UPDATED February 14th 2019.....A lady of taste, decorum, style and of a certain age with a penchant for late 50's and early 60's fashions who thinks that pencil suits, veiled hats, kid gloves, seamed FF and RHT stockings and long point stiletto court shoes should NEVER go out of vogue - and is gratified to see that the current crop of fashion cognoscenti appear to have discovered this great truth....a half a lifetimes collection of photographs in this vein yet to come....
Actually I blame Rose Alba and Bob Simmons for my conversion to eonism. They played Spectre agent 6 who was despatched by 007 in the pre-credits sequence of Thunderball. I had never been aware of cross-dressing before that and the fact that a man could look that good in an LBD and stilettos piqued my interest. As is now well known the car and stair shots and that bit up to the first punch were Rose Alba with Bob Simmons taking over for the fight scene. Nevertheless, the seed had been laid.
I discovered very quickly how to put on a roll-on girdle and fasten my bits out of the way. I was quite hairless then, and a few pairs of socks gave me a nice firm set of tits. I carefully insinuated the stockings onto my legs and took my time fastening them to the suspenders. My heart was thudding. Taking the lined skirt from the chair I stepped into it and manoeuvred it up over my legs and hips. It was a pencil type that would fall to just below my knees. I was able to do it up and zip it behind me. So far so good. The silk scarf lay on the bed and I arranged it around my neck in the style I had seen my mother and aunts use. I had not yet looked in the mirror. The stockings felt shimmery on my legs and feet and if this is what women experienced then I could see the attraction. Taking the jacket from the bed I put it on and arranged the scarf within it, buttoning up the front in its unfamiliar manner. The pillbox hat came next, which I put on my head with both hands after sweeping my hair up under it setting it at a rakish angle. I slid the elbow length brown suede leather gloves onto my hands and forearms taking my time and flexing them carefully. Nearly there. The stiletto court shoes were next. I was going to enjoy trying these on. They were long point courts with a sharp brown leather toecap, which changed to suede just before the vamp and a leather heel to the rear. The soles were of a contrasting light colour to accentuate the slimness of the heel seen from behind. I was the same shoesize as my mother at that time and my feet slid in easily in the stockings. Standing up I was a little unsteady at first but made my way over to the mirror.
I was unprepared for what I saw. There was a slim but gamine young woman dressed in an elegant suit, hat and gloves posing on high immaculate brown suede and leather stilettos. I blew myself a kiss and smiled to myself in the mirror. Any young man who manages to wear stiletto heels for the first time and enjoy them is never the same person again. I straightened my back and held my head up like the models in the catalogues, and then flexed and angled my feet for the best effect. Taking the suede handbag from the bed I tried several poses in front of the mirror, copying how my mother and aunts handled such things. I was surprised at how neat and elegant my feet and legs looked taking in the line of my skirt, my stockinged calves and finally the sharp winkle picker suede and leather pointed toes of the elegant court shoes. The visuals looked good and the suit hung well even allowing for my lack of curves, but I would need to practice. I started to walk back and fore in the bedroom watching myself in the mirror, and I found the easiest way to handle these heels was to sashay a little bit, just as a real woman would. The pencil skirt and stilettos enforced their own discipline in any case. There was one final touch, walking round to my room I went in and picked up a fine watercolour paintbrush from a jar on the dressing table and moving to the bathroom I rummaged in the cabinet to find one of my mother's discarded lipsticks. There was some left in the bottom, so using the brush, being fully attired as I was, I very artistically filled in my lips, and then returned to the bedroom. That was it, the finishing touch. I was now ready to move around the house. A transvestite narcissus in the making.
As I started to move around my nervousness disappeared. I had to think about how I walked but I was starting to get used to the balancing act called stiletto deportment.
These shoes were wonderful for the posture and looking at myself in the hall mirror I decided I looked a far better girl than I did a boy. Sex changes were out of the question in those days and if anyone had discovered me then I would probably have been sent for electric shock aversion therapy, such were the phobias of the time. Society did not admit the existence of anything less than muscularly Christian convention and this sort of gender interplay would have been ruthlessly dealt with. We took many risks for our hobby in those days.
So such activities were conducted in conditions of deep stealth, and dare I say it great pleasure. My feet warmed the shoes and as I clicked around the house they became more comfortable. I really had to think what I was doing wearing them and practised coming down the stairs in an elegant semi-sideways motion to cater for the tight skirt (even allowing for the kick split) and to ensure the pointed toes did not get caught up and cause me to trip.
As I posed before the mirror I decided that I must continue with this other aspect of my psyche, no matter what anybody else thought. In fact I decided that it would not be a consideration, as nobody else would ever know. My mother had a capsule wardrobe of very nice suits, coats and matching court shoes and over the following year I sampled them all. I was never less than beautifully turned out and accessorised, and so careful and precise in returning everything to its proper place that I don’t think she ever suspected and if she did she has never mentioned it from that day to this.
I wore my first pair of winkle picker black patent leather courts on Easter Bank Holiday 1965, with a black double breasted cropped jacket pencil suit my mother kept for funerals and interviews, a fine red silk jersey polo neck, elbow length black leather gloves which reached back into the three quarter cuffs of the jacket, a glossy black patent handbag with gold clasp, and a red pill box hat with black veil. The skirt was fully lined and came to three inches below my knee, and I had on fine black RHT stockings clipped to the black and red corselette below. The finishing touches were a black patent rear fastening belt, and a thick gold chain of hers around my neck. This time I had moved onto some old foundation and brushed on bright red lipstick to match the sweater and hat. A fifteen year old Audrey Hepburn was looking at me.
I moved around the house viewing my reflection in various mirrors and amused myself on the landing practising my stair technique in the mirror and posing like the models of the 50's. My cousin Mary thought of me as a scruffy boy - if only she could see me now - she would be either repelled or enchanted. - interesting possibilities. I curtseyed to myself in the mirror and the electricity that ran up my legs as my calves rubbed together made my prick jerk. The pull of the stockings, the slithery feeling of my legs and the tightness of the skirt lining as I crossed and uncrossed them and the firm hold of the wickedly pointed courts on my black stockinged feet was very arousing and after an hour of posing around the house, curtseying to myself in the mirror and marvelling at how these stilettos pushed my bum up and out, and made me fill the skirt, it was time for the final denouement. I had been in a state of excitement all afternoon and now I wanted to have a suitable event to round it all off.
My sister at that time was starting to ride, and in her bedroom wardrobe where she kept her riding gear was her crop. It was a black leather one with a chrome ferrule about four inches long from the wrist strap, which was gently radiused at the end. It was nearly three feet long with a goading tag on the far end. I thought it would make an amusing prop.
Catching my refection I the mirror, there I was. A high born elegantly dressed young woman posed with immaculate suit, gloves, handbag and glossy patent court shoes a riding crop in her free hand. Going on to the landing I half draped myself over the banister and and gave myself several playful stokes of the crop across my girdled bottom It stung, but pleasantly so. I was turning into a playfully perverse little minx.
After the episode with the crop it was a while before I got the opportunity to dress again.
Being left in the house while they visited relatives I had planned my next session carefully. By now I was becoming practised. My mother had an olive green suede leather suit with leather collar and three quarter batwing sleeves she wore to work sometimes. She had steamed it the previous weekend and hung it in the wardrobe. The skirt was a hip hugger that came down to just below the knee, with a kick split for walking. I had had my eye on this for a while. I closed the curtains in her bedroom and proceeded to lay everything on the bed in the correct order. I had already set out the selection of makeup in the bathroom. Such was my pre-planning, this only took a quarter of an hour.
I stripped down to a pair of small y-fronts which would be covered by the corselette in any case. I slid the corselette on quite quickly getting quite practised by now, and inserted two small bags of rice that I had made up into the cups. These gave me breasts of the right size and weight. I had selected a pair of her bitter chocolate seamed stockings from the wash basket where she had put them that morning. They still smelt of her perfume. These I put on very carefully, ensuring my seams were straight, and finally fastening them carefully before tightening up the suspender straps. This always felt so good on my hairless legs. The shoes were long point stiletto courts of Italian design, dark tan in colour with a stitched motif on the pointed toe and at the heel end with a very slim sculpted tapering four inch heel with the last two inches parallel and ending in a tip slightly under a quarter inch square. These shoes also had a steel tip on the ends of the toes and made a satisfying clicking sound on tiled floors. They had a beautiful soft suede lining and stepping into them was like having your toes and feet caressed by feathers. I intended to do my makeup whilst in stilettos so that I could get used to them. Stepping into them I experienced the usual jolt of pleasure I got from looking down at my legs and feet usually seen in heavy lace up school shoes now attractively shod in fine stockings and tan kidskin stiletto courts. If they could see me now!
My mother had a silk kimono she used for doing the makeup and I slipped that on also.
I was going to use the same colour scheme she did when she wore this outfit. In the bathroom I sponged on foundation and while that was drying applied a coat of bronze brown lipstick with my brushes. My eyes I subtly coloured with bronze eye shadow and heightened my cheekbones with some blusher. I could adjust it later.
Returning to the bedroom and gaining confidence in these heels I took off the kimono and put the bronze coloured necklace she wore with this around my neck. Her clip on drop earrings came next. I caught myself in the mirror and I must say I looked quite lush.
Moving around in these stockings and heels was making me feel quite randy.
I checked my seams in the mirror and flexed my feet in the courts. Even with the high slim heel they were comfortable once you got used to them, the long point being not so constrictive on the feet while looking utterly stylish.
The blouse that went with the suit was a cowl necked one in a light tan colour with three quarter sleeves that was back buttoned. I soon worked out how to put this on, and smoothed it down over the corselette so that it fell correctly. The skirt and belt were next. I had watched my mother put this on before when younger, and being lined it slid up my legs easily and I fastened it around my waist, just tucking the end of the blouse in as I did so. There was a soft tan leather back fastening belt that went with this and I fastened it carefully, then arranging the bottom of the silk blouse to just cover it. I straightened up and caught myself in the mirror. I looked like a younger, slightly slimmer version of my mother. I wondered what she would think if she could see me now.
The skirt came to just below my knees and I smoothed it down so that it hung correctly on my slim hips. The corselette had drawn my stomach in and the stiletto courts forced my backside out as I stood up straight, so I looked quite tall and slim. I could feel my prick starting to stir. I took the jacket from the bed and slipped it on. It hung loosely and elegantly and I shrugged my shoulders into it. The lapels and reveres were olive leather leading into the suede and the single large button was in leather as well with leather piping around the button hole. My mother adored this suit - and I think I do too.
I adjusted the fall of the necklace, and the collar of the blouse to best effect, then taking a clip from the dressing table scooped up as much of my hair as I could and fastened it up o the crown of my head. Her tan Italian leather gloves were next and I first put on the left, carefully and flexing my fingers into it. It fitted a little tightly but I knew it would ease out with the heat of my body as the shoes were now doing. I picked up a bracelet off the dressing table, green amythyst costume jewellery and slipped it over the left wrist ad then
Put the right hand glove on. Flexing my fingers together I took up two dress rings from the jewellery box and put them on my gloved right hand. How decadent! Now for the finishing touch – the hat and scarf. The hat was a tan coloured pill box which I put on over my clipped up hair, and finally a green and tan silk scarf which I arranged around my neck and shoulders.
I picked up the matching tan handbag and I was ready to go, but not far, just around the house.
Over the intervening years I have often tried to analyse this very pleasurable condition. I say that because never have I felt any guilt about it, and having enjoyed a full gamut of heterosexual pleasures of the flesh I knew that it was not just a question of sexual orientation. This was well before the days of the Internet, which has been of great assistance to us all. I came to the conclusion (about 35 years ago) that I was a narcissistic heterosexual transvestite with a strong leather and stiletto heel fetish and having arrived at that conclusion, did not trouble myself further. You must remember that I regarded myself as one of an uncommunicative minority, lumped in with ‘queers’ and ‘homos’ in a population that was largely ignorant or deeply afraid of such things so very deep discretion was essential if I was to continue to explore this fascinating hinterland that was opening up before me. I found underground and retro-punk suppliers a very good source for stiletto court shoes and pencil slim fashion in the 70’s as 50-60 retro was seen as deeply rebellious in the kaftan era. I privately kept the flame of elegance and style alight in my own way in those days and in my private sessions refined my look and demeanour.
Unlike others I never purged my wardrobe and I have items that have been there for over twenty years.
I have been a peripatetic dresser, sometimes the urge has gone for years, but then reasserted itself with greater force. The 80’s were great, just my type of style and lots of opportunity for dressing. I was working away from home for quite long periods and my wardrobe was carried in the capacious boot of a BMW. I stayed in good class business hotels for quite long periods and once the staff become used to you it is quite easy to get upgraded to a suite at no extra cost. At that point the wardrobe was moved in and the Hon. Rowena would dress in elegant pencil slim fashions perhaps a few times a week. I became very practised at compartmentalising my life. Rowena only came alive in high class and luxurious surroundings so I made sure that she wore only the best I could surreptitiously afford.
Expense regimes were not so rigorous then and a pair of Italian leather opera gloves were passed through at one time as something quite different – with full supporting documentation of course.
Ladies outfitters in up market country towns, like Harrogate or Cowbridge or Abergavenny became targets for my stylistic eye and I have purchased some very elegant court shoes (old stock), suits, skirts and silk blouses from such places. The lady owners were usually most accommodating when I expressed an interest and I cleaned one shop out of its old stock of pointy, spiky Sixties stilettos in fine kid and suede and this was in 1977 just before the stiletto oeuvre got going again with the punk set. I suppose you could call me the guerrilla eonist, but none of these ladies ever got upset or flustered with me and several were fascinated at my taste and style which they thought was excellent for a man.
At one point ,about 1985, I was working in Winchester and found myself in the Hampshire town of Alresford. There was a ladies shop there that had a beautifully tailored olive green garberdine pencil suit in the window. I had admired this from afar and one Wednesday evening near closing time I went into the shop. Dressed in male suit with briefcase, the lady within (who I later came to know quite well), took me for a council official or some other jobsworth. She only raised a quizzical eyebrow when I enquired if she had the suit in a size 12, and gave my en-femme measurements. We had a most pleasant conversation and I also purchased a fine black Italian wool polo neck sweater to go beneath it. When she commented that my wife would quite like it, I told her I would like it better. She then looked at me and asked if I would like to try it on, but I told her I would need to wear my padded corselette to get it to hang properly….just like that. I think she had dealt with eonists before – our money is as good as anybody’s. The upshot was that I returned the following evening after closing time with some things in a holdall and she and I went through the shop and I ended up modelling several very nice ensembles over a few glasses of wine. The garberdine suit looked superb on me especially with my good wig and makeup and Miranda, the lady assistant was entranced. She HAD dealt with eonists before it transpired, but apart from one who lived locally (and she was willing to effect an introduction) she had never seen one who looked as good as I or had the style to look completely at home in pencil suit, black kid gloves, stockings and fine black stiletto courts. She draped a slim fitting ,straight, olive green suede leather coat over my shoulders, and that was it, I was sold. Of course, I bought the coat as well………….. ;-)
As for where it all came from - I have pondered this many times, but the nearest pinpoint of time and date is Rhoose Airport in summer 1962. My younger sister was a babe in arms and was being admired by two beautifully arranged Cambrian Airways stewardesses who engaged my mother in conversation. I had never been that close to such elegant and well arranged women who moved with such feline grace in clicking stiletto courts. I was entranced, and I remember wishing I could look like that and
wear those clothes and shoes. Those feelings stayed with me through the years and as soon as I was in a position to try out my mother's suits, stilettos and accessories I did so.
All this was kept deeply hidden in those days, as any deviation from what was normal was regarded as 'queer' - see my profile. I, funnily enough saw no problem with this, as I was doing no harm to anyone as I saw it, and it was a purely private pleasure. I also felt this had to be kept discretely hidden until the world caught up with me. It was only after I began webbin' in 1996 that
I realised that the incidence of such gentle fetishism (if I may call it) was even more widespread than I had thought, but perhaps that is just down to the sites I visit. Truly, I was not alone - but at that point I had been dressing off and on with breaks since 1965.
I am firmly hetero in my cross dressing, preferring the company of women when dressed. This leads some women to regard me as gay, which I am not, but in the milieu I grew up in anybody who was not hard-drinking, football-obsessed and terminally boorish was regarded as a 'pouf', and since I was neither of those three I was immediately stigmatised as I did not fit into any convenient category. Different now, of course, and a newer generation are more accepting of such infractions. As a result
I regarded myself as falling sometimes into the third sex, having insights and preferences from both, but interaction with women when dressed is definitely more my cup of tea, and the conversation is a great deal more intelligent......
I have always preferred to view myself dressed as a woman. It is only when in all my feminine glory that the real me gets a chance to emerge. I am a fairly ordinary bloke to look at – 5’ 6” – shortish and on the slim side – slight as they used to say, but when suited, stockinged and stilettoed and with a good wig I come up to nearly 5’ 10” and in my own, and others estimation make a very good looking woman indeed. This is largely down to the styles I wear and the figure I cut. My male self feels locked into drab conventions of dress by virtue of my traditional heredity, role and background – when I take on the female persona my ideas of how an elegant woman should look take hold and the result is so different as to be totally unrecognisable to even those who know me well. My wife will tell you that I am a much more relaxed and pleasant person as Rowena than as my male alter ego, as Rowena is better looking, taller – in heels, and is allowed to display greater stylistic flair than when P***** is in control.
This is the fascination of the condition – when feeling stressed you can take a good holiday as somebody totally different, with different movements, demeanour and insights. Feelings are different as well. P***** would never wear silk underwear but Rowena can’t wait to put on cinch, lycra corselette, stockings , tailored suit, silk blouse, kid gloves and stiletto courts……
August 2010 update: A recent foray into Ebayland has lead to the acquistion of 4 pairs of stiletto courts, a 80's black and white fleck wool pencil suit by Minuet ,a tan Italian wool pencil suit by Jaeger, an olive suit by Laura Ashley, fine kid gloves and toning hadbags. All will feature in due course as they find their place in my stylistic oeuvre.....stay tuned to this channel............ .;-)
Update to update - add to that a black wool pencil suit from Alexon and a royal blue silk pencil suit also from Alexon plus a classic just-over-the-knee black leather pencil skirt in luxurious hide and several more pairs of snazzy court shoes from Ebay. Where does all this lovely stuff come from ?, and the prices!!!....tranni Nirvana....some very bona drag in prospect.............;-)
February 2019
In the early days the sexual element was more predominant than now, say a 75/25 mix with the 25 being the satisfaction of seeing my new image and self in a mirror. I write about it in my profile.
In the last ten years, it has changed and it is now more of a case of psychological realignment in exploring my true nature rather than just following the RealMan(TM) template that was ordained many years ago.
I certainly feel a great deal more at ease and relaxed in femme mode than in male drabbe, so much so that I am literally reconfiguring my affairs to spend a great deal more time there. I am living two lives at the moment, somewhat successfully and I am finding the femme one a far better fit with my psyche.
Am I dysphoric?....possibly. That would be a self-diagnosis. This is something I haven't discussed with my doctor, as I don't intend going the surgery route. It's not that fundamental. Instead I regard myself as a high class method actor and Fifties fashion enthusiast - mainly because I have to transform back into drabbe mode a few days a week to sort out the crap that REALMAN(TM) life throws up.
So where am I on the spectrum with this? I would say that I am more of a eonist/fashion fetishist rather than a transsexual-in-waiting. The pleasure and satisfaction is in the creation of an alternative, more attractive persona and living a measure of life as that person rather than going in for surgical rearrangement.
Being Rowena, dressed in a fabulous Fifties suit with toning accessories gives me such a sense of euphoria and well-being that it can be compared to a sexual afterglow. It is a heightened and more refined state of being, and at this time of life I'll take as much of it as I can grab.
A selection
- JoinedFebruary 2009
- OccupationAuthor,Artist,Eonist
- HometownLlanvihangel Crucorney
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wear women's leather outfits and hight boots is my only pleasure, as soon that I'm in private and TRUST ! Gwen de cuir
Fantastic photos ,the ladies of that era were classic and Rowena captures that glamorous era very well,amazing how lovely Rowena dear ,a lot of cis females could learn a lot from you . All my best to you Lynne xoxoox
Undoubtedly the finest page on Flickr for the budding Eonist of both taste and haute fashion aesthetic to feast. You will enter a drabbe and pathetic beast and leave a glamazonion that Chuck Norris himself would lay prostrate before.
Fashion during the 50-60’s was beautiful and undergarments for women were very hot and sexy.
Wow - just love your profile and "All" of your pictures - Fantastic xxxx
You're pictures, your about page, I love your little corner of flickr Rowena. XX
I've also just found the opportunity to read your full Profile, Rowena. Mind suitably blown :-) So many detailed memories, so many glorious feelings remembered (some of which I can relate to). All told in a readable, literate style, which has the heart of an old pedant rejoicing! Thank you so much for sharing so mu… Read more
I've also just found the opportunity to read your full Profile, Rowena. Mind suitably blown :-) So many detailed memories, so many glorious feelings remembered (some of which I can relate to). All told in a readable, literate style, which has the heart of an old pedant rejoicing! Thank you so much for sharing so much; and, of course, all your wonderful photos :-) Please allow an old Admirer to ADMIRE you (it's what we do) fully - while respecting your hetero side and, of course, your wonderful marrriage !! My compliments, and deep respect, to you both !! Derek
Read lessI loved reading your story, Rowena. The stuff of dreams in my 'denied' youth.
Truly a beauty....where do you find heels to fit....I so long to find them I do love the pointy toe
Rowena is an example of fashion and feminine elegance. An example for all us girls. I love all the models and all the suggestions kindly share with us all. Thank you my beautiful friend for your friendship. With love. Ieda
As a true nylons/heels fetishist growing up in that era I LOVE all your fantastic 60's fashion photos!!!!