Comments on: Passing in Public http://o1oo1o11.wordpress.com/2009/07/08/passing-in-public/ A diary about transition Tue, 05 Jan 2010 04:16:53 +0000 http://wordpress.com/ hourly 1 By: Katherine http://o1oo1o11.wordpress.com/2009/07/08/passing-in-public/#comment-62 Katherine Tue, 11 Aug 2009 20:40:57 +0000 http://o1oo1o11.wordpress.com/?p=133#comment-62 Wow I would definitely say you were very lucky! Congrats that all worked out but this just seems a bit risky a situation to put myself in, or to suggest anyone put themselves in. I do very much agree with the last part though. You don't needs the tight skirts and high heels to pass... These things draw attention and attention is how you get read. Wow I would definitely say you were very lucky! Congrats that all worked out but this just seems a bit risky a situation to put myself in, or to suggest anyone put themselves in. I do very much agree with the last part though. You don’t needs the tight skirts and high heels to pass… These things draw attention and attention is how you get read.

]]> By: Veronica Boissoneau http://o1oo1o11.wordpress.com/2009/07/08/passing-in-public/#comment-61 Veronica Boissoneau Tue, 11 Aug 2009 20:33:11 +0000 http://o1oo1o11.wordpress.com/?p=133#comment-61 It seems almost everyone in the process of becoming who they really are faces the issue of "passing in public." For most of us, by the time we begin going out in public even if it's just to dash madly from the back door of our residences to a clump of bush, and back, we are so conditioned to actually conceal ourselves that we think more of hiding than showing ourselves in all of our glory. I went through that. Every short journey out into the world as the person I really am inside was fraught with anxiety, fear, and sweat. After years of this, however, I was driving one night through northern Ontario, Canada, late at night. As usual, on a warm summer night, I wore some very feminine clothing - blue denim short shorts (the Daisy Duke variety), red pumps, and a red checkered shirt which barely concealed what three years of hormones had grown. Although still officially in stealth mode, at such times of the night I liked going for drives along the lonely highways travelled mostly by equally lonely truckers. This night was no exception. The moon was out, so occasionally I stopped along the side of the road to walk - I loved walking on the pavement, hearing the click click of the heels, and watching my legs (I do have beautiful legs!). On one stretch of the highway, I passed a truck, but unlike the others I passed that night, the driver in this truck began flashing his lights almost as soon as I completed the passing manouver. Suddenly fearful that I may have something mechanically wrong with the vehicle, I pulled over quickly to see if I could spot anything visibly wrong. I couldn't. As I pulled out onto the road again, I noticed the truck had begun to pull over as well. He honked his horn as I passed him again, and he waved at me. Minutes later, I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed a truck coming up behind me rather quickly, and as it began pulling out to pass, I noticed that it was the same truck and the same driver who had been flashing me and honking at me before. I noticed he was smiling at me and holding his hands in front of him like he were praying. He motioned for me to pull over. I didn't know what was wrong. Then it suddenly dawned on me - he was looking at me, at my body, and he was wanting me to pull over for personal reasons! I let him pass me, but then he just stopped and pulled over onto the side of the highway. We both sat for what seemed like hours, then I began inching forward and quickly sped up to pass the truck once again. My heart raced as I drove down the road, gazing into the mirror to see if he were still behind me perhaps overtaking me again. He did not. When I calmed down, I looked at myself. I had completely forgotten that the driver in a truck could look down at me and see everything. He might even have seen me in one of my little walks on the sideroads, or on the sidewalks in one of those little towns, like in Spanish. That was my favorite town for taking little strolls. This man really wanted to meet me. I was full of fear that I had been "outed" and at the same time I was full of excitement at the thought that this strange lonely man looked at me as a woman and wanted me. That night, then and there, I decided to go all out, to see if I could withstand a one-to-one meeting with a man. I turned and drove back the few kilometers to where the truck had been parked. Luckily it was still there. I drove by slowly, and stopped when the man noticed me and began waving again. However, my heart began beating more forcefully than before as I thought of all those transsexuals I had read about who were found with their throats slashed along just such a highway, in the middle of nowhere. But I wanted to go through with it, too, so I planned to just keep my window open only a little. Finally, his shape filled the car window. I could hear his breathing. "Hi, there, you pretty lil' thing," he said. "I didn't think you would ever stop." "I wasn't going to stop....I don't usually stop for anything," I said in my softest voice. I was so worried he would detect my male voice. But, he didn't seem to mind the voice. He bent over further to listen more intently, or to get a better look at my legs and boobs. Suddenly, I didn't really mind the attention. We talked for about a half hour there alongside the road. Mostly he flirted and after a while I started to flirt right back. We agreed to meet the following evening at a truck stop in Espanola, near Sudbury. That was the beginning of a relationship we've enjoyed now for three years. Eventually, about six months later, I told him there was something wrong with me down there, medically, and I had to get an operation first. He didn't mind at all. He cares about me as a person, and that is the most important thing to him. I'm out more than I hide now. We both live out in the country - me in northern Ontario and he in northern Quebec, so I can just be myself. I still worry about getting outed in public. But then I look around at all the women that I meet in a typical day - they don't all look like Haley Berry or Kim Petrova. In fact that kind of beauty is rare indeed. Most women are just average. Most transsexuals or crossdressers worry about looking or fitting in perfectly, or more than perfectly. I used to think that I should dress in short tight skirts, and wear high heels all the time, to look like a woman. Not many wear such clothing, believe me. You don't even have to have long perfectly manicured fingernails, and lush red lipstick. I used to be mistaken for a woman, or girl, more often when I was trying to conceal my femininity or my real breasts (which I used to have to bind to hide), especially the older men. Older men have very keen eyes, too, I have discovered, keener than most people. I am still afraid, but I don't worry about being publicly found out now. The more I accept myself the more the world seems to like me, or at least not really pay that much attention. Veronica It seems almost everyone in the process of becoming who they really are faces the issue of “passing in public.” For most of us, by the time we begin going out in public even if it’s just to dash madly from the back door of our residences to a clump of bush, and back, we are so conditioned to actually conceal ourselves that we think more of hiding than showing ourselves in all of our glory. I went through that. Every short journey out into the world as the person I really am inside was fraught with anxiety, fear, and sweat.
After years of this, however, I was driving one night through northern Ontario, Canada, late at night. As usual, on a warm summer night, I wore some very feminine clothing – blue denim short shorts (the Daisy Duke variety), red pumps, and a red checkered shirt which barely concealed what three years of hormones had grown. Although still officially in stealth mode, at such times of the night I liked going for drives along the lonely highways travelled mostly by equally lonely truckers.
This night was no exception. The moon was out, so occasionally I stopped along the side of the road to walk – I loved walking on the pavement, hearing the click click of the heels, and watching my legs (I do have beautiful legs!).
On one stretch of the highway, I passed a truck, but unlike the others I passed that night, the driver in this truck began flashing his lights almost as soon as I completed the passing manouver. Suddenly fearful that I may have something mechanically wrong with the vehicle, I pulled over quickly to see if I could spot anything visibly wrong. I couldn’t. As I pulled out onto the road again, I noticed the truck had begun to pull over as well. He honked his horn as I passed him again, and he waved at me. Minutes later, I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed a truck coming up behind me rather quickly, and as it began pulling out to pass, I noticed that it was the same truck and the same driver who had been flashing me and honking at me before. I noticed he was smiling at me and holding his hands in front of him like he were praying. He motioned for me to pull over.
I didn’t know what was wrong. Then it suddenly dawned on me – he was looking at me, at my body, and he was wanting me to pull over for personal reasons!
I let him pass me, but then he just stopped and pulled over onto the side of the highway. We both sat for what seemed like hours, then I began inching forward and quickly sped up to pass the truck once again. My heart raced as I drove down the road, gazing into the mirror to see if he were still behind me perhaps overtaking me again. He did not.
When I calmed down, I looked at myself. I had completely forgotten that the driver in a truck could look down at me and see everything. He might even have seen me in one of my little walks on the sideroads, or on the sidewalks in one of those little towns, like in Spanish. That was my favorite town for taking little strolls.
This man really wanted to meet me. I was full of fear that I had been “outed” and at the same time I was full of excitement at the thought that this strange lonely man looked at me as a woman and wanted me.
That night, then and there, I decided to go all out, to see if I could withstand a one-to-one meeting with a man. I turned and drove back the few kilometers to where the truck had been parked.
Luckily it was still there. I drove by slowly, and stopped when the man noticed me and began waving again. However, my heart began beating more forcefully than before as I thought of all those transsexuals I had read about who were found with their throats slashed along just such a highway, in the middle of nowhere. But I wanted to go through with it, too, so I planned to just keep my window open only a little.
Finally, his shape filled the car window. I could hear his breathing.
“Hi, there, you pretty lil’ thing,” he said. “I didn’t think you would ever stop.”
“I wasn’t going to stop….I don’t usually stop for anything,” I said in my softest voice. I was so worried he would detect my male voice. But, he didn’t seem to mind the voice. He bent over further to listen more intently, or to get a better look at my legs and boobs. Suddenly, I didn’t really mind the attention.
We talked for about a half hour there alongside the road. Mostly he flirted and after a while I started to flirt right back. We agreed to meet the following evening at a truck stop in Espanola, near Sudbury. That was the beginning of a relationship we’ve enjoyed now for three years.
Eventually, about six months later, I told him there was something wrong with me down there, medically, and I had to get an operation first. He didn’t mind at all. He cares about me as a person, and that is the most important thing to him.
I’m out more than I hide now. We both live out in the country – me in northern Ontario and he in northern Quebec, so I can just be myself.
I still worry about getting outed in public. But then I look around at all the women that I meet in a typical day – they don’t all look like Haley Berry or Kim Petrova. In fact that kind of beauty is rare indeed. Most women are just average. Most transsexuals or crossdressers worry about looking or fitting in perfectly, or more than perfectly.
I used to think that I should dress in short tight skirts, and wear high heels all the time, to look like a woman. Not many wear such clothing, believe me. You don’t even have to have long perfectly manicured fingernails, and lush red lipstick. I used to be mistaken for a woman, or girl, more often when I was trying to conceal my femininity or my real breasts (which I used to have to bind to hide), especially the older men. Older men have very keen eyes, too, I have discovered, keener than most people.
I am still afraid, but I don’t worry about being publicly found out now. The more I accept myself the more the world seems to like me, or at least not really pay that much attention. Veronica

]]> By: Zach http://o1oo1o11.wordpress.com/2009/07/08/passing-in-public/#comment-7 Zach Wed, 08 Jul 2009 15:42:43 +0000 http://o1oo1o11.wordpress.com/?p=133#comment-7 Good post. I was thinking a lot about this sort of stuff at the beginning of the year. We're all far too tied to other people's perceptions. At least in my life, I found that almost nothing I do is done without regard to how others will perceive it (even if it is just a subconscious sort of regard.) We're all driven far too much by what other people think about us. The conclusion (which is fairly obvious I suppose) that I came to (though I still have a lot of work to do as far as it is concerned) is that in every action, I need to be true to myself and who I am first and only after that should I factor in other people's perceptions, etc. It's a basic idea, but almost no one does it. 99.999% (or so) of people have it backwards and that causes a lot of issues. It's next to impossible to do all the time, and I'm always forgetting, but the times I do remember it helps me a lot. Good post. I was thinking a lot about this sort of stuff at the beginning of the year. We’re all far too tied to other people’s perceptions. At least in my life, I found that almost nothing I do is done without regard to how others will perceive it (even if it is just a subconscious sort of regard.) We’re all driven far too much by what other people think about us.

The conclusion (which is fairly obvious I suppose) that I came to (though I still have a lot of work to do as far as it is concerned) is that in every action, I need to be true to myself and who I am first and only after that should I factor in other people’s perceptions, etc.

It’s a basic idea, but almost no one does it. 99.999% (or so) of people have it backwards and that causes a lot of issues.

It’s next to impossible to do all the time, and I’m always forgetting, but the times I do remember it helps me a lot.

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