What Makes You "Complete?"
For some of us, the process of getting “dressed” is a thrill beyond words.
The feelings never change. They're forever with us and take us to heights difficult to explain to a non-crossdresser. Who can aptly describe the euphoria that accompanies slipping into a En Femme slinky dress? Or the elation of wiggling into a tight corset? Or even the jubilation of slipping a pair of full-size breastforms into the pockets of a new bra?
Yet despite all this preparation, there is that final moment, those joyous few seconds when you are finally, finally ready, when your desired appearance suddenly all “comes together” and you almost want to cry out in sheer delight, “Eureka!”
Let's Think Back a Bit
But, before we get there, let’s recap a little. For those of you like me, the whole process of my transformation is an experience in itself—as much part of the desire to dress as in seeing the final “product”. My process is very regimented, very organised, very methodical. I have been known to take up to two hours to get ready, starting from the time I start unbuttoning my shirt to have a shower.
In the early days of my dressing, when I was either content or, more likely, forced to stay indoors—wow, that does seem like a long time ago!—I might have dressed with far more abandon. Sure, while I always liked to look good, the levels of “perfection” which I now seek when I go out might have been slightly less! Like some of us, if I was staying in, I was content to dress in just a En Femme bra and panties, corset, and petticoat. No need for a dress, makeup, or accessories.
Partially Crossdressing Just Won't Do
Subtly at first, without me fully realizing, there came a time in my crossdressing journey when such “partial crossdressing” was no longer enough. My brain demanded that I dress completely and totally. It demanded that the vision of womanhood I was seeking to emulate become complete in its entirety. No half-measures anymore; no “let’s throw on a dress and sit around casually”. No, it became perfection or nothing!
With practice and with some considerable trial and error, I eventually found my “look.” It was the appearance I feel, rightly or wrongly, suits me best, makes me look like a “real” woman (not some cheap imitation), and makes me appear as someone who can go out and about in a crowd unnoticed and undetected. I'm just another lady passing by…
In fact, I squirm when I look back at some old photos of me with long hair and cheap-looking wigs, wearing dresses or skirts which at the time I thought stylish and which now…. well, I think it’s best not to say.
Desired Image Found, Routine in Place
Once I found the image I had been seeking, found the appearance I felt suited me best, the process of my transformation rarely wavered. I was happily ensconced into a routine which I knew worked and achieved the results I was after.
Yet I realized during this process that there was a “magic moment," or more likely a magic couple of seconds, near the end of the process in moving from male to female, where everything just slotted into place. Everything that I had been building up to for the last few hours fit together, just like the final piece of a difficult 3000-piece jigsaw.
The Switch is "On"
Sometimes it’s like suddenly flicking a switch to the “on” position. One moment there is me, all made-up with my dress and the rest of my En Femme outfit, looking good, accessories and shoes on. But I’m not quite there, if you know what I mean.
Then comes the final piece, the “crowning glory." It's that last item that makes my transformation totally and utterly complete.
She’s Back, She's Here
To me, that moment comes as I put my wig on, brush down the sides, run my fingers through hair to get the shape right, and turn and look in my full-length mirror. Sometime I gasp involuntarily as I see “Kathy” looking back at me. She’s back, she’s here. Oh, where have you been?
It may sound strange but my whole demeanour changes as I look at Kathy, my whole persona comes alive, and my body language slips into femme-mode (not deliberately, it just happens!)
Talking to many other girls, everyone has their own “crowning moment," their own pinnacle of realisation that their alter ago has arrived. For some, it’s that last coat of nail varnish; for others it’s climbing aboard their 4” or 6” heels. For others, the moment that they spray the perfume of their choice around their wrists and over their body is the last touch.
Whatever your “final piece” is, you can tell us. Don’t forget we’re all in this together!