Hurricane Kirsten
Hits "Naw Lans"

I work for a large technical company, and occasionally travel on business, which give me the chance to go out in a non-threatening setting. I had decided the next time I had the opportunity to attend a "professional conference," I would do it en femme. Luckily I specialize in a area which few others in my company are interested; it was going to be extremely unlikely I would run into someone who I would know.

After a couple of months of watching the various journals I subscribe to, the perfect opportunity presented itself. A 3-1/2 day seminar in New Orleans! I registered under my male name as I would need to present the invoice to my manager in order to get reimbursed.

As I was packing, I realized I was going to fill up my suitcase with just my femme stuff, so I decided to not pack any male clothes. I would need to leave my house in my male form, but nothing would be stopping me from changing on my way to the airport. Fortunately our airport is quite a ways from town and there are ample opportunities for parking somewhere where nobody would bother me as I transitioned.

First order of business was to check in my luggage. The easiest way would be to do the skycap thing at the curb. I presented my ID card which has my male name but female picture and watched his puzzled look as he checked the computer for my flight and gate information. Now I had to get through the security checkpoint. I had previously scouted out a secondary entrance to the concourses which wasn't as busy, but it would require some additional walking. I dumped my purse on the X ray machine, and walked through the detector, managing to set it off (and it was loud!).

The guard told me to empty my pockets and go back; I knew I had nothing in them at all. But I was wearing a corset which had metal stays. I tried to tell her that, but she didn't understand, telling me to get in the line to get frisked. The guard there got flustered, and his wand found the stays but he didn't know what to do next. Meanwhile I was starting to turn red; fortunately he realized I was harmless and let me go.

The flight was rather uneventful. The guy next to me tried to start a conversion, but it was difficult to talk over the plane noise. After landing and leaving the gate, I had to walk by a group of teenage girls. I heard laughter behind me, but didn't let it bother me. For all I knew one of them had swallowed her gum.

Checked into my hotel. Again, the reservation (and my credit card) was under my male name. That didn't seem to be a problem, though. Next order of business was to get something to eat. It was now 9PM on a Saturday night, and I was a bit apprehensive about venturing out on the streets in downtown New Orleans. I knew there was a TGI Friday's a block or two away, so I decided to go for it.

Finally, something to eat. I was going to be content to have a couple drinks and call it a night. But a group of women from Chicago on vacation came by and asked if I wanted to go over to Bourbon Street. I figured this would be a chance for a guided tour. As the saying goes, "there's safety in numbers," and nobody bothered us as we walked down the streets. I decided there were enough other things going on that I wouldn't stand out, so when they said they wanted to go back to their hotel, it wasn't too hard for me feel okay about continuing the tour on my own.

Next morning, I walked the 3 blocks to the hotel where the conference was being held; there weren't too many others doing the "Sunday program," so I went right in and told them my last name. A smile came over the clerk's face, as she pulled my folder. I asked if I could have the name on the badge changed to "Kristen." Sure, no problem, and I was set. The session for that day was rather boring and uneventful, and I pretty much sat in the back and nobody bothered me.

That evening, I was feeling pretty good about how things were going, and decided to see what kind of fun I could find. A search on the web had told me that there was a "Hooter's" nearby, so I changed to my most radical outfit, redid my makeup, and headed on over. I knew I would stand out there, but as long as everyone was mellow, there probably wouldn't be a problem.

Now, I'm not one to gawk at women, but I was totally surprised at how little their uniforms covered. I had taped-up my chest and was wearing a low-cut blouse, and mentioned to my wait-person about how fun it was to show a lot of cleavage, asking her if mine looked real. We both had a good laugh and I joked with her about what we were doing to the other customers' (who were obviously mostly men) heads. She thought it was great I wasn't being shy, and said that after a while the men all become a big blur. That was a good excuse for starting a conversation with the manager about how men treated women in these types of circumstances, but it was clear that the wait staff didn't take any crap from anyone. Three large beers later, I was starting to feel a bit woozy, and decided I needed to go back and get a good night's sleep. I think I even asked for a job application, but I guess I left it on the table when I left.

Monday morning. The conference would now be in full swing, so I decided to wear my best suit and try to blend in. I found most people were dressed casually, and for the first time in my professional career, I was "overdressed" for the occasion! But as the day went on, nobody showed any indication that there was a problem. In fact I managed to run into the conference manager and mentioned I hoped nobody would be offended by the way I was dressed. Without skipping a beat she said, "oh no, that's a very nice suit. I hope you're finding the presentations useful." Which left me confused. Was I really blending in, or was she too preoccupied to read me ? Maybe just being nice.

I knew lunch time was going to be difficult. Usually they put you in a well-lighted room with round tables and just enough seats for everyone, and you are suppose to mingle. I feared I'd be quite obvious as there'd be no way to hide my voice or hands, and I figured I'd probably make a mess out of something. The attendee's were predominately male, but I managed to sit with a group of women which treated me as one of them. I didn't talk much, nodded a lot, and the meal went just fine.

That evening there was supposed to be a reception with an open bar. I figured I'd dress rather conservatively and see how it went. As I walked in the group of ladies from lunch invited me to sit with them. We talked about lots of things from technical stuff to their families. It was a good time, and before we knew it everyone was out of drink tickets and we were ready to move on.

Another trip down Bourbon Street was in order. I was now a little bolder and managed to do my share of flirting with some of the others. We found Papa Joe's (female impersonator show) and a few thought about going in, but they decided that they wanted to go dancing. After more drinks and a picture taking session, we found a great bar with a great live band. Let's just say I got back at 1:30 a.m. that night... with very sore feet.

The next day and a half went just fine. Nobody treated me out of the ordinary, and I found the only thing I had to worry about was runs in my stockings and sore feet (from wearing heels all day!). Something told me that I better not push my luck, it would be easier traveling home as my male-self, as there could be a possibility that I'd run into someone I knew on the way home. Well, that was a good move. As got into the shuttle van to go to the airport, sitting in the front seat was one of my co-workers who was also going home on the same flight. Turns out she had been in town for a different conference, unbeknownst to me. That was too weird, but thinking about it since then, I almost wish I had stayed en femme.

Thinking back, I now have a better perspective on how hard (and how easy) it would be to live full-time. It seems the hard part would not be interacting with others, as I had previously thought. Nor would gaining acceptance, as it appears that for the most part the people in my profession are open enough to accept diversity, although obviously in a setting like this, people are not going to make a scene when they know they won't have to deal with it everyday.

The hard part for me seems to be realizing how easy the mechanics of living full time would be, but knowing that in doing so I'd have to give up many of the things I cherish now.