"My name is Francesca. I'm so glad to meet you."

It’s been a learning process. When did makeup and clothing become my camouflage? And now it’s become real.

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Today – I’ve been taking my first real steps into the real world. I’m trying to be sensible. To look ‘ordinary’ as much as I can. I’ve toned down my makeup after looking at hours of Youtube and especially some live tuition from Thea, my wife. I’ve changed my clothes from my once-preferred evening-style of loud, if not garish. It’s been a long, hard, driven learning process.

Because I want to be out in the world as a woman. Looking like a thirty-two year old woman. Being treated as a thirty-two year old woman. It’d be nice if people thought I was younger – but, hey, that’s the face and body I’ve got underneath the outward camouflage. Er, that is, camouflaging because I’m a man.

I may not feel like the average man – whoever, whatever that might be. I do know that not many men enjoy panties, stockings, bra and so on. Although who can tell what underwear lurks beneath many a business suit? And, this time, I’m not wearing a man’s business suit. I’m wearing a really stylish skirt and jacket two-piece in pastel green with new smart lingerie to linger over. My hair looks feminine. My makeup proclaims it further. Today I am Francesca.

I have a wife who is incredibly understanding. Thea’s the one who has persuaded me that it’s time. And if I could love her more than before – now is the time.

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To tell you about me I have to say my story starts pretty typically. In my case, my sister was three years younger and therefore smaller. So I began my “experimenting” with my mother’s items. I would try my look every chance I got when I was home alone.

About a year later, I even began to try make up. I don’t have to tell anyone that those early attempts were what I would have called my “clown” time. As I got older and began to earn my own money I stopped using her things and bought my own. My collection was small, very small, but it was mine.

Needless to say, my efforts did not pass unnoticed. Parents aren’t unobservant or stupid, well, not all of them. Sister Sarah blew the gaff, so to speak. (What a strange picture that provokes). My mother noticed more than a few times, demanded explanations, demanded that I stop, demanded that I make promises. She threw away my stash more than once. My father said a few times ‘he’ll grow out of it’ then began to get more and more irritated. But I didn’t. I just got a great deal more careful.

My family did not encourage me, quite the opposite. Over the next five years, I was given the chance to speak with at least four different shrinks to be “fixed” of my “problem”. Now it wasn’t all bad. By talking with these professional manipulators, I developed skills that have done me well.

I learned to read people and get an idea of what they were thinking before they said anything. I also got very good at controlling a conversation, only giving enough to keep the dialog and not letting them dig but never anything of real substance. It also drove me deeper into “hiding”. I made sure no one was going to learn about Francesca (as I called her). This went on well into my college years.

While in school, I pushed the limit. Only by hindsight do I realize the risk I took. I would often wear panties to school. In the winter I would a few times wear a cami under my sweat shirt. The heavy material would help to hide the straps. I loved the feeling of being dressed. I began to notice that I did better while taking exams when I did this. It was really hard to explain and if you don’t understand I still can’t find the words to fully explain it. I dressed at home behind locked doors and closed curtains. I got better with makeup and studied women. I would walk and work on my voice and really did all I could to perfect Francesca.

In college, I also found a decent job that gave me enough money to live in a studio apartment. I was able to give Francesca even more freedom. Large lecture classes allowed me to hide in plain sight as well. No one really cared and I found that I could venture outside. I could actually give Francesca the chance to feel the sun on her face and wind on her legs. To my considerable surprise, there were several others at college that dressed and a few who had moved into transitioning so it was even easier to make the choice to step further, and Francesca took it.

My job as a shop assistant made it feasible that I could begin dressing a bit more ambiguously there. As I progressed through college, I worked in different shops. Each new location gave Francesca that little more ability to be more open. It was a dream come true.

I was still dating girls from time to time and my years of protecting Francesca meant I would keep her well hidden from them. Although as time passed, it was more and more obvious that Francesca was a major part of me. My little studio was impossibly small to conceal two people living there. And any girl I took home would have to be dim or stupid or maybe blind not to notice. Some did – and made it clear that they weren’t interested. Two noticed and made offers to, well, not actually help but that they didn’t mind – much.

It just became too apparent that girls were not going to be interested in Francesca. It caused issues for me and, well my relationships generally didn’t last more than a few months. It wasn’t like I avoided physical contact or sexual activity with some of them it was … well honestly it was just not going to work. Looking back I think that Francesca had a lot to do with those failed relationships. Obviously, at some level the internal drive to give her freedom had a lot of influence. I wasn’t remotely interested in men or being with a man.

There seems to be a common belief, if you want to call it that, that there are basically three “levels” of Crossdressers or Crossdressing. The first of these is what is referred to as fetish dressing. These people have no intention of doing anything other than wearing items of feminine attire. They have no desire to even attempt to emulate the female persona. This is purely a very temporary thing for little more than the thrill of it - and rather often, one outcome is masturbation. I was very certain that dressing was essential to me. And I was increasingly willing to dress all the time.

The next group that they describe are interested in emulating the female persona but again only in a temporary manner. These people will make a concerted effort to “pass” when dressed but will maintain primarily their male person. They often shave and will wear makeup to enhance their appearance. Some may have longer hair or a feminine hair style but most still use wigs. They will have some sort of breast enhancement to complete the female form as well. It can vary from simple to, pun, actual forms to give them this look. I was equally certain that I didn’t want anything permanent to be done to my body. I still felt enough of a man to want to be with a woman in a long-term relationship. Provided Francesca could be there too.

Last of these groups are what they consider people who are or likely to be moving towards complete transition. They dress mainly in a feminine style as often as possible, even every day. They will go to considerable, if not extreme, lengths to improve their feminine appearance. The effort is to not only present and pass as female but to be accepted as such. Many of these people are planning or have begun the process of transition with the intent of complete sexual reassignment as their end goal. A few have moved to this point and chosen to maintain this place with no intention of progression; that is, to be as much of a woman as they can appear while retaining their dangles. This group is most commonly associated with the intent of maintaining the most feminine persona possible. This was not for me.

Now I took the time to add these notes because it helps me understand where I fit in. If you don’t have a clue about the varied styles of T – then your potential for understanding is very limited. I summarise the three groups as Appear, Be and Chop. That might be a bit simplistic, even vulgar. But perhaps sometime the ABC sequence might be useful.

You might wonder if I was one of those who ever purged. Of course. It’s very hard to be ‘different’. And cross-dressing is about the most public method of being different that there can be. I have heard of people who have said they could simply give it up. Some have. Others have tried and the attempt to has caused a great deal of issues for them. Each time I gave up – it was really hard and each time as a result of some sort of breakup in a relationship.

It’s easiest to purge when it’s only clothing. When you’ve begun to live or even work a woman, then purging means trying to throw part of yourself away. I’m not denying the female-ness of many who do cross-dress. But my personal view – and I have talked with a lot of fellow-travellers – is that it isn’t always essential to their daily life. It’s just important and significant. Perhaps I mean their T-ism is under control. But those in the second and even third group can and do purge – even if it does hurt. I have heard of the stories where people have purged several times. Then, after a purge, it was generally only a few weeks before the need had them slowly but very surely rebuilding their former wardrobe. I have often wondered how much money these people pump into the economy every year? I am sure the amount would surprise most of us. I can tell you I have done it several times.

What is important to remember is that it isn’t just a few items of clothing we are talking about. For people in deep into the second group, this would mean realistic breast forms and quality wigs. Extensive wardrobes including shoes and accessories. These people often have built their collections large enough to require their body-sharer to have their own closet and dresser. Sometimes, the body-sharer takes over a whole room.

Shortly after I graduated and found a better job, I met Thea. She was great. For the first time in a while I wanted to put Francesca back in full-time hiding. Sort of coincidentally, the job required me to be Derek rather than Francesca.

So much so that I did my first really committed purge. It was huge. Everything went, one weekend when Thea and I had been together for a month or so and I knew it was time. Francesca had to go. Over the past four years, Francesca had amassed a substantial wardrobe. High quality breast forms and several natural hair wigs. I hated the thought of getting rid of everything I had but I knew it was what I needed to do. In time we got engaged and married. Over the next few years, I managed to keep Francesca gone. Occasionally I felt her presence and her desire to return but I had always managed to keep it locked away. Seeing other girls wearing something that I knew would suit Francesca was probably the biggest trigger. Although seeing a successful T out and publicly happy, usually as a media splash, was an even more significant reason for her to press for release. If the T being ‘outed’ was reasonably pretty then the pressure was greater. By now, I knew that I didn’t want to be a fake-woman appearing over-the-top but much more 'just another woman' and thus being typical and ordinary. After all, that was how I had survived both college and the several previous jobs.

I knew that if I had been bold enough before Thea, then I would have moved from a simple dresser to a second-stage full-time woman or as near as I could get. But I thought the purge was essential. I knew some of the stories. That no matter what they / we say or want to believe, the reality is that many purge several times. But then comes the rebuild; the drive is just too strong and in the end for many of us the reality is the feminine persona will win almost every time. There are those who manage to break the loop, even if it is a form of addiction, but the hurt is so hurting.

This was the case with me as well. Slowly, very slowly, I began, I had to begin, to collect new items. I was careful to make sure Thea never knew. I made sure that I only got an item here and there. It was well over a year before I purchased a wig and then several more months before I replaced my breast forms. Little by little, Francesca was beginning to win. No matter how I tried she was gaining an advantage.

The downfall of anyone that is trying to hide isn’t the sudden discovery of what they have been trying to hide. No, it is the little slips. The small errors that begin to give them away. None on their own mean anything. Each so generally small enough that it barely draws attention, however like a puzzle, each piece begins to show a picture. As the picture begins to be even faintly complete the urge to purge happens again. It may be only the new-woman who feels the picture is showing; there may be nothing noticeable yo others. But there is fear. Fear of the wrong response. Fear of attack, abuse, hatred, loss of, well, everything.

By purging, deniability stops the progression of the picture. Taking it all the way back to zero for a period of time. The reality again is that for many of us with each purge the time between purge and rebuilding is less. The drive is stronger, the need more. It begins so great an internal struggle that it eats at the soul and again “she” wins. To fight against your body-sharer, your 'twin' is ghastly. It feels wrong, self-cruel.

This was the case and finally, I was getting to a position where I would have to come out. I would have to admit everything including the existence of Francesca. Of course, I was scared to death but knew that I had no choice. I expected there would be crying and yelling. There would anger, retaliation, nastiness. I'd read about it. I'd heard about it. I knew it was the usual outcome. I was going to walk away. I was ready to sacrifice everything I had with Thea. Even I didn’t know how but I planned on it.

But somehow, this was not what happened.

Thea surprised me. She didn’t want me to purge again she said that she supported me and wanted me to pull 'it' all out of hiding and put my Francesca-things away. I was shocked and didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t purged yet and was still struggling with the idea of having to do it yet again, but this reaction by my darling Thea was totally off the wall.

She insisted that she understood, though she was not overly supportive. I slowly accepted what she said and a few days later had managed to put things away. The challenge wasn’t getting the clothing and various items out but finding a place for them. Gradually, Thea got used to the occasional glimpse of Francesca. I would comment on outfits differently. I would talk about girl-type topics that I had previously avoided - and I would do this whether not-dressed (the usual format) or not.

Now, Thea and I both worked at the same company but, for departmental reasons, she went to work about an hour before me. It wasn’t really so bad. We got up at the same time and she got ready and then I did. A lot of the time we rode together and I did some early work while waiting for my team. When overtime was offered to her, it worked great because we both could come and leave at the same time and each get an hour of overtime. But, then, for a few days, she would leave right away and meet me at home. I didn’t really know why and she just said she needed to go someplace or get something. It didn’t seem like a big deal so I never really said much.

It was the Saturday morning of a Bank Holiday weekend, when I discovered what she was doing. We had gone out the night before and got home kinda late so it was straight to bed and get some sleep. The next morning I went to get my underwear when I discovered that I didn’t have any…. none. In the sock drawer were stockings. That was all, just stockings. I checked the next drawer for pants and found only panties, bras and camis. The drawers were full too, way more than I had had. I pushed things left and right when she walked in.

Thea asked, “What is wrong?”

“Ah, just looking.” I said.

Thea just kind of smiled and went on, “Well I got you some new things. I figured you need a few more and then figured we didn’t have enough room for that old stuff and got rid of them.”

Not fully grasping the comment replied, “Really, why?”

Thea with a slight smile replied, “Why not? I mean you like them. You prefer to wear them so why keep the other stuff?”

Now there was no argument there. I honestly didn’t even have a lame excuse for her. It all seemed perfectly normal and made sense to me.

Thea stopped a moment and said, “You do need to fix something, though.”

I just said, “What?”

Thea looking and sounding serious said, “Well you need to shave… a lot. Actually completely.”

Still not completely getting it responded, “I do?”

Thea went on saying, “Of course, that or I don’t help. In for a penny in for a pound. You can do it this evening.”

The rest of the day, I thought this through. Again no matter how I tried I didn’t seem to be any reason for me to not do what she was suggesting. Honestly, I-Francesca had always wanted to but how could I-Derek have hidden that? But what Thea was asking was for Franceca to become much more real - even to become part of our life. How would this work out for the best. And whose best?

So when I got home she handed me the cream and off to the bathroom I went. The stuff smelled awful and kind of burned a little. When I was done I rubbed the sweet flower-scented lotion that she recommended on my feeling-very-naked body. It felt wonderful, cool and soothing. I then went to get dressed and now discovered that all my shorts and t-shirts were now gone. I found something to wear and met her in the kitchen.

I looked and Thea and said, “Honey, I can’t find my shorts and shirts.”

Without missing a beat, she said, “Of course.”

My only response was, “Of course?”

Thea just went on calmly, “Francesca, there is no way a woman would wear those things so I got rid of them. Besides, you look good. Not great but good.”

We slept really well that night. Thea had given me a long satin nightie and it felt wonderful on my freshly-shaved skin. Strangely, we awoke in the morning naked and sweaty. Surprise, hey?

In the morning, she said 'just wear your pretty Chinese dressing-gown until we've finished'. So after a lot of sorting out my new wardrobe, the drawers and how to share not enough space, she insisted on another quick shower before I got dressed.

At lunchtime, Thea insisted we just had a small snack. As soon as we finished eating and tidying up, Thea got her coat and bag and got me ready to go out too. All she said was we had a lot to do and needed to get going. I hurried and got in the car and before I knew it we were at the salon.

Thea said, “Come on we have appointments.”

I stared at her and said, “We?”

Thea replied, “Yes, we. Don’t worry it will be fine, more than fine.”

The next few hours were almost more than I was ready for – certainly more than I could have expected. We both got the full treatment. Makeovers, nails, the works. When I was done, I was really surprised at how feminine I looked. The scary and ugly part was my hair-style which was still significantly a la male but strangely attached to a very feminine face, hands and toes. I-Francesca hated it.

Thea came over carrying a bag and I was led off to a small room. With a little help, I attached some very very realistic breast forms. The C-cup forms were blended in with a make-up stick so that there was no obvious way to tell they weren’t real. I got dressed and came back out.

Now when I saw myself, still the only way anyone could tell was the hair style. I was seated again and after a review of what Thea and India felt were suitable options, Thea insisted that I have my hair cut into a pixie-style. It felt wonderful. The end result was a woman. To say I passed was an understatement. I would have to “prove” I wasn’t Francesca now. I honestly didn’t even recognize myself. After deciding that a wig would alson be necessary, they/we settled on a dark brown with slight red tint shoulder-length natural hair wig.

The next stop was lunch and a day of shopping. When we got home I discovered that the only thing male left was me. Nothing I had left was male. I looked through the closet wondering how I was going to go to work or anywhere. Thea just pointed out that given the way I look now I would look stupid trying to dress and look male. Since this was what I always wanted to do I now could easily do it. I could “hide in plain sight”.

Thea pointed out that I had just spent the entire day in public with hundreds of people seeing me and no one cared. I wanted to protest but it wasn’t going to do much good and given that I only had a feminine wardrobe didn’t matter anyway. The rest of the weekend we went all over so I could get used to Francesca being out.

During Sunday and Monday, Thea contacted some of the key people at work who would have to decide how to deal with the arrival of Francesca. To our mutual amazement, there was almost no problem. Even though several photographs had been asked for and sent to show that I wasn’t obvious as a ‘man in drag’ – it was so easy. Thea had studied the company policy of minorities – especially the section on LGB and T. A key part of this was that the company would support any minority but that the move towards transition had to be clear, determined and not temporary. In return, they would give a reasonable transition bonus from a special fund.

Tuesday morning I got dressed and made sure my makeup was just right. I chose a basic look for work and took a deep breath as we left the house. The sound of my heels clicking on the pavement was deafening. As expected, I was asked that morning to arrive early to ensure, let’s say, mutual acceptance of my presentation. And to get a new Security Card and to update all the HR details.

I walked in with Thea and took the first new step. “Good morning, my name is Francesca Wilkins. I’m so glad to meet you all here today. I hope I meet with your approval. I know I’m happier than I’ve been for ages.”

Everything was intensified as I made my way in and to my desk. I just focused on the work and tried to relax. Over the rest of the day the girls on my team congratulated me on my look and how glad they were that I had taken this step. To my surprise, none of them said anything about expecting such a change. I had thought that at least some of my Francesca-persona might have been in evidence before – but apparently not. By the time I left work I was relaxed and increasingly comfortable with myself. I was also very happy with my team and their response.

By the end of the week, I felt totally natural and the familiar feeling of peace and contentment was back. But clearer and cleaner and so much better then ever before.

Over the next weeks and months I became more relaxed and more free, I dressed in less “stuffy” manners and more like the rest of the women. I had improved my voice and mannerisms. My hair was now long enough for a cut, colour and style so the wigs were gone.

I had really become Francesca on nearly every level.

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Note : some of the comments are adapted from responses about Transgender folk which I found on the web sometime; and I didn't keep the references. Oops - sloppy.