Where to begin?....How about with, ‘This is the end.’

For six years now I have been actively dressing up. I know that it started way before that but I am talking about the period where I started taking my photos, shaving off all my body hair, growing my nails out, wearing makeup, wigs, breast forms, clothes, shoes, et all. It has not been an easy time for me. There has been turmoil at home. I have endured harsh criticisms from friends and coworkers. I am not completely out about it. I like my family and I already know the price I would pay if I wanted to take this beyond recreational. That’s not what I want.
The sacrifices I make and risks I have to take every time I dress up are food for stress. I must plan each outing well in advance. I have to book a night off of work or call in sick. I then have to make sure I am smooth, manicured, etc leading up to the event. I usually book an hotel room. Once I leave the house I go and arrange my stuff and then I can actually get started. Then there is the risk of getting caught at any time. I put myself through a lot, and for what?
What do I get from all this? The satisfaction of being female for a few hours? In the beginning it was simple. I just liked the feel of the clothes on my skin. Then it was the desire to look more feminine. Then it was the thrill of being in public en femme. Then I wanted to make friends. Lately, it has been the social aspects that fuel my ambition. I make my plans around meeting with others. For it to be worthwhile to me I want to go out, hang out with friends or meet new ones that I have met online. I can’t say that I have been too successful in this endeavor.
It is tough organizing a night out. I know how difficult it is to make commitments when your in circumstances like mine. However, I really didn’t think it would this bad. For every successful meeting there have been four unsuccessful. I am in the odds business and I can tell you 4:1 odds are poor when you are risking as much as me. For a couple of years now I have felt a lot of disappointment. I am not feeling the risk vs reward ratio is worth it. Why continue to do this?
Take this past weekend for an example. For a few months I have been trying to put something together. I have put the buzz out there. I told everybody I had the saturday off. A month ago I had about 10 people committing or showing genuine interest. So I made plans. I got the night off work, picked a place in Toronto by request of others. I booked an hotel room close to Church St. I told everybody and then watched the commitments dry up. I never expected everyone to make it but 1 or 2 surely.
I followed through with my plan. I drove an hour and a half down the QEW to Toronto. Besides giving up a night of pay, the hotel cost me $140 plus parking. When I arrived I could not find a place to park. The hotel clerk told me it was a block away. When I got there the lot was full so I had to bribe the attendant with a $20 and he moved his car for me. Then I hauled my stuff over to hotel and got started. After makeup and dressing up I was ready to head out. I had never been to this place but I thought it was up a couple blocks near Church and Gerrard. I am usually much more efficient in navigation but not that night.
I didn’t fear walking it because this was the village, the ‘gaybourhood ‘of Toronto. I walked up through Ryerson U campus and was first stopped by a frat boy who asked me for the time. Then I was stopped a couple blocks later by a bum who complimented me at first then asked for a smoke and was seriously upset when I told him I didn’t smoke. I kept walking and not finding my club. I past a few other gay bars with huge lineups to get in. I saw a few other tranny girls on the sidewalk and having had walked eight blocks I finally stopped and asked a girl where Goodhandys was. She told me it was twelve blocks south. I was walking north. Must have been the blond wig. I grabbed a taxi because my feet were killing me.
I got to Goodhandys around 12:30 and started looking for my acquaintances. I didn’t find anyone so I went to the bar and got a drink. I was easily the oldest person in the place by a lot, and the most overdressed. I was sitting to rest my feet and when I got up for a second drink, my heel caught the stool leg and I did a face plant on the floor. I was embarrassed and thought about leaving but I took a deep breath, smiled, brushed myself off and said, “It usually takes me another nine drinks before I do that.”
I made the best of the night anyway. I danced. I introduced myself. I was not pleased about the night in whole but it was St Pat’s and I was going to have some fun. At 3am, closing time I left and was starting to walk the four blocks back to the hotel. A car stopped along side me and the driver honked its horn. Someone yelled, “Hey baby!” I felt pretty good about that and politely turned and smiled. I wasn’t worried because after all it was the ‘gaybourhood’ on Church St. and anyone dressed like me was obviously a tranny. Everyone in Toronto knows that, or so I thought.
The car had about four or five twenty year old Italian guys in it. One of them then shouted, “Holy shit, that’s a fucking man.” There was some laughter and more slurs started flying. They were yelling “Faggot” a lot. My better sense was telling me to go back into the club or to turn down the cross street and walk away but I didn’t. I don’t know if it was the disappointment in me about the night or my Irish coming out on St Pat’s but my sense of ‘I don’t give a fuck anymore’ took over. I stood my ground and called them out. I challenged them to come out and do something about it. I was ready. I had worked it out in my head. Luckily for everyone, the driver had some sense and drove away quickly before anything developed.
Back at the hotel I drew a sigh and asked myself, “What the fuck am I doing?” It’s just not worth the sacrifices and the risks. I made a firm and conscious decision. I have to quit. Mary-Margret has to retire. We have all at one point or another been through this. I have. Before it was more imposed on me but this time it is because I want to. I know the sayings, “You can never quit 100%”, “You can undress but you will always be a dresser,” “Never say never,” etc. I believe those too. I know I can’t break clean. I have too much involved. I will scale back. I will keep my personality on line through yahoo 360, Flickr photos and I may still write. However, I cannot think of anything right now that will motivate me back into dressing again.
I want to thank everyone who has supported and encouraged me. There are a lot of great people out there. I am hanging up the wigs. Enjoy my last set of photos, they are probably the last ones you will see of Mary-Margret Callahan. Good-bye.