In both cases, I was wrong.

I felt very nervous about this. I've never been out and about dressed as a woman. Oh, so many times I've thought about it, dreamed of it, longed for it. And now, here was my chance. Would I chicken out?

The thought crossed my mind several times as I drove toward the base hotel... appropriately enough, the Emerald Inn. As I drove into the parking lot I was relieved. No hotel lobbies or elevators to deal with when dressed.

I paused before knocking on the door. I glanced at my watch. It was 1:00 p.m. Time to do it. Yet one final chance to cut and run. But no, I'd come this far. I'd kick myself forever if I blew this opportunity. Now I know what a treasure I would have missed... merely one of the happiest, most exciting and memorable days of my entire life!

Angel opened the door and greeted me warmly. "Hello Carol, please come in."

I was a bit taken back. She was taller than me but extremely feminine, a lady. I had thought the Emerald Fantasy hostesses were other CDs or TS.

"Yes, I'm TS," Angel reassured me. "All of our hostesses have been through what you are going through. We feel that provides a bond and connection that a genetic woman would not have."

She invited me to sit down, have a soft drink or juice or wine. We chatted for a short while. Within minutes I felt I was in the company of a friend.

"OK, shall we get started?" Angel asked. And the real experience began.

"Go slip into something more comfortable and then we'll do makeup," she suggested.

In the bathroom were hangers full of lingerie. White slips, black slips, pink camisoles, red teddies... all for me!

"Take your time. Try on all of them if you want," Angel called.

I thought back on all of the times I had tiptoed through the women's lingerie section at a department store and longed to reach out and touch, but dared not. Now I was free to touch, to hold the delicate fabric to my face. Why are men's clothes and underwear so rough-hewn and clumsy compared to the wondrous sensuality of women's attire? It's one of those stupid things that supports our macho toughness I suppose.

But for a little while I would not worry about the injustices of gender fascism. I would just... indulge in the feminine.

After trying on five or six pieces I selected a pink slip and came out of the bathroom. Again, I felt a bit of nervousness, and the fantasy began to fade. I must look like a friggin' idiot, I thought as I walked into the room.

"Oh, you look lovely," Angel reassured. "Pink looks great on just about everyone. Look how it makes your skin just radiate warmth. Such a shame most men are afraid to wear pink."

Once more she had allayed my self-consciousness. I sat down in the chair, had another sip of wine and suddenly the fantasy returned.

"Now it's makeup time," Angel said. "Time for true transformation."

I sat so that I could watch in the mirror the alchemy. Could she really turn me, an ugly frog, into a beautiful princess? Or at least a passable matron?

"Now just relax while we moisturize," Angel commanded. Her warm fingers massaged cream into the weather-worn sandpaper crags of my face. But as she worked her magic a suppleness and softness quickly returned. I could feel my face, my body, my mind, my essence being feminized.

It was not an altogether foreign feeling. We all start out female in the womb. Femaleness is the basic template of almost all life forms, including humans. Only after a month of gestation do the hormones kick in and about half of us are forced into that cold, hard, dangerous world of men. If just for tonight, I was going back to my original self.

I watched carefully as Angel applied the makeup as an artist would prepare a canvas. "This is another reason why genetic women cannot deal as effectively with our clients," she explained. "All of their experience is in applying makeup to a woman's face. We know how to make a man into a woman."

Slowly, step by step the process continued. The beard shadow disappeared. A porcelain face emerged. Blushing cheeks came forth. Sensuous, pink lips were created. Dark, dramatic eyes emanated from pencil and brush. Soft, translucent powder set the finish.

The person before me in the mirror was me... yet someone I had never laid eyes on before. I could harly stop staring at this face... this emissary from another realm who had come into my body.

"Oh we're just getting started here," Angel reminded. "It's wig-out time."

Over two dozen wigs of all cuts and colors, were spread before me. A quick mental calculation suggested that I was looking at perhaps $3,000 worth of wigs in one place... all for me to indulge... all for my enjoyment.

I tried on perhaps 10 or so, and found several looks that I found appealing. I'm a sucker for blondes, but I know that they get noticed, and so most of the wigs I chose tended toward brunette. Angel suggested that I put aside my favorite three or four... to try on again with various clothing styles and combinations.

Next it was on to the fitting room... first to be fitted for breast forms.

Angel suggested that I try the state-of-the-art silicone breast forms (made for mastectomy patients and selling for over $700 per pair). "These will bond to your chest, warm to your body heat and truly become part of you. They are the ultimate," she said.

She helped me properly place the forms into a beautiful black 38-C bra. They felt exquisite. Never before had I ever felt such a sensation.

"Now we can find something to wear," Angel said, pointing me to the closet... literally brimming with a wide range of styles. Dresses... skirts... blouses... coats. Again I was amazed at the quality and quantity of the items provided.

"Feel free to try on anything you want," Angel said. "Keep in mind that there are items you may want to only wear here in the hotel room. We can take some sexy pictures if you like. Then we can dress for going out on the town later on."

I felt like a kid in a candy store... so many choices. It would take hours to try on everything.

I slipped into a black leather mini-skirt and see-through black blouse. Black stockings and black high heels were added, and gold necklace and earrings completed the ensemble.

"Oh my God," I gasped as I looked into the full-lenth mirror. Could that woman staring back truly be me? It was, and I felt a mild rush of delirium. Never in my fondest dreams had I dared dream that I would witness such an image.

We took a few Polaroids and -- reluctantly, for I knew this could be the first and last time I would ever have the chance to wear such an outfit -- I shimmied out of the leather miniskirt ensemble and gathered together a new set of clothing.

This, an ultra tight-fitting mini-dress of off-white and black lateral stripes, was another sight to behold. Another round of photographs ensued.

Next, a gorgeous burgundy party dress, all ruffles and frills. More pictures.

And then five or six dresses of various lengths and sexiness quotients... followed by six or seven mix and match sets of skirts, blouses and sweaters... searching for that just-right look in which to brave the adventure out of doors.

Naturally, photos followed each particular look. We went well past the complementary one roll (10 photos) and ended up shooting two more rolls of film. Each additional roll costs $15... so for a measly $30 I have a complete album of photos to remember this very special occasion.

Finally, I found a look that I felt at least somewhat confident in... confident, that is, that I might not attract the attention of everyone within a five mile radius. Certainly not confident that I could actually pass as a woman.

Angel suggested that I add press-on nails now that the dressing part was done. She applied them quickly, brushed my hair, sprayed me with perfume, we donned our coats and off we went into the chilly Seattle night.

"What are you hungry for?" Angel asked as we cruised toward the trendy and bohemian Capitol Hill district.

"I'm more nervous than hungry," I replied.

"Well, that's natural," Angel reassured, "but you look wonderful. You are going to do just great. You'll see. Now, what'll it be?"

We wound up at a place called Charlies, on Broadway, where they feature elegant decor and a wide-ranging menu. The place was packed.

"Right this way, ladies," the door host instructed. Angel led me onward, striding confidently through the closely-spaced tables.

"Is this alright, ladies?" the door host asked. "Perfect," Angel replied as we staked claim to a corner booth.

Quickly, a waiter came to inquire if we wished drinks.

"A margarita on the rocks, please," Angel replied without hesitation. "Me, too," I mumbled extremely self-consciously.

The waiter did not waiver. "I'll be right back with those. Thank you, ladies."

My head was swimming. Was I really out in public, dressed up as a woman. Being called a "lady"? I glanced toward the center of the restaurant. Almost every table was filled. People were talking, laughing, eating, drinking, smoking. No one was looking at us.

"Yes, isn't that a shame," Angel replied to my stated thoughts. "I guess we're not knockouts."

Our drinks came. Angel offered a toast. "Here's to The Emerald Fantasy." I heartily concurred. The tangy, sour-sweet, salty margarita was like none I had ever had before. Oh, it tasted much the same... yet somehow the experience was infinitely more exotic. I looked around again... no one was pointing toward me, laughing at me, condemning me to eternal damnation. Indeed, I was in heaven. Floating on a feminine cloud, I began to believe.

Dinner was fabulous... though I was so excited I could hardly remember to enjoy each delectable morsel. The experience, however, I was eating up. The waiter checked with us frequently. "Are you ladies doing OK?" "We're just fine," Angel would happily respond.

As we left the restaurant I followed some distance behind Angel. Many heads turned toward her, as they do for all tall women. I saw eyes sizing her up, then nonchalantly going back to their dinner or conversations. Then I quickly threaded my way through the tables. Near the door I paused to look back... apparently nobody found me the least bit interesting. Hrrumph!

Outside we strolled down kinetic, neon-blazing Broadway. Scores of people passed us. A few people smiled. Were they reading us or just being friendly? I couldn't tell.

We ducked into the Broadway Market, a collection of eclectic shops. "Here is a great store for good, inexpensive jewelry," Angel said as she streaked inside. I followed in her wake.

I ended up buying several nice rings and a bracelet... all for less than $15. What a bargain! Angel also bought a ring.

Back in the mall the aroma of a variety of fresh-brewing coffees and baking pastries lured us forward. We split a chocolate croissant and sat for awhile sipping lattes.

Upstairs a movie let out and throngs of people came down the escalator and wandered past us. I was amazed. Here I was, a complete woman, sitting sipping latte in the midst of a mall. And getting away with it!

We finished our refreshments and Angel glanced at her watch. "OK, we have time for one more adventure. What do you say we go dancing!"

I gulped. A restaurant. A city street. A mall. A cafe. All were one thing, but dancing? Could I possibly pull that off?

Ten minutes later we were in line to enter a dance club. "They'll probably ask for our IDs," Angel said. "Just show it. There won't be any problem."

Sure enough, as we entered the club we were carded. The doorman glanced quickly at my drivers license and handed it back to me. "You're OK," he said, and turned his attention to the girl behind me.

We entered the dark, smoky hall, industrial rock pounding... the dance floor already quite active. I should say dance floors... as there were multiple stages of varying heights off the main floor where people could dance. Angel headed straight for the main, highest stage. She stripped off her coat and stashed it along with her purse in the corner and yelled at me to "Come on. This is the best place."

I could not believe that I was climbing the stairs to dance on a stage in a crowded club. But indeed I was. I pulled off my coat and piled it and my purse atop Angel's... then joined her in dancing. Tentative at first... I just knew everyone in the entire club was looking at me. I faced away from the crowd, afraid to confront the scorn and ridicule of an army of normal people.

Angel danced with me. Two girlfriends having fun. Fast rock... just move your body... anyone can do it. I dared turn around... and was stunned. No one was watching us. They were all... just dancing. Imagine that.

We danced and danced. Maybe 10 songs in a row. Whoa, I was tired. But happy. Oh, so happy. What a rush. What a life!

Soon, too soon, it was time to go. We had already gone an hour past the scheduled end of my Emerald Fantasy. "Don't worry, happens all the time," Angel said. "Girls just wanna have fun... and that's what we do, wouldn't you say?"

Yes, indeed.

So, we returned to the Emerald Inn. It took me about 10 minutes to undo all of the magic that Angel had woven together. It was sad. When I came out of the bathroom, returned to ugly frog mode, Angel exclaimed, "Yikes, who is that?"

I smiled, yet Angel could see that I wasn't particularly thrilled to be dumped back into maleness... especially not after the fabulously sensuous experience I had just been through.

And then, I hated to depart from my new best friend. Although I had known Angel for exactly nine and a half hours... I felt as if she was my long lost sister. I felt like crying... but then I felt like leaping for joy remembering the evening I had just experienced.

"Oh, I hate for it all to end," I finally said as I hugged Angel goodnight.

"I know. Me, too. But we both need some rest. I'll see you back here, same time, same place, tomorrow."

So off I went... a frog again... but buzzing inside with the unbelievable after-glow of an Emerald Fantasy. Wow!

It is a night I will carry with me forever as the most memorable day of my life... unless, that is, tomorrow night is even better!