My Day as a Woman

• Posted by Deborah Taylor March 17, 2013 #crossdressing  #full time  2,881 views
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  Comic Relief. Do something funny for money, that's what they said. Well, Dick Emery said there's nowt as as funny as a man in a dress.

   

  Lilly Savage, Dame Edna Everage, Pauline Calf, Davina McCall, it seems Dick was right.

   

  So, like the happy little comedian I am (I put the Ian in Comed), I announced that I would be going to work on Comic Relief Friday dressed as a woman. Not as a comedy woman (like Dame Edna and Davina) but as me. I didn't hold back, I took all those bits off that make people think I'm a man, and went to work.

   

  I'd planned it for weeks, and when Friday came I was flawless in my timings. I couldn't leave the house completely dressed, but I was close to. A quick stop in an abandoned church and fifteen minutes later, Debbie drove to work. I've driven to work a few times in a dress and always felt a bit sad when I had to stop and get changed just before go into the office. Well on Friday, I didn't have to.

   

  I applied whore red nail polish before going up, and then walked straight into my office.

   

  I thought I would feel anxious, apprehensive even. I didn't. There was an immediate double take from the people in my team who were already in, as though they thought "Who's that?" then the penny dropped. I think they'd been preparing witty comments, and were a bit miffed.

   

  Up until lunch time there was a constant stream of people who wanted to see, and I felt like a celebrity. I had started the day with £135 on the Comic Relief giving page. By lunch time it was rapidly approaching £300. Don't tell my mum, but I occasionally partake of nicotine...so several times I had to totter down to the shed with my new BFF. It wasn't until I spoke that the people in the shed realised, but pretty soon word of what I was doing was spreading round the office block, into other company's offices. I got a lot of head swelling compliments. One girl who owns a hundred thousand pairs of shoes (I'm so jealous) said I looked like one of her girlfriends.

   

  Not everybody was happy at me looking even half way like a girl. My boss admitted it was because he thought I looked attractive, he then turned red and hid in a cupboard. One other couldn't or wouldn't explain why he found me disconcerting. I told him it was okay, I wasn't about to ask him out, and he seemed happier. The third wouldn't talk about it, at all. However, it was positive to see that in the remaining forty people in the office were happy enough. Even the managing director who said that I "looked unnervingly good".

   

  At some point, my male facebook page was updated with a picture. Ooops. Fortunately, I'd anticipated that and defused the bombs by hyping the Comic Relief aspect. I had some very nice comments too. Including one person not realising I was male, and when finding out saying "it doesn't matter"!

   

  It was arranged that I would go out after work with a group, to a pub called the Slug and Lettuce. By the time it was time to go, nobody was treating me like a bloke in a dress, but as Debbie.

   

  I have to admit, I didn’t do as much work as I would ordinarily do. I put it down to the photos and conversations. Most of the conversations were about make-up and my dress. Nobody thought to ask if I did this regularly! One person said I looked good enough for us all to go to the Village… Er, not a good idea, not when people come up and say “Debbie!”.

   

  Work eventually finished and I walked down an ordinary street, with ordinary people to an ordinary bar.

   

  I got checked out by a white van man, a BMW driver and three pedestrians. I decided that Street Braille (those bobbles by pedestrian crossings for blind people), it REALLY hurts. In the bar, none of the staff batted an eyelid, one or two customers looked over and made sure that I was what they initially thought I was, but then got on with their lives. My work colleagues trickled in, in pairs and alone, and soon we had a big group, and I forgot I was a boy, I was one of the girls. It was a great feeling. We just talked and drank (I was on OJ), me being in a dress wasn't mentioned. It wasn't relevant. There was a St Pats display there with a hat, we all had a our picture taken with it, including me.

   

  The evening had to end, and I was walked back to my car by one of my colleagues who was also going home.

   

  By that point, people had donated £335. Thanks. I enjoyed it too.

   

  The sadness hit Sunday afternoon when I realised that Monday was coming, and I wouldn’t be in a dress.