shows me and my friend
Last August, I had developed a crush on a t-girl who gave me an incredible make over. I had only been out several times as Amanda and felt like basically a naive, teenaged girl, trapped in a middle-aged man's body. She on the other hand was a hard, street-wise, African-American, prostitute. She told me she was from the Florida panhandle, and had left her family who were high ups in the local church about 5 years ago. Since she had transitioned, they no longer spoke to her. I have a church pastor for a mom, who at that time wasn't talking to me either and I was being kicked out of my home by my wife because of my transition.
She probably wore a 36 DD, but hers were real.. Well, realler than my $38 e-bay silicon breast pads. I never asked, but I bet her's were pumped silicon, done by a street professional. For a few hundred dollars, if you knew the right places to go, you could have all the silicon work you wanted...
Her skirts were too short and her tops were way too tight, showing way too much of her cleavage... On the other hand, I looked like a church lady wearing a knee length black skirt with a flower print, a big billowy blouse with a high turtle neck like collar and white closed toe pumps. My transition from cross-dresser to transsexual was not going so well. Several of her front teeth were metal and they caught your attention when she slowly revealed her cunning grin. Despite our differences, our conversation was going smoothly. Until that moment, when we were in the middle of some discussion, and she froze, then cocked her head to the side with a puzzled look on her face and said in her slight southern drawl,"Your wig..."
I blushed, feeling self conscious and started rambling, "yes, I know.. Its not a very good one, I bought it on e-bay. It wasn't that expensive... I got it when I was just dressing at home."
"No, your wig.." she interrupted.."It's not on right..." She reached up, pulled it off, slid the hooks into the loops and placed it solidly on my head. I felt it slide into place snugly and for the first time, it was oddly comfortable. "Sit!", she said. I sat between her legs as she began to brush my hair. At that moment, I began to cry..
As a child and teenager, I had read many books written by black woman including Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Ntozake Shange,and Maya Angelou. In so many of their stories, these authors would often include descriptions of grooming, of being groomed, and getting your hair done. I read of all of the talk, the bonding, the sharing and the friendship between mother and daughter, sisters, cousins, friends and even hair dresser and client around doing black women's hair. What a profound human experience. And yet, until this moment, I had never felt this connection. I cried as I remembered the old me, a black boy all alone, reading those novels like an anthropologist trying too study a culture... Not like a black woman who might read these sisters' words, and see new ways to knit together her own personal memories and experiences... Yes, now we were sharing in this experience.
She stood me up and took me into the bathroom. Whipping out her pallet of makeup, she started going to work. Quickly telling me the types of brushes, the colors and the strokes she was using. I longed for my college notebooks because I knew I was losing far more information than I was taking in. And I savored every moment. Her confident hand danced across my face, prodding, brushing, wiping and smudging. I didn't know there were so many colors. As she was winding up, she gently glued those annoying, yet oh so effective eyelashes in place. Once set, she looked me over and concluded the event by firmly blowing air from between her pursed plumped sister lips, creating a dazzling colored cloud of loose powder around my face... "There," she said looking me over one more time, "Now look at you."
She stepped from in front of the bathroom mirror.. There I saw a completely new person. I had never never thought I could look so delicate, so soft, so sweet... I was a bout to cry again, but she didn't let me. She said, "Don't you dare mess up what I just did with your silly-ass crying..."
She dragged me back to her bedroom and said, "Show me what you have in your purse..." I got scared for a moment, yes at this time I still worked for IBM, but then pulled it out... My man's leather wallet... She grabbed it and waved it at me saying, "You have to get rid of this. Women don't carry these things." and then threw it on the bed. She then pulled out my make up and brushes one by one, she finally got annoyed, and dumped everything on the bed. Brushes, lipstick, compacts, eyeliner tumbled onto her bedspread. She said, "no.. no.. You need to have bags in your purse. One for brushes, the other for you make up. You need to think like a girl now."
When we left that night to go to the Las Vegas lounge, a transsexual bar, I was in awe of this woman. Because I hadn't been on Spiro long enough, Wayne, had a crush on her. But Amanda was learning something new... Amanda wanted to be like her.. Not that I wanted to be a prostitute, that life was too crazy, inconsistent and dangerous, but I did want to have the confidence, strength, and savvy, of a hustler combined with the pure hotness of a Las Vegas transsexual. I don't think I have ever achieved either as well as she did, but she took me a long way from being a cross-dresser locked in his little office, in the heart of suburbia to what I am now...
What were some of your milestone moments in your transition that helped you break old patterns and establish the new you?