When I separated from the Air Force, the first thing I did was grow out my hair. I stayed in the small town in California, where I was based, because I had friends there. I always wore my hair pulled back in a pony tail, guy style. And as I said before, I collected womens clothes, left articles from the base laundry rooms, old girlfriends, and what I could buy in stores for my “wife/girlfriend/sister” any excuse I could convincingly give. So I had a pretty respectable but very random wardrobe. In the area I was in a nice fog would roll in late at night during certain times of the year. One, I love fog! Two, I loved being able to dress in what made me feel feminine. So, one night, I put the two together.
I had always worn clothes that made me feel feminine, but it was restricted to inside my room or as a teenager, in my house or yard but only very very close to the door. I was very afraid of being seen, but I wanted to just feel the air on my skin, to for a moment pretend I wasn’t in this body. So, this night I stepped out. I was living with my friends, both of who worked nights so they weren’t home. The fog had rolled in and the neighborhood was a quite suburb. I put on the sexiest little black dress that my wonderfully sexy ex-girlfriend had left in my closet after a very long New Years Eve party. I put on a pair of fishnet stockings that I had bought for my (enter excuse here) at an adult store. I had to wear a pair of my combat boots, and I borrowed one of my roommates (female) black leather jacket. I tried my best to style my hair, I am sure it was horrible, but I tried to use it to hide the distinct lack of makeup. I did have lipstick, really bad lipstick left behind by same ex-girlfriend, and violently red. So I inexpertly put the lipstick on and teased my hair like I was going to a hair-band concert in New Jersey. I had a bra, but after finding I could stuff toilet paper directly into the dress and it held up, I decided not to use the bra.
I nervously stepped out of the back door, where I could walk around the yard and ease out into the street light areas. The fog was just thick enough to diffuse the people 5 feet or more away, but not enough to keep me from knowing exactly where everyone was to keep them far enough away. Perfect. I walked around the neighborhood, only one or two people out and they were in their garages not worrying about the girl walking down the sidewalk. I branched out after a while, walking into the adjacent neighborhood. The fog stayed, cloaking me just enough. I practiced my walk, in combat boots it’s not so easy, trying to be sexy without going overboard, swaying my hips just enough.
At one point, a group of boys, younger than me, walked down the street on the other side. It seemed like the road shrank, like I was too close to them. They were talking and laughing as they walked, a few of them did yell my way. I know, yelling “hey baby” is stupid and would never work, but I felt so good hearing it. Pathetic right? I don’t care, my heart was racing and I almost ran, but I forced myself to keep walking and I felt great. I didn’t encounter anyone else that night, I walked back to my house and wore the dress and stockings to bed. I wanted my dream to have my outfit in it. I felt so good that night and it wasn’t until today, reading a post from itsallaboutmylucy about hair, that triggered my memory of that first night out. How could I have ever forgotten that night?