By Robin Pringle
edited by Cynthia Smith

I've been asked to share the story of my transition, but where to start?. To put things in proper perspective it will be necessary to start with events long before the emergence of any of my feminine side.

My early years are somewhat vague. I have a few truly vivid memories and a lot of grey areas, which I now believe are because of my denial of self. Being raised in a very outdoor/pioneering society was not at all conducive to the expression of femininity by a male child. I was raised on a "farm" in the center of what was then known as Rhodesia. This farm was 10,000 acres of pristine Africa. It teemed with wild game, and was simply four stone corner cairns marking out the acreage my parents had purchased. We lived completely selfsufficient lives 50 miles from the nearest town. There was no electricity, telephones or other civilized amenities. A trip to town was a much anticipated event, and if the seasonal rains had started might take three days to accomplish in the old pickup.

Schooling was done by my long suffering mother who vainly attempted to hold a small boy's attention on the mundane. Baboons raiding the precious corn fields and requiring the excitement of pursuit and the delicious thrill of rifle fire, were far more likely to capture my wandering attention. Somehow, in spite of all this I received enough of an education to stand me in good stead later in life. As one may well imagine, thoughts of female attire and doings, were anathema to such a male oriented society.

The native tribes people who lived in the surrounding bush had a tradition of buying their brides and simply considered them possessions. Not much incentive for me to dwell on thoughts of my own feminine internalization. No, I grew up very much a male, and the few thoughts that penetrated my consciousness were guiltridden and hastily consigned to the depths of my mind.

As an early teen I was sent away to school, from which, at the age of fifteen, I dropped out and signed on with the air force. I was sent to England to undergo a three year training period as what would now be known as an electronic tech'. Not being cast in the military mold, I was happy to secure my discharge two years later and return to the sunshine of Rhodesia. There, I drifted from dead end job to dead end job until I somehow caught the fever to go to sea in a yacht. To this end I spent all my spare time engaged in the illegal hunting of elephant and crocodile for the ivory and hides. By the time I was in my mid twenties I had sufficient capital to warrant loading my possessions in a van and heading south to the seaport city of Durban in South Africa Where, while searching for an affordable and suitable yacht, I found a job with a salvage company, first as a tender, then a diver.

Eventually I found a boat that I believed would carry me to wherever I wished to go, prepared myself and the boat and set out on my travels. This forum is not the place to detail the next twenty years, but suffice to say the life was exciting and varied, and included four marriages, but left no room for the emergence of my feminine inner self. Which only started surfacing in 1983 after I quit the sea and settled in the US. I suppose the relatively quiet living in a civilized safe environment allowed the luxury of emerging fantasy.

When my femme side finally managed to poke its head out of the murk that passed for reason inside my head, it was terrifying. It happened in a rush which overwhelmed me with emotions and feelings. I had purchased an old mobile home, which I planned to refurbish and use as an office on the property my wife and I had in Georgia.

The ceilings needed replacing and I was having a hard time reaching overhead to unscrew the fastenings, when I remembered seeing a pair of rather high platform ankle strap shoes in an, as yet uncleared room. I tried them on and gained the needed inches in height, but also experienced an incredible feeling of emotion. Rapidly followed by disgust.

Having opened Pandora's box, I found that, like Pandora, I could not get the lid back on. The months that followed were a terrible cycle of fear, joy, disgust and even suicidal thoughts. I could not bring myself to confide in my wife, and started inventing reasons to work late at night in the newly refurbished trailer. I accumulated a small hoard of rather ill fitting female clothes and most of my waking hours were spent in scheming how to sneak away and dress. I really thought I had gone insane. After about a year of total deceit I finally plucked up the courage to tell my long suffering wife how I felt.

Her first reaction was that we would "Just have to work it out". This however was not to be, as she became more and more disgusted at the idea of her husband in a dress. The snowball of deceit/distrust/anger/recriminations eroded the relationship which had been at one time so strong. Coming from the macho background which I had, I was even opposed to the idea that I may benefit from professional counseling. After six or seven years of escalating problems in my marriage I did seek the aid of a psychologist. I began to see a glimmer of light at the end of what had seemed an impossibly long and dark tunnel.

It was several years before the realization sank in that there were others in the world who entertained feelings such as I was experiencing. I began to recall how, in my teens, I avidly read accounts of people like Roberta Cowell and Christine Joergensen. I reexamined old pictures in the photo albums and found gems like the one of a young boy in Africa, booted, bushhatted, and packing a large pistol..... in a very feminine pose!

By the time the counseling had begun to take effect, too much water had flowed beneath the keel and my marriage of 24 years was over. Fortunately we were childless, so only two lives were impacted. Most of my immediate family have departed this plane, the only close relatives I have left being two younger sisters. They, bless their hearts are not at all opposed to their strange brother. In fact, they have decided that as I'm no longer their brother yet not quite their sister I must be their..... "Blister"

Once my marriage ended and it was established that I am in fact Transsexual, I set about putting the pieces of my life together. I moved into a small rented trailer in a secluded spot in the Georgia woods and began my new life. At first it was terribly hard to nerve myself to go out into the light of day even dressed androgynously. I just knew that everybody I encountered would "read" me. I don't yet know why this should be so terrifying, but it was. It was many months before I realized that even if I was read, it wasn't the end of the world. I could always simply walk away! It took a while to realize that the only way to walk away is slowly, and with your head held high, a smile plastered on your face. Do not slink away in defeat!

I obtained the necessary certification from my therapist, found a clinic about 100 miles away that treated gender dysphoria, and commenced hormone treatment. Electrolysis was begun in a nearby city. The electrolysis proved slow, expensive and rather ineffective, so I soon discontinued that, resorting instead to a good pair of tweezers. Yes, it was painful at first, but I haven't had a razor on my face in well over a year now and only have very sparse regrowth which a few minutes with the tweezers in the morning takes care of. If I'm going out at night, I'll touch up.

My "dresscode" slowly changed along with the physical development produced by the hormones, but I was still afraid to go in public in a skirt or dress. Bear in mind that I was coming out in the same area where I had been known as a male. (I had been quite high profile, with interviews in the newspapers and on local television. ). I finally decided to start by wearing a dress and full makeup on Halloween. (I wonder how many of us has done the same thing?). This I did and haven't gone back to my old ways yet. At this writing I have been completely in the RLT for a year.

I don't really pass, especially when I speak, but my broad shoulders and small hips, together with a complexion branded by years of tropic sun and sea winds, preclude me being totally convincing. I am however finally happy with myself and no longer have the drive to"prove" my masculinity. Even in this home of the "good 'ole boys" I have no real problems with people harassing me. I fully believe that if a person in transition attempts to "fool" the general public, not their friends, they will be resented and regarded with suspicion. On the other hand, should your presentation be honest and open, you will run into far less opposition. Of course there will always be those coarse ignorant folk that deride us, but most of them are really fearful of their own inner workings.

Robin Pringle


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