Stations of the Cross Dresser – The Brassiere Fitting

My eyes are often cast down not for reasons of shame or poor posture, but out of sheer delight in what I believe to be some of creations finest handiwork. I am a devoted admirer of legs. Womanly legs. When I am not cross dressed, I am a leg man. When I am cross dressed, my own legs are on good display and I think of myself as rather a leggy woman. But there is more to us than legs, ne c’est pas?

To put not too fine a point on it, there are breasts too.

I have a terrific pair of silicon forms, modest in size and rather life-like from a weight, shape and feel perspective. If you have not splashed out on quality breast forms, and want to improve both your experience and your appearance, they are a key investment. In the cross dressed game of poker, a nice pair tops every other hand in the deck. I have long felt though that I have never merchandised my forms, and therefore my own form to the fullest extent, focused as I have been on matters south of my equator.

My smallish selection of bras fit me, well enough, I suppose. Pretty yes, and not uncomfortable. My old favorite (a splendid little Victoria’s Secret number) does not slip at the shoulder or ride up at the back. It is well made, is laundered and stored carefully, and has provided me with the required support. But I want more don’t I?

Access to very exclusive places of feminine experience is something that I want. I envy genetic women their private rituals. I want small glimpses of those places for myself, and in those moments, to grow my kinship with the fairer sex. As far as powdered, perfumed and pretty places go, you cannot get much more exclusively feminine than a fine lingerie shop. And once there, when you place yourself, quite literally in the hands of a skilled personal shopper and fitter, well, lets say this is an intimate moment. A moment worthy of mention in my own personal CD Bucket List, the 12th shrine in what I have called The Stations of the Cross Dresser. Background notes on the whole concept can be found in older posts, including this one here.

This past Wednesday, the Bra Fitting was as the very top of the to-do’s. It had been many months since I had been out en femme but after a mere couple of hours though of driving, chatting, shopping and walking I felt fully immersed in my Petra-ness. Complete, tranquil, attenuated to the world around me, and fully ready to enter and enjoy the experience at Intimacy.

Intimacy operates 8 or so major-market boutiques here in the US of A, and makes a proud specialization of expert advice and fitting services. Change your Bra, Change your Life, is the very serious mantra of the whole zealous squad. You have to love people on a mission. And a fine mission it is say I. Here now is how mission gets accomplished.

First things first, one does not simply stroll in and start pawing away at the nice things. No, no, no… the polite, firm and certainly not-to-be-ignored concierge at the shop entrance welcomed us, and inquired how she could help.

“I am here for a fitting”

“Good. Here, please take a moment to fill out this form, and a fitter will be with you presently”

Now, having visited a doctors office or 2 in my life, I can typically handle a clip board and a ball point with the best of them. I had not however done that seated on a stylish and low quilted bench, having to figure out where to put my purse, and with which hand I should smooth my shortish skirt. Hmmm. There is always something new.

The form was a questionnaire, a sort of bra-ography. How many bras do I own? How often do I wear my favorite? What is the commonest flaw from a fit perspective? What features am I most desirous of? My darkest fears plumbed, and fondest hopes held within view, but still out of reach. I passed the moments flipping through a Vogue and chit chatting with Ramona wondering … what comes next?

Having now confessed my frailties, I was deep into a process, and somebody else was driving. I was a happy captive of quitely whirring silken machinery. Jennifer appeared after a few minutes and in a no-nonsense but friendly way, led me to my private fitting room. She then talked through some of the philosophy of Team Intimacy, much of which simply bounced off my feathered head. I really wish I could report the details. It was all so overwhelming, and I do not mean that in a bad way. I was being wordlessly unzipped by a stranger. My thoughts first, next my dress, then the Danskin turtleneck leotard, and there I was surrounded by mirrors, clad from the waist up only in my black bra, most assuredly putty in Jennifer’s hands.

We talked then about my fashion sense. I wanted a flesh tone bra, the better for lighter blouses. I wanted a smooth finish, the better for tighter knits. I wanted something lightweight, not over padded, something that would allow me to feel as natural as possible. Jennifer listened, and nodded, and vanished, pulling the door closed behind her.

Whatever doubts one harbors as to whether or not they are a dyed-in-the-wool, bred-in-the-bone crossdresser will not survive the next 3 precious minutes. Yup. There you are, made up, dressed down, with nothing to do but to regard your infinite reflections and wait, patiently, for your bra. Magic friends, pure magic. The rest is trivia. I am glowing now, days later, just remembering and reliving the moment.

I went through a bakers dozen of candidates, each lovely, most just imperfect in some tiny way. I became increasingly discerning and discriminating as the silky river of sad failed contenders piled up on the benches and hung from hooks all around me. Too much lace on that one. A little loose here, too tight there. Too stiff, too frail, wrong shade. Aubade’s, Freya’s, Chantelle’s, Fantasie’s, Contourelle’s and LeJaby’s ... an embarrassment of quality, exclusivity and femininity.

The puppy in the pound, knows how to look at you, hold your attention, and find their way home with you safely. I am not sure who exactly was the puppy in this exchange, me or the Simone Péréle (pictured at right, the Liz 3D Plunge). It matters not, we are one forever bound by our special introduction.

It is perfect. It moves with me, it feels pliant and real, the color is a rich pewter tone, and quite clearly it is made of wonderful fabric, and finished in part by hand. It is a pricey piece of French Lingerie, possessed of everything that a pricey piece of French Lingerie should be. It is tough to justify spending what I did spend on a bra. But some moments demand a little abandon. It was a priceless experience. I wish the same for all of you here, and especially you genetic girls. Some luxuries are necessities at least once in a life.

Here now, close to Thanksgiving, I hope you have whatever luxuries and necessities your lives require.

Happy dressing, and everything else.