You see, I have been waiting for the Muse to strike, but so far her gentle kiss has eluded me. Usually when I have a piece to write, it swirls around in my head and wonderful sentences and whole paragraphs magically appear. This time the Muse has been strangely silent. I am not sure why. Perhaps it is because the task is not straight forward. I don't know how to shape this document. Is it a thank you? I have already said thank you, although it can surely bear repeating: Thank you, thank you, Angel, for a wonderful and enlightening Emerald Fantasy. Is it to be an advertisement? Certainly I heartily endorse Angel's extraordinary service, and perhaps the best proof of my satisfaction is that I am planning to have another Fantasy in the fall. Or is it to be a documentary of Sharon's Superb Emerald Fantasy? Yes, perhaps that is the form it should take, although I was hoping to make it a bit different than the other diaries in Angel's little collection (I read every one. Twice.)

So to begin at, of course, the beginning- well, now, that brings up an interesting point; just what is the beginning of all this? Is it my first TV experience (mother's lipstick, age 6 or 7)? No, that could take quite some while. My discovery of the EF website? Gee, come to think of it, since you're reading this, I guess you already know about that. Heck, maybe we should just zoom in to a February Friday at 4pm.

But before we do, perhaps even before the beginning, I should give a little explanation (or apology). I tend to get side-tracked. You may have already noticed. I go off on tangents. It must be a sine of something. (Sorry, that just sorta slipped out.) And I tend to run on at the keyboard. Sometimesmywordsevenruntogether. It is one of several character faults, and by no means my worst. But please excuse my digressions; I will, eventually, get to the point.

OK, NOW it is Friday at 4 PM. No, I'm not there yet. I mean, I'm not yet at the studio. It has to do with another character fault; my eyes are bigger than my stomach. I had had great plans of making up before I even got to the studio and arriving en femme. You see, I am fortunate enough to live in Seattle (just a happy accident; I am not so clever as to have planned such a thing.) I had gotten lucky and had the day off. The family was away for the day (wife finally knows; doesn't yet know what to think), so I thought I could just use the morning to gussy up. HA! Yet another character trait steps in to foil my best laid plans. I am a pack-rat, and an untidy one at that (Hmmm. Have you ever known a tidy pack-rat?) And I wanted to take along a "few things" to put on at the studio. Those few things filled up several suitcases and some boxes, and getting them together consumed all of the morning and part of the afternoon, leaving me with just enough time to properly shower.

So it is now 3:58 PM and I am doing pretty well (for me); I am only a stones' throw from the studio. Hey, what's this? Road blocked! And since the railroad tracks run through this part of town, the streets are a bit funny, and I have to make quite a detour. I manage to get slightly lost in the process, and the clock reads about 4:10 by the time I park and walk up to the studio.

As I entered, a young woman inside smiled and asked, "Are you Sharon?"

Now here the Muse got up and left me entirely. Another week has gone by, and I am still unsure of how to proceed. This is where I should describe Angel. But that is not so easy. I just re-read all 7 of the EF diaries. While I recognize the woman they each describe as "Angel", the person who stood smiling at me did not match my expectations at all. At this point I can no longer tell you what I was expecting. Linda Beth called her "very attractive." Nicole said "if Angel had worn that dress… she would have had all the men in heart failure." Barbara Ann saw her as "very feminine", as did Carol: "taller than me, but extremely feminine." Denise said "…very attractive."

On the basis of those descriptions and the pleasant email we exchanged, I had become convinced I would fall in love with the lovely and captivating Angel. Oh, it's not that serious. Perhaps "severe crush" would be a better description. It happens to me all the time. Well, every few years, at least.

I guess I was expecting something on the order of a tall, blonde bombshell. What I saw seemed to be a petite, rather quiet and mousy brunette. Not beautiful (a word I tend to reserve for Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner, Audrey Hepburn and a few others). I said petite back there, but she's not, really. I honestly couldn't say how tall she is. Probably almost my height (5' 10), but the impression I had was of a smaller woman. She is slender, and almost delicate in appearance, and glasses hide her exquisite eyes (eyes which I did not discover until Day Two as she was making me up).

I think the secret here is that Angel is actually an elephant. You know that old story about the blind men who examined an elephant? One, feeling the body, thought an elephant was like a wall. Another grabbed the tail and knew that elephants were like snakes. A third wrapped his arms around a leg and discovered that elephants are like trees. I think, like the elephant, Angel appears slightly different to each person who meets her. So of course my comments tell you more about me than they do about Angel.

There's another reason for my fuzzy image of Angel. She has worked hard to blend in. She is a very successful transgendered person. Angel passes as a woman without question, but she does so partly by remaining well below the radar screen (her phrase). While I was with her, she made no attempt to stand out. She was quiet, yet self assured. She blended in perfectly. In order to pass so well, she has cultivated a very low profile. She'd probably make a good spy, ala the novels, as she is all but invisible when she is in public. It is a remarkable achievement, and it took me quite a while (until now, in fact) to realize what I was seeing. Or was not seeing. She's just… ordinary. Extraordinary! (Those of you who don't recognize this as a profound compliment just go ahead and try to become invisible in public.)

(Today, five months later, as I edit this for the umpteenth {and I hope last} time, I can tell you that I no longer have any idea what Angel looks like. I am honestly not sure I would recognize her even in the context of her studio.)

Well, if I can't tell you much about her physical appearance, let me attempt to describe the wonderful person I glimpsed inside.

The few other transsexuals I had met had … problems. I have now had a tiny bit more experience (that's the fifth-month re- re-editor talking, having been to one Emerald City Social Club meeting), and I now realize my previous encounters were a sampling error. I also realize that the stresses of gender changing may have soaked up so much mental energy from those others that they had temporarily lost some of their humor and perspective.

Angel is way beyond that; it was probably never an issue with her at all. She is a whole person. She is intelligent, but more importantly, she is wise. She is kind. She is non-judgmental. She is gentle. She is generous. She is good company. Barbara Ann noted that "she always has a way of making you feel like you are a beautiful person (her magic) both inside and outside." She is full of hints and praise and little encouragements to help you become that other (feminine) person who has been lurking under the surface for so long. In this task she seems completely selfless. YOU are the focus. I actually had a hard time getting her to talk about herself.

But I was curious. I had described myself to her as "in my mid-50's, an overweight professional, married over 30 years with three children, two dogs, bunions, and a mortgage. Pretty typical." She acknowledged that this was a pretty typical profile. I asked about the extremes in her clientele. Her biggest client was well over 300 lbs and way over six feet tall. She says she made him fairly passable. I was skeptical then, but now I'm a believer. The prettiest was a gal from Russia (wow- a long way to travel!), who apparently was simply stunning. I wish I could have seen her. The oldest was 73! She has had doctors, lawyers, clergy, engineers, professors and teachers, laborers and salesmen. She had a psychiatrist who, oddly, had not thought of counseling in the TG arena until she suggested it. She has had military Special Forces guys who had always had "these feelings", and were relieved to finally express them. (These guys really impress me, both because of the courage and dedication it takes to go through that training, and for their courage to explore that other side of themselves.) The range of people she has helped boggles the mind.

Which is why I know she can help you, gentle reader, whoever you are (here I am slipping into ad mode). Have you been putting off contacting Angel? Since you are reading this, I know you are interested, and you should just DO IT, if you possibly can. Even if you've been successfully dressing for awhile, she can help you polish your act.

DAY ONE
Angel invited me into the studio, and we sat and chatted. You've read all that before. She really is extremely good at putting one at ease. She looked at the stuff I had brought (much too much), and we set some aside for trying on later (most of it I had never gotten a chance to wear). Then came the transformation.

So now comes the part where I tell you how flabbergasted I was to behold the astounding beauty who looked back at me from the mirror. Uhhh, sorry. It sorta looked like… me, only with make up. I guess the fact that I've done some make up before kinda spoiled it. I guess I hadn't really done such a bad job in the past, all things considered. Oh, this was definitely better than I had done, but the face was still mine.

Now here is an interesting thing. Last week (re-edit: now a month ago, when I began this piece), when I dressed up, I thought I really DID look different. Almost pretty, in fact. Does that reflect an ongoing change in my perception of myself (or my perception of my Sharon-self)? Or was the difference that I was a little more lavish with the eye make-up? Or was I just in a contrary/skeptical mood four months ago? Usually there is a little voice in the back of my mind which tells me which of several such alternatives is likely true. That voice is silent on this issue. In any case, for whatever reason, when Angel turned me to the mirror, it was just George, with make-up, staring back at me. I admit I was a little disappointed. (My name's not George, but you get the idea.)

The surprise was to come later. With the second outfit I put on, Angel herded me out into the hall for a picture. Instructed me how to stand, yadda, yadda (the other girls have told this better than I), and snapped the Polaroid. To my amazement, my SISTER was looking back at me in the picture! Angel says she gets that a lot. I must say, I was surprised. And a little pleased.

The time was flying; we had spent too much time going through all that junk I had brought from home. So off we went for dinner, and I never got my nails done or put on any perfume. Gals, don't let this happen to you. Leave time for the little niceties. But I'm such a flibbertigibbet I forgot all about it, and it must be catching, because Angel forgot, too. I am distracting as well as distracted.

Dinner was nice- see any of the other descriptions. I seemed to pass, except when I spoke, and the waitress paid not the least attention; nary a raised brow nor a falter in her smooth service; just a genuine smile. And Sharon didn't eat as much as George usually would- an interesting phenomenon noted by other writers.

Alas I had to change back to boy clothes before returning home. I had scheduled my Emerald Fantasy to coincide with a mother-daughter weekend trip, but that trip had been moved ahead a week and I had been forced to tell my dear wife what I was up to ("I'm going to have a makeover." "Humph" was her only comment). My daughter does not know of my "hobby", so off with the make-up. Phooey. Rats. I had been looking forward to driving home en femme. Ah, well. Count your blessings, girl.

DAY TWO
Sometime during our chatting on day one, Angel had looked me square in the eye and asked, "Just who is Sharon, anyway? What is she like? What does she like to do?" I had never thought about it before. There was no "Sharon". It was just a name I had picked more or less at random to use when ordering women's clothes from mail-order houses. It was only an alias for George. "Sharon" indeed. What a strange thought, that this might be a real person. But Angel evidently believed there was such a person.

So when I got home on day one, and in the morning on day two, I spent a little time throwing together a short description of Sharon. I regarded it as homework. I handed it in to Angel when I arrived on day two. She made some helpful suggestions, and I then tucked the paper and the notion away. But it has been niggling at me ever since. Who is Sharon? What does she like? Could this have anything to do with the different reaction I had to my make-up job last week? (I'm writing this part a week after I first began this piece.) As Alice says, "Curiouser and curiouser."

I had mentioned to Angel that I had felt oddly let down by my lack of reaction, my lack of excitement at going out en femme the day before. The other girls had all expressed great elation at their emergence. I just felt… well, not completely normal, but nowhere near as excited as I had expected. Where was that adrenalin rush? And the rush usually has a sexual side to it; certain parts… er… swell, become tumescent, erect (or at least make some feeble attempt in that direction; isn't getting old fun?) I had been oddly flaccid the day before. What's going on here? Angel's explanation was that Sharon was more real than I imagined (Sharon, yet another month later, interjects, "Oh yeah, I'm real all right!"), and she did not necessarily get excited just by dressing; it was just a natural thing to do. "Poppycock!" says the little truth-tester voice in my head (odd that he should use that particular expression at this juncture…), but maybe, just maybe there's a grain of truth there.

This would also explain the other lack I noticed. I did not fall in love with Angel. I think her explanation would be that Sharon, being a woman, wasn't really attracted to other women. Four months ago I was pretty sure Angel's notion was a Fig Newton of her imagination. Now, I'm not quite so sure.

So what has all that to do with DAY TWO? Well, Angel asked what it would take to shake Sharon up a little, to get her excited. I had given it a little thought, and I asked if it were possible to get a make-over in a department store. I have often walked by when some gal was getting fussed over by a comely and elegantly quaffed young professional and it looked like fun. "Sure," said Angel, "we've done that before."

So after some trying on of outfits and getting some pictures, off we went to Southcenter, one of the larger shopping malls.

Now you must realize that this second day is a bit blurry in my mind. Despite my protestations that I wasn't all that excited, there was something going on that has interfered with my memory. I think it was primarily sensory overload. There is also the little problem that I procrastinated for so long in writing this; it has been over four months since I walked into the Southcenter Nordstroms for my make-over, and the details fade. I should have jotted down something, even if I was unsure of the final form this piece was to take.

We got there rather late (seven-ish) on a Saturday night, yet there were clients at most of the cosmetics counters. We settled on Lancome. The make-up artist (that's what the pretty young gal behind the counter called her) was busy with another customer at the moment, but she said we could be next, and that it would probably be about a half hour wait.

So off we went to Penny's, where we shopped for skirts and blouses (nothing caught my eye that would fit), and bought some nice silver necklaces. Angel forbade me to buy any pearls. "You have enough." I don't see how anyone could ever have enough pearls (is 23 lbs enough?), but I promised I wouldn't buy any more for a year. (So far I've kept that promise, but I rather feel like a junkie cut off from his/her source.) Then back to the Nordstroms.

Valerie, the artist, was not yet through with her other customer. The customer was a pretty woman in her early thirties, who was going to a costume ball. She wanted a Liza Minnelli/Cabaret make-over. Valerie was two thirds done, and the effect was dramatic. Liza was appearing before our eyes! There was a long discussion about where the beauty mark was to go. I finally chimed in with the observation that since we all couldn't quite remember, it didn't much matter where it went. There was general agreement with this. My odd voice didn't draw any comments or stares, except from a little girl holding her mother's hand. She was about four. She looked up at me sitting on the stool and awaiting my turn and just peered at me for a long moment. I gave her a big smile, and she decided that the funny man was pretty harmless and turned her attention back to her mom's transaction at the counter. Oh, I'm sure she would have made me, even if I hadn't spoken, although almost no one else in the mall did. Kids are pretty keen observers, even if they don't have as much information as adults and don't always know how to put together what they see. (By the way, Liza's beauty mark was about one and a half inches below the outside corner of her left eye. I checked.)

Then it was my turn. Valerie didn't bat an eye, but complimented me on the job Angel had done, and inquired what the new look was to be. We agreed that the more natural look was desired (I would not make a convincing Liza), and Valerie went to work.

I have not a clue as to what she did. She gave me great gobs of (probably) useful information, and most of it just tumbled out the other ear. Oddly, I was not excited, nor nervous. I did not feel entirely natural, but I did not feel completely out of place, either. I have walked out of many situations where I did feel out of place- movies, concerts, lectures, seminars, discussion groups, planning groups, sales-pitches. I know how to do it. I have a very low tolerance for bullshit. Well, I guess in this situation I was providing the bullshit, but Valerie is a professional and a trooper, and we had a ball. Insofar as I was capable of having a ball (well, maybe I was just a little bit nervous). And Valerie at least acted as though she was having fun, too. I think she was. But although this was fun, it was nowhere near as thrilling as I had imagined it would be.

I think the reason I was not thrilled was indeed that Sharon was there, doing something quite natural for a woman (even if she'd never done it before) and George was in the background. Valerie is in her mid twenties and very attractive. Of course her make-up was outstanding. I remember gazing into her eyes as she concentrated on mine…, and George sort of wondered… and Sharon said, "No, that's not appropriate." So the thought never got beyond admiring Valerie's eyes, and Sharon then tried to analyze how her make up was done.

The final result was quite nice. Not outstanding, but then, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I bought quite a few things for my make-up kit, thanked Valerie profusely, and we made our way out to the mall in search of dinner.

The rest you've already read 7 times before. Like all the other girls, I was both pleased and surprised at how smoothly things went, at how well I was treated, and how quickly the time flew by. And parting is sweet sorrow.

Epilogue
A week later my wife and daughter were at the beach for their weekend. On Saturday I transformed myself into Sharon, trying to remember all the little tricks Angel had taught me. I did a fair job. I climbed into my car and set off to have dinner at a highly touted (at least in their website) lesbian/gay tavern in Everett, a small city just north of Seattle. Although it was almost 7:30 when I arrived, the place was practically empty. I wandered about for a few minutes, but clearly this was not my kind of place. It was dark and smoky and had a lonely feel. Perhaps had I had company it would have been OK. I bet it doesn't start to swing until much later in the evening. Thursdays are said to rock there, with a glamorous CD entertainer. I will try a Thursday some day.

Back to the car, and back to Seattle for the second event I had scoped out on the web, a party/fund-raiser for The Seattle Men's Chorus (they are gay). I felt a little self-conscious walking up and down Pike Street on Capitol Hill in Seattle (although if you've ever been there, you know that I must have been one of the more normal looking people on the street!) as I looked for the party. I found it eventually, went in and paid, receiving a very wide grin from the cashier. Of course these folks are going to make you, unless you are very, very good. I sat and listened to the music and drank some wine from a paper cup. The party was just getting underway. There was one fellow, not very tall, a bit round, balding on top, who wore a transparent vinyl skirt over his jeans and swirled around all alone on the dance floor. I admired his acceptance of himself. Sometime later a tall glorious vision of elegance, in a lovely black gown and very high heels swooped onto the floor. I could not see much of her against the lights in the background, but I knew this was a guy who really knew how to drag (is drag a verb? No matter, one of the lovely things about English is that any noun can be verbed or used adjectively). (Just an aside, Microsoft's WORD doesn't like "verbed" but readily accepted "adjectively". Go figure.)

But again, this was not really my cup of tea, and again, had I had company it would have been rather fun, but as a fundamentally shy kind of person, this was not where I wanted to be. So after about 45 minutes I stuffed another contribution into their jar and made my escape into the cool Seattle night air.

What did I learn?
First and foremost, it is possible to dress and go out in public, and (practically) nobody notices, or cares. At least in Seattle.

Wait-people and saleswomen (I didn't try any salesmen), are 100% on your side. They are in the service industry, and most of them have seen it all anyway. If you are friendly and polite, they will be too.

Black make-up and wigs are for the very young, but black is the only color you need for shoes and purse.

I need a wig with long hair to cover my thick neck, and one with bangs to cover my eyebrows. (My wife loves my big bushy eyebrows and they are sort of her territory. I rather like them, too, except when I dress.)

High heels are fun, but not practical. They make a tall person taller, and tall women always get checked out. If you want to pass, high heels are out. And they hurt after awhile. Real women wear flats a lot, for good reason.

I need long sleeves to cover my arms (too much muscle for a gal; a bit less than I'd like as a guy).

Dresses are a bad idea for me. I'm too fat, I have no hips, and I just look funny in even the prettiest dress. A loose top over a skirt is much better.

I got just the slightest taste of what being a woman must be like. I had not thought it would be quite so different from being a man. (Item one: When Angel and Valerie were looking at lipstick shades for me, they chose a sort of brown. Both commented on how pretty it was. Brown? Pretty? It's just a color. Or a non-color. It seemed a bit like saying that pi was lavender or a fish was middle C. Their thinking totally eludes George; maybe Sharon will come to see it. Item two: Sometime in there I was examining Sharon in the mirror, and realized she had creases from nose to corner of mouth. As a little experiment I pulled back the skin of my face near the ears, and the creases disappeared. I looked much younger and prettier. I was startled to notice that I was thinking semi-seriously of a face-lift!)

And finally, I learned that I have a lot yet to learn. Among other things, I need another few days with Angel.

Tips for getting the most out of your time with Angel.

First, if you haven't made your appointment with Angel, go get your calendar and start planning.

Don't buy any more girl stuff: clothes or wigs or make-up, breast forms or bras or foundations. It is probably wasted money unless you really know what you are doing. Angel will steer you in the right direction. Several bras and foundations that I thought were pretty gave me an unnatural look (Mt Fuji and Mt. Vesuvius side by side, and, perhaps appropriately, pointing East and West!). My breast forms are bigger than I want, although I'm not springing for new ones just yet.

I wore Angel's forms when we went out. Angel's prices on forms are extremely competitive, the forms are gorgeous, and she will fit you with what works, but you really have to try things on to see. Angel will also have everything else you need, in your size, if she has a little time to shop (I'm big, and I kind of rushed my appointment in on her when an opportunity presented itself). Her prices on wigs can't be beat, and she can sell you one (or several) that really work for YOU. If you are considering her service at all (and you probably wouldn't be reading this if you weren't), then I know you don't know enough to buy these things on your own. You need Angel's help.

Give some thought to what you want to do when you are all dolled up. You can do more than you think. You WILL pass, and even if you don't it is no big deal, so go have fun. Have dinner. Go to a show. Go dancing. Go shopping. Get your nails done professionally. Consult with Angel beforehand and give her your suggestions and desires. Beauty and nail salons will need advance planning, or you may want your visit to coincide with some special event in Seattle (rock concert, baseball game, special party or drag show, hydroplane races). Angel may be able to help suggest something that tickles your fancy.

In my case, and apparently for most others, speech is a problem. Disguising the male voice takes lots of practice. If you are interested, there are web sites that give particular instructions for this (try http://heartcorps.com/journeys/voice.htm). Now would be the time to begin; perhaps if you are more comfortable with your voice you will enjoy your time out more. However, I gather that many experienced CD folks just use their regular voice; the key is self acceptance. Damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead!

Walking can also be a problem and will require a little practice ahead of time, if you have not already done so. Women sort of roll their hip forward as they transfer weight to that side, creating that wobble or swish we see from the rear. I bet there are web sites for that, too, but I haven't had time to find them. Watch out, though, that you don't develop bad habits; too much sway looks phony.

Finally, just who are you. Like me you may be surprised to find that "Emily" is not just a name you happened to pick out. If you let her, she can have some substance. Who would you like her to become?

OK, so now what's holding you up? Ahhh, it's the price. Well, you get what you pay for. This is a vacation. How much do you usually spend on a vacation? How about a big vacation? How much do you spend on your other hobbies? I once asked a ham radio operator how much his hobby cost. His answer was that all hobbies cost about $5,000. I didn't believe him at first, but on reflection, he's not far wrong. Skiing, kayaking, biking, golf; stamps or coins, cars or boats, model airplanes or trains (it turns out that a lot of the folk at Emerald City Social Club are into model trains); fishing, robotics, ham radio, rocks, woodworking, astronomy, photography, whatever, they all need a bit more than you think at first blush.. Oh, you can start any of them on a shoestring. A clunker bike for $75. A point-and-shoot camera for $50. A bra, some make-up and stockings for $25. But if you get into it, all of them end up absorbing as much money as you are willing to spend. While enjoyment of your hobby is not directly related to how much you spend, there is a general positive correlation, and there is a very positive correlation between how much you learn about your hobby and your enjoyment of it. Some things simply can't be learned from books. You need a mentor.

Plumbers are $50 to $75 an hour. The same for expert help with your computer, or your taxes, or your car. Piano lessons are $50. Lawyers cost $150 to $300 an hour. Sessions with a psychiatrist are $150 for a 50 minute hour. While Angel has not had formal training in counseling, law, the sartorial arts or make-up, she is still an expert, a true professional. This business is a hobby for her, not her main job. She runs it as a service to the TG community. She has to commute to Seattle from a smaller town some 40 minutes away, and she has a sizable overhead in clothes, make-up, wigs, breast forms, jewelry and rent. Believe me, she's a bargain.

An Emerald Fantasy is a gift to yourself, a springboard to a better understanding of yourself. If you don't do it, you will always wonder…

Come on in, the water’s fine!

(A month later: better than fine. Fantastic)

Sharon