Wow! That Was Close!

| Mar 30, 2020
Spread the love

It is often called the ‘transgender spectrum.’ The spectrum refers to the many different varieties of people who are identified or who self-identify as transgender, those who are born as one gender but to some degree live their lives as the other gender. There is a lot of variety in the transgender spectrum. Of course it would not be a spectrum without variety. Just like a rainbow is a spectrum of colors so does the transgender world contain a spectrum of personalities.

This article/blog is not about the transsexual part of the spectrum, be they pre-Op, post-Op or non-Op. It is not about drag queens. It is not about those crossdressers who are ‘out’ to the world. It is certainly not about fetishistic transvestites who use a few articles of women’s clothing to help stimulate their masturbation. The group I’m telling you about here is that large group of males who for various reasons enjoy dressing and presenting themselves as females. Often they will identify as having male bodies but female minds. They enjoy going out in public appearing as feminine as they can but they want to do that secretly so that no one or almost no one else knows they are doing it. They are not as ‘closeted’ as the fetishistic transvestites but even when going around in public they are in an identity closet.

I write ‘they’ but it could be ‘we.’ “My name is Linda and I am a crossdresser.” That could have been what I said the many times I have attended support group meetings around Canada, The States and even England. That could have been but I don’t think I ever said it. I didn’t need to say it. By the way I was dressed and from the wig on my head to the high heels on my feet everyone already knew.

Transgender/crossdresser support group meetings are somewhat different than Alcoholics Anonymous and other groups designed to help the members overcome their addictions. We did not go to the meetings for strategies and support to overcome our addiction. We generally go to those meetings as a reason to revel in our feminine feelings and identity and frankly to get validation for that identity. The tips and advice topics are often very good as well.

So it was that once many years ago I attended a support group meeting where the topic was going to be, ‘How to Avoid Being Outed.’ It was going to be but the guest speaker did not show up. I was not a member of that group but had been invited to attend as an out-of-town visitor. For a while we sat around waiting and chatting, waiting for it to be late enough to go to the nearby gay club where we would dance the rest of the night away.

Then I had an idea. I first tested the idea on my table mates and when they approved I stood up and suggested that we all take turns telling the others about the closest call we have had to being ‘outed’ in public, that is where we could have been identified by someone who knows us. Of course there were looks of uncertainty. No one made a move to the mic. Then some wise gal called back to me, “why don’t you start?”

“Well I’m only a guest,” I pretended to protest, “but okay.” I already had a few incidents in my mind and I was not going to lead off with the most dramatic. That might have discouraged others from contributing. It will come later.

“I was at a large shopping mall up in Canada,” I started. “I rarely went out in the town where I lived but this time I did. I remember just exiting a dress shop called Holly’s and heading toward the lower level of the mall. I decided to take the stairs to avoid the escalator crowds and the stairs were closer. Usually you don’t meet anyone on the stairs but as I rounded the corner coming up the stairs was a lady I worked with along with her two teenage daughters. I knew them all well and they knew me, the male me. ‘I’m sunk,’ I thought.

“However I guess they were too engrossed in conversation to notice me. I did not look back to see if they were looking back. I made a beeline back to my car and back home. The next time I saw my colleague I was a bit apprehensive but she never ever gave any indication that she might have recognized me. Next?”

I finished to polite applause. Perhaps it was the applause or perhaps it was my lame story but even before I sat down another gal was on her feet and launching into her testimony, “You think that was close. I can tell you close and not once but twice.

“Before retiring and moving here I was a schoolteacher and a good one but in teaching a lot of what one can do depends on having the respect of the students and colleagues. I lived in a city of about two million. Like most cities it had several gay bars. One was very t-friendly and had regular drag shows. Despite my better judgement I would occasionally slip out of my neighborhood and go to this bar to watch the show, chat with the other girls and occasionally get lucky with a nice admirer. You can see how this was suicidal behavior for someone with hopes of a career advancement.”

“Or like playing Russian Roulette,” I remember someone chirping in.

“Exactly,” she continued, “one evening there I was talking with friends when I noticed two young men come in.”

“Oh shit!” apparently she had exclaimed to her friends’ surprise. The two newcomers to the club were former students of hers, not only students at the school but students in her class. She didn’t even know they were gay she told the rest of us.

Apparently, she did her best to avoid the two for a while but then decided she had better leave. As chance would have it or perhaps not by chance the two ex-students chose to leave right after her and she looked back to see the two behind her in the parking lot. “I thought I was sunk,” she told us. “I decided to round some cars and head back to the club. Luckily, they kept going to their car. Turns out they were not following me at all, but it was close.”

Applause and our chirper spoke up again, “What was the second incident?”

“Same club about a year later,” she started, “When not getting dolled up and going out I had been an active member of our homeowners’ association. Our long-time president was a tall and imposing woman with lots of energy, a Type A character. Her husband was a laid-back pipe smoking guy who was always there to do her bidding. I knew them well as we worked together on several social and political projects.

“Anyway, one evening at the club again there I am chatting with some t-gal friends and getting ready to enjoy the show when who should walk in but Mr. Laid-back-husband-of-our-HOA-president. I was getting ready to again flee when it became obvious he was not interested in the gals. Instead he was acting very chummy with one of the gay club regulars. They passed by me, even stood beside me once during the evening but paid no attention to me.”

“Or at least you think they didn’t,” I could not help breaking in. “It is not only in Vegas that what happens there stays there.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I was not read and I never said anything to anyone about it until this evening. Before the evening was out he and his friend had made their way to a very private playroom at the back of the club.”

Again, applause.

Another gal was up on her feet right away. This was getting good.

“This was a close call that took several years to happen,” she started, “As many of you know I moved here several years ago. Before that I visited regularly and when I did my ‘Jessica’ identity always came along. Now my wife and I live here full time, have joined a golf club and you see me here almost every month. One time when I was visiting, I got dolled up and headed for the club. It was not a busy night, there was not going to be a show and none of you gals were there. I just settled in at the bar and hoped for the best.

“At one point I needed to go pee and wanted to play with my make-up. As chance would have it as I entered one of the lesbians present was exiting her stall. I expected her to ignore me or to create some sort of confrontation. Instead as I fumbled through my purse looking for my lipstick she started to chat me up. I was glad to talk with her. It turns out she had been drinking a bit. She asked where I was from and when she learned I was visiting she started hinting at us getting together for an intimate time. She had been drinking a lot!

“I don’t know if she hadn’t read me or perhaps she fancied using me as a human dildo. I just did not feel comfortable going with her or me inviting her back to my hotel. And I did not feel like confirming my status with her. If things had been different, like if she had been pretty, perhaps my answer would have been different but after returning to the bar and sharing more conversation for half an hour or so we parted ways. I expected to never see her again.

“However, when my wife and I moved here we were invited to join a golf club. My wife joined their ladies’ league and the team for their inter-club competitions. Now who should also be a member of the club and the team but my lesbian friend from that evening a few years before? She of course has never recognized me but if I had taken her up on her offer of intimacy, I’m sure she would have remembered me much better than she now does.

“She’s the type of gal that wears her life right out front. She has no filters and I’m sure if she ever knew she would be blabbing about our previous encounter all around the club, at least around the ladies’ locker room.

More applause. By then we had exhausted the time that was normally allocated for the guest speaker. Our leader wanted to wrap up. Our members wanted to continue. We compromised and decided on the spot that we would continue the ‘Close Call’ meeting next month and I was to lead it. Me and my big mouth.

Like to make a comment, share a close call? Login here and use the comment area below.

  • Yum

Spread the love

Tags: , ,

Category: Transgender Body & Soul

Linda Jensen

About the Author ()

Canadian writer Linda Jensen is a long time contributor to TGForum. Before the days of the Internet Linda started her writing with the Transvestian newspaper. Her writing ranges from factual accounts of her adventures to fiction although frankly sometimes her real life adventures are stranger than the fiction. Linda is married to a loving partner who upon learning about Linda said, "she was part of you before I met you. Although I didn't know it she was part of the package I fell in love with. I don't want to mess up that package." "Does it get any better than that?" asks Linda.

Comments (1)

Trackback URL | Comments RSS Feed

  1. Pauline Pauline says:

    Enjoyable article Linda, I think identity is a thing most trans girls wrestle with. My feeling is that from pure white to absolute black there are a billion shades of grey.