Adventures in Passing (1997)
©1997, 2013 by Dallas Denny
Source: Denny, Dallas (As Sheri Scott). (1989, March). Adventures in passing. The Dixie Belle, 2(8), pp. 8, 11.
In the late 1970s, desperate to find support for my transsexualism but unable to do so, I came across a television program that featured crossdressers from Tri-Ess, The Society for the Second Self. In hopes of getting referrals I wrote for information, telling them I was transsexual. I was put in touch with the late Virginia Prince who told me (or so I thought) I was crazy. Put off by the discriminatory membership policy, I never joined. Finally, ten years later, I sent Tri-Ess a check. I knew I wasn’t a crossdresser, but figured sooner or later Tri-Ess contacts would help me discover where people like me had been hiding all my life. Sure enough, that ‘s what happened.
I took advantage of my brief time in Tri-Ess by writing for the newsletter of Sigma Epsilon, the Atlanta chapter. At first, following Tri-Ess custom, and because I had absolutely no idea my birth name worked just fine for a woman, I used a pseudonym—and because the organization was vigorously policed to exclude transsexuals, I identified myself in print as a crossdresser. I was okay with that. I knew who I was.
Adventures in Passing
By Dallas Denny
I’ve been crossdressing in public all my life. Some rather unusual things have happened to me in my time; there’s just something about me that causes me to push the limits. I’m fairly daring, so using ladies rooms, trying on dresses, and going to beauty parlors are old hat for me. But even so, there are many things I’ve not done. I’ve always been leery of crowded places, extended conversations, of having any but the briefest kinds of human contact. As a woman, I’ve never had friends or even acquaintances. I’ve existed in a vacuum—I have done many of the things that women do, but I’ve not explored just what sort of women I really am. I have kept my personality submerged while trying to play a stereotyped role.
Lately I’ve been trying to find out more about myself as a woman. What am I like? Are my interests the same as a woman as they are as a man? Do I like the same types of books? The same movies? Can I sing? Are my hobbies the same? Am I as assertive as a woman as I am as a man? What do I like to talk about?
The past few months have given me a lot of opportunity for exploration. I’ve been on the road a lot as a woman. I’ve been doing the usual superficial things—buying gasoline, eating in restaurants, renting motel rooms, shopping for clothing. But I’ve been talking more, trying to build relationships with people, expressing my personality more, exploring my womanhood, and surprise, surprise, I’ve found that as a woman I ‘m much like I am as a man! My interests are the same (and yes, I can sing). I’m finding it is possible to talk at length with another person, that it’s possible to build relationships with others. Of course, there are differences. I’m less assertive as a woman than as a man. And more fashion-conscious. But I a’m finding out who I am, and that’s important.
This reaching out has given me newfound confidence. I go about things more naturally. And I’ve found some of my old anxieties are disappearing. I used to be terrified about confrontations with the police. I no longer worry about it. Something happened a few weeks ago that made me realize just how much I had changed.
I was on my way from Greenville, Tennessee to Chattanooga. Shortly after I pulled onto I-81, I noticed a small car with its blinkers flashing. Finally it passed me, an the driver motioned me to pull over. I did, thinking he was going to tell me something was wrong with my car. But he said my car had thrown up a rock which had broken his windshield. I told him I was unsure if I was liable, but if he wanted we could call the police and fill out a report. I followed him to the nearest exit, and he phoned from a mini-mart.
The state troopers were working a wreck, so it took about an hour to get anyone there. I stood in the sunshine and chatted with the man and his wife for the entire time. They were quite pleasant, a retired couple from southern Virginia who were headed to Nashville to visit their daughter. Before it was over, the man was showing me the craft items he had made in his workshop, and which he was hoping to sell at a flea market in Nashville.
Eventually a county deputy sheriff pulled up. After talking with him it transpired that he couldn’t fill out a report since he was a Hamblen County deputy and the accident had happened in Greene County. He called for a state trooper, and for the next fifteen minutes, while we all waited, we chatted and watched the crack, which was gradually working its way up the windshield.
The trooper arrived in an unmarked car, and, after some more chatting (he said since the rock hadn’t originated with my car, it was considered a road hazard, and I wasn’t liable), he filled out a report. That meant I had to show him my driver’s license, with me in male clothes, and with an M instead of an F. Even so, he didn’t notice until he was about to hand it back to me. When I saw his double-take, I smiled at him. He made no comment, although I was sure I was the topic of discussion after I left.
What was unusual was I was comfortable throughout the entire encounter, chatting and smiling, and telling people about myself. I would have had trouble managing only a few months ago.
I’m discovering that crossdressing is a process—a journey, as it were.