What's in a name?

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

Ann, Barbara, Christine, Delia, … … … Xanthe, Yvonne, Zoe. I've been a closet cross dresser for many years and never bothered to adopt a femme name. But now I'm intending to come out and can't go out with boobs and a dress and still call myself Johnny. You would think choosing a name would be easy but I've been through the alphabet twice already and can't find one which I feel fits my new self.

Most of us stay with the names (and gender!) given us by our parents, even if we think they didn't do a good job choosing them! And my parents would never have thought their little boy would want a girl's name.

Let's have another go! Alice, Betty, Celia, Dorothy … … … O dear, I've run out of X, Y and Z. Last time I thought I had invented Xanthe, but now I've seen it in a newspaper. And I don't want anything that begins with J for Johnny. I never realised just how many names begin with J. Jane, June, Jean, Jennifer, Julia, — lots lots more and I don't want any of them.

I'm 48 now, so I can't identify with being young and twenty. Should sound a bit more mature.

I started dressing when I was a teenager. I “borrowed” some of my older sister's things. I just loved the feel of silk panties. And of course she found me out.

“Have you been rummaging through my things again, Johnny?”

My red face gave her the answer. She held up the panties I had worn and I nodded. But I need not have worried.

“Next time, please just ask! If you feel like that, I'll find you something suitable.”

Sue is three years older than me and to my surprise, seemed to understand. She has kept my secret ever since and actually encouraged me. I think she looked it up on the internet and probably understands it better than I do. Words always fail me when I try to explain why I do it. It's just a strong urge, deep down, which keeps on surfacing.

Not long after that, our parents went away for the weekend to visit friends and left Sue in charge at home. “Well, Johnny, this is your big opportunity to find out what it's like being a girl. That's what you want, isn't it? Mum and Dad won't be home till Monday. Go and have a shower — and take this and use it all over.”

“This” was a spray tube of Nair and a few minutes later all my body hair from the neck down had disappeared down the drain. Sue put out things for me to wear. Silk panties, a bra (which was stuffed with old socks — it would be some years before I bought some proper breast forms), a white blouse which left the bra clearly visible, tights and a shortish tartan skirt. Her shoes were all too small for me, but she found sandals with an adjustable back strap and two inch heels. I was still young enough not to have much facial hair and Sue set about making me up with a good layer of foundation. By the time she'd finished and found a simple wig I could hardly believe who I saw in the mirror.

We spent the weekend together as sisters but did not venture out. That was the first time I “dressed” and a time I will never forget. It simply felt right for me and was to be the first of many.

In due course, Sue got married and left home. By that time I had a small collection of my own clothes hidden away but I greatly missed her company, advice and practical help. Whenever Mum and Dad were out or away, I would immediately dress up but I always found make up difficult. And, of course, I had to make sure it was all removed before they came home.

My parents knew nothing about it and I don't think they ever had any idea. Sadly, they both died some years ago. Dad had a heart attack and Mum seemed never to get over losing him and only outlived him by a few months. They left a substantial sum and the family home to me and I have lived there ever since. I am financially independent.

Sue's marriage did not prove a happy one and ended in divorce. Fortunately, there were no children and she moved back into the family home with me. Which was fine for me! Whenever we had a day or two with nothing in our diaries, we lived as sisters. My wardrobe grew. And even when not “dressed” I preferred to wear girls underwear and slacks, either pull-on or with a side zip. I wore them out and about and never once detected anyone noticing the difference. For me, they were a private symbol of my other self — my alter ego.

Now years later, Sue has decided that I must “come out”. She thinks we should both have more social life and wants me to be a cousin with whom she can meet her friends.

As a first outing, she has bought tickets for the opera. “La Traviata” is a story about a girl who eventually dies of consumption (not quite sure what that was but the Victorians usually found it fatal). I had tears running down at the end and Sue had to do some emergency repairs. The interval was a bit nerve-wracking. Long queue for the “Ladies” and a lot of casual chit chat. I was very glad of Sue's company. Why do architects not realise that girls take a lot longer and always redo their makeup?

And my name? After much thought, I chose either Ruby or Wendy. They're both definitely girls' names. I had given in to temptation and bought a beautiful full length maroon evening gown which I saw in a second hand shop. Sue says I look fabulous in it. So the choice is obvious. Ruby it will be and I guess even more time spent dressed.

Ruby truly is my alter ego.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.
August 2012

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