ed. The Stations of the Cross Dresser is an occasional feature of Voyages en Rose where the odd essay on some of the seminal moments of the life of the Cross Dresser will be presented. Here you will find my list of the 14 Stations. Here, some background on what tickled my odd mind into wandering down this path. Thanks for walking it with me.
We take driving our cars too much for granted on routine drab days. It is second nature to put it in drive, and simply, efficiently arrive where we intend.
It is impossible for the Cross Dresser to take driving for granted en femme though. It starts with the ladylike way we lower ourselves to the seat and swing the legs in together. The controls and the keys feel different with nails on. Pedals feel different with heels on. Seatbelts feel different with breast forms. O, and that new face in the mirror, ah yes this is all different, and it captures your attention, fully.
Your car now becomes an enabler of a much bigger exploration of your femme self. It is a conveyance from the very private setting our homes provide to a vast, daunting and tempting public space. And for this reason, Driving en Femme* must be considered one of our Stations of the Crossdresser.
My own maiden drive was terrifying and intoxicating and is decades gone by. I was captured by an inner voice that would hear no argument. And on that beautiful spring day, I exposed my underdressing to an unsuspecting highway and gulped down 200 miles clad only in a nicely matched garter / panty set, beautiful sheer stockings and a more or less buttoned shirt. Every sight and sensation was in very sharp focus that day, and the memory has not dimmed.
My own circumstances today are optimal. My cars are garaged so there are no exposed spaces between them and the neighbors who might not understand Petra. A ¼ mile from my drive, I merge into an anonymous stream of cars, without concern for identity. Many are not so lucky. Staci Lana over at Femulate shared a story with me that many of you might relate to…
" ... I always dress at home to go out. At our first home, I had to be careful making my getaway because our garage faced my neighbor's deck less than 25 feet away. I could not exit en femme if the deck was occupied.
One day as I got ready to leave the house, I checked outside and the coast was clear. But just as I pulled out of the garage, my neighbor came out of her house and onto the deck and she looked in my direction trying to figure out who was driving my car.
I panicked and tried to get out of Dodge as fast as I could driving out onto the street without considering the traffic. A car coming my way had to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision and I was free.
Can you imagine if there was a collision? I would have been outed to the whole neighborhood and worse if the incident made it to the newspaper.... "
Worse indeed. In a heartbeat, terrible outcomes were avoided. Beyond the awkward neighborhood realities, the insurance claims and premium increases looms the possibility of personal injury to self and to strangers. A possibility that Petra very narrowly avoided just last week.
After merging onto I-85 northbound I needed to rapidly navigate 2 leftward lane changes to stay on my pretty path home. In the split second it took to double check my blind spot, the fast moving traffic in front of me slammed to a halt. I had no choice but to take the lane. I missed clipping the truck in front of me by feet, travelling fast and accelerating while at it. It’s a wonderful thing to feel very alive. Moments like this on the road will get you feeling that way at the speed of light.
Any of us who Dress and Drive have had those moments and more. Wrong turns in unfamiliar neighborhoods. Speed traps and roadside sobriety tests. Purse contents flung around from sharp turns and sudden stops. Unwelcome solicitations of romantic interest.
Given the risks, you might think us mad to leave the house at all. But we are not mad. Just driven.
And O how it feels. Legs closer together, nyloned thighs caressing. The air conditioning swirls around and through finer fabric. Adjustments to the different and sensitive fulcrum that our heels provide are tentatively made. Posture smartens up a little as both hands take the wheel. We notice other drivers, and note, perhaps for the first time, that the other drivers may take note of us.
Cars, particularly in the American context are practically mythical things. They represent liberty, choice, independence, freedom. Cross dressing represents these same things to many of us as well. Put the 2 together and the journey is on, bigger, faster and farther.
We catch our breath when the door slams, look quickly in the mirror and, practically aloud to ourselves we say, are you ready for this girl? When we are, and when we put it in drive, the world is never the same again. When did the world get bigger for you? Don’t hesitate to leave a story with us all.
* Urbanites who simply do not need a car can substitute the public hailing of a taxi, or getting from A to B on any form of Public Transportation. Crossdressing friends in Amsterdam can claim riding a bicycle in a nice A line skirt.