sissy

My real ‘First Walk As a Woman’ was a lot more dramatic, than the one’s just told above, which indeed was a safe joking play by teen-aged boys. During that real ‘First Walk’, I went alone. I was dressed-up as a ‘Kelly-Girl’, that is a tight (red) leather jacket with a scarf and a matching color berret over the Vidal Sassoon’s hair cut style wig. I had a mini-skirt of a dark color, thigh-high leg-warmers of a matching color also, which revealed the whiteness of my thighs. I have a fetish of being a ‘white girl’ while is bad places. I wore mini boots (red color) half-highheels. It was foggy, and was glad to have those warm clothes, because, although the San Francisco weather is rarely cold, I trembled with fear. It was about 11pm and mid-week.
From my residence of Nob-Hill, I had decided to walk all the way to the Power-Exchange, which long walk included passing through Polk Street, the tranny hookers’ turf & workin ground, then descending Van Ness Avenue while passing in front of the Opera House, finally crossing Market Street, to then entering unto the sex-club located at the foot of the Castro District. A daring ‘First Walk’, but this is San Francisco. SF in fact is a very provincial town during mid-week. Some cars with single passengers, some cop cars (the SF cops are cool). Quiet! I walked very easily descending the hill. The sex-workers did not pay attention to me while I walked. Some men, in search of the whore, slowed down, but quickly understood that I was not selling, so the walk went fine, except when approaching the sex-club when the inevitable car packed with ‘bridge & tunnel guys’ did some verbal hazing to me. (the term ‘bridge & tunnel’ is attributed to the Bay Area residents who have to take a bridge or BART to have fun in SF. This term is derogatory). Hazing from juveniles is always unpleasant, but when a woman, it goes with the territory. Woman you chose to be, woman you will suffer, and femme you are: the higher you go, the more painful is the fall. Tranny you are, and you take the risk of been humiliated! Right?
At the semi-deserted Power Exchange, I got my first warm welcome right at the gate. Free entrance for the ladies! Inside the club, the usual familiars sado-masochists, and the fat naked lesbians alternatively inflicting pains to themselves. The routine… which never stops, even during the dead-moments of mid-week. Some men, (bridges & tunnels?) were here wandering in quest of free pussy, or just voyeurism. I confess having offered some mild show to those looky-loos. I won’t tell more of what I did, because it goes beyond the scope of the telling since it is about the “First Walk as a Woman”. I was a dressed-up woman, and remained dressed-up as a non-slutty tramp during this entire coming-out.
I left the club around 1am, alone. No one offered a ride, nor even proposed to ‘take me home’. I guess it was mid-week, and perhaps, I failed at being ‘desirable enough’. That, I don’t want to know!
I saw back again some of the sex-workers, who were at their ‘prime-time’ for clients. No ‘client’ slowed down for me. Regret? Yes! I wished a car had stopped and rolled down its widow, but no, it did not happen for that ‘First Time’. It did later, so do not be sorry for me.
It is when back in Nob Hill, at home, when I returned to ‘normal’ that I remember the most. I truly felt like ‘landing safely’. It felt the usual little death, such as the Ciderilla ending her dream-come-true of being an object of dazling desiarbility, but also it felt good, and reassuring to be without high heels with the sole solidly planted of the floor.
As having had ballet training, the fact of walking on high heels has never been a problem of balancing, but for that ‘First Time’, when back to ‘normal’ with feeling of safety, this is when I realize that this First Walk was very very intense.