Memoirs of a Transvestite Pt. 03

World War 2

On 3 September 1939 Britain was again at war with Germany. And men up to the age of 41 had to register for conscription. Men from 20 to 22 had already been liable, and many had been trained to add to our small army. Unlike the last time, Victor was included.

It was organised by age, so there was hope he might not be needed, but eventually the notice came to report for a medical assessment.

There was nothing for it. I had to become Victor again. I had some difficulty in getting the day off, but managed it. Nanny visited and trimmed my hair a bit, something like a pageboy cut, which I later told the people at work I regretted. A bit long for a bank clerk but not uncommon with men at the time. We were terrified that there might be someone who knew him from the bank who would see the difference, but nothing like that happened.

I was an inch taller, and my shoulders were wider, so his clothes didn't fit very well, but we still had a suit of Papa's which was better, and I presented myself. It was one of the strangest experiences of my life, acting as a man for a day, and embarrassing when a doctor held my testicles and told me to cough. I also found it hard to pee into a bottle standing, having sat down for so long.

There was unbelievable relief in getting home and putting on some proper underwear and a dress. At the same time, it struck home how much I would miss it, and I appreciated every day afterwards.

We were really worried. Would I have to go for military training? Even training would expose us for what we were, or how else to explain my absence from the shop? What laws had we broken? Could I actually shoot at another human being? Would I be brave in danger?

Fortunately, what they were really looking for in older men was those with military experience to be involved in planning and administration, and Victor's career as a banker was no help. However, the branch manager had had a successful military career, and had volunteered. As a result, Victor became the acting branch manager for the duration. It was apparently not difficult to get an exception on grounds that he was essential to the bank.

At the end of 1941 I had to register for war work. They only conscripted unmarried women from 20 to 30, so there was no medical and I did not have to work on the land or in industry. Still, Victor and I did our duty, taking turns as fire wardens at night on the roofs of our buildings.

Pearl was liable, of course, and volunteered for factory work rather than farming. I can tell you now (though I couldn't then) it was a large aircraft factory between Harrogate and Leeds, which had been built in secret. The roof was covered in turf, and there were dummy sheep which were moved around several times each day for the sake of German aerial photography. Most people didn't know it existed.

Pearl had been a bit bored as a housewife with no children, so was glad to be useful again. We got a woman to come in and do some of the housework as a help to us and money for her. She had three at school and two tinies who came with her. We set up a room with our old toys for them.

Actually, because the factory worked 24 hours with shifts, Pearl mostly slept in a dormitory nearby. After a while Victor and I started sharing a bed when she was away, which was rather nice. Maybe people today will not understand how innocent it was.

It is almost embarrassing to say this, but only one bomb fell on Harrogate. It damaged the Majestic Hotel, but no-one was killed. Meanwhile other British cities were getting devastated. Victor visited Leeds and Sheffield several times for bank business and was appalled at what he saw. We found out later they were far from the worst. The newspapers and cinema newsreels were terrible enough, but they understated damage to maintain morale. As they said in those days, we had it 'cushy'. (Like on cushions.)

There was rationing, of course, including clothes rationing, so sales of new dresses and lingerie were reduced. Haberdashery became more important than ever, as women repaired, made one garment into another, cut up curtains, made hats into slippers and endlessly ingenious things. Skirts and blouses were common, because a skirt only required about a yard of material. A knitted vest was valued nearly as much as a Rayon one had been ten years earlier.

Surprisingly manufacturers adapted, and fashions continued, not from Paris, but what was called utility clothing, giving durable clothes with modest demands on the ration book and purse, and minimal use of cloth and labour in manufacturing. No flaps on pockets or turnups on trousers, less in the way of lapels or any non-essential bit, no more than five buttons and so on.

There were some really smart suits for women in a variety of colours and styles. With a bit of creativity with accessories, and swapping around, it was not hard to look good in our limited free time and even more limited coupons. I think I admire the designers more than anything since. I still have a Norman Hartnell Rayon dress from this time. Hardy Amies was another designer.

In a strange sense, I think I was doing very useful war work, supporting the women on the Home Front in a practical way. They often came back to show me their achievements. It was also a time when small things could mean a lot -- just the right shade of mending wool for a precious garment, for example. It was said that women should make an effort to look good for the sake of morale, which extended to various home-made recipes for cosmetics, including beetroot juice for lip colour, when lipsticks ran out.

We still had entertainment, including dancing with the latest American music and dances. There were more women than men, but there were some new men. Some administrative roles had been moved from London to less vulnerable places, and many of our hotels were both work and accommodation, especially for single men, but including married ones and some women.

That's where I met Archie. He was quite memorable, because he had a glass eye and the left side of his face was badly scarred from a burn injury. Of course, I danced with him and many others, to give a little comfort to those who had served. Some of the women went further, but I couldn't really.

He gave me my first nylons, which he must have got from an American serviceman when they came over. They were wonderful, but a bit short, so I had to extend the suspenders. Fortunately, I had the skill and the parts available. I danced with him, and he took me to Betty's. I didn't ask about his injuries and he didn't say. He was in one of the hotels, though I don't know what his job was. It might have been secret, so we didn't ask such things, for fear of German spies.

It ended up with him meeting me after work and us having evenings together. One day he said he had something to say.

"I know you're a man," he whispered. "Will you marry me?"

"I'm sorry," I said, when I had recovered from the shock. "I don't think I could...you know... with you."

"I'm not a sodomite," he said. "I just want to live with you and share your clothes."

"I wish I could go out and about like you, but I can't. If I could just be a lady indoors with you, that's all I want."

We were both crying as he added "Please!"

I didn't agree at once, of course. He was nice enough, but I had never imagined marrying.

I suppose it was sympathy and interest, but eventually he came home with me, and I put him in a dress. He was of a similar size to me, and it was one of my older ones.

I didn't give him any of my precious underwear, just the dress, padding the bust with some handkerchiefs.

He turned his good side to the mirror, and was so grateful my heart melted. I measured him up for underwear. Fortunately, he had plenty of clothing coupons, so I bought him a bra, knickers, girdle with suspenders and stockings.

The next time he dressed he was crying with happiness. I understood.

That was all he wanted: time dressed as a woman.

I said if he could get makeup I would put it on for him. It must have been the black market, but he got some for himself and some for me.

That really was it. He came round, got dressed and we talked or listened to the radio, by ourselves or with Victor, and sometimes Pearl.

In due course, which wasn't long in wartime, we got married. Archie's Mum and Dad came up from Essex. His Dad told me that Archie had got a medal, and they said it would have been the Victoria Cross if it had been under enemy action, but because it was some kind of test or exercise, he couldn't, and whatever it was they didn't know because it was top secret. They had just been told about the VC by a senior officer, and there had been no ceremony for the medal for the same reason.

They had brought some theatrical makeup for him to cover up his scar, but he refused, saying he was getting married as himself, because that is what the woman who loved him had seen.

I felt a bit dishonest.

Things were very tight by then, so people understood when I wore my twenties bridesmaid dress. Nanny provided the cake, which would have taken contributions by many people's rations.

It was not really a surprise (it couldn't be) but Nanny had made a dress for Archie as a wedding present! (Only for private use, of course.) She had taken most of Mama's clothes with her, and had made good use of them for herself and friends. However, she still had a couple left, and adapted one to fit him. Unlike the minimum cloth of the war years, and the simpler styles of the twenties, this was a full skirted dress, with lots of material almost to the ground, and a bodice suited to Mama's substantial bosoms. She had also made appropriate size pincushions.

The waist, of course, would have shamed Mama, and had been the main point to fix, but it had been done well. A suggestion of a bustle at the back exaggerated the bottom.

There was also a wig made from real hair, I don't know from where.

Archie loved it, and allowed me to put on the stage makeup. As it was getting dark, Victor walked us down the street and back again. When we got back, Archie's makeup was already running with tears again.

It was a hard time. We allowed our former gardener to dig up the garden and plant vegetables, and he gave us some from time to time. There was a lot of queuing for food. Archie had lunch in his place of work, which was a help. I knew he was doing important work -- long hours and sometimes not coming home at night -- so it was good to see him relax in a dress, and I enjoyed the company of the person it made him.

Finally, it was VE day! The direct danger to Britain was over, and everyone wanted to celebrate. Alcohol and sex were the favourite methods. So how could I refuse when my husband asked me to "toss him off"?

There had been no intention for marital relations. We were just two men friends who liked women's clothes, and I provided a safe space where he could indulge. Each time I saw his happiness I knew how lucky I was to do it all the time.

I knew of masturbation, and that he did it, though we had never shared the experience; but why not on this happy day?

It was really no bother, and I was a bit sorry I hadn't done it before. It wasn't a thrill for me: I was just glad to do it for him. He said it's better when someone else does, especially someone you like a lot.

Thinking about it, I was actually annoyed with myself for not thinking of it before, and a bit at him for not suggesting it. I didn't need sexual satisfaction, but he did, so I decided to do the best I could for him. When he eventually suggested I used my mouth, I only hesitated a moment. I had got used to a lot of things in wartime, and it didn't take long for me to learn to be comfortable swallowing it (though I did like a nip of something afterwards, so he provided that.)

That was the time things changed. On VJ day, when I sucked him off, I understood what.

I was his wife.

Our marriage had been a game of pretend, like when we two children were swapping clothes. Now it was a full relationship. He had first viewed me as a man like himself, and our private life a place where we could both enjoy the privilege of female clothes. He was not homosexual, so didn't want sex with a man.

Now I was a person who lived with him and both dressed and acted as a woman all the time, not just dressing up occasionally, like him. I also satisfied him sexually.

I was his wife.

Our wedding was much earlier, but from VJ day 1945 we were husband and wife, and he treated me that way. I liked it.

Post War

Although the war had ended, Britain was on its knees and there would be hard years ahead. Clothes rationing continued for four years after the war, food for nine. But music and dance were not rationed, and the atmosphere of fear had gone, so there were good times as well. Archie and I restricted ourselves to places in Harrogate where he was known, so his face would not upset people, though Victor and Pearl went to Leeds sometimes.

Pearl, like many other women, was out of her skilled job, since Lancaster bombers were no longer required, and back in the role of housewife, losing pay and satisfaction.

Archie's job (whatever it was) continued for a while, and then he got a job in a civil engineering company in Leeds, as the country needed a great deal of rebuilding.

Pearl got a job in another company in Leeds (not as technical as she would have liked) changing from wartime to peacetime production.

As a result, they travelled by bus together most days.

And eventually had sexual intercourse.

They had got to know each other better as man and woman, which is how they travelled (while Archie was in a dress as much as possible at home.) She was an attractive woman, and he was a normal man in this respect. She now saw the person, not the disfigurement, of course.

There is an old adage that it is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, which they followed.

Archie and I did not sleep together: he had his own bedroom. Victor and Pearl did, but it was not unusual for them to go to bed at different times. It was not difficult for Pearl and Archie to get together.

With the sheath there was no danger of pregnancy, but this had been largely unheard of when she married Victor, and birth control was still considered somewhat scandalous when the first clinic opened in Leeds in 1934, so pregnancy followed marriage along with the real risks.

It had not been marital relations itself that she and other women feared, but the consequences, and she was naturally curious.

Having been in the army, Archie had used sheaths (to prevent venereal disease) and was able to get them. It would still have been embarrassing for either of us. He was also the youngest of us by a number of years.

Victor and I came to the conclusion that overall, we were happy for this liaison to take place. Our marriages were not for the purpose of sex, while our spouses came together solely for this purpose. It seemed to us that they were more loving to us than before, now their needs were satisfied, so the whole household was happier.

I didn't pleasure Archie as much as before, but that was all right -- it had been for him, not me. I gave him something else entirely. Victor said he and Pearl enjoyed women's pleasure more often.

1948 was an interesting and difficult time, with the introduction of the National Health Service. Free medical care for all, paid out of the general taxes! No charge for treatment at all! All citizens had to do was register and get a card with a number.

Victor and I had been fortunate in not getting seriously ill or injured, so had managed to avoid being examined, just buying bandages and medicine as we needed it. However, now we could register with a doctor, and he had started the change of life. He said the worst thing was the mental effects, which nearly prevented him getting finally promoted to bank manager.

There was nothing for it. He had to become Beatrice for a day, and I had to become Victor. Our clothes did not fit well and we both felt unconvincing, as if we were only pretending to be our true sex.

One of the worst things was that I had to cut my hair. It was still pretty long for a man, especially a bank manager, but the doctor did not make any comment. He asked me if my marital relations were all right, and I said I had no complaints.

It was serious, but a bit of a laugh, as well, just like we started. It also meant that Victor had to arrange time away when Beatrice had the appointment, but the senior position helped. Afterwards I wore a turban to disguise my lack of hair. The excuse was an accident with home hair treatment which meant it had been cut it short and was growing it back. It was not unusual, because women had been covering their hair like this both for convenience and safety with machines.

Victor was given some good advice about the menopause and encouragement by an NHS nurse, and some tablets by the doctor. Nanny of course shared her experience of hiding it as he had hidden his periods.

One thing was interesting. I could not wait to get back in a dress and makeup, while Victor was in no hurry to stop being Beatrice, and Pearl did not mind either. Archie said it was a bit weird seeing me dressed as a man.

Touch wood, we did not have anything serious enough to need to swap for more than a day, once Victor's menopause had settled.

In 1952 we said goodbye to Nanny. She had had nearly twenty years with a loving husband.

Rationing meant that the forties had been the time of the skinny woman, but Marilyn Monroe set the standard for women from 1953. The so-called hourglass shape. Not as severe as Mama, and with more bust and bum -- a well-fed but healthy body ripe for reproduction. For those not as blessed as Miss Monroe, there were undergarments to help.

It was quite a struggle, but Archie eventually got into a longline corselette, pulling his waist in, and including what they called a 'bullet bra' with cones rather than cups. (His were generously filled.) There had to be a girdle with suspenders and stockings, of course.

The stockings were nylon. Unlike rayon, they were heat formed to a leg-shaped mould. The only problem was if they were caught, and the stitches opened up into a ladder. A local laundry service offered what they called invisible mending, where someone with an eyeglass would pick the stitches back into place one by one. Still cheaper than buying new ones.

I didn't go for the bullet bra, and favoured a more comfortable and modest appearance in keeping with my age and position in the store.

However, it was all worth the effort for Archie. After an hour or so of flaunting himself, he was desperate to be sucked off. I was happy enough to do it, but he had to strike a balance with Pearl's needs. She wanted a proper fuck with a proper man!

1960's

By 1960 Britain had finally recovered from the war, economically and mentally. They stopped calling up young men to serve in the armed forces. And I retired. There was no discussion. At 60 women retired, men at 65, as Victor did in 1965. Very different from Papa's day when you could work till you dropped (and many did). Archie was younger, but took early retirement the same year.

However, at 60 the bank demanded that Victor have a medical examination for insurance purposes. I no longer needed to take time off from work, so we had time to prepare. I spent a few evenings dressed as a man while Archie was a woman. Papa's old suit would have been ridiculous, so Victor bought me some reasonable casual clothes in Leeds. What might be possible for bank manager relaxing -- not too stuffy, but informal.

"When was the last time you saw a doctor or attended a hospital?" the doctor asked.

"1948," I said, "when I registered for the NHS."

"My word," he said, with a smile, "you haven't bothered us much!"