I started to unpack my war bag. Since I had to hide everything, my dress was a wrinkled mess. The makeup had come out of its bag and was mixed throughout everything. Thank goodness none of it leaked. When you only have one dress you panic a bit. By the time I had removed everything, the pink fog had crept in again and was getting thick. It is a wonderful feeling: an arousal of senses but not of a sexual nature. It usually takes a couple of days after I dress to be able to have an erection again. Once I was organized, the bathroom was empty; I grabbed my stuff and went in.
There was a knock on the bathroom asking if I was done. Nerves made it hard to put on makeup and my fingers trembled a bit as I fumbled with the buttons on my dress. I was a hairy creature— part werewolf, I believe. To hide the hair I had to wear high-collar dresses. Since my wife did not know about Linda, I could not shave below my neck. I finally got the dress buttoned, quickly pulled up my opaque pantyhose putting a small run in them as I did, and vacated the bathroom for the next person. That is one trick I did learn if you wear opaque pantyhose: people can’t see your hairy legs, and you can get by without shaving them. The pink fog was getting thick. The room was starting to get busy. There was one person using the mirror above the sink and another person brought a lighted mirror and was sitting at the desk. The girl finished up at the desk mirror and asked me if I wanted to use it. I quickly sat down before she could offer it to another.
Putting makeup on was no easy task, especially since I did not have very good makeup, just some cheap stuff I bought at Rite Aid. I applied my foundation twice, and even though I had just shaved a few hours before, the five o’clock shadow was still present. I learned later about different makeup concealer that could do a better job of hiding the beard than regular foundation. Of course, if you get the wrong color—which I was notorious for—you can easily make yourself look like a clown. The other girls getting ready looked so good and I still looked like a guy in a dress with bad makeup. But I did not care—the fog was pretty thick and through it I looked OK. I was there, and I was OUT.
I quickly finished fixing my hair, put on my heels and left. I had mastered walking in heels and wore them any chance I could since was a child. I had four sisters and a mother. There was always a pair of heels lying around. I talked to a few other girls until the meeting started a short time later. There were about 18 people in this meeting: 14 male to female transgender and 4 spouses. The meeting followed the same format. The time flew even faster than the previous meeting. There was a lot of pink fog. It was the first time I was ever dressed in front of anybody
. I was not prepared for how thick the fog was going to get.
After the meeting, a Mary Kay representative planned to do a makeover and show us how to use makeup. I was picked for the one to get the makeover. I still don’t know if I was lucky to get picked, or my makeup looked so bad they felt sorry for me. Either way I was glowing with excitement. She started by removing the clown face and slowly rebuilt it layer by layer. When she was finished, I looked in the mirror and saw a girl. I saw myself as I had always imagined. I was no supermodel but that day I was beautiful. The pink fog got thick very fast.
My head remained foggy for what seemed like a week. I had a one-track mind and about 150 dollars of Mary Kay makeup. During that week I thought I was going to explode, but somehow I managed to contain myself and not blow my cover. My wife worked late three nights a week. On the nights she worked late and I did not have school, I would race home and experiment putting on makeup. I would try to do it exactly the way the Mary Kay representative showed me. It is not as easy as she made it seem. I did, however, successfully make myself look like a very attractive hooker. My biggest problem was covering my beard. I could easily shave twice a day and no matter how much makeup I put on, you could still see it poking through after a couple of hours.
I continued to practice religiously. I finally managed to get the eye shadow on just my eyelids and not all over my face. But even to this day I seem to get some on my face no matter how hard I try. By the time of the next meeting, I was getting OK with the makeup. I bought a new dress through the JC Penney catalog—this was before online shopping. In the old days, we used to place orders over a telephone and talk to a real person. I do not think the fog really dissipated completely before the next month’s meeting.
The Great Elephant Ride Page 5