It had been suggested to me that it may be useful to visit Jodie Lynn's The Boudoir to see what her special brand of magic could weave with my ugly mug. As a side-effect, any pictures taken could hopefully convince my wife (who hadn't seem me en-femme) that I was capable of looking better than "a bloke in a dress", or prove to me that I wasn't.

With a little over a week's notice, suddenly I was given the opportunity to have the Friday afternoon before Christmas on my own in London. After umming and aahing, should I talk to the wife first or not, I tried to book a session. No response by email, so I phoned on the Tuesday. This approach is not recommended, people, as she was already booked on the Friday BUT she said she could squeeze me in for 2 hours as long as I was out by 3 and didn't mind sharing for the first hour. This, I am assured, is not normal - I felt highly honoured.

I've never ever visited a dressing service before - in fact, I've never appeared as Hilary in front of anyone else before. But I'm not so nervous now about visiting T* shops and things. I've found that nine times out of ten no-one notices, and those that do I'll probably never see in my life again anyway. So I wasn't nervous going into Jodie's, just cautious. I just didn't know what to expect, having never been dressed in front of anyone before, and never having been made-up by anyone else either (other than stage makeup for drama and mime performances, and none of those were as women).

In the morning I did my chores, then spent some time waxing and shaving chest, arms and legs before suddenly realising I was going to be late. I quickly sorted out a bag of bits (silicones and bra, tights, some shoes and boots and some skirts and dresses), not because I didn't think Jodie hadn't got any, but I wanted her to see what I thought my style was. I took the back roads from Edgware across to her place in North London, struggled to get parked, and then walked to her place in the grey December drizzle.

So I sat on the edge of her sofa with a cup of tea for ten minutes while she finished sorting out Belinda wondering just what was going to happen. Then it was my turn. She sat me in her chair. Question 1 - "what style are we going for?" Blimey, I don't know. I just didn't want to look like a tranny. I wanted to see how normal I could look, and I wanted to see how she did it.

I discovered that I already had the same TV panstick that she used - I'd bought mine in Sydney (show-off!), but then she spread some eyebrow wax over the tips of the brows. Then she spent ages lightening around the eyes and along the nose. I gave up asking questions. I thought, when she lined the lips "she's not done those even, they'll never work". We went for dark hair (which is my natural colour anyway), and after the "wrong wig" first time ("shut your eyes and don't open them until I say") I was shocked when I opened my eyes. Jodie had chosen a longish bob, just touching my shoulders. She seemed slightly taken aback by my reaction - you see, I normally go for longer, curlier hair and, sensitive girl that I am, I said so! I've noticed this before, the wig changes the face. I was stunned. It was still me, but it wasn't me. And it wasn't as different as I thought it might be, but it was far more feminine than I've ever achieved.

After showing her the stuff I'd brought with me, and I'd put on my underwear (in private, in case you're wondering), we then chose the clothes. She found a light golden-brown top and a brown skirt with a front split (BROWN?! - with a FRONT split!?!? - that's not me - I'm into blacks and blues and purples!!!) and suggested I wearing the suede boots I had brought. We both felt corsetting was required - too much tummy. The scarf was required to cover all those spots that started breaking out! I was amazed - I was too busy looking at the girl's head, my girl's head, in the mirror. It worked - it all worked (even the lips!). Jodie - you're a genius!

We had some photos with Jodie's digital camera, another cup of tea, and then more photos. Jodie warned me that her dad had lost the lead when they were in Thailand recently, so it might be a while before she could send them through - I knew I should have bought a camera! I felt like I could have just walked out en-femme without a care in the world - I'm sure I would have frozen with fright two steps from Jodie's front door, but it was so natural, so clean, so "right". In the middle Jennifer, a fellow first-timer, arrived. We sat on Jodie's couches, and then we just started talking. I was determined not to just sit there like a stuffed dummy.

Jodie even remarked that I was more relaxed when I was dressed up. I'm sure some of that was because I was not sure about what was going to happen when I walked through the door but, hey! Carla (Jodie's assistant that day) was very complementary about my ability to model in front of the camera - I bet she says that to all the girls! I did notice that I smiled very differently and, as time went on, much more confidently.

Then it was nearly 4 o'clock (an hour late!), time to take it all off and go home. Well, there was a big down after leaving, I won't deny that. My emotions were in absolute turmoil. Hilary had been seen by someone other than me, and there was photographic proof and, while she wasn't a classic beauty, she was feminine. But the end product was that I simply could not keep this bottled up within me any more, and my wife and I had several long chats over Christmas and the New Year. The latest position, three weeks afterwards, is that we have, at last, agreed some ground-rules for the appearance of Hilary at home and, while they're not everything I would like, I don't think I could really cope if they were. The visit has given me a lot more confidence in the female me. And I'm determined to lose weight! And next time, I'll remember to shave my face too!

So, Jodie, if you're reading this, thank you. And, while I don't know if all dressing services are the same, you will be quite safe at The Boudoir and probably never quite the same afterwards.

Hilary Mortimer, January 2003