I'm not sure exactly why that day was the day that I finally managed to make my public debut as Stacy, my female alter ego. I had thought about going out many times before but every time as I prepared myself for the outing I always found a reason to chicken out. Sometimes my make-up wasn't right, other times it was my hair. I would be worried that my outfit was too obvious or that the venue would be too crowded or not crowded enough. Whatever the reason, Stacy would spend another night at home. All dressed up with no where to go.
Bit by bit I had assembled all of the necessities. I had a cute chin length strawberry blonde wig that perfectly matched my natural hair color and had a perky popular cut and style. I had modest size breast forms which along with my natural trim physique gave me a reasonably girl-shaped body.
Over the years I had become reasonably adept at applying make-up. I was pretty handy with foundation and lipstick, but generally less good with eye make-up. That said, I usually thought I did a passable job. That's the key word, passable. I was never really sure and had no way to be sure whether I truly passed as a woman or had simply seen myself in the mirror so many times that I could tell when I thought I looked passable.
If you've read my prior story, you'll know that my wife and I enjoy playing some dress up games involving Stacy where I am her girlfriend. My wife often travels related to her job and sometimes I get in the mood to have some Stacy time by myself. She knew I 'practiced' sometimes, but she wasn't aware of how much or how often.
Having spent plenty of time as Stacy I had practiced my voice, posture and mannerisms to the point that when I started putting on the clothes I soon truly became Stacy, not just my boy-self trying to be a girl, but an actual person called Stacy who had a pleasant high pitch to her voice with a soft vaguely southern accent. She tended to smile a lot, had a short gliding stride to her walk and loved to sit back in a big easy chair, legs crossed at the knee and read the type of books most women like to read.
Stacy's taste in clothing is very classic and tends toward the professional. She doesn't like short slutty skirts or sky high heels as those would call too much attention to her. She doesn't prefer frilly, girly outfits, shiny satiny fabrics or fussy trendy styles as there was too much chance that she'd get these wrong.
Stacy's style is far more basic. For casual wear she enjoys a simple knee length skirt that she could wear with stockings or tights and maybe a twinset sweater or a turtleneck when it was cool. Summertime called for some flirty Capri pants and flats or maybe cropped pants and sandals. When she wanted to dress-up a bit she might choose a printed skirt and nylon shell with a complementary jacket.
Most of her clothes came from Lands End, Chadwicks or Talbots. Her shoes came from the same places and she had a nice range of flats, short and medium heels both closed and open toe along with a few different styles of boots. She also had accumulated a certain amount of costume jewelry, scarves, purses and other accessories (cast offs from my wife mostly) and was pretty good at assembling a very put together look.
The day Stacy finally went out was otherwise a totally ordinary day. It was a Thursday and after work I had stopped off and had a couple of drinks with friends. Not much, just a beer or two, but perhaps that loosened my inhibitions just a little bit. There were a bunch of good looking girls at the bar and I had been admiring their outfits (and everything else) for quite a while.
When I finally got home I immediately stripped down to my panties (I wear those often) and without thinking about it began making myself over into Stacy. I don't remember making a conscious decision about going out, but then I don't remember making a decision that I was only dressing to stay in either. A part of me had been wanting to go out for a long time and I was afraid to make my first outing be with my wife in case it didn't go well.
As usual, I started with my make-up. The foundation and blush went on easily and for once I felt like my mascara, and eyeliner looked just about perfect. Saving the lipstick for later, I headed for the closet.
It was early fall and a little chilly, so I wasn't that keen on a skirt. I decided to go for a pair of tan dress pants. These were a light wool blend with a side zipper and were cut to ankle length. I then paired that with a simple white three-quarter sleeve button-front dress blouse which I wore un-tucked and a black unstructured jacket. A wide brown belt gave me a woman's higher waistline and gave the whole outfit a casual slightly layered look.
Underneath the outfit, in addition to my high cut briefs I chose a matching white bra and inserted my forms which gave me a 36-B cup figure. I also decided on a pair of lacy white pantyhose. Only a little bit of the pattern would show below the bottom of my pants, but I loved to wear stockings and these ones gave me a very feminine feel as I put them on.
Fully dressed I headed back to the bathroom and pulled on my wig. I carefully adjusted the tabs and fixed it just so, then began gently combing in out in my preferred style. The color is a very natural looking strawberry blond and the style might remind someone of a young Martha Stewart with the sides coming down over the ears to just below chin length and an off center part swept back to the left showing just a bit of forehead.
Usually, it was at about this point that I began to get fussy and started sensing that my eyes weren't right or the hair looked wrong or I couldn't get the part right. But not so on this night. This time, for some magical reason, my hair fell into place just as I wanted it and the woman staring back at me looked like a fairly attractive young business woman.
Not wanting to lose any momentum I added some dark red lipstick which complemented my hair color. I spread out the collar of the blouse over the top of the jacket like some women do, then tied a colorful red, blue and yellow paisley print scarf around my neck to both down play the masculinity of my chin as well as provide a little color to my look. Clipping on some simple hoop earrings, and adding a few bangle bracelets and my woman's watch, I was nearly ready to go.
For shoes I decided on a pair of simple black flats with a very slight heel and a discrete black bow on the toe. These nicely showed off my pretty stockings and would be easy for walking. Lastly I tossed my wallet, keys and essentials into my small black purse, slung it over my shoulder and headed for the door.
I knew the moment of truth was now upon me. I couldn't help but give myself one last look in the powder room mirror before going out. Many a time this was the deal breaker. Many a time I had looked in that mirror and at first glance it reported back – guy, killing my confidence and leaving me at home.
Tonight though, it was different. A glance at the mirror and my first thought was not only – girl, it was Stacy. Staring back at me was the woman I had been trying to become for a long time. In fact, I actually caught myself looking at myself. I didn't look too bad at all. Not a beauty by any means, but far prettier than many women and very sharply dressed if I do say so myself.
Willing myself forward I went into the garage and got in the car – backing down the driveway into the now darkened neighborhood I starting feeling more and more like Stacy. A giddiness came over me. I had done it. I had really done it, Stacy was out in public.
The next thing to decide was what to do. I had always imagined going out to a movie and I quickly decided to see if I could do that. I jumped on the highway and headed over to one of the larger theaters on the other side of town and found that I had arrived there just before most of the late shows were set to start. I found a parking spot not too far away and spent a minute or two studying the offerings and show times.
What would Stacy want to see? What would a young woman, maybe on her way home from a late night at the office, stop off to see by herself on a Thursday night? The answer was obvious, The Devil Wears Prada was the movie Stacy would see that night.
The start time was still about 20 minutes away and as the movie had been out for awhile there wasn't going to be much problem getting seats or a ticket. I didn't want to spend a lot of time sitting in a lit theater giving people a chance to inspect me. With any luck I could get in and find a seat towards the back, in a row by myself, just as the lights were turned off.
With time to spare, I spent a few minutes practicing my voice – "One for the Devil Wears Prada, please" I said to myself a couple dozen times practicing the pitch and the cadence to where it sounded perfectly natural and entirely female. I made sure I had my money handy, but kept it in my purse, so I wouldn't have to fumble around much at the box office.
I sat there for a few more minutes and surprisingly I didn't feel that nervous. I wouldn't go so far as to say I was confident, but maybe content was the right word. Stacy was going out to see a movie, she looked good and felt good. There was no reason for there to be any problems.
When the time came, I swung my legs out of the car, grabbed my purse and headed up to the box office for tickets. I naturally adopted my Stacy walk which I had practiced around my house but never used before across a well lit parking lot, outdoors, on a quiet fall night at a busy shopping mall.
As luck would have it, there wasn't a line and I was able to walk right up to one of the windows, "One for the Devil Wears Prada, please" I said in my practiced voice to the teenager behind the glass as I slid through a ten dollar bill. Hardly looking up she took the money and handed me back my ticket and change. So much for that, one hurdle cleared.
There were a few people in the lobby, but not many and the lines at the snack bar were only a couple people long. I slipped the change into my purse and made my way towards the ticket taker. What happened next was to be the moment I would always remember.
The ticket taker was a tall, slightly older black gentleman, maybe about 50 or so. He greeted me with a big smile and a "Good evening ma'am" as he reached out to take my ticket. I didn't dare make eye contact, but chanced a look at his face as he tore my ticket and I could tell with certainty that he was sincere. He thought that I was a woman.
"Theater 6," he said.
"Thank you," I squeaked out in my Stacy voice as. Another hurdle cleared and this time I felt incredible. I couldn't believe it. I felt amazing. Stacy was out and she could pass, even up close.
My enthusiasm abated somewhat as I headed into theater 6. First of all, the lights were still on. Second, the room was probably a little more crowded than I might have expected. Third, the seats toward the back, at least along the aisle, were occupied so I had to make a quick decision between asking someone if I could pass down their row or parading myself, in a fully lit room, down towards the center of the theater where there were plenty of open rows.
Incredibly self conscious of not drawing any attention to myself, I made my way forward. I found a row that was completely empty and made my way to the center of the row.
The lights were still blazing away and a few more people entered and took seats in front of me or at least within my field of vision. Sitting there with my purse on my lap I imagined everyone in the room was looking at me. I could only guess what the people in the back rows were thinking, probably pointing and laughing. I felt like I was on display.
Collecting myself I casually looked around a little bit and to my relief everyone seemed to be engrossed in their own little worlds. There were no whispers, there were no laughs, no one was pointing, just a bunch of people getting ready to watch a movie. After what seemed like forever, but was probably at most 5 minutes, the house lights dimmed and they rolled the coming attractions.
For the next two hours I reveled in the glory of being Stacy, an attractive young woman, out on the town. The movie was terrific. Anne Hathaway was funny and adorable and Meryl Streep, who I've always liked, was fantastic. All too soon the nearly two hours had flown by and the house lights were about to come up as the credits began to roll.
After two hours of bliss, I had two problems to tackle. First, I needed to think about making my way back to my car amid the crowd. Second, and maybe more urgently, I needed to use the rest room. I didn't dare use the ladies and the men's was out of the question, so I would need to hurry home.
I stayed seated for a minute or two and pretended to look through my near empty purse for my keys. As most of the crowd had moved past I joined the back of the line behind a guy and his date. They weren't moving very fast, but I didn't want to pass them and as far as I could tell, no one had given me a second glance as we exited the theater, headed down the hall and crossed the lobby.
The parking lot was fairly empty as I came out of the theater, still walking a pace or two behind the guy and girl. Just after they stepped off the curb into the parking lot they stopped to give each other a hug before separating towards their respective cars. I nearly ran into them when they stopped but managed to skirt around them.
The next thing I knew the guy appeared to be following me as I wove through a couple of parking aisles toward my car. My heart started to beat faster fearing a conflict and I'm sure Stacy lost some of her delicate stride as she hurried towards her car with a rising sense of concern. Alas, it was nothing. By chance the guy's car was parked right next to mine and we each climbed into our vehicles with nary a glance.
Now, with my bladder screaming, I made my way home as quick as I dared. There would be nothing good about getting pulled over. The ride home was strange. I was elated that the evening had gone so perfectly and loved every second of my time out as Stacy. On the other hand, I desperately wanted to get home and relieve myself, even if it meant that the magic was going to end.
I pulled into the garage, punched the button to close the garage door and then raced to the powder room to relieve myself. I struggled for a second to unhook my side zip pants and immediately realized that with pantyhose on I had no choice but to do as all women do and sit to do my business.
Looking up, I could see myself in the mirror above the sink. I still looked like an attractive woman, but now it was one who had enjoyed a night out. As I sat I noticed a tear roll down the side of my face. It might have been a tear of relief from my full bladder but I believe it was a tear of joy at finally setting Stacy free.
Not ready for my evening to end I poured myself a glass of wine and settled into my big comfy chair to think about the night. The one thing that kept going through my head.
"You did it. You passed. You really did it. Stacy did it."
As I thought about it more, I realized that unlike so many of the stories one reads on this site, none of the following had happened:
•I wasn't caught by a friend, girlfriend, wife, co-worker or neighbor and made into their sissy to keep them quiet
•I wasn't spotted by a catty group of girls and humiliated in public
•I wasn't made by a well hung guy and forced to perform in the parking lot
•I wasn't pulled over by a policeman who made me give him oral to avoid a night in jail.
•I wasn't enslaved by a prowling dominatrix who feasts on cross-dressing men.
•My anal cherry wasn't popped
•I wasn't blackmailed, cuckolded or otherwise robbed of some major portion of my life or livelihood
•I didn't even give my first blow job or get kissed.
In fact, no one noticed at all. Nobody knew.
Same as every other night when I didn't go out. Nobody knew.
As far as the whole world was concerned, Stacy may never have been out in public. She may never have gotten her hair and make-up just right, never dressed up in a sharp and professional outfit and never seen a first run movie in a well attended theater.
No one knew. No one noticed at all. If anyone even gave a first glance, let alone a second, Stacy was just another young woman out to the movies. She was nothing special. Nobody knew it was her first time out. Nobody knew at all.
The curse of the cross-dresser – praying not to be noticed and at the same time craving to be seen.
It was a night I'll never forget. Thanks for letting me share it.