In Her Shoes - Chapter Five - De-male

"My name is Leo Cavendish. I am male and I consider myself to be very masculine. However, I volunteered to spend a month living as a woman and to recount my experiences. Even in an age where the progress of women is threatening to greatly eclipse male achievement, the old assumptions about gender still remain and, in particular, in the dress and expected behaviours of the genders.

My situation, though less of a eyebrow turner than in the past, is still unusual.

After accepting a mission to enter the feminine universe, I was given the rest of the day off. But I returned to my desk and turned my workstation on to pursue some research.

What was this thing called "Femininity"? I googled the definition of the word and came up with the following:

1. The quality or condition of being feminine

2. A characteristic or trait held to be female

3. Women considered as a group

4. Effeminate

But I consider femininity to be the exact opposite of masculinity, although I recognise that there are women who exhibit strong masculine traits and men who are capable of accessing their feminine side. Masculinity and Femininity are not exclusive, members of both sexes experience them to lesser or greater degrees.

I considered my own tendencies towards femininity to be very small. Almost non-existent, in fact.

Now I have to live for a month in a feminine existence. When I had initially volunteered, I had assumed it would be easy. Women have an easier time of it than men, right?

How very wrong my assumption was quickly became apparent.

Before I was due to leave for the day - to start my new assignment and my new existence on the morrow - an e-mail appeared in my in-box from my editor. Attached to it was a document labelled 'Company policy: Dress code for female employees'. Underneath it, the editor had written "Leo, from tomorrow, this applies to you. Best of luck!"

In fact the e-mail had been unnecessary. Most of the staff on the paper were female. I saw exactly what they wore each day. As a "female" employee, I was required to wear a smart skirt and blouse (or a top), tights (or bare legs, but these must be shaven), make up and nail varnish (both to be maintained in good order), black high heels. My hair was to be styled in an acceptable way and not to appear scruffy or dishevelled.

I went home, my mind in turmoil and I was frankly dreading the next day. My girlfriend, Milly, was home, waiting for me. She was totally supportive of me and my journey into femininity. Milly had not been idle. She had been shopping and she had bought me my new wardrobe.

But first, she said, there was work to be done on my body. She would, she said, have to "de-male me". Using wax strips, Milly removed all of my body hair. This was a painful and humiliating experience for a masculine male and left me with large expanses of smooth, creamy flesh.

My bushy moustache, which I had had since I had been an officer in the Grenadier Guards and which I was immensely proud of, was shaven off. I was struck by how feminine my features looked without it. I was a handsome man, but with my high cheekbones and full lips, I could look quite pretty, with a little help from some make up.

My bushy eyebrows were plucked to form a feminine arch and this also had the added effect of making my eyes look bigger and my whole face more feminine. My nails were far too short for even Milly to be able to do anything with. Her solution was to apply press on nails and paint these in a deep shade of red.

But the biggest, and the most humiliating, change imposed upon me was that I was to have my own pair of breasts! Milly glued onto my chest a pair of large, pendulous silicon based breastforms. They looked eerily realistic, right down to the large pink nipples. I was surprised at the weight of them and realised that I would need to wear a bra for much needed support.

Milly next produced a black, lace trimmed corset and put it over my torso. The laces were tightened and within a short time my waist had been reduced to a more womanly shape. I found the corset uncomfortable and restrictive. I would have difficulty bending or stooping.

I took a moment to look at the new, naked, me. Although I was over six feet tall and solidly built, my shape was no longer masculine. The breasts and corsetry had altered my whole body shape and centre of gravity. The loss of my body hair instantly made me look more feminine and made me feel more vulnerable and naked and the painted and manciured nails added to the overall effect of feminisation.

But I felt, as Milly did, that the process I was going through was to de-male me, strip away my masculinity, as much as feminisation.

I felt queasy and humiliated as I viewed my new body image. I had just been de-maled!