A Big Adventure in Finland

By Cissy


CissyAs it turns out, Finland (Helsinki in particular), the first stop on my recent “World Tour”, turned out to be the most exciting. When, via some intensive research, I located a meeting with a TG support group there, I thought it would be a rehearsal for more elaborate outings in the other big city stops on my world itinerary, Toronto and Minneapolis. Little did I know that it was going to be the highlight.

The Transtukipiste (Trans-Support Center) meeting was set for 7pm on a Thursday, my last night in Helsinki because I was going to be working in another part of Finland beginning on Friday. I had made some phone calls to see if they were interested in having a non-Finnish speaking sister drop in on their meeting and I was told I would be quite welcome.

Given this invitation, I became imbued with nationalistic purpose. As a self-appointed emissary of United States TG’s everywhere, I felt it was my patriotic duty to make a good impression and go for maximum passability. So I set about the task of getting ready.

For me getting ready is both therapeutic and torture. In this particular case I wasted a lot of time just deciding that I would indeed go to this meeting. Perhaps I had stretched the importance of this evening out of proportion. The first time being “out” in a forgien country made me nervous. And, in addition to the usual angst I experience about the potential of being “read” in public, the anticipation of the event kicked off a major bout of passaphobia...

“What the hell do you think you’re doing going out there dressed as a woman? Do you realize that you’re only two hours from the Soviet border? What if you get detained? What if they notice you have a mustache?”, challenged the macho U.S. Commander (resembling a G.I. Joe doll I had in 1965) who assumed the form of a Warner Brothers cartoon and stood 4 inches high on my left shoulder.

“There is no more Soviet regime and no one will arrest her. You'r just using this as an excuse to keep her from expressing her true self. It makes you uncomfortable doesn’t it? Maybe you should see a therapist.”, retorted a beautiful but sturdy looking woman (Jane Fonda I think, in a bare midriff work out suit and great haircut) standing defiantly, also 4 inches high, on my right shoulder.

“Don’t call him “her”. Look at him, no tits, no hips. No way he can pass for a woman. Plus, why would he want to? Besides, those high heels aren’t the right shoes for the outfit he wants to wear!”, G.I. Joe pushed back.

“She...can do just fine with the shoes she’s got. And if a little padding will help to set her trapped psyche free then stuff away honey!”, encouraged Jane.

Then G.I. Joe muttered something about going off to get reinforcements, parachuted off my shoulder and disappeared into the rug like a melting soap bubble. “Sweetheart”, Jane nurtured, “this is a great opportunity to go out there and be yourself and honey”, she stroked her chin contemplatively, “... if I were you I’d wear the boots. He was right about the heels.” and then she blipped out of existence.

On Wednesday I had scoped out the location and I knew that it was only five minutes away by car. This contributed to my being overly cavalier about time. However, it was now 6pm and the likelihood of being ready in an hour seemed impossible. But something drove me forward.

During the early part of the trip I had begun to develop a pretty intense fantasy about making love as a woman. I had fantasized picking up a cute Finnish guy and seducing him in my hotel room. Thinking that something like that might actually happen tonight, I decided that I ought to be completely smooth.

The little black hairs which were sprouting from my recently bare body were going to ruin the look of the corset I fantasized wearing for the occasion so I decided to rid myself of the new stubble. Now it was 6:45pm. Maybe I could speed up on the make up....yeah, right.

At this point in time I hadn’t been out in public for a month and I was out of practice with my make up. I ended up having to relearn a lot of things that I had mastered in the past. An additional complication was that I just added Dermablend to my routine and I was working with it for the first time. Though it's a great beard cover, I needed to learn how much to use...I'm pretty certain I underdid it because after 30 minutes of applying various foundation cosmetics, I still had a slight mustache shadow.

Striving for perfection, I must have re-worked my eyes and lips for another 45 minutes...but who's obsessed? Suddenly I became philosophical and decided that perfection was futile, that’s when I managed to get mascara on my contact lens, the flow of tears washed away hours of work. Clock check...Jesus!...8:00, the meeting was already half over. Do I quit now? Watch a hotel porno movie dubbed over in Russian? Order a room service reindeer burger? “No way!”, Jane reappeared, “you go anyway...no quitting now young lady!”

Finally it was time for the hair. I had my two good wigs with me, a medium length light auburn and a longer flame red. I chose the flame! I figured if you’re gonna go, go all of the way. I slipped it on, positioned it and stood back. Oh, yes! Maybe it’s because I’m my own best audience but I looked great. “So now what do you think”, I said to anyone who would answer.

“Beautiful, sweety...you did great”, said Jane making a quick reprise. “...and G.I. Joe...what’s your opinion?” G.I. Joe faded in my left shoulder, squinted, rubbed his eyes. “If you don’t mind my asking...what are you doing later...maybe you and me could...uh...you know...” “We’ll see”, I said to his lascivious invitation and smiled sweetly. 8:15pm...Transition complete...from international business man to Jewish American Princess...time was running out!

I still needed an outfit. I was worried that a skirt and heels would be a bad choice so I finally opted for my black stretch pants, turtleneck and trusty, as Jane had recommended, Payless boots. I checked the clock...8:45! Now what? My usual process calls for another 30 minutes of adjusting underwear and trying on jewelry. I was trying out some new breast forms made of freezer gel and plastic bags...they worked great but tended to be a little bigger than I’m used to. I could feel the bra straps straining.

Okay...I had to get going, the meeting only ran until 9:00! I could get there for the end...maybe hang around and meet some people. I accessorized quickly...threw some necessities in a purse and ran for the car.

Now for the first obstacle...the hallway. Carefully, I opened the door. First a crack, took a deep breath, open wider, it looked O.K. the first turn was clear...go! The door slammed behind me, locked tight. There was no going back now...I was launched. Purse in hand...I still don’t know how to carry this thing gracefully. Purse over one shoulder...then the other...carry it like a football under one arm...no, too butch...”calm down”...(quick advice from Jane)..the purse seemed to find its own rhythm...I wish I could.

I make it to the hotel elevator. When it finally arrived there was nobody in the there...whew, good. Now the inevitable part of this little trip is the hotel lobby. The elevator door opens up onto a traffic pattern which rivals any busy international airport duty-free shop. In addition to a remarkable array of hotel guests waiting line for two popular restaurants, there is an endless supply of overly attentive bellmen, who are graciously at your service for everything from car fetching to door opening.

I feared that I would become the victim of all of their graciousness at once. I would be scrutinized by 50 Finnish bellmen, all of whom would recognize me as the guy in room 550. "Excuse me uh..."lady"..."don't I know you from somewhere? Aren’t you the lousy tipper from the fifth floor? Do you know you have a mustache?"

Fortunately a tour of Russians in giant fur coats was checking in, nobody overreacted to me or even noticed me for that matter. “I told you there’d be Soviets”, said G.I. Joe. I didn’t listen and headed for the car.

I'd parked close by...good planning on my part. 8:55, so far so good...found my map and confidently drove off. It should be noted that Helsinki’s traffic flow was probably designed by MC Escher. It’s a demonic spaghetti of winding one way streets which fold in on themselves while making a mockery of Euclidean geometry. Basically, I got lost. The street names (in Finnish and Swedish...how convenient) are printed in 9 point type on what look to be 3x5 cards which are carefully mounted on the darkest corners of the various intersection buildings. The only way to read these things is drive up on the sidewalk and chance killing innocent pedestrians.

I drove through the evil maze, navigating by instinct. “Go with the force, Cissy”...shut up Obiwan! I finally arrived at the Trans-Center by 9:15, 20 minutes, not bad for a 5 minute drive. I parked, fled the car, ran for the door and punched in the security code they gave me. No response...the Trans-Center was abandoned and locked up tight.

I wasn’t surprised. The Finns are very precise about time and sure enough they had kept to the appointed schedule. All dressed up and nowhere to go? (Not to mentioned having disgraced my country and the reputation of U.S. TG’s everywhere) So now what? Here I was looking about as feminine and sexy as I ever have. Confusion struck. The TG group was a kind of social safety net...no I was on my own.

I thought about giving up again. I hadn’t eaten for hours and the idea of reindeer meat in heavy cream sauce started sounding good.

“You owe it to yourself to stay out here", Jane asserted, “you can figure this out”. My auditory hallucination was right, I really wanted to spend some time out in public being be “me”. I wouldn’t give up...besides, I still had the remnants of a perfectly good sex fantasy...so I invoked Plan "B"...I headed for the Lost and Found (a TG friendly gay bar).

Another endless drive. To make things worse a main road (the central strand in the evil spaghetti bowl) was blocked off for some emergency work. I drove past the same traffic cop 3 times, I think he was developing a thing for me.

Eventually I broke free and found the right street. The actual location took me by surprise and I passed it. Oh no, back into the maze...but this time I was determined to beat it. Two more revolutions around the block and I made it. I found a legal spot in front of the place, a small victory becausethey take their parking laws pretty seriously here. I took yet another deep “what the hell am I doing” breath, swung my pretty legs out of the car and headed for the door (which was not exactly unobtrusive in that it was framed by matching flaming pyres) and entered the Lost and Found.

I had been here the night before and ended seeing a wacky all Finnish drag review. The big audience that attended was nowhere to be seen tonight, leaving the place fairly quiet. The main bar, which was (thank god) dimlit, is a series of large, airy rooms. The basement is comprised of a series of catacombs (no doubt inspired by the Helsinki street system) and a campy dance floor. I was nervous about being read on the way in so I kept my head down and moved quickly, taking a seat near the front window. I figured that I might be able to spot the Trans-Center group in case they decided to come here for a drink after the meeting.

I formed a plan...If I didn't see them after a while, I would head down stairs and hang out in the catacombs...maybe actually start up a conversation with somebody. See if I could revive my now languishung sex fantasy.

I sat nervously but the other patrons paid little attention...I was either passing as a woman or as a TG gal hanging out in a gay bar, I wasn't a good use of their attention. I watched the action around the main bar. A woman with long dark hair and angular features walked in from another room and ordered a couple of beers. She was dressed curiously because she wore a short skirt, an atypical mode of dress for woman in a Finnish gay bar...or anywhere in Helsinki nightlife. (I had intentionally avoided a skirt because it might stand out as an unusual choice and call unwanted attention to me.)

The woman looked in my direction and then went back to her business...I took her disregard as good news because it's usually the GG's who notice my not-quite-rightness. Just as I was mentally celebrating my little victory, the unusual qualities of this lady finally sunk in...bing!...I had found one of my TG soulmates. As she left the bar with her drinks, I caught her eye and smiled a little, at first she kept moving...all right!...I passed again! Then she slowed and turned...she obviously went through the same calculations I had.

When it dawned on her that I was a "special" kind of girl she walked over to me: “Don’t sit here...all of us are in the other room", she said in a completely undisguised masculine voice. She pointed with her head..."please...come join us".

I followed her into another big room. At the end of the room were about ten ladies seated around a grouping of tables. As I got closer it became clear that I had found the Trans-Center girls. Happily I had chosen the right version of plan "B".

The group became very attentive. Anne, the dark haired lady who spotted me, was accompanied by her wife, an attractive blond woman. Based on the brief information I had given her on the way to the table, she introduced me as Cissy from Chicago. Anne was the volunteer at the Trans-Center to who took my phone call a day earlier. She had been expecting me, the American girl, and seemed completely non-plussed about my sudden appearance here. Like she expected me to turn up here all along.

This was quite a group of ladies. Some of them were extremely passable, making the best of their naturally delicate and beautiful Scandinavian features. Others were much more masculine, wigs on hard male features, sparse make up, big shoulders, little hips, muscular forearms forced into narrow sleeves. The honesty of these “girls” struck me. Unlike myself, who sought to create the illusion of complete womanhood, these people bravely illustrated the physical embodiment of the male-female conflict which exists in all of us.

To many in the group I was an instant celebrity and was greeted with a flurry of questions. “How did you find us?” “Do you dress like this at home?” “Are you married?” “What kind of work do you do?” and so on. Many of their questions seemed to be based on the assumption that I easily traveled around as Cissy, heroically braving foreign lands as I openly expressed my feminine side...I liked the courage they attributed to me but boy were they wrong.

Some members of the group didn't attempt to talk with me, a couple of people didn't acknowledge me at all. I wasn't sure what to make of that. My first assumption was the impact of the language barrier. However, Finnish society tends to be introverted and slow to accept newcomers and this could be part of the natural disconnection that might greet any outsider. After the initial excitement I’d created, the climate of this gathering took on a quiet and even lethargic character. (Not unusual for Finnish social events)

Anne spoke English very well and tended to lead the conversation. I conversed with Anne and her wife and learned about how she came to accept and even participate in Anne's TG expressions. They seemed very involved in the Gender community and even hosted a fashion-show/party a couple times a year.

I sat next to Melissa, a tall, beautiful blond (her real hair) who was very passable and had done a lot of traveling enfemme. Ville (who was not dressed), spoke excellent English and turned out to be a business consultant as well. She talked about how Scandinavian society was extremely accepting of the open expression of TG. Others in the group heartily validated this notion. His wife and even his young children were aware of his cross-dressing. Ville had even posed for a photography exhibition on Transvestites (I saw some of the pictures... she was beautiful).

Finally, there was Stacy who had lived in California for sometime and spoke in a loud low voice often yelling the word "Cool". Stacy had found her way back to "Hellstinky" as she called it, to complete her transition (using herbal instead of chemical hormones to make the change). She had just come off of a bad marriage which was broken up by her wife's involvement in a California cult. In addition to having run out of money, Stacy had returned to Finland because of the open attitude toward her change process. “You can go anywhere in Hellstinki like that”, she said referring to how I was dressed, “you don’t have to be nervous.”

Thanks to Stacy, many of us exchanged e-mail addresses. Myself, Stacy and Anne continue to keep in touch. Later this year I have to return to Helsinki and I hope to spend some more time with them.

Although I never realized my sex fantasy, (sadly true for the whole trip), this experience will remain a fond memory. It was wonderful to be in the company of these people and to share in their unique approach to celebrating their womanhood. It was also wonderful to learn that national boundaries and language barriers don't change the fundamental need we have to express our TG natures.

Eventually the evening ended. After stopping in the ladies room I left with Melissa. She looked very hot (and tall) in a short check skirt with matching jacket...very classy. She hesitated at the door for a moment and I thought I picked up a an interest to go somewhere else..nudge, nudge, wink, wink. We had an odd conversation about where our cars were parked...it could of been her interest in my safety...or my sex fantasy talking...but I'm pretty sure there was something sexy there. Next time I'll stop and ask.

I was less anxious about returning to the hotel. The evening had been very affirming for me and I began to feel more confident about being out in public. Maybe I really was more courageous than I had taken credit for. Also, having learned about the high level of acceptance in the Finnish culture helped to put me at ease.

I parked in the hotel’s underground garage and took the elevator, gladly bypassing the lobby (okay, so I wasn’t entirely confident), up to my floor. The door opened up on a couple of tall German guys (I’ve developed an ear for languages) conversing in the vestibule. Given that I was dressed in a black leather coat with a wild leopard scarf and flame red hair, I guess it’s no surprised that they noticed me (it was probably easier to mistake as a hooker than as a drag queen).

I made brief eye contact with them and then did a sexy but nonchalant stroll past them. One of them took in an audible deep breath, it sounded like air escaping from a tire. The other giggled. Was I being read or was I a tarty knockout? Guess I’ll never know.

Safely back in my room I tested for my negative little voice, What do you think G.I. Joe? “Don’t know”, says Joe, “but I’d still like to see you in that corset”. Me too, I replied and I stayed up all night trying on all of my clothes.


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