A Sense of Perspective

Gratuitous meerkat in a dress pic. Had to be done...

Now I'd be the first to admit that I'm not the most confident and out there of cross-dressers. Not for me the defiant flick of the wig and a steely gaze, the 'tits out, shoulders back' stride or ability to travel on public transport as though I actually had a right to be there. Oh no indeed. In fact I'm happy to categorise myself as a 'timid trannie', a rouged meerkat constantly scanning the horizon for the least sign of disapproval, just about able to travel short distances from a safe bolt hole in a familiar and well-scouted environment.  Actually I'm sure this is a phase that most cross-dressers go through before gaining a bit more confidence but it seems to be my stage currently anyway.

Well, this week I was going to get dressed in Soho to then go along to the Odeon Covent Garden to see The Danish Girl. No big deal maybe as it's only a five minute walk away but, in a way, for me it was. This was the first time I'd be going somewhere truly public rather than a pub or bar in a bohemian part of town. Queuing up, settling myself down and watching a movie with a few hundred others, most of whom would have expected their men in frocks to have been safely on the screen rather than sitting in front of them in unfeasibly luxurious wigs. So I was a bit nervous really. Slightly apprehensive. A touch uneasy. 

And then I started to question what I was actually worried about and of course it was the usual. Being stared at. A sarky comment or two coming my way. A bit of innuendo maybe. Having someone trying to confront me or force a reaction. Some member of a group showing off possibly or having a bit of 'fun' or 'banter' at my expense. Being made to feel threatened or exposed, that sort of thing. 

Either wolf-whistling or sucking their knuckles...

Which is of course what my daughters and most other women experience practically every time they're out of an evening. My fears and concerns as a cross-dressing man are really not that different I suspect. Instead this time I'm not the safety net, going out to collect a rattled daughter after she's texted from a club. I'm actually going to be walking, if not a mile then at least five minutes, in someone else's shoes and if that prospect worried me at all or made me nervous then it seemed to me that it would be slightly hypocritical of me to consider myself particularly 'brave' in any meaningful sense of the word. Should I pat myself on the back for briefly experiencing something that my daughters have to put up with on a daily basis? Probably not...

Actually, the thought occurred to me that most wives/girlfriends/friends seem to feel a heightened sense of anxiety and protectiveness toward their cross-dressing partners when out dressed. Could it be down to their concerns that their partner won't know how to handle what they've grown up dealing with? Anecdotally many seem to adopt an almost bristling maternal attitude ready to snap at any perceived slight or comment so maybe they find themselves overcompensating for their partners potential vulnerability and inexperience.

All of this had been going through my head before getting I my car for the journey home from work. I turned on the radio just in time to hear a feature about the regular sexual harassment a young woman had experienced from the age of 13 - usually from middle aged men. Her mother had been shocked and dismayed to hear the length and extent of the comments and gestures that had been aimed at her daughter which, apart from being one of those interesting instances of synchronicity, certainly put my own concerns into perspective.