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I Make One Hot Lady
First time I dressed up as a woman: Halloween. Innocent enough, I suppose. Costumes and what not, some people dressed like ogres, the traditional witch, and as always, multiple poorly imitated Frankensteins. I had made my mind up about a week prior that I was going to attend a party as either a woman or Abraham Lincoln, but definitely not both. In the end, because a [female] friend offered to dress me up in woman’s clothing with appropriate accoutrements, I swallowed my pride and donned a blouse. Thinking back, that friend might be some sort of twisted sadist. Anyways, being a woman was actually very fun- excluding the high heels.
Let me put it this way; girls just have certain things that guys do not, besides the obvious anatomical differences. They have this way of talking to each other, of making intense eye contact, smiling with their eyes in addition to their mouths, and touching each other when they speak in this gentle way that makes me envious. I was fortunate enough to have the assistance of three enthusiastic girls dressing me up before the party, and they were exhibiting this unique characteristic while making me beautiful (though I dare say that they might have enjoyed picking out my shoes more than I did, but that is a different story altogether). One of them brought me a blond wig and a sheer top, which I thought showed off my shoulders well in addition to complementing my rather masculine frame. By far the most challenging part of the entire transformation was not actually learning to balance in high heels -which, by the way, were pretty darn hot- but learning how to do the “heycheckmeout” walk.
Prior to that moment I had no idea of the complexity of the female walk. I mean, of course I had noticed how they walk (how could I not?), but I didn’t know that they actually have a schematic, a plan, some cognizance of the method in which to move the body so that boys drool and write love poems and get lost in sappy songs on the radio when they are driving alone. As far I could understand, the “heycheckmeout” walk can be broken down into the following steps:
First and foremost, smile
Keep the chin up, butt back, and chest out, but don’t over exaggerate or you will look like an over-eager porpoise (my first mistake)
Pretend like you are walking on a line. Place one foot directly in front of the other and make sure every step makes you sway a little at the hips
Be sure that everything is fluid. The idea is not to look like an estrogen-powered robot
And never, under any circumstances, scratch yourself in public (my second mistake)
From what I gathered, those steps are what endow a girl’s walk with that fabled “feminine mystique”, the secret ingredient that makes bipedal females hip-notizing! (what a horrible pun)
In all honesty, though, breaking down the walk into its constituent parts will not and cannot imbue any given male with the amazingly attractive and diaphanous traits that make girls, well, girls. All that nonsense is decided at conception.
I also noticed as we were driving to the party that as a female I was compelled to make a great deal more eye contact with the lovely ladies I was talking to. Normally, when in so-called “man-mode,” I look at the people I talk to, but not in the same manner that I do when wearing high heels- which to say when I am acting like a woman. This sort of eye contact is altogether more appealing, I think. It seems more sincere.
When we arrived at the party, I had a great deal of trouble walking up the steps to the front porch wearing three inch heels. I am pretty sure that I looked a little strange, because I kept having to regain my balance by sticking my arms out like an awkward albatross, steadying myself and then adjusting my wig so that my hair would not get into my mouth and eyes. Needless to say, I got a few stares when I came inside (not due to how amazingly good looking I appeared).
To my delight, I also realized why many adolescent girls find boys who are altogether stupid and rambunctious attractive. It is the problem of the “girl cluster.” You see, when girls get together in groups, they pull together much like small numbers of Cheerios do in largely vacant bowls of milk (a feminine surface tension, if you will). Despite the best efforts of menfolk across a thousand generations, this adolescent female amoeba cannot be dispelled. Tragically, it can be distracted, but never destroyed.
This is how it works: Humans are by nature social beings, young girls especially so. When one inserts a group of female friends together in a large crowded room, the friends will naturally gravitate towards each other and begin to dance. It’s quite fascinating, really. Most of the time the girl amoeba is absorbed with itself, laughing and giggling, and moving to the music, all faced inwards making a little circle. The only way that boys are noticed in such a situation is when they do something that is especially stupid, like lighting themselves on fire or dressing like a woman. It really would be advantageous to both sexes if girls would try to mingle a little more and boys would stop acting sophomoric in order to attract attention.
But such actions are what make life interesting and people versatile. I have found that moving beyond my comfort zone can be disconcerting at times, but often lends itself to greater insight into others and (via the mirror like functions of all human interaction) into myself.
Besides, I make one hot lady.