Fair-weather Friends

Man-bits. Let’s talk about them! We all have them and we all worry about what to do with them when we are ‘en femme’. Most of the time we get along with them just fine but when we are trying to be in touch with our feminine side we don’t want to know about them at all. We are fair-weather friends. When it suits us we are best buddies but in certain social circles we want to disown them in case they show us up or embarrass us, in case they reveal who we really are. People might say, “Look at Lilly! I always thought she was lovely but look at the friends she has brought along!” These are the kind of friends who lead us astray. We want to sit with our knees together, neat and pretty but, no, they want us to loll about on the bus with our legs apart, taking up too much room, to the annoyance of our fellow passengers. We want to step out delicately along the street but, no, with them we have to swagger along like sailors on shore leave. When we pull on a slim fitting skirt we are going for gentle curves that lead the eye but, no, there they are, bulging out and interrupting the graceful lines. And in the same skirt we want no interruptions from even the finest of knicker-lines but, no, they want to wear briefs with weapons-grade elastic visible from 100 yards. Oh well! We love them really but at times like this we just don’t know what to do with them. 

The very first time I went out en femme in public I didn’t give them a chance. I was under professional instruction and accompanied at all times by my instructor. Mandy was a lovely lady who ran a cross-dressing service and the day I spent with her was one of the happiest days of my life. Her attitude on this subject was, however, verging on the Victorian. She laid out everything that I needed on the bed and left me to get ready. I wore a thong, a restrainer, a corset, a large pair of heavily elasticated knickers, a pair of tights, and a tight fitting skirt. That’s six layers in case you weren’t counting. As you can imagine, this was all highly effective. My friends were buried so deep I couldn’t even remember them. If someone had stopped me in the street and asked me “Do you have man-bits?”,  I would have really struggled. “Well I know I have a corset”, I would say, “and tights, and a very large pair of knickers and another pair after that. And then some more. But, do you know, I’m so confused! I thought I had man-bits, but now I just don’t know!” My day with Mandy was amazing, none the less. And although I needed the help of three waitresses to sit down and stand up at the Cafe we visited, there were no unwanted interruptions. My less than respectable friends kept away.

But I felt, deep down, that this couldn’t be the right way to approach things. When I dress as a woman I want to feel liberated, light and free. Besides, using Mandy’s technique I would go up at least one dress size and would need to change my whole wardrobe.

The answer, I have found, is to dress just like a real woman would, but to make careful choices in what I wear. For skirts, I go for the heavier fabrics that fold rather than wrinkle. I generally avoid thin stretchy fabrics but still love tight skirts with a thicker weave. If I choose equally carefully I find I can wear the kind of panties I like. I love thongs because they are the ultimate in ladies’ lingerie. I love the feeling of having an elasticated band of lace between my cheeks. But thongs can vary tremendously. In some you feel you are perched on a tightrope, in others that you are lazing in a hammock. Choose carefully. Look for a broad, elasticated gusset. Look for panties with large panels of lycra for a snug fit, and go two sizes below what you would normally wear. You’ll be fine. 

I have always worn tights when out, for that added feeling of security. I still feel very feminine and it’s nice to know I have a safety net below my hammock! 
Now just as l know that, in real life, there are places that I would never take my unruly friends, there are things that I could never really do when I follow this ‘minimal intervention policy’, however much I might want to. For example, I would love to step out on a fine August morning wearing nothing more than a short floral summer dress and a pretty white lacy thong. I would walk barefoot through summer meadows and sit outside the village cafe, feeling as free as the birds in the blue sky over head. But, instead, if I actually did this, I would feel wracked with worry. What if, God forbid, I made some sudden movement and ‘popped out’? This would be the brink of Armageddon, that one moment when suddenly all could be lost. My friends would be out! And, remember, they are the wrong kind of friends! And I could do nothing about them. I couldn’t just tuck them back in, there in the middle of the street. And, stupidly, I haven’t even brought a bag or coat that I could use to mask the problem. I need to abort the mission immediately and return to base. The journey back to safety would be fraught with risk because, weighing on my mind, would be the certain knowledge that the only thing separating my unwelcome friends from the world at large would be a thin layer of cotton deliberately chosen for its light, diaphomous, feminine qualities. I would be able to feel my friends larking about down there. No amount of hissing at them under my breath could stop them. And as they swing about, I would be able to feel them rubbing against that lovely fabric… I have 200 yards to go to get to safety. I feel my friends change. They have gone quiet. I know they realise they are free. I have 150 yards to go. I can feel them moving again. Slowly and with more purpose. I can feel their confidence is growing. I have 100 yards to go. Why do they have to spoil it? I am having a lovely day out feeling free, natural and feminine but my brutish and unruly friends show up to ruin it all. 50 yards to go. I speed up to a fast walk but that only make things worse. My friends are loving their new-found freedom and are rising to the occasion. I dash the final yards, fall through the door and spill onto the hall floor in blessed relief. I made it… just in time!

And so, remember, friends, that our trips out ‘en femme’ need to be tackled as if we are conducting a space walk from the shuttle. We must remember that what separates us from disaster are a few thin layers of fabric. If we choose our equipment well and prepare it meticulously, all will be well and we can enjoy that freedom and weightlessness. But if we become overconfident, forget who we really are,  forget the line between fantasy and reality, we might go too far and not make it back to the ship. So enjoy your excursions, whether you follow Victorian practices, like Mandy, or are  a ‘technical’ dresser, like Lilly. And if you push the bounds and want that feeling of freedom in the summer meadows, please, don’t forget the duct tape!


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