CD TV Dressing Service

 

Mama always told me: "Save yourself take a little time and find the right girl. Then again don't end up on the shelf. Logical advice gets you in a whirl. I know - a lot of things that you don't - you want to hear some? She said: "Just give me something, anything, well, give me all you got but not love. No, not love," she said. "Don't you know that it's different for girls?"

But when the right girl comes along and she lives within you? Then it's different for boys. And we're not all the same.

The first thing to get right: the directions to the CD TV dressing service, one would think it would be simple, straightforward. Idiot proof. With satnav a cinch. Even for the technologically challenged. But driving a cute fiat 500 listening to Joe Jackson and forgetting to read the instructions with sufficient care. Driving by instinct and the sun - on a day of driving rain, without satnav. You end up in Widnes. Across the Mersey on a bridge with no ferries in sight to bring you safely home. Where is Gerry Marsden when you need him? What to do? First, of course: panic. Then: read the instructions you fool.

Retrace your steps back into Cheshire to find the CD TV dressing service and thank God you left half an hour early. Arriving with one minute to spare at the CD TV dressing service. Desperate to create an impression of someone who has a modicum of calm, common sense. Hoping the gibbering idiot is not quite so obvious. Then the door opens at the CD TV dressing service there stands JJ ready to greet you. There is a clear sense of her beauty, her joyful, playful nature, her sharp intelligence, her empathy. But when faced with reality, I was unmade. Utterly undone. A simple silk blouse, pencil skirt, dark coiled hair piled high topped with a fascinator, seam stockings incredibly straight, peep toe patent high-heeled shoes. Immaculate make-up. All that I desired. All that I wanted to be.

Crossdressing Hypnosis on Skype

JJ of Dress-Me-Up had read my mind, her smile: warm, welcoming, glowing. She melted very fibre of my being. We had spoken twice via a crossdressing hypnosis on Skype session, each time involving relaxation therapy: but each time first with a strong focus on getting to know the relationship between Kitty and her male persona, piercing my masculine defences with sympathy, precision ... perceptive, penetrating, astute questions. Beginning to understand Kitty, so that in time I too might understand who I really am. Yet in the second crossdressing hypnosis on Skype session, something momentous happened.

I do not understand how or why. While totally relaxed under the spell of her hypnotic voice, a single word created within me a passionate and uncontrollable feminine storm - moments of ecstasy and release as I have never known, as distinct from male passion and fulfilment as could possibly be. And then we met. We talked at the CD TV dressing service, we spoke about our mutual interest in psychology. A cup of tea. Likes and dislikes. Family and friends. Holidays, favourite places. So natural, so peaceful. But the tension within me had yet to dissipate entirely, barriers still in place. Skilfully, her hypnotic power then began stripping away my outer defences. Leading me away from the dominance of the masculine and into the CD TV dressing service boudoir, into silk lingerie, sugar and spice and all things feminine.

Away from the will to power, more yielding. Less resistant. Beginning the journey to the person I am, Miss Kitty. I have dressed almost for longer than I can recall. Since early childhood. But never visibly so in public. Lingerie in private and sometimes hidden under male clothing. A familiar story perhaps. Kitty lay dormant within me, allowed out on special occasions only. Yet with each passing year, Kitty's will became stronger. She was no longer content to play second fiddle. She wanted to lead the orchestra. And little by little she began to emerge if still only in private or with the closest of female confidants. Make-up. Wigs. Dresses and skirts and silk blouses. Jewellery and perfume.

Shoes and boots. But not yet confident to venture out boldly on her own, to complete Kitty's femininity. Instead unconfident, incomplete, waiting like the debutant in her first season. I retired to the bathroom to change into my lingerie. Bra, panties, suspender belt and fully fashioned stockings. Emerging robed with gorgeous red satin gown. Make-up applied with consummate, professional ease. Rod Stewart crooning golden oldies in the background, accompanied by the soft harmonies of her voice. Her irrepressible assistant Katie adding lustre to my nails. More tea. Chatting. Girl-talk. Soothing, calming.

I found transgender forums to join and was invited to a local transgender support group where I learned about ways to transition, to make the changes in my body that will allow me to be the individual I believe I was born to be. Now that I know that Im not alone and Im not a freak, I was simply born as a transgender person, a transgender woman and my whole outlook on life has changed. What I once felt was necessary to hide away from everyone including myself but now I talk about my thoughts, feelings and emotions freely.

A succession of wigs, considered in turn, some hilariously rejected with alacrity, others being given more careful thought, finally deciding on a shoulder length auburn, there are so many to choose from at the CD TV dressing service. Then a critical appraisal of the clothes I had brought with me. This dress was lovely, that was a mistake. This blouse was perfect, that ...well, and at least it still had the label on and could be returned. This skirt was fabulous, but that was hardly flattering. These breast forms just perfect, but those ... aren't they just a little on the gargantuan side? Well, perhaps not. At last, the practical advice I so much needed.

Excitement mounting. She had mentioned a special surprise. Into another room filled with glorious satin gowns. For me: the most beautiful wedding dress. Awakening long-repressed dreams of ultimate glamour. Facing away from the mirror, dressed in white. With a veil and tiara. Heart-shaped earrings. Long satin gloves. Pearl bracelets. Closing my eyes. A posy placed in my hands. Turned around to face the long mirror and like Tinkerbelle had sprinkled me with fairy dust Miss Kitty awoke. Seeing with new-born girlish eyes. And the feminine power within her began to subdue all else within me. Such fun, such joy, such a very special day at the CD TV dressing service.

Getting me ready for another special day, when Kitty will take her rightful place in the world, yes, she will need to be coaxed a little. Encouraged. Guided. Five hours in heaven. Five all too short hours at the CD TV dressing service, they evaporated so quickly. Neil Young once sang: "My life is changing in so many ways, I don't know who to trust anymore." My life is changing now. But I do know now whom I should trust. And, just as Neil Young closes that song, I ask the same question, "When will I see you again?"

 


'Who said, dreams can't come true?'