Interlude
6: Thresholds
Saturday, January 17, 2009 ’92
Ponzi Case Missed Signals About Madoff
In January 2009, I had my second
makeover and photo shoot.
This one was with True Colors in
Bethlehem, PA, under the hands of the legendary Amanda Richards. She did
makeovers, photography, etc. I went for
the deluxe makeup and photo session, as I wanted new pics. She also said she’d
teach me a little about makeup.
I arrived on time for a change,
really nervous, but Amanda was very friendly. We discussed ideas and looks as
she prepped me (corset, shoes) and then went straight to work. She described
what she was doing as she worked, so I learned a bit. She had satellite radio, so we talked a lot
about music, which we are both passionate about.
Then we chose an outfit and a wig, and
then she had me stand in front of a mirror to “get into Sophie,” telling me to
repeat “I am Sophie” as she set up the cameras. The first outfit was a miniskirt and two
different tops. I’d never worn a mini,
but I always loved how they looked.
We did different wigs, and then
changed to a minidress. I posted the
pictures on my new Flickr page and myspace (where my blog also lived at the
time.)
My time with Amanda ran out, so I
changed for Renaissance and Angela’s Laptop Lounge. During that time, Amanda’s next appointment
arrived. We chatted as she looked
through Amanda’s show collection. Her
name was Vannessa (she would later change that to Andie) and she became one of
my dearest friends. Anyway, I loved the
brunette wig, so I bought it, and Amanda touched up my makeup for the 90-minute
drive to the meeting. It was so
thrilling to drive down en femme- I was wearing a new dress, my bird-seed
boobs, and pantyhose.
I liked it so much, I took makeup
lessons the next weekend. I needed them
— I knew absolutely nothing. Unlike
girls who were socialized female and had sleepovers or whatever to learn makeup
from each other, I was starting from scratch.
Friday,
March 13, 2009 Pope Sees Internet As Resource
In any case, a few months later, I
went to Harrisburg for the First Annual Keystone Conference. I can’t believe I actually signed up for it. I was scared as hell: I mean, the cream of
Pennsylvania’s T-girls would be there, and then there would be “amateur night”
Sophie. Still, it was nothing that
blasting the Grateful Dead while driving down the turnpike at warp 7 couldn’t
cure.
I arrived and checked in at the
Sheraton Harrisburg/Hershey quickly enough, unloaded everything, and figured
I’d take a look around in drab (in guy mode.) I found that the registration
desk was already open and three stunning girls were there. One was from “Bahston”—that’s Boston. Her name was Cheryl, and she became a dear
friend. And there was me, in drab. Oh well, I checked in anyway, dropped the
packet back in the room, and went to the bar for lunch.
The bartender was uncomfortable
about the conference but tried to be professional. A girl came in and I bought her a drink. The bartender told me that he really didn’t
want all “those freaks” but there was some kind of convention. The girl and I spoke briefly, then I went back
to the room. It took time to shave
everything, as I was as hairy as a Wookie, but eventually I was Sophie.
It took a lot of courage I could
muster for me to turn that doorknob and leave the room. I was so worried—would I get beat up? What if someone I know was out there, as I
wasn’t wearing makeup yet? Would I be
laughed at?
Annnnd, there was the maid, an
older woman. She asked if she could make
up my room. As I had girl stuff
everywhere, I said no, while trying to hide my face. I was ashamed and scared.
I headed for the elevator, AND SHE
FOLLOWED ME telling me I had to sign something that said I didn’t want the room
done. Every part of me just wanted to
disappear. I scribbled on the page and
asked her to leave me alone.
Then I went to enjoy a drink in the
bar with my new friend. I think the
bartender recognized me before I told him “you should really twice before
insulting guests.” (I didn’t see him
again until the fourth Keystone.) Other
girls joined us, and I began to feel the lump in my throat disappearing and my
heart starting to beat at a regular pace. It didn’t matter how I looked: They accepted
me.
One Amanda Richards makeover later,
and we all went downtown. I was looking
GOOD. Dinner, dancing, drinks. Drinks. And so on. A guy even bought me one! Another bar. Drinks. Pool! I
love pool! Why won’t the balls stop
moving? Didn’t matter—I shot well
enough. For me it was another drunken
game of pool, but I was wearing a dress. Don't get me wrong, I was still
reeling with the idea that I was wandering about a city dressed like a woman,
but to me it really was just another drunken game of pool.
“Did I leave my glasses back
there?”
“No, Sophie, they’re on your face.”
Time to go back to the hotel. I was
going to hate life the next day, but I was out with maybe sixty T-girls, and I
was one of them—and so happy.
Saturday! Wake up, Sophie! Shower and DO YOUR OWN
MAKEUP! I’d never done it before that. My hands shook. Not from nerves—no, it was a progressive
hangover. I was a wreck, and I knew it. I thought the makeup went okay, but I was a
mess.
So down to a makeup class by Amanda
Richards. Her model was BJ, an amazing
girl who I thought was cisgender. Perfect.
Amanda was doing her thing and the room
started to pitch and rock a bit. I left
early and bumped into people I knew in the hallway.
“Hey, we’re going to lunch!”
Ummm… onto the elevator… okay, I can survive.
Sit down to lunch… maybe not.
Sprint to room!
After being sick, I checked my
makeup and I was an even worse wreck. I
tried to fix it, but to no avail. Oh
well, back to lunch. After lunch, I went
back to the room and collapsed, missing some great seminars for much needed sleep.
Woke up, re-tied the corset, and
dressed for the night. Damn bra straps
kept showing. Oh well—they’re removable. This wouldn’t come back to haunt me, would
it?
Then another makeover where Amanda
made me look incredible. I looked as hot
as Sophie could be (so I thought). I
never felt as confident as I did then. I
was Sophie, and I was a woman.
After forgetting and going back for
my meal ticket once, I sashayed into the ballroom and made my entrance. Yeah,
look at me, girls!
Dancing, fun, drinking water, and…Um…
my boobs started to fall down. Pull the bra back up.
I listened to the incredible dinner speaker Donna Rose as well as Dr. Jeanine Ruhsam, who ran the conference as president of TransCentral PA, along with many others. Both would become dear friends. Jeanine talked about how there were around eighty of us there, and how we were bound by our mutual ‘need’ to express ourselves in a feminine way. I thought about that for a very long time.
Boobs fall to my belly button. Hey, I’m not that old! Okay, this has got to get fixed. Back to the room. Get some help with the zipper for my red gown.
Put straps back on. Sophie is back in business!
More dancing. Wine. Oh, it was so fun! People
began filtering out, so what the hell—I’ll wear my last outfit. I brought a PVC dress with me. Time to sizzle!
And
sizzle I did! I must have lost five
pounds wearing that!
A bunch of the girls were going to
a nearby lesbian club. However, I
declined and sat in the bar. I was
tired. I regretted not going.
Anyway, a glass of wine and off to
bed. I was soaked with sweat. I peeled off the clothes, but not the wig. Started packing. Shoes… wash off my new breast forms…
And then I looked in the mirror at
my face and my wig. It made me so sad. I would take off the wig, and Sophie would
disappear. If only for a while, I
know—but still, it made me very sad.
So, I whispered to my reflection, “Goodbye,
Sophie,” and removed my wig and makeup.
The next day was cloudy and misty. I drove home back to my drab life. It took me a few days to get over my feeling
of missing Sophie. I would later refer
to this as a “Pink hangover” and it got progressively worse after each
conference as the years went by.
The Keystone Conference still
occurs every year, except for a couple of years it was cancelled due to
Covid. As of this writing, I have never
missed one. Sometimes I only go for a
few hours, but I still register and go. Eventually,
it outgrew the Sheraton and moved to the Harrisburg Hilton downtown. Keystone regularly draws around 750 people
each year. Jeanine helped run it until
her untimely death in March 2019.
Speaking of covid, the pandemic
spelled the end of True Colors. Amanda
couldn’t afford the rent with no customers, so she ‘retired.’
So much has changed for all of
us. Several of the friends I met back
then have since passed on — some without ever living their truth. Amanda is still one of my dearest
friends. And me? Well…
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