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Every little dress helps!

Away from my Tesco day job, I was hiding a secret double life...


Published by: Faye Dobson and Jean Jollands
Published on: 10 January 2013

Sat at my supermarket till, I sighed when another customer plopped her shopping down on the conveyor belt.
Bleep, bleep! I was so bored at Tesco I lost myself for a moment in all the potatoes, baked beans and fish fingers I was scanning.
‘Just these please,' a blonde in her 30s grinned, plonking down some groceries and a pair of undies. As I scanned the red F&F bra set, I felt a pang of envy.
‘They're gorgeous,' I grinned, helping her pack them into a carrier bag.
‘Cheers for your help,' she smiled.
‘It's all part of the service,' I said, although I didn't really want to let them go. She'd probably think I was a right basket case if I told her that I wanted to wear them!
You see, to the outside world, I was just an ordinary 18-year-old lad. But since the age of 12, I'd loved dressing up in women's clothes.
I could still remember that first time I'd rummaged through my mum's knicker drawer. Slipping on her briefs, I felt sexy and alive.
But here I was now, stuck in my supermarket job stacking shelves.
I was longing for a life of glamour, sexy undies and all things feminine.
Back home that night, I nodded hello to my parents, Sylvia and John.
‘Want some dinner, love?' Mum smiled.
‘Maybe later,' I mumbled, rushing upstairs.
Heart thumping, I opened the drawer under my bed and pulled out a plastic bag full of clothes. I'd been buying my own stuff at charity shops since I was 14. Sitting down, I put on my favourite shoulder-length brown wig and some red lippy. I needed to get out of this horrible uniform. But just then...
‘Anthony! Can I come in?' Mum asked.
‘Erm, not yet!' I squealed, frantically yanking off my wig. ‘I'm a bit caught up!'
Thankfully, I sorted myself out just in the nick of time. There had been so many close shaves over the years, though.
Over those next few months, I spent each day at my checkout till. But at night, I'd hit the internet, relieved to find there were other blokes like me.
You're not alone, someone messaged me.
But, trying to suppress my urges was completely tearing me apart. So I decided to check out of my job at Tesco for good. Soon, I'd started trying to get work as a TV extra.
A part of me hoped I'd have to dress up as a woman for a part.
In my spare time, I visited transgender websites for support.
I wasted so much time hiding who I really was. A bloke in his 50s messaged me one day. So many wasted years...
I realised I didn't want that to be me. It was time to tell my parents the truth. So, one evening, I sat them down.
‘There's something I need to tell you,' I began. But Mum interrupted. ‘You like dressing up in women's clothes,' she said.
‘How do you know?' I gasped.
‘I've known for some time,' she said, gently. ‘I've seen the clothes in your room.'
But Dad was gobsmacked. ‘I'm sorry,' he mumbled. ‘This is too much. I have to leave the room.'
Thankfully, Mum listened as I explained that the feelings wouldn't go away.
‘All I care about is you,' she soothed, desperate to reassure me. ‘This doesn't change that. I'm sure your dad will come round in time.'
It felt like a dark cloud had lifted. Mum went with me to the GP to discuss what I was going through. He referred me to a gender clinic.
‘You've got gender dysmorphia,' the counsellor told me. ‘You look like a man but feel like a woman on the inside.' It all made sense now. So I started taking hormone treatment, which gave me 34A boobs.
Over those next few years, I got more courage. I put ‘Anthony' behind me and lived as a woman full-time. ‘I want to be known as Lisa,' I explained to Mum.
Aged 24 now, I decided to venture out for the first time as a woman in public. Donning a purple satin dress, size seven heels and a brown wig, I drove to a club in London. They were holding a special night for men who appreciate transgender women. Heart thumping, I stepped out of the car.
‘Hello, sexy!' some blokes at a nearby pub wolf-whistled.
Of course, they were clocking my 5ft 11in, size 10 frame. As I ducked inside the club, my heart soared. I felt sexy! Soon, a bloke in his 40s came over to me.
‘You look nice,' he winked.
‘Thanks,' I grinned, my confidence soaring. ‘You're not too bad yourself.'
But the truth was, I wasn't ready for love. I had to focus on my new life.
So to mark the new me, I contacted a photographer off one of the transgender websites and arranged a shoot. I wanted to capture my happy moment forever.
Squeezing into a pink top and skinny jeans, I threw back my head.
‘Perfect, darling!' the photographer grinned. ‘You'd be fab for modelling work.'
I'd caught the bug! So I reinvented myself as leggy transgender model Lisa Heart.
Four years on, I treated myself to a replica of KITT - the car from Knight Rider - and started going to car shows. I was at an event at Silverstone one day when a photographer started taking some snaps. I felt amazing in my three-inch heels as I posed against my car.
‘Cor!' a middle-aged man whooped from the crowd. He was getting a butcher's of my leopard print knickers!
Soon, people were crowding round. A bloke in his 20s even tried to cop a feel of my bum. Everyone thought I was all-woman... if only they knew I still had my meat and two veg! I was chuffed then when the other promotions' girls asked me to pose with them. But as I pouted away, I suddenly realised the leader of the car club was staring at me.
‘Lisa,' he stuttered, ushering me aside. ‘Can I have a quick word, love?'
I followed him to a quiet corner. He'd gone bright red.
‘It's just that we thought you were... a real girl,' he began.
I blushed, realising my secret was out. He must have realised.
‘It's okay, I understand,' I said, sadly. ‘We don't mind you coming along and taking your own pictures,' he said quickly. ‘But we can't have you posing with the other promo girls in case it looks like you're representing us.'
My ears burnt with humiliation. Back home, I slumped on my bed.
‘Talk about bursting the bubble,' I mumbled bitterly.
It was only later when I looked at the photos from the day that I realised what had happened. Zooming in on my shorts, I gasped. You could see my tackle bulging out! No wonder the poor bloke had nearly had a heart attack! I couldn't help but laugh.
Four months on, I make sure I tuck everything in now. I'm far happier than I was scanning barcodes, and I still go to the car shows. I'm starting up my own promo group full of transgender models called Team TG UK. We're putting on an exhibition in Birmingham to raise awareness about transgender issues.
I haven't found love yet, but it'll come when it's ready. Who knows, one day I might even walk down the aisle, and it definitely won't be in a supermarket!
I've got no interest in gender reassignment surgery though, I'm happy just the way I am. I've become one of Tesco's finest exports - not male, not female, but the best of both!
Lisa Owen, 32, Leighton Buzzard, Bedfordshire