Three weddings and a funeral

It was a long time coming, but at at last we got around to it on Thursday. It was back in May 2008 that Claire emailed me wondering if I and a few girls might like to spend an evening at the bridal shop where she works to try on a few dresses.

So, at long last, myself, Julia, Susan and Rosie paid them a visit.

I organised to leave work a little early, so at 4:15pm I set off for home with only minor tingles of nervousness. Strange the things that matter at times like these … still undecided as to what to wear.

Applying makeup gets easier with time … though there is still plenty of room for improvement.

In the end I wear a long black skirt … almost a leg longer than usual … and a black shirt. I have black stockings on but decide I should also take some white ones. And beige. I’m wearing sensible walking shoes (i.e. heels no more than an inch high). And put the new 4.5 inch heel white ones in a bag. My handbag is full of “just in case” kind of things like foundation, powder, lipstick and gloss.

The short walk from the front door to the car is much less nerve racking than it used to be. I’m still waiting for the day when a neighbour will coincidentally be walking by just as I head out. Or for someone to ask my wife who the strange blonde woman is that they see coming and going every so often.

For quite a while now these possibilities have been real … but I’m ok with them – if people ask then they ask, if they notice then they notice. Sally says that she doesn’t mind. I guess, I’m not trying to flaunt the Andrea that is me … but neither do I live in fear of her being discovered. However … there is still a nervousness.

Getting in the car I fight with the sat nav. In the end it sticks to the windscreen without any broken nails. It guides me along a route that I wouldn’t have chosen myself … but the 23 minute estimated journey time is pretty much correct. I pull into the car park at 7:10 or so.

It’s very quiet. A man in a yellow jacket wanders past and then back again.

The plan is to meet Claire at the car park entrance at 7:30 so she can drive us to the shop.

So I have some time on my hands.

I decide against going loitering around the car park entrance.

I mean.

You never know who you might meet at a place like that.

Almost anyone.

Even guys in dresses.

Or skirts.

Fairly soon a car comes through the barriers and I find myself waving to Julia.

I get out the car and walk over … then get into Julia’s car and we sit and talk a while. Neither of us thinking it’s a good plan to stand around the car park entrance.

A small group of kids on bikes wander past, but pay us no attention.

Susan and Rosie arrive pretty much exactly at 7:30.

We walk towards the car park entrance.

Hoping that Claire will be on time … I guess Claire was hoping that the girls would be on time.

And there she is. Being out numbered 3-2 (tg to gg) Claire had more to be nervous about than anyone. But she didn’t show any signs of it.

It’s really nice to meet.

Arriving at the shop Claire introduces us to Cat and, shortly after to Cheryl. All three lovely, helpful, wonderful.

Susan, myself and Julia are the first tgirls that Cheryl and Claire have knowingly met … I think Cat had met a few before.

We look at the dresses on the rails and the fun begins.

It’s another totally new experience for me. The freedom to try on dresses at a shop without having to worry about anything other than what size dress will fit.

I know … it’s not quite the same as a crowded shop during the middle of a shopping day.

But also, it’s not at all like being at home in the bedroom.

The girls make the tgirls feel totally relaxed and welcome.

I know that many people might think that the whole scene is totally bizarre, unreal. Abnormal even. But, to me at least, it didn’t feel that way at all.

First I try a blue cocktail dress. Of course, I needed help with the zipper. And also with some unfastened hooks at the back of the basque. I like the dress a lot … it’s a shame that the zipper won’t fasten.

Julia tries a wedding dress.

Susan a wedding dress.

And tiaras and veils.

And of course, some pictures.

The zipper is undone … but it doesn’t show. The hooks in the basque at least are all fastened – I think.

The evening progresses … and honestly … it was so much fun … with such nice people.

Zippers fastening and unfastening.

I change stockings and put the heels on for a while. But the heels come off as the feet get sore.

I didn’t know that there are wedding skirts. But now I do. Complete with a bodice.

Of course, I can’t do the lace at the back of the bodice so Cheryl begins to truss me up.

“Are you still breathing?”

“Can you speak?”

“Is Andrea turning blue yet?”

The lace is quite tight.

But I can breathe.

And it does hide the tummy bulge.

A glass of wine and some nibbles.

Cakes.

More dresses and pictures.

Very laid back … almost falling over?

These dresses are just the right length for someone that is a ittle over 6 feet tall.

Look – no shoes.

Cheers from Susan, Julia and Andrea.

Complete with headgear.

Almost like three weddings, but no one getting married.

Talking a while towards the end of the evening is really nice.

We talk about gender. TVs. Sexuality. Work. Partners. Families. Life. Self acceptance.

Rosie and Susan and Cat all think that Erotica is a good place to visit in London in November.

Claire, Cat and Cheryl are lovely people.

Thank you especially to Claire for having the initial idea and dropping me the email and organising everything.

We all had a great time and it was lovely to meet you all.

For me, things like this help me enormously in terms of building confidence. Little by little I feel less and less worried about Andrea in the real world as I get further and further out of the closet.

Several months ago when I mentioned the evening to a friend I remember that she said that if she wanted to try on dresses at a shop then she’d just go to the shop whenever it was open and try on the dresses.

For me, Thursday was a step along that road.

There won’t be a time when I am Andrea 100% of the time. Or at least made up and dressed as Andrea all the time.

Last night Cat said that she didn’t think there are just two opposite sexes … rather that many people are somewhere between the two extremes. And that the way that society bundles all the people that are born with penises into the “male” camp and everyone else into the “female” one doesn’t really accurately reflect how a lot of people really are.

The real me is somewhere between those two extremes. With no desire to move from the male extreme to the female one. More a need to be able to express the femininity without being made to feel shame or guilt.

So anyway … thank you again Claire … and Cheryl .. and Cat … you are all stars!!!

Friday was a different kind of day. Last week a friend died from cancer. He’d been ill a while ago. Had treatment and went into remission. Then … all of a sudden it was back. And in almost no time took him away.

The funeral was Friday morning. Relatives and close family friends.

In the afternoon there was a service to celebrate his life, which I got along to.

Before things started there was a slide show to watch and music to listen to … his life … family. Things to make a person smile or cry or both.

As the pictures changed, the Paul McCartney song Blackbird played.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Song lyrics are always open to interpretation and mean different things to different people.

At that moment, the words seemed appropriate.

The time there was tinged with sadness but also happy memories.

A man spoke about where we came from … why we are here … and where we are going.

But I was unconvinced.

The certainty of eternal life in Jesus.

Once I would have nodded in agreement.

These days I see mostly contradictions.

As seems to happen at all events like this, there is a sense of being in a time warp. Meeting up with people that you haven’t seen for so many years.

Almost everyone was a friend or acquaintance from my born again years. A place where Andrea could not be. Where men must be men. Women must be women. And everyone must be heterosexual.

I would like them all to know Andrea … to accept her as a part of me. But I think many of them could not bear it. And once a thing is told it cannot be untold.

All of them such nice people.

Yet some would almost see Andrea as a demon to be cast out from me.

And yet, people can be surprising at times.

The friend who died had strong beliefs … verging towards fundamentalist almost. And yet he could cope with people that saw things differently. Could see the funny side of almost everything … even sacred things. Maybe he would even have been able to smile at the concept of Andrea in a nice kind of way.

It’s strange how at times there are people that you have known quite well … and then drift away from … and then only realise that you’ll miss them once there is no chance to meet them again.

And oh … Elina … I hope you had a great time in Italy!

Swans and Brides

Last Sunday, being the last one of the month, was a Surrey Swans get together.

I first visited there way back in July 2007 or thereabouts. I enjoy it a lot. I’ve always found it to be a lovely friendly and accepting kind of environment. Just as are the TV dinners.

Billie and Cathie are people that have helped me a lot. Both Surrey Swans and the TV dinners are things that they organise. And I know quite a few tgirls ... including myself ... who’s wives or partners have had a chance to get a first opportunity to meet another TV in an atmosphere where they didn’t feel outnumbered.

In fact, there are many people now that have helped me a lot through their acceptance of the alternative kind of me.

I spent a while chatting with Laura. All kinds of stuff. How nice it might be to have a how to apply makeup hints and tips evening. There’s a lot we can learn from each other I’m sure ... Laura’s eyes are especially immaculate. The challenges and the pleasures associated with the whole tgirl thing. Reminiscences of Pink Punters and Sparkle. And some of the whole tgirl philosophy kind of thing. The why’s and wherefore’s. We don’t really have answers other than knowing that it’s a part of who we are.

I come up with the idea that it would be fun to practice putting makeup on my wife. There is still some way to go on this one, though.

There was time as well to chat a little with Andrea (there are two Andreas that frequent the Swans), Susan, Billie, Cathie and Emma. Tina managed to sneak in without me seeing her.

Claire runs a florist / bridal wear shop somewhere in Berkshire. Last year she somehow came across my blog and emailed to ask if I and friends fancied the idea of an evening at the shop trying things on. At last there seems to be a real chance that this will happen ... Laura, Susan and Julia are interested as well as me. So far I only have an outline idea of how it will work ... but if it happens I’ll post pictures and stuff here.

Pink punters ladies with a lady

Last time I visited Pink Punters was on the occasion of the monthly Big Night Out. It was great (http://andrea-wright.blogspot.com/2008/05/sore-feet-but-smiling.html) .

This is a one Friday a month time when lots of transgendered folk get together. The only problem really is its success.

It’s really popular.

The hotel across the road from Pink Punters gets fully booked months in advance. Early evening in the bar is definitely a tad different than the average hotel bar. Fella’s in frocks all over the place.

There are also a couple of Saturdays each month that are advertised as having a transgendered kind of theme. So Laura, Billie and I decided to give it a try on October 4th. Booking the hotel was certainly easier ... no need to book way in advance.

For me, getting organised for such an event is still somewhat bizarre.

Ten thirty a.m. I begin to look for the suitcase.

A whole suitcase for one night. And not a small one.

The phone rings. It’s my eldest daughter. We begin to chat about this and that. Her computer won’t start up ... do I have any ideas? Check the cables. Open it up. Check that nothing seems loose ... I find the suitcase that I’m looking for ... hidden like a Russian doll inside another one. The computer might need looking at by an engineer.

As we talk I begin to look in the wardrobe.

What to wear?

Decisions, decisions.

In the end, the suitcase contains maybe 5 skirts, 5 tops, two bras, a basque, 3 pairs of panties, two pairs of tights, two pairs of stockings, two pairs of hold up stockings, a pair of jeans, a cardigan, a suspender belt ...

Maybe if I go along to Pink Punters often enough I’ll be able to decide exactly what I’ll wear in advance and just take one of everything ... well maybe two ... I mean ... it’s really easy to ruin a nylon stocking.

Then there is all the makeup.

Boobs.

Hair.

Jewellery.

Eleven thirty a.m. Fill the bath and shave. By the time I am dry there is another small sticking plaster on my nipple. I resolve, again, to wield the razor with more care and attention.

Odds and ends of activities follow until about three thirty. At this point I begin to paint my nails pink. This leads to a half hour or so of almost total inactivity. Freshly painted fingernails are not conducive to any kind of activity at all. Even then I have to apply little touch ups a couple of times.

A little after four thirty I’m on the road. I arrive at the hotel a little over an hour later. The receptionist doesn’t seem at all surprised at my pink fingernails.

Room 103.

Undress.

Wash.

Begin to dress.

Suspender belts and nail polish are not mutual friends. The back left suspender always causes me pain. Maybe I should do a survey ... is this a universal thing? Do a lot of ladies feel the same way? Or is it just me? By the time the stockings feel securely fastened my nails are looking a lot less than perfect. And I left the nail polish at home. Ah well. The best laid plans.

The makeup begins to go on.

My phone rings. Laura has arrived.

The hotel accommodation is separate from the reception and you need a pass to get in to the accommodation. Laura doesn’t have a pass, so I need to go and open the door.

This is a moment that makes me smile. I am wearing a basque with suspenders, black stockings, panties and a pair of Chinese boobs. Nothing else.

Mostly made up ... but not completely ... no lipstick at all. No hair. Well ... some hair ... but no wig.

“I’ll be right there ...” I say. Grabbing my jeans and slipping them on. The cardigan is nice and long and covers me pretty well. As I do all this, pictures run through my mind of the looks that might be on people’s faces as I pass them by on the corridor. The nice thing is that the thought of it makes me smile more than it fills me with terror.

I pick up the black wig. Yes ... I brought two ... and put it on. There is a knock at the door. Someone had let Laura in. Rush and panic over.

Laura and Billie travelled en-femme. I reckon I’ll be another fifteen minutes and say I’ll meet them in the restaurant.

I undress again. Lip liner, lipstick, gloss.

Jeans ... why did I take them off?

Blonde hair. Pink top. Necklace, earrings, shoes ... you know the kind of thing.

Then, to the restaurant.

Opening the bedroom door and stepping out into the big wide world of the hotel corridor is still a mixture of fear and thrill. But really, not much fear.

In the restaurant there are just a few people. I sit opposite Laura. Billie has gone to get her glasses so she can read the menu. I take my glasses off so I can read the menu. No one is paying us any attention other than the waitress.

We order some food and drinks. Small talk mostly. We discuss what we’ll be wearing. Billie mentions a pelmet. After a little explanation it seems that this is in reference to a very short leather skirt.

Back to room 103. Laura and I get changed.

Jeans off, short black skirt on.

Pink top replaced by a black t-shirt. It has the word “Pink” embroidered on it

I look in the mirror. My lipstick is feathering out a little through the lip liner. Too many smile lines I guess! In a fit of bravado I get the makeup remover and wipe away the foundation and lipstick from around my mouth. I’ve never attempted a makeup repair job like this before. But it goes ok. Instead of regular lipstick I go for the Maybelline Superstay stuff. More like paint than lipstick. But it stays on and it doesn’t feather. And so long as I remember to apply the gloss kind of stuff that comes with it, it stays shiny as well.

Looking out the window ... it’s raining.

Pink Punters is just a short walk away. But in the rain ... a short walk seems like a long walk. We consider the options. Well ... maybe a taxi. But in the end, the rain is very light so we walk. We take the longer route – avoiding the small ditch between the hotel boundary and pavement.

There’s a small group of people at the door of Pink Punters. It’s just before 9:00 pm. We thought it opened at 8:00. But no. It opens at 9:00. We are kinda glad that we didn’t arrive much earlier.

The door opens. We sign the visitors’ book and head upstairs.

The place is almost totally deserted. We get some drinks and sit down to talk a while. Take a few pictures. We try to figure out if the person that served us the drinks is a guy or a girl. Feminine kind of voice. Masculine kind of clothing. Very short hair. Attractive. Billie thinks a guy. Laura and I think a girl.

Laura and Billie ...

Me ...




Me and Laura ...



Me and Billie ...



A tgirl and partner arrive and order some drinks. Not sure if the partner is a tgirl or a real girl. Well, at least I’m not sure ... I guess that they are pretty sure, though.

As the evening passes we spend a while dancing. The Andrea part of me is a lot less self conscious about bopping around on a dance floor than the masculine part of me. Having said that, this is slowly beginning to seep through. My wife is discovering that I’m actually beginning to be willing to get up and dance a little when we get a chance to.


The place is beginning to get crowded. Not many tgirls, but that doesn’t bother me really. It’s nice to be out and about. My dancing skills still have a fair way to go ... but the lessons I had last time I was at Pink Punters have helped.

There are TV (television) screens all over the place playing videos of the music. It’s pretty much all new kind of stuff ... which to my aged ears sounds somewhat monotonous at times. I’m a seventies child. It means I don’t remember many of the songs. I didn’t know there was a new version of “Do Wah Diddy” floating around.

One of the few songs that were played that I have distinctive memories of is “I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It”. Laura had been expecting it to be played. I’d never heard it before, but it’s been going through my mind off and on for the past few days now. I just did a Google search for the lyrics. And amongst other things discovered this:

KATY PERRY’S SONG USED AS CHURCH WARNING TO TEENS

BLACKLICK, Ohio (AP) — A church near Columbus, Ohio, is using Katy Perry as a bad example. A sign outside Havens Corners Church in Blacklick has the lyrics from her song, “I kissed a girl and I liked it” — but it adds, “Then I went to hell.” Church pastor Reverend Dave Allison says the Bible is clear that homosexuality is a sin, so the sign is intended as a loving warning to teens. He says it’s confused some people who either don’t know the song or don’t understand the message. Lynne Bowman of the gay rights group Equality Ohio says the sign indicates the church isn’t very accepting. Perry has not responded to calls for comment.

Ah well ... I wonder how that squares for heterosexual tgirls?

We chat and sip at the drinks. Dance a bit more.

There is a guy that seems to fancy Laura a lot. But Laura just smiles politely and refuses the offer of a drink.

A guy sits beside us and begins to chat. His name is Graham. He says he’s an open minded kind of guy. Is looking for a relationship with someone he can communicate with well. We make it clear that we aren’t looking for relationships. But he buys us all a drink and doesn’t pester us.

Laura heads to the bar for the drinks ... and begins to chat with Anna.

Sonya (with a Y – not an I or a J) introduces herself. And her sister Michelle ... and other sister Nicola. Really nice girls.

“I’m drunk” smiles Sonya ... “so I’m just drinking water from now on.” In fact, she doesn’t seem so drunk at all.

Sonya ... fine tuniung a suspender ... not mine ... think pelmets!


Nicola, Michelle, me, Billie ...




“I’m driving.” says Michelle. So she isn’t even vaguely drunk.

They have to go soon ... it’s maybe 1:00 am now.

Sonya wants to stay a while and dance, but Michelle has to get some sleep and wake up again soon.

We go downstairs, abandoning the relative peace and quiet of the bar for the hustle and bustle of the dance floor. I’m still amazed that I can dance with 4.5 inch stiletto heels better than I do in flat shoes.

The three sisters have a rule. They go out together and they go home together. But Sonya wants to dance. Michelle and Nicky need to go. “You should stick to the rule” I tell Michelle. But Sonya says she’ll be fine and will get a taxi.

“I need to go to the loo” she says. “Come with me.” She takes my hand and guides me through the crowd. Down the stairs to the basement bar ... heavy, deep music ... and loos.

Guys find it kind of amusing that girls always seem to visit the “ladies” in pairs. No one ever seems to go alone.

This is, though, an experience I am new to when it comes to participation.

I’ve never entered a ladies loo hand in hand with anyone before. Actually, I’ve never entered a gents loo hand in hand with anyone either.

The whole experience makes me smile.

Sonya spends a while finding a cubicle that has a lock that actually fastens, then waves and says “wait for me, please”. I stand by the washbasins watching girls touching up their makeup and wait. In some outlandish kind of way it seems the most natural thing in the world for a girl to do.

We head back to the quiet bar and talk for a while with a few other people.

Some of the things I remember popping into the conversation.

“Other nightclubs round about are a bit like meat markets ... ”.

“Here you can talk or dance with a guy or a tgirl and not feel that all they want is to get into your panties.”

We talk about all kinds of stuff ... tgirls, families, kids, work ... life.

There are two tgirls at the bar that I know.

“Are they an item?”
“No ... not really.”
“FB’s?”
“FB’s?”
“F*** buddies.”
“Ahh ... well ... maybe.”
“You as well?”
“Nooooooo!”

Sonya is unusual in that she knows what .NET and C’# are.

She sees people as people ... even if they are tgirls.

A text message from Michelle ... checking that all is ok. Sonya gets asked to send a text when in the taxi and another one when at home. She sends a reply and says “Andie says hi”.

We compare fingernails. Hers look great ... and they aren’t false ... but they were done by a manicurist. When I discover how much it costs I decide that until I can keep them that way for day after day after day I’ll have to live with the nail polish.

Another dance. Sonya introduces me to Jamie the DJ. Then it’s time for the taxi. A goodbye kiss and a hug.

Back upstairs I join Laura who is chatting with Anna and Heather.

The person behind the bar is a guy ... Heather and Anna ask ... and he’s happy to tell.

Anna is a little unsteady on her feet.

“Hi darling ... what’s your name?”
“Andrea.”
“Hi Andrea.”
...
“Hi darling ... what’s your name?”
“Andrea.”
“Hi Andrea.”
...
“Hi darling ... what’s your name?”
“Andrea.”
“Hi Andrea.”

It’s a little like a time loop. I know. I watch too much Start Trek and Red Dwarf.

In amongst the loop we talk about other things as well. The cyclic nature of the conversation makes me smile.

In the background Katy Perry is kissing a girl again.

Then there is a competition ... the schnapps glasses get filled ... but not with schnapps. I opt out and giggle a little as Laura gets talked into joining in.

Heather and Anna drink theirs in one. Laura is not so successful. Heather finishes it off for her. Not an easy task though ... it seems Heather was expecting it to be banana flavoured but it turned out to be aniseed!

Heather talks. Everyday things that matter to her. Her mum passed away just over a year ago and there’s a lot of sadness in the memory still. A hug comes naturally.

She smiles at the irony of the fact that all the girls in view are wearing trousers. All the guys are wearing dresses.

It’s 5:00 am!

Anna manages to walk down the many steps without incident.

Outside there is a line of taxis. We say g’bye and head back for the hotel. It’s not raining so we take the long route and avoid the ditch again.

Another tgirl hardship is that even though it’s 5:00 am, sleep is still a fair way away. Makeup removal takes quite a while.

10:30 am and time to go. As we leave Laura happens to glance up and sees the smoke alarm in room 103. "Someone must have really needed a smoke" she says. And there you see it ... condoms seem to stop all kinds of things.


Overall, I loved it. The evening had started very quietly, but it livened up and there was a chance to dance a while and to meet some really nice people. And some first time experiences as well.

I hope to pop along again in the not so distant future.

Sparkle, people and bananas

Sparkle has been and gone.

For me, the weekend was mixed.

I arrived in Manchester at about noon on Friday 27 June. The drive there was pretty smooth. There were the, what seem to be, usual doubts about whether all the effort made any sense at all.

I have a really nice lunch with S, my eldest daughter at a cafe not far from the hotel that I was booked in to. The evening before I had painted my nails a pretty bright red. At the time it seemed a smart move. I’ve discovered that nail polish is best applied a long time before it is needed. I remember after finishing the first coat a few of the thoughts that then crossed my mind included stuff like how wise it was to have painted nails when stopping for a toilet break or for petrol on the journey. And what about lunch with my daughter?

In fact there are no problems.

On the journey the trickiest moment is a lady that tries to convince me that I should sign up for a new credit card. I talk with her with my hands in my pockets and manage to remain unconvinced so there is no need for me to sign anything.

Lunch is fine as well. S doesn’t mind the nails at all. And I become less and less concerned about what other people noticed about the colour of my fingers. This is one of the positives of the weekend.

After lunch we walk back to the hotel. She needs to organise a few things so I start to do the makeup thing. Up to now S hasn’t seen me in makeup with a wig. When she gets back to the hotel she has. And, so far as I can tell she is fine with it. Another positive.

We walk into central Manchester along with Billie. Stop in at a Curry’s Digital store in the Arndale centre and have coffee at a nearby cafe. People notice, but no one is impolite. A tgirl that is sitting across the way smiles and waves a little as she finishes her coffee and leaves.
We talk about all kinds of stuff. It’s relaxed. Another positive.

A walk back to towards the hotel. S catches the bus back to pick up the keys for her new home for next year. This weekend she is moving from last year’s house to next year’s house.
Billie and I head for Canal Street where the main Sparkle stuff happens.

We spot Emma at the AXM bar and start to chat and head into the bar for a drink.
Laura and Didi arrive while we are chatting. We chat a little with a tgirl and partner that arrive.
There are a lot more tgirls than I have ever seen before.

We head for Chinatown. Laura, Didi, Billie and I have a pleasant meal at a restaurant there.
Didi and I talk about families and kids. She is separated and soon to be divorced. Wonders how the kids would cope with the concept of Didi.

Back to the hotel for a while. Makeup comes off. Another shave. Makeup goes on. Black hair again. A short skirt and not at all sensible heels. Then back to Canal Street.

The evening includes wayyyyyy too much walking for a girl in high heels! AXM bar .... then another ... another ... another. I’m careful about how much I drink. Walking is hard enough in heels even when totally sober.

We visit Eden. It’s on the other side of the canal .... yes there is a canal that runs along Canal Street. The trip across the little wooden bridge needs to be done with care – high heels and gaps between wooden floors do not make a good combination.

The evening is mixed. I’m taken aback by the behaviour of some people. On reflection I think that this is unreasonable of me. But feelings and reason do not always coincide.

I spend a few minutes pleasantly talking with a guy from Switzerland. His English is a lot better than my French. It takes a while for me to get to pronounce his name correctly. And now I don’t remember it. He’s in Manchester for a few days attending a conference of some kind – he’s studying something, but I didn’t find out what. He’s married and has a young child. Back in Switzerland he’s seen hardly any TV’s. He’s happy that the UK seems different in this respect. That tgirls can wander around and not have to be closeted up. Canal Street in Manchester is a bit different from the UK average, though. And during a Sparkle weekend it’s a bit different from anywhere.

I meet Angel from Kent. Her first Sparkle, but has been to Pink Punters many times.

At 2:00 am Eden closes so Didi and I walk over to Napoleon’s.

I chat a bit with a guy and his partner. Then a while with Laura. There are a few guys that look as though they are making passes. But they aren’t offensive and don’t mind a polite smile followed by a polite kind of no I’m not interested.

A guy wafts a small bottle towards my nose. I gently wave it away. Laura does the same. Amyl Nitrate Laura thinks.

My life has been fairly sheltered, I guess. I remember working in Amsterdam years ago and being offered something or other as I walked down a shopping street. Drugs have never appealed to me.

My feet are sore. My feet are very sore. Makes me smile to think about it now.

It’s 4:00 am. On the walk back to the hotel a security guy at a club that I walk past says “Hi ... you’ve lost something”. “What?” I ask. “Your smile” he smiles. “Ahhhh my feet are agony! You should try these heels.” He laughs and says he did try his girlfriends once. Fifteen minutes was enough. He has no idea how she manages to wear them all day. “You need more practice,” I laugh. My feet are still sore but I found the smile again.

Five am and I am removing makeup. Then sleeping. And then it’s 9:00 am and I’m awake again.
Saturday is another mixed kind of day.

At times I am amazed at people. Both positively and negatively. Not always reasonably.
Laura and I walk into Manchester and call in at quite a few shops. She buys a belt and a skirt. I’m wearing black girlie trousers, flat shoes and a yellow top. Long black hair.
At one point we are standing by a shop. A piece of a banana hits the side of my face. No big deal and no one seems to notice. We are headed across the street so I just wipe the side of my face and outwardly ignore the incident.

Inwardly, this one event has made me think more about myself than any other happening of the weekend.

Back to Canal Street. A coke. Laura has a bite to eat and we chat pleasantly. A drink at the AXM bar.

On the way back to the hotel a Sparkle photographer asks if he can snap me. So who knows ... maybe I’ll be on the website sometime?
Hotel, shave, makeup, dress.

A very nice meal at the Velvet restaurant on Canal Street.
Then to the park to listen to some music and watch the Miss Sparkle prize giving. They do look great!

A relatively early night.

Sunday I drive over to see S and help a bit with moving stuff from house to house. S and U disassemble desks and we load them into the car to transport to the new house. Then bookcases and bits and pieces of other things.

Out for a pleasant lunch.

U likes Indigo Girls as well as Simone White. S is appalled. If Indigo Girls play in Manchester then I promise to take them both!

The drive home. Getting back later than I had originally planned and the sore feet mean that I give the St Trinian’s theme night at the Surrey Swans a miss.

Since then I’ve thought about the weekend.

The highs and the lows. I’ve thought about myself. About other people. About cross dressing. Transexualism. Transvestitism.

The highs of the weekend were definitely the people that I talked with.

I think that the weekend would have been better for me if I had approached it differently. I don’t think I made the most of the events that were organised. I didn’t take the opportunity to spend time getting to know enough new people.

A few times I have wondered about things. Some of my wonderings, in the order that they spring to mind are here.

Is it all worth the effort? The dressing. The makeup. Pieces of banana in my face.

At the moment my answer to this is that it needn’t be effort. It isn’t something that I am obliged to do. The whole expression of Andrea is really an expression of me. When I dress and wear makeup I am still me. People use the name Andrea, and in some ways I feel different. There’s a sense in which some of the burdens of the day are left behind. But under the foundation and mascara it’s still me.

The piece of banana? I think mostly I feel a sense of dismay and sadness. Of course, I don’t know who it came from and what, if any, their motivations were. But the explanation that springs to mind is that it was a gift from someone that is tgirl-phobic. I’m not willing to allow tgirl-phobic people to dictate the way that I dress or whether or not I wear lipstick and nail polish. It’s not my aim to upset people or to make them angry or to offend them. But nor am I content to hide away. On balance I think the experience is making me more rather than less determined to allow Andrea out into the regular everyday world. One day I hope that it won’t be at all unusual to see a tgirl just being herself just about anywhere at all.

I think that many tgirls go through periods of self doubt. I remember on my first trip to a pub dressed in a skirt when I was asked if I’d been through many purges. At times I can understand why people do. I’ve been through some self doubting myself over the past few days.

Deep down though, I think that a purge of makeup and skirts would be an act of self denial. The Andrea in me isn’t just painted lips and fingernails. Andrea isn’t about to disappear any time soon.

And so ... there is a garden party in Swindon on Saturday, a meal in Reading on Tuesday and, maybe, a night at Pink Punters on the Friday. Quite a busy week.

Andrea a la trans-femme

The black hair was all for a Gothic night at the Surrey Swans. I haven't worn black much at all since then ... but having seen the pictures I do like it a lot.

Longer hair than usual.

This is the outfit I wore at the fetish party in January 2008. The entire story is blogged.









Black and white polka dots.

Thanks again to Tracey and Nikki ... you are stars xxxx

Sore feet but smiling

After delays and complications I at last got to visit Pink Punters (http://www.pinkpunters.com/) on a Friday night – on May 9th. The place caters especially for the gay, lesbian and transgendered community.

I first heard of it at TVChix (http://www.tvchix.com/) almost a year ago when people would mention they were (or weren’t) headed for the BNO ... Big Night Out. At the time I was a long way from feeling able to head out for somewhere like that.

A couple of months ago a few tgirls at the Surrey Swans mentioned they were going and asked if I was interested. It sounded like a nice idea ... pity it’s so far from home. But there is a hotel just across the road and one Friday a month it seems that it gets fully booked with tgirls out to party.
Of course, organising such things is a kinda hit and miss affair.

“Hmmm ... who is Laura ...” my wife asks one evening. Laura is a regular at the TV Dinners and Swans. My mobile phone is slowly filling with similar names and numbers.

At the get together at the end of April things began to take shape. The hotel works out a lot more affordable if you can share a room. When I said that I reckoned that I’d be able to make it, Nikki had also decided to give it a try. I offered to try to book in at the hotel. On the way out Nikki said ... “Ohhh ... and make it twin beds!” Made me smile.

As the day approached I began to have misgivings. I’m not a natural born dancer. I have always pretty much hated discos. On the other hand ... Andrea hadn’t ever been to a disco.

Because today has been warm and sunny I’m sitting in the garden typing this and have decided I dislike laptop computer keyboards even more than I thought I did. It’s really nice though to sit in the open air in a nice blouse and a skirt. The garden is hardly overlooked at all. And I guess that by now I’ve decided that eventually, if people begin to notice my dressing preferences then both I and they have gotta learn to live with it.

So ... Friday arrives and I set off from work early. Well, actually it’s at normal end of work day, which is about 2 hours earlier than it has been for a while. Unusually no one asked about “what are you all doing this weekend” at the lunch break.

I set up the sat nav ... waited for it to acquire its satellites and was off. Hoping it would take maybe 90 minutes.

Thoughts passing through my mind as I drive along are mixed.

Why am I doing this?

It would be so much easier to just drive home.

Did I select “suitable” clothing?

I wasn’t worried about shoes much ... I took them all. And, to be honest, 4 different skirts and four blouses was more than enough to choose from.

The traffic news was good, for a Friday... unless you were driving out of London ... or into London on the M40. Thankfully I wasn’t.

I listened to some Simone White. Lovely voice, tunes and lyrics. Makes me smile and cry.

I get to the hotel and find a parking spot.

Get the suitcase ... I know ... a big suitcase for just one night is a little over the top. But what’s a girl to do?

Start walking through the car park towards the hotel reception.

Then walk back again to the car thinking things through.

In the end Nikki had booked the room. I have a reference number. But ... what is Nikki's name? What do I say at reception exactly?

Too late to worry.

At reception I stand in line.

The guy in front ... do I recognise the voice?

Well ... maybe.

I sure don’t recognise the person ... but ... it’s possible.

I step back a bit. Get my phone out. Try Nikki's number. Hoping to see the guy in front reaching for his pocket.

“You have reached the voicemail service of ...”

It tells me a number. Not a name. I know the number already.

Ah well.

Now I’m at the front of the line.

“Can I help you sir?”

“Yes ... thank you. I have a reservation number here.”

I show her the text message.

“What name is that for?”

“Mmm well ... a friend booked it.”

She doesn’t ask me the friend. I think she knows that I don’t know.

She checks the reference on the computer. Asks my name.

I’m feeling a lot more at ease with this than I expected.

“Sorry sir ... perhaps you can wait for your friend.”

I step back from the desk and get my phone and phone the number again.

It rings.

It stops ringing!

“Hi ... Nikki? This is Andrea.”

This kind of scenario still makes me smile. Andrea and Nikki with such husky voices.

It turns out Nikki is in the room!

“It’s room 119” I say to the receptionist. She hands me a plastic electronic key and tries to sell me breakfast.

I knock at the door and Nikki opens it. And yes ... Nikki had been standing just in front of me at reception ... and had been listening to my voice when I was there checking if I sounded like Andrea.

I smile again.

It’s about 7:00 pm.

We chat a little. The journeys had been fine.

Unpacking and talking.

It’s a strange place to be at. Metaphysically I mean ... the geography is easy. Girls together. Neither of us having seen our complementary selves before.

Nikki heads for the car to collect a few things. I begin to shave.

Nikki showers. I brush teeth.

I shower, Nikki brushes teeth.

We talk.

It feels less oddball than I thought it might.

Now time for the makeup. For the first time this week I think cooler weather would have been nicer. I’m not so sure how well foundation will cope with this. But I’ll know soon enough. The routine of makeup is less daunting than it used to be. But still slow.

Foundation. Max Factor applied with my fingers.

Powder. Kryolan translucent. Brushing off the excess.

Eye shadow.

Nikki wonders what’s going on as I get this out. One of my favourites of the moment is a Startgazer thing. Sparkly white. It’s in a little plastic pot and I kind of smear it on with a little felt tip shaped spatula ... the kind that is included with a lot of eye shadows that you buy ... well ... if you buy eye shadow that is. I get some onto the felt tip and smear it on the back of my hand a little so there isn’t too much loose powder. Then I start dabbing it onto my eyelids.

The voice of Nikki. “Wow ... I thought you were gonna start snorting something for a minute.”

Creases me up.

The lighting in the room by the mirror isn’t so good ... so off comes the lamp shade.

I’m reminded of scenes from “The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” ... guys applying makeup at a mirror.

Darker eye shadow.

Eye liner.

I must have blinked too soon ... big black lines across my eyelids!

Cotton wool buds to the rescue.

Mascara.

Blush.

Lip liner.

Lipstick.

Gloss.

Now what to wear? Decisions, decisions ...

Black holdup stockings, panties and bra.

Pop in the boobs.

Short black skirt. Black shirt.

New hair ... it arrived on Thursday. But it’s too warm ... the hair will have to wait.

Earrings. Watch. Bracelet.

Nail polish in a hurry is a risky thing to do. But I can think of a lot riskier things. So on it goes. Bright red. The left hand isn’t bad. The right one is a bit of a mess.

Everything seems too fluid in the heat. Eye liner and nail polish especially.

Now I have to waft my hands around and wait for it to dry a little. Wishing I had put my shoes on before I started the nails.

After a while I reach down and try to fit a shoe without taking too many risks with the nail polish.

In moments I am wishing I hadn’t put the bracelet on yet as it grazes softly along my leg ... leaving an unfriendly kind of line along my stocking.

But ... I did bring a spare pair. I take the bracelet off.

Skirt off and I manage to get the old stocking off and a new one on without doing anything terrible to my nails.

I know ... my perspective on life at this moment is rather oddball. But little things ...

Skirt on. Shoes on. Hair. As Nikki mentions ... the hair seems to have a mind of its own at times ... rather like a small furry rodent.

But it goes on.

I’m wondering if I should revert back to my other one ... but no ... I’ll get used to it.

We meet up with Laura and Dianne in the hotel bar.

Quite a sight if you were just passing through unawares. The most number of tgirls and transsexuals I’ve ever seen in one place at one time.

We sit and chat a little. A drink.

Laura decides to change while Nikki gets a bite to eat.

So many different people. Different looks. Different styles. Different hopes and fears.

It’s almost impossible to not look at some people and wonder ... is she a tgirl ... a ggirl ... a transsexual. None of this really matters – just labels. The atmosphere is one of acceptance. Can you guess?





Time to head across the road. We take the longer route to avoid the grassy ditch.

A few girls lean out of a hotel room window and wave. A guy calls out to us. Just friendly things.

I have 4.5 inch heels on ... so I’m glad there isn’t much traffic. I’d have hated to have to try to hurry across the road.

The cameras come out and we pose in front of the sign. Laura, me and Nikki.

Laura, me and Dianne.

I discover that walking down a fairly steep hill in high heels is trickier than it looks. In the end it feels like I am trying to crisscross a piste with skis on.

Then up the stairs ... pay at the desk ... and there we are.

There are three levels. Very loud music in the basement. Loud music on the first floor. Seats upstairs.

On BNO nights, so I’m told, the upper floor is mostly populated by the transgendered community. And so it was. A few drinks and a seat. We spend a while chatting and meet a few new people. It’s interesting, in an odd kind of way, working out which is the shortest dress of the night ... which is the most see-through.

The people though are just regular kind of folks ... in an irregular kind of way.

A trip to the ladies. Then down to the first floor.

There are a few people dancing. The music is loud.

After a few minutes L nudges me and nods to my side. I look round and a young lady is standing there ... mid twenties I guess. It’s not at all easy to hear anyone speak, but we manage. She’s travelled 3 hours to get here ... a friend’s birthday and they decided to drop by. Sarah. She’d decided to have a chat with a tgirl and I happened to be there. The kind of questions that I’ve been asked a few times now. And still I don’t know all that many answers. So nice to talk with though. And very sensitive ... interested but not wanting to intrude. She also says some nice things. That she thinks I look pretty ... and that the makeup is good ... not overdone. And here she is holding the camera ...

She heads back to her friends and I go to the dance floor. Not being a natural born jive bunny I stand and wiggle a little. Way too self conscious.

Back to the bar for a while. Then the dance floor. Perched on the edge of the pool table for a while.

The party of birthday girls is dancing. Handbags in a pile on the floor. A guy comes along with a mop and asks them to move the bags so he can clean up a spilled drink. They make the most of a photo opportunity and he seems to enjoy the experience.

A girl with blond hair is obviously feeling the heat and it takes her just a couple of seconds to take her shirt off. Nice black bra. None of us can remember the colour of the shirt that she was wearing. Ahhh ... now I have a photo just before the couple of seconds it took ... her shirt was black! There she is a little to the left of Laura.




The party girls are busy taking photos. Sarah takes a few of Nikki and me as we perch on the pool table. Asks if I’m on facebook ... but I’m not so I guess I’ll never see the pictures other than the mini versions at the back of the camera.

As she dances past a little later she takes my hand and we dance a little. Still self conscious, but very much enjoying the moment.

A little while later, another member of the birthday group walks over and draws me onto the dance floor. And now begins something totally new for me. Well .., I know ... the evening has been full of totally new things! She tells me to relax. Not to think about what I’m doing. Not to move my feet for a while. Just to sway and move. Then to watch her feet and do the same. Hands clapping together. She says such nice things, telling me I look great, to enjoy just being myself, to smile. And, for the first time that I remember, I am on a dance floor and not at all feeling self conscious or embarrassed or worried about what anyone else is feeling. As we sway and bounce around a bit, A walks past. This is a mistake ... our hands move out into the air, and all of a sudden, Dianne has no hair ... or at least quite a bit less than she had a few moments ago. My dance partner is so apologetic, and Dianne is wonderful. Not at all flustered, and smiling even. One of the nicest moments of the evening. Here are a few stills from some video footage.


My teacher and me ...









Laura dancing with Sarah.

My legs begin to show their age as time passes. And the heels don’t help to decrease the level of pain. I take a little break and then back onto the floor again for a while.

A lovely and liberating experience. I don’t know the name of my dance teacher ... but anyway ... thank you xxx.

Back to the bar for a while. I make the mistake of leaning just a little too far forwards. My bra is front fastening. And also it is front unfastening and has a mind of its own. Now, it’s one thing for a ggirl to have her bra come undone. But, when your boobs aren’t actually attached to your chest it’s a completely different experience. My second trip to the ladies, with my arms kind of pressed in towards me in an attempt to make sure I don’t lose any parts of my tgirl anatomy. I get there and back with no major mishaps. Though, at the top of the steps a security guard kind of waves at me. He points down towards my feet. There’s a trail of paper tissue following me, attached to the sole of my foot. I try to detach it by stepping on it ... but it sticks to my other foot. A couple of girls help out ... taking a-hold of me and stepping on the paper. After a few moments of playing footsie I’m free.

And there's the moment where a young guy wanders through the bar asking for a kiss from all the tgirls. So funny, but also kind of sweet.

The walk back to the hotel was nice and short – though the ditch was a challenge in heels.

Everything is a challenge in heels.

The foundation survived better than I expected. And, as ever, it was with a hint of melancholy that the makeup was removed.

So ... Andrea does like to dance, and even though my feet are a little on the sore side, I am smiling.

Teddy bears and parties

Things have happened since I last wrote anything here.


I’d meant to write a whole load of stuff about the teddy bear that almost had a name to die for. Mostly it just left me feeling, again, what a terrible place society can become when religious fundamentalists take control. I think it’s almost inevitable when people with power are convinced that they know what the “right” way to live is and then decide to start making sure that everyone else lives the “right” way, whether they like it or not.


A couple of Saturdays ago night I attended my first ever Fetish Fancy Dress party. Left me wondering why it has taken me so many years to experience such things – and also glad that, at long last, I have gotten round to it.


In a lot of ways it was just a party. But for me it was special.


I had intended just to make up and dress fairly normally ... well normally for a t-girl anyway. But the only other person that I knew that was going had mentioned she was dressing as a French Maid. So, on the Saturday afternoon I went shopping in search of something a little more fetish-y. En-route I stopped in at Evans – a shop that caters for larger sizes. They sometimes have shoes that fit me. They still had some sales items in and I found 3 pairs of shoes for a total of £20. And they fitted. I don’t think anyone even noticed me trying the right feet on – only the right feet are left out on display in most shoe shops in the UK. When the shop assistant collected the left feet from the storeroom she smiled and asked if I wanted to try them on. It was a friendly sort of smile. I explained that I was pretty sure that the left feet would be fine as well. My wife was a little gob-smacked when I showed her the shoes. Why on earth would anyone want to buy three pairs of shoes? I have no idea at all why ... just seemed to good an opportunity to miss.


After that I called in at Ann Summers shop to take a look at what was on offer. Of all the available options I most liked the school dress. But what size? When an assistant asked me if she could help I just asked about sizes. So ... she asked ... “what size is she?” I just said ... well ... I’m a 16 or 18 (UK that is) and explained about the party. She thought it was cool. I asked about trying it on but there was someone in the changing room. For a long ... long time there was someone in the changing room. She (and I think a he as well) seemed to be trying out the entire stock range of the shop. They were really helpful though and said if I came back a little later they would make sure that I could try the dress on. And so ... the result is as in the picture.


Well ... ok ... yes ... apart from the face. Oh, and the boobs. My arms are bigger also. But people do compliment me on my legs J.
The panties say “Spank me” on the back. I know the picture doesn’t show that, so you just have to take my word for it. The lapel badge says “Spank Academy for Bad girls”.
When I actually dressed for the party I played it cautious and wore other stuff over the top. I wasn’t sure how far I would have to walk from the car – and the dress was even shorter than it looks in the picture.

The party was cool. I only got spanked a few times – and just playfully. I met a whole load of very nice people. There were maybe 5 t-girls there. A fancy dress headmistress, two real-life dominatrices (is that the correct plural), and a whole lot of people in various mixes of leather and PVC.

A little later in the evening we spent a few hours at a pub in the centre of town. Not so very long ago the thought of this would have been ... well ... unthinkable. The locals were a little surprised ... but very friendly and even complimentary. One guy, looking at a lady dressed in red leather, said to me ... “I wouldn’t mind being spanked by her”. And she wasn’t the dominatrix! We chatted a little with a lady and her husband that were just passing through on their way back home. And to a few other people as well. It does seem that wearing makeup and a dress means you get to talk to complete strangers in a way that hardly seems to happen when dressed as a bloke. It’s strange –once upon a time I would have thought that people’s reactions would have been the exact opposite.

So ... my first very local outing. With many more to come I hope.

Am I convincing?

It rained a lot last night and this morning. There was quite a deep pond of water in the road to drive through on the way to work. The car managed to get through it without complaining. It had all cleared up by the end of the day.

I thought a bit about the concept of being convincing. Quite a few people at TVChix mention that they are convincing. Some say that they only want to meet t-girls that are convincing. Some only venture out into the world dressed if they feel that they can convince.

I think that's fine ... each to her own.

For myself, I guess my thinking isn't quite along those lines.

I'm not a girl ... more of a guy that has a feminine side. A transvestite. A t-girl. I don't want to be a girl. I'm happy to be who I am ... now that I'm beginning to learn to accept myself that way.

The first time I ever visited Charles Fox to buy makeup I remember thinking about what I'd say if I was asked "What kind of look do you want?" I decided my answer would be something like:

"A 25 year old girl would be perfect!"

Actually I would have settled for looking like a 25 year old guy!

In a way maybe whenever I dress and makeup I will look like a transvestite. But ... since that's what I am then I can't grumble too much.

I can manage to look like a convincing tranny :)

Ultimately I think that being dressed and made up is about how it makes me feel. It's about feeling a little more in touch with myself ... more balanced. I think.

I do want to be accepted by others as Andrea ... but whether people accept Andrea or not ... Andrea is still an expression of a part of me ... of my femininity.

Because of this, I guess, I want to make Andrea look as feminine as I can manage. But I realise that there are limits. And ultimately my aim isn't to convince other people. My aim is to get closer to myself.

So ... if any of you guys and girls have any tips on how I can be a more feminine Andrea then that's cool ... please please tell me.

However, if at the end of a day I still look a bit like a bloke in a dress ... well ... that's what I am really.

Wigs and tits

In retrospect ...

I've searched the Internet looking for wigs.

Earlier today I called in at Debenhams in Guildford ... they sell wigs. Unfortunately the girl that sells them was on a lunch break and I couldn't wait. Also ... well ... not sure I liked the ones that I saw ... and there didn't seem to be a place to try them on - well nowhere private.

So ... I selected one at a web site and made an Internet order. I hope it fits! I hope I like the colour.

I also ordered a pair of silicone breasts from China. The description of them on eBay made me smile.

Are you still worry about the breast curve, shallow breast ditch and shortage of temptation? Wear it, you will swell and collect the breasts instantly, and get the tempting breast ditch. Solve efficiently the problems of smallness, flatness and dissymmetry breast.
This is a brand new revolutionary silicone enhancers which can perfectly boost your breasts by up to 2-3 cups size. They give you an invisible support for a fabulous shape!
These nude, strapless, backless inserts provides comfortable, ultra-flattering coverage that looks and feels like your own skin.
These soft and natural silicone cups totally seamless and invisible under sheer clothing. They are easy to apply and easy to remove. In one minute you will have a magical appear.

I'm looking forwards to the magical appear. Not so sure about the tempting ditch though.

Yesterday I had a makeover

In retrospect ...

My wife arrived home today.

We talk about how things had been with her. At some point in the conversation:

"I went for a drive yesterday."
"Oh ... where to?"
"Portsmouth."
"What did you do."
"I had a makeover"

Moments of silence.

"A makeover?"
"Makeup ... clothing photos."
"Oh."

No freaking out. Just an acceptance. An acceptance ... not a resignation.

She doesn't want to know my other name yet. Not sure about seeing the pictures.

A little later when she is checking email I mention that the pictures are on the computer. So we look at some of them together.

No freaking out .. but later I learn that seeing me with makeup and hair ... not just the clothing ... is kind of a shock. A different kind of ball game. But still she accepts me ... is willing to see where it leads. She doesn't understand it ... but nor do I.

She prefers the pictures in the white blouse and skirt ... the short black dress it too ... well sexy or something. That's why I like them best I guess.

A birthday

In retrospect ...

Makeover day!

Woke at maybe 9:00 am. Shaved ... everywhere. Fretted a bit about what clothes I should take ... in the end opting just for lingerie.

Had second and third thoughts. But I tell myself that I've paid the deposit and I hate letting people down.

As 10:30 am arrives I get in the car and begin the drive to Portsmouth. No one knows that I'm doing this. What happens if the car breaks down ... if I have an accident? Thoughts of buses and being run over pass through my mind.

Not sure if I feel frightened or just nervous and excited. Perhaps all three.

Wondering if I am completely crazy.

Wouldn't it be easier to just stay at home?

The M3 and A3 are not my friends. Part way there phoned Fiona to say I was going to be 20 minutes or so late. It was a bit strange to find I was speaking to someone with a very blokey voice. Why I would have expected anything else I have no idea. We only spoke for a few moments ... I called her Fiona ... she called me Andrea. No one had ever called me Andrea before.

Twenty minutes late I arrive in Portsmouth ... having taken a minor accidental detour near the end. The M27 isn't much of a friend either.

Parked the car on Pink Road. Somehow the name of the road seemed quite appropriate. At the end of the road is the house with the sign Born Beautiful. I ring the doorbell and wait.

The door opens ... it's Fiona. Fiona is drab - dressed as (and looking like) a bloke. Needs a shave.
We walk upstairs to the flat.

I'm introduced to Kerry and also to a t-girl friend of theirs. We are all drab.

Fiona introduces me as Andrea. We talk a while ... she asks about my dressing ... my wife. Nothing intrusive. I feel that if I want to say nothing then it's OK to say nothing. In fact I feel that here is someone that cares about what I'm experiencing. Understands the confusion that I feel. Is willing to listen. I like Fiona.

She asks if my wife knows I'm here today. I say "no". "Maybe you'd like to tell her sometime" says Fiona. No hint of compulsion or judgement or criticism in her voice. Just understanding. I begin to think that maybe I will tell my wife.

As we all talk I find it odd. People talking about guys but using girls names and referring to each one as she. The need to differentiate at times between t-girls (transvestites) and girls.

Though the conversation is strange it feels OK. Just ordinary people that like to wear dresses. Kind of like me. Here I am talking about dressing in skirts and things and no one is uptight about it.

Fiona asks what I'd like to do. If I'd like some photos taking outdoors maybe. This is mind boggling. Outside? Me? Dressed as a girl? Ha ha!

I feel relaxed though ... well a lot more relaxed than I was expecting to feel. Not that I really know what I was expecting.

We go up more stairs to the studio. A little guided tour ... clothes ... wigs ... shoes ... makeup ... lights ... cameras.

I choose some clothing. Decisions decisions. I have no idea of style or colour. No idea about what might look good. I select a short black skirt, white blouse, a short velvety-satin black dress and a maids outfit. It seems that the maids outfit is quite popular.

All the time we are chatting ... I talk about my experiences ... Fiona listens ... and shares lots of little anecdotes. This whole thing seems normal in an abnormal kid of way.

I have my own underwear so ... before the makeup I put it on. Here I am getting naked in front of Fiona ... a bloke at the moment. And then putting on a basque with white stockings. I need some help ... fastening suspender dangly things to stocking tops is not a skill I have fully mastered (should that be mistressed?). For some reason the one at the back left is always a problem!

The basque needs some padding ... so Fiona passes me a couple of ... well ... the word tits fits the bill. In they go.

White blouse and short black skirt.

Here I am ... dressed as a girl ... looking like a bloke ... talking with Fiona who is dressed as a bloke and looks like a bloke. And it doesn't seem weird. Now that is weird.

I put on a smock, sit back in the chair and the makeover begins.

I never knew that makeup was so complicated.

Foundation ... lots of it ... all over my face and neck ... powder ... eye shadow ... three shades ... eye liner ... mascara ... blush ... lip liner ... lipstick ... lip gloss. It goes on and on. All the while chatting with Fiona. She explains what she's doing and why. No way am I going to remember this. We share thoughts and feelings. These I will remember.

And then we are ready. Time to choose some hair.

I get out of the makeup chair ... and sit in front of the mirror. My specs are still off so everything is kind of out of focus. I put my specs on while Fiona gets the hair. The plan is to try a few different styles to see what I like.

The first one ... long and dark.

A necklace. Earrings. Shoes.

I look into the mirror.

Ohhhh ... ohhhhhh .... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

It's like Andrea has just been born. Sunday May 6 2007 ... must have been about 2:00pm.

Since that moment I've chatted with a few people that have had exactly the same experience.

Not easy to catch the feelings. I don't know what I was expecting ... but whatever it was ... this was so much better than it. Whatever fantasies I'd dreamed up in the past ... the reality was so much better.

It felt like ... like a part of me that had been hidden away in secret my whole life was suddenly free.

I know ... I know ... all I saw in the mirror was a guy in a skirt with makeup and a wig.

But that's soooooo much of an oversimplification. A bit like saying that all I see whenever I look in the mirror is just a load of water mixed with a few chemicals. Whilst it's true that is part of what I see ... it's not all that I see.

Seeing myself as Andrea for the first time was ... well ... Fiona later said she could see that it was a pivotal moment. I remember her hugging me and saying "hello Andrea". I hugged her back. Too blokey still to cry ... but deeply moved and tears not far away.

Then some photographs.

Awkward at first but relaxing as time passes.

The short dress with a change of hairstyle ... blond. Fresh shoes and black stockings.

The poses are a little cheekier.

Then the maids outfit. Laddered my stockings!

The poses cheekier still.

And then it's over.

Fiona mentions http://www.tvchix.com/ as a place to talk with other TVs.

I wash the makeup off ... saying goodbye to Andrea ... and yet not goodbye.

On getting home I look at the pictures on the CD that Fiona gave me. And I email her.

It definitely ranks as of one of the nicest experiences that I've ever had. I felt welcomed and accepted.

And the photographs .... I love them ... I really do ... especially the ones in the party dress. I love the hair ... the make up ... you really have helped me get in touch with myself in a way I didn't know was possible. Thank you ... thank you ... thank you!

My whole perspective on some things has shifted. I never ever in my remotest dreams imagined that there could ever be a time when I could be myself with a group of other people. And now I feel that it is possible. Such a sense of freedom.

It was strange driving back ... it almost seemed like I was leaving myself .. Andrea ... behind ... and yet I know that Andrea is me ... and always will be ... and I feel good about that.

Tomorrow when my wife gets back I'm hoping that I'll get an opportunity to tell her about things ... and hope that she will be willing to look at the photos ... well ... the first two sets at least ... and I hope that she'll like them ... or at least not feel too threatened or worried about them.

I have a profile on TVChix now ... AndreaW. I hope you like the pictures that I selected.

I chatted with a few t-girls at at TVChix. Vicky was really sweet. mentioned make up classes at Charles Fox in Covent garden as a possibility. Vicky knows Fiona as well.

I'm resolved to tell my wife about it when she gets home.

An appointment

In retrospect ...

Fiona replied. A really sweet email.

A paragraph that made me stop and think:

Having told your wife now, and her understanding and accepting things the trick now is to not become over pushy ... remember she is the Lady of the house ... and that she still needs to be cherished and put on a pedestal. Andrea is part time she your wife is full time ... don't forget the odd card or flowers to say thank you for her understanding ... it goes a long way.

I replied and booked for Sunday May 6 2007 at 12:00 noon. My wife is away over the weekend ... I've no idea what I would say to her if I told her. So no one else knows.

Fiona Floyd ...

Written in retrospect ....

I discovered Fiona's web site during April. The thought of being made up and having a wardrobe of stuff to try on and having pictures taken is intriguing. That's definitely not the right word. Anyway ... interesting enough for me to email her today.

It's nice that the web site includes a bit of biography about both Fiona and Kerry. In my email I wrote a little about myself ... mostly my cross dressing and where that had come from and how I was unsure about where it was going.

Some of the things that I mentioned in the email:

I feel though that I'm still at the beginning of something ... self discovery I guess.

Dressing for me is somewhat of a challenge. I'm a little over 6ft tall and have size 11 feet. I have, however, found that skirts and dresses of size 16 fit quite well ... and that a bra size 38 is a little tight. I realize that it will be a challenge to make me look feminine ... but at the same time I am longing for the opportunity.

I like to wear quite varied clothing ... love the feel of a long loose skirt swirling round my legs ... but also feel very sexy in something much shorter.

The description of your Dressing Service seems perfect. A selection of clothing .. a makeover ... learning the beginnings of how to apply makeup ... a hairstyle ... jewellery and painted nails. All of this is ... well ... perfect. And the chance to be photographed as well!

So ... I asked if an appointment over the coming bank holiday weekend was a possibility.

This email is special. For some reason I felt that I needed a feminine name ... and in just a few moments Andrea was conceived.

A beginning ...

So ... June 19 2007 and here I am.

I'm not sure as to where this blog is heading ... nor even what I would like to achieve from it. Mostly, I think, I'm hoping it will give me a chance to stop and think about things. Things being whatever is on my mind at the moment. I'm aiming to write it for myself ... but who knows ... maybe someone else somewhere will find some interest in it.


OK ... the date of this posting is April 30 2007. This is because there's a way in which this date represents the end of something and the beginning of something. Everything mentioned in this post happened on or before April 30 2007.

To begin ... maybe I should set a little context.

At the time of writing I'm 52 ... not far from being 53. Andrea, however, is much younger than that.

I'm married ... for years and years and years. In a strange way I'd say we are more divergent in our beliefs and thoughts than we have ever been. Yet, in another way, we are also closer.

I have two daughters.

I'm a transvestite.

This seems to mean quite different things to different people. One dictionary version is ... someone who adopts the dress or manner or sexual role of the opposite sex. Some of that is part of what it means to me ... but not all.

It seems that being a transvestite is a different experience for everyone that experiences it. Just like everyone's experience of being a human being is different from every other persons. This being the case I can only speak with any authority about Andrea the transvestite. So ... that's what I'll do.

The first time I recall wearing stuff not usually classed as masculine attire I was a teenager. The attire was lingerie and it belonged to my mother. So far as I remember the attraction was the clothing rather than the owner of the clothing. But it's far enough back for me not to really be sure of the motivations. The experience was initially pleasant ... pleasant enough to repeat from time to time. Until one day an unexpected returning home on the part of my brother led to some seriously embarrassing moments. It was with great satisfaction that I returned home unexpectedly one day not long after this and returned the favour.

After that ... I'm not sure.

I don't recall cross dressing at all as a student.

Sometimes ... in my mid twenties when I worked away from home occasionally ... I bought lingerie and took occasional opportunities to wear it. It wasn't regular ... but it happened. It wasn't easy. I'd become a born again Christian during my first year at University. Cross dressing isn't something that born again Christians typically find an easy thing to accept. So it was generally accompanied by feelings of guilt and followed by pleas for forgiveness and attempts at repentance.

My involvement with the Church pretty much came to an end a few years ago. I don't have bitter feeling about it. I'm not sure that it is all wrong. But I am sure that for where I am at in my life at the moment it's not the right place for me to be.

Towards the end of the twentieth century (omg that does make me feel mature) I began to discover the Internet. It provided opportunities, once in a while, to tell people that ... "by the way ... sometimes I like to wear lingerie".

Usually I was careful that whoever I mentioned this to was likely not to freak out. I do remember one of the first people I mentioned it to asking pretty early on about what happens if I walk under a bus? What would the people at the hospital say? Strangely enough, at the time, that kind of thing was more of a worry than the damage that the bus itself might do to me. I have things in better perspective now.

Once in a while someone or other would ask if I wore dresses and blouses and things. Or did I wear lipstick? Eventually I began to think ... "well why not"?

I didn't buy my first skirt and blouse until towards the end of 2006. It was a trip to Primark. I also called in at Anne Summers ... well ... I needed stockings ... and I couldn't resist the basque.

I did try lipstick once ... mmm ... well ... that's enough said about that!

At this time my wife had no clue. Keeping a few pairs of knickers, a bra and stockings hidden away isn't all that difficult. Add a couple of skirts and blouses and it begins to get much trickier.

Near the very end of 2006 someone asked me "does your wife know"? Internet people had asked me this before, but the circumstances seemed different somehow. In a way I was maybe different.

As a result of that conversation I decided that I wanted my wife to know. But I didn't dare tell her. I didn't know what she would say. I was afraid of how she would react. But I was tired of having to hide.

Having no idea how to broach the subject I stopped wearing Y-fronts and began to wear panties. I know ... not the bravest of all possible approaches. But I wasn't feeling brave. Just tired.

It took a few days ... and the unusual mix of clothing in the laundry caught the attention of my wife.

She asked me. I told her. It wasn't easy. Explaining:

• no ... it's not something that just happened ... it's been a part of me for years
• no ... I don't know why I do it exactly
• no ... I'm not thinking about having a sex change operation
• Why had I never said anything before?
• Where was it leading to?
• What difference was it going to make?

A place that helped a lot is http://www.ladylike.org.uk/. It gave us something to talk about.

It carried on not being easy for a while. The first time she saw a bra under my shirt led to a long, long discussion about what is weird, what is acceptable and what isn't.

There were other issues as well. Bad tempered. Over-critical. Under appreciative.

One day, though, she said that if it would help then it was OK for me to "dress" in the evening and sit in the lounge.

So ... a few days later I did. For the first time she saw me wearing a skirt.

I know it wasn't easy for her. But ... she handled it!

Over the next few weeks she says she began to notice that I was different.

And yes ... there is a sense in which the fact that I was prone to wearing a frock after getting home from work made me very different.

But it was more than that. Less angry. Better tempered. Less critical. More appreciative.

I've read that for many transvestites, the act of dressing is something that relieves stress.

Whilst all this was happening I'd never really applied the term transvestite to myself. I was just a cross dresser.

Then ... in April 2007 I discovered http://www.fionafloydtv.com/