A trip into Windsor and an Exploding Nipple

Last Sunday Tina and I spent an evening in Windsor. Here’s Tina:

and me:

 

After getting changed Tina drove us into town. We tried the library car park but it was full and the passageway from there to Peascod Street was closed because of building work so we ended up at the Victoria Street car park.

We walked from there to Cafe Rouge and had a bite to eat. Then walked down to the bridge that crosses the river Thames between Windsor and Eton.

We tried to work out why the lights on the bridge were flashing on and off every so often.

We had a chat and a drink at the King and Castle pub on Thames Street. We were a bit surprised to see bouncers at the doors. But they didn’t mind us. I just took a look at the web site and discovered the following pictures … and yes … the first one is of the ladies loos … just in case you were interested.

We had a drink each and sat and chatted. We sat outside. After a little while the lights switched themselves on. A dim kind of glow and we found ourselves seated in the red light district.

As always, up to now at least, no one paid us any attention at all.

It was a really pleasant evening.

Later on I found myself thinking:

Now I know why the instructions that come with the boobs say that you shouldn’t sleep in them.

And no. I didn’t sleep wearing them. Honest. But I’ve had them a while … and on slipping one out from my bra discovered that the nipple had begun to erupt:

Well … ok … erupt is overstating it. But there is a definite oozing of silicone.

Just as well I have a spare pair

Windsor, Cafe Rouge, Johnny Cash and Dangly Bits

The other weekend Laura and I paid Windsor a visit. It was a quiet kind of evening. Laura arrived at about 5:00 pm. We chatted a little then drove into town. Parked in the Victoria Street multi storey car park and walked along St Leonard's Road a bit, up along Peascod Street, down Thames Street and into the Central Station and visited Cafe Rouge.

Here .. or there … we are:

As pretty much always, no one paid us any untoward attention. The service and the food were great.

Eventually we wandered back to the car and drove back.

We sat and drank beer and wine … and a tiny little whisky until the early hours. Chatting and listening to music. Quite a mix. Johnny Cash … kind of Country and yet not Country.

And I have at last remembered that I have been planning, for a long time, too look up Johnny Cash singing Hurt. And here it is in the context of a BBC interview:

And here, just the song without the interview:

 

It is, as Emma said at Surrey Swans last night, a very moving song.

There was also some Indigo Girls and Chris While and Julie Mathews. And a whole lot of other stuff.

At one point in the evening we somehow got talking about Nikki’s escapades. Being asked by a girl at Pink Punters if she had a visible camel toe. Bra fitting at Marks & Spencer’s. And swimming.

The swimming was a new one on me.

In a bikini?

Laura didn’t recall the details.

But … what about the anatomy? Isn’t it even more of a give-away than the voice? You know? The dangly bits?

Not necessarily Laura informed me.

At this point Andrea is intrigued.

So … how do you mean?

Well, you just hide things away where they came from.

Uhm … so how do you mean?

Laura explains a bit more.

But doesn’t it hurt?

Don’t they … well … pop out?

We had drunk a few beers and glasses of wine between us by this time.

Does it really work?

Well … as they say … seeing is believing.

So.

Ok I believe.

The music carries on playing.

Well … I giggle … at least I didn’t take any pictures.

Laura is always up for a challenge.

So here you go. See and believe:

 

Click here for the detail if you ever wanted to know. The English is a little quaint … though that somehow adds to the thing. Over 198,000 views and 108 comments, so someone somewhere is interested. Mainly in Poland, it seems.

There is a sense of understatement here, don’t you think:

During first tries, you shall be very careful.

I’m happy to agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment.

Cholesterol and Hell

I’ve booked tickets at Party on the Lawn (http://www.partyonthelawn.co.uk/) and so will get a chance to see Chris While and Julie Matthews play live. Sally and my elder daughter (now, doesn’t that sound a little over-formal?) are coming along as well. It’s a noon until midnight affair and it looks good to me. The more I listen to their music, the more I like it.

Over the past few weeks there’s been a Surrey Swans get-together, a buffet at Kathie & Billie’s and a trip out shopping and dining in Windsor.

I timed things not-too-well for the buffet. Cutting a long story short … I ended up with my annual-ish blood cholesterol test sample needing to be taken from my arm the morning after the buffet … and I had to fast for fourteen hours. So Andrea had to sit and watch everyone else eating the wonderful food and just take an occasional sip of water.

When I got to see Nurse Nicky the next morning … as I rolled up my sleeve I said I’d be looking the other way … the sight of my own blood makes me faint. She quipped back … that’s fine … I’ll look the other way as well.

The trip to Windsor was with Billie. It was the usual kinda thing. In and out of shops and lunch at Cafe Rouge. I bought some food at Marks and Spencer’s and some nail polish and moisturiser at Boots.

The election is approaching and a lady handed me a Labour party leaflet. I had a little chat with a man that was selling … or maybe giving away books about some kind of spirituality and meditation. He seemed nice enough, but it was one of those conversations that opened with the question “Have you thought about what happens after we die?”.

Well, I have. Quite a lot over the years.

I’ve journeyed from childhood faith through atheism, born again Christian and then to agnostic and now … a part of me would like to believe … but mostly I’m not able to. It all doesn’t make sense to me.

As I was chatting with the man, Billie explained that she was a totally committed atheist.

I’m not at all sure what I am … but if there is a God I hope that he or she is different that the one that I used to believe in. I believed in the all loving and all forgiving kind of God that evangelical Christians believe in. But in the final analysis it also meant that I believed that it was likely that the vast majority of people that had ever lived would spend eternity in hell.

Whatever is true … I hope that it’s something different than that.

That first ever shopping trip as Andrea seems along time ago now.

It’s nice that to step outside as a feminine me seems more and more natural as time passes.

Another trip to Windsor

Saturday December 12th. Sally wakes me at about 8:45 as she sets off to play in a golf match.

Coffee, shower, shave, underwear, makeup and clothing.

Billie arrives at round about 11:00 and we set off for a trip out to Windsor.

Driving into town I’m struck by how thoughts, feelings and fears change as time passes.

Once, not so very long ago, driving around as Andrea in the daylight was a very self-conspicuous kind of thing to do. These days it feels comfortable.

After parking, the first port of call is the Post Office. Last week I ordered some computer memory for a friend and no one was home to sign for it when it arrived on Friday.

Of course, the man at the post office needed to see ID. The picture on the card is kinda fuzzy – but the hair definitely looks a lot different than Andrea’s hair. But he asks no questions and doesn’t look horrified.

Wandering along Peascod Street we call in at Fenwick’s. In the window there is a sign advertising “Pricilla Queen of the Desert”. Makes us feel at home, if somewhat underdressed for the occasion.

Lunch at Cafe Rouge. As always it’s a relaxed affair. The waiter brings food – but a little mixed up gives us the food destined for the people on the next table. The plates get passed across with a few smiles. Again, no looks of horror, or even especially of surprise. No one in the restaurant pays us much attention at all even allowing for our “deep” voices.

The restaurant manager says it’s nice to see us again as he passes by.

I have a shopping list from Sally and so buy some Christmas cards at the British Heart Foundation shop and some more at the Oxfam shop. Two nice glass bead bracelets from the Cancer Research shop (bracelets weren’t actually on the list … but well … I like them).

Then a short walk to Marks and Spencer’s for some food – this was on the list.

The people that I pay tills all say hello and don’t worry at all at the way I look or my rather low pitched voice.

I resolve to leave hold up stockings off my own shopping lists in the future. My legs don’t seem to be sticky enough. Stockings and suspender belt or tights from now on.

Windsor, Hare Krishna and TVs

Saturday 17th was another chance to go walkabout in Windsor.

One of the challenges of doing this as a tgirl is allowing all the extra time that is needed for makeup and selection of clothing.

The makeup actually begins on Friday night with nail polish. Sally suggests I go pink. And so I do. For a while. Three coats of Urban Princess. Then an accidental argument … my thumbnail versus a door handle … changes everything. The pink stuff taking for ever to harden. So off it comes. To be followed by two coats of bright red Hot Gossip and one of 3 in 1.

At round about 9:30 on Saturday morning I begin the final preparations.

I’m still not skilled enough with makeup to manage much in the way of subtlety. I know that there are different looks … nightclub chick … everyday smart … casual … and all the in-betweens as well.

I just go for a little less foundation. Paler eye shadow. A little less eye liner and mascara. Pink lips instead of ruby red. Thoughts of Urban Princess versus Hot Gossip momentarily pass through my mind.

I select a bra that isn’t front fastening. Having it come undone in the middle of Windsor would be way more inconvenient than the time that it did at Pink Punters. I have discovered that when your boobs aren’t attached to your body it’s really important to have a bra that is unlikely to pop open. The bra is black – one of a pair that I bought at Peacock’s in Bristol - £6 for two.

A mid length denim skirt and red top – courtesy of M&S.

Shoes with low heels.

As I put them on I know they don’t feel anywhere near so good as four and a half inch stilettos. I know, also, that in an hours time I’ll be glad that they are nice and low.

I’m all ready by about 10:50. It’s kinda nice to just potter around the house and relax for a few minutes.

Sally has been busy all morning doing stuff in the garden.

I’ve managed to train her into realising that Andrea’s nails are way to delicate for such tasks. But I do make the coffee.

Tina arrives at about 11:30 just as Sally heads out to play golf.

The comic irony of the situation isn’t lost … wife out on the golf course … hubby out shopping in a skirt.

After applying a few finishing touches we head for the car.

There are a couple of neighbours chatting a few houses down the street. I resist the urge to wave and say hello. I also resist the urge to run back to the house. I have no idea if I am recognised. If I am then I am. Mostly people seem not to notice. But I would be even less noticeable if I were shorter than six feet tall.

Tina drives and mostly I remember to say which way to go.

Arriving at the car park in Victoria Street we pay at the pay and display meter and head off for the town centre.

Alas, Shoe Fetish is no more. It’s been replaced by a shop that sells motor scooters.

We walk slowly.

There are one or two quizzical kind of looks as we walk past people. It must be our husky voices.

But no one pulls faces or passes comments.

Gazing into a few shop windows we wander up Peascod Street from the St Leonard’s Road end.

Turning into King Edward Court we go into the British Heart Foundation charity shop and take a look around.

I see a white handbag – I have white shoes but no white handbag. It’s in excellent condition and a snip at £2,75. The lady at the till doesn’t really look at me as I pay.

We pay a visit to Fenwick’s. Then Boots, Daniels and Marks & Spencer.

Then on to Cafe Rouge. The place is pretty busy. The staff are, as always, very helpful and friendly. The other diners pay us no attention.

I order a Hoegaarden beer, Tina a lemonade. The food arrives very promptly and is excellent.

We chat about girlie kinds of things.

The waitress drops by … “Is everything alright for you, ladies?” It makes me smile.

It’s then a walk along to the castle and a photo opportunity or two.

As I pose a little and Tina juggles two cameras a group of ladies walk by.

“Would you like me to take a picture of you both?” asks one of the ladies. We gratefully accept the offer, and she takes a picture with each of the cameras.

 

Then on down to the riverside. Tina changes her boots for a pair of flat shoes.

We should have brought some bread for the ducks and swans.

 

On the way back to the car park we call in at WH Smiths where Tina buys a newspaper.

As we stroll back down Peascod Street a man approaches us.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

Brief introductions.

“What’s your name?”

“Andrea.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Of course.”

“And yours?”

“Tina.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m afraid that I have to tell you that you’ve exceeded the local limits for looking cool and being hip whilst out in public. So I’m going to have to ask you to pay a voluntary fine as a penalty.”

Of course, we are smiling well before this.

The man’s eyesight is, of course, immediately suspect.

Actually he is a member of a Hare Krishna group raising money to help support homeless people.

His western name is John … his spiritual name is much more complex.

We make a donation and he gives me a booklet … pink to match the colour of my lips he says.

“Do you have blue ones for boys?” asks Andrea.

“But of course.”

Back to the car and home.

Each little trip out helps me feel more relaxed than the last time.

I have the feeling that Windsor town centre is a good and relatively safe kind of place for a transvestite to wander around in. People manage to “read” me without a lot of difficulty. But that doesn’t bother me really. A thing that Fiona Floyd shared with me several years ago has influenced my feelings on this. As Fiona said, “I’m not a girl, I’m a transvestite. If someone points a finger at me and says ‘Hey that’s not a real girl … it’s a tranny’ then it’s not a problem really … that’s what I am.” I feel the same way.

I think the centre of Windsor is maybe this way because people don’t have problems with strangers and off-beat people. The town relies heavily on tourism and really can’t afford to get overly upset about issues of gender or race or a whole range of other things.

One day maybe residential areas that don’t rely on tourism will get to see people as being people.

Windsor walkabout

The past weekend was busy, but a lot of fun.

At the Surrey Swans meeting at the end of April we had plotted a trip to Pink Punters for 9th May.

Quite a while back I’d asked Tina if she fancied a Saturday walkabout in Windsor sometime.

Early last week Tina emailed to say that Saturday was free .. so how about it.

And so midday Saturday was Windsor walkabout with Tina. Saturday evening Pink Punters with Laura. My longest ever tgirl day, I think … Sparkle 2008 came close … but a night at Pink Punters is a long night.

Preparations begin on Friday evening.

Bath and shave. Only minor little cuts. No nipple-nicks at all. The telephone rings twice during all this, of course.

Pink nail polish.

The day began at about 8:30. The usual kind of tgirl routine … for me anyways.

Teeth. Shower. Shave. Baby oil. I know … I’m no babe … but it softens the skin … or so it says on the label. Pat a pat dry. Deodorant. Moisturiser. Red Door … perfume that is.

Pack the suitcase for Pink Punters.

This is still an oddity. For a single night out, the male me would pack clothing that fitted in a tiny suitcase.

Andrea selects the largest suitcase.

I think I know exactly what I’ll wear.

But … just in case.

A dress. A skirt. Two blouses. Two pairs of shoes. Black stockings. Black tights. Tan stockings. Tan tights. Enough for a spider. Several bras and pairs of panties.

Dressing for walkabouts.

Panties and tights.

Bra and boobs.

Girlie trousers.

Eye lashes. A few weeks ago I bought an eyelash curler. This is described as resembling a medieval instrument of torture by Video Jug.

I squeeze the handles together gently, having read the warning that it might hurt if I attempt to curl my eyelids.

In case you are wondering …  the warning could safely omit the word might.

Foundation. Powder. Brush.

Light shadow. Darker shadow. Liquid liner at the top. Pencil at the bottom, brushed a little to smooth the edges.

Clean off the little spots of liquid liner that get onto my upper eyelid.

Touch up the shadow.

Lengthener … or is it thickener … and mascara on bottom lashes.

Thickener … or is it lengthener … and mascara on the top lashes. They must have curled a bit because it seems harder to miss the eyelids than usual.

Eyebrows … a thin line of shadow.

Blush.

Lip liner. Lipstick. Gloss.

Necklace.

Blouse.

Cardigan.

Hair.

Earrings. Watch. Bracelet.

All ready… Billie always laughs at how long it takes me.

Doorbell.

Hoping that it’s not the postman I open the door.

It’s Tina.

Soon we’re ready.

Off and on during the week I’d wondered if I was going to feel nervous about this all. In fact, all is calm.

I can walk to the car slowly these days.

The car park proves to be the most frustrating part of the day.

Residents of the Royal Borough (that is, people that live in Windsor and Maidenhead) are given a little plastic card. The plastic card offers free entry to Windsor Castle … at least parts of it … and reduced parking charges in some car parks.

The man in front of me at the payment machine at Victoria Street car park seems particularly slow and incompetent.

How could it take anyone so long?

At last.

The machine tells me to insert my card or pay money.

I insert the card.

The machine says: Reading Card … Withdraw card.

I withdraw the card.

Machine says: Error reading card.

The machine tells me to insert my card or pay money.

I insert the card.

The machine says: Reading Card … Withdraw card.

I withdraw the card.

Machine says: Error reading card.

And again

And again.

I can imagine the lady behind me thinking that the blond in front must be particularly slow and incompetent.

How could it take anyone so long?

I insert cash and make a mental note to write a letter to the town council.

Tina and I walk along Victoria Street.

Shoe Fetish is no more.

We take a right at Peascod Street.

We pop in to Daniels and then Marks & Spencer.

At the top of Peascod street we head left, then left again into the station area.

We head for Cafe Rouge and the waiter guides us to a table for two.

The waitress has served Andrea a few times in the past … and also my male alter ego. So far as I know, no connections have been made.

The Salade Thon  is very good, along with a Hoegaaden beer.

The atmosphere here is fine. People know, I’m sure, that we are tgirls but people don’t stare or make us feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. It’s great.

A short walk to the Castle and photo opportunities. The policemen are reassuringly disinterested.

Here is Tina at the gateway:

And Andrea:

And then … I never knew that there was a dressing service in Windsor.

Two girls give us leaflets explaining how you can dress as an Elizabethan and have your picture taken.

“Can we take pictures with you?” I ask.

“Of course you can … but it costs £1”.

I negotiate £1 for the two of us.

The results:

 

And:

I was thinking of using the above picture in a Spot the Trannie competition. But I already mentioned that I was wearing girlie trousers.

We walk down Thames Street towards … well … towards the Thames.

 

We sit by the riverside and chat for quite a while.

Friends. Families. Experiences.

How different people that we know have reacted to the discovery that we are transvestites.

A friend of Tina’s that just cannot deal with it at all. And another that can.

Friends of my daughters. My wife’s sister. People that I talk with online.

Tina told me of a friend that only recently experienced her first makeover and is finding it really hard to not feel deep sadness that it has taken so long discover herself in this way. The friend wishes desperately that it had happened years and years ago.

I empathise. But also, for myself I feel that the timing has worked out ok. Not so long ago the life of a transvestite in public was much harder than it is now. And my wife has adapted to Andrea better than I could ever have imagined. I don’t say thank you enough to her.

All too soon it’s time to head for home.

A walk back to the car park and a short drive.

Tina takes me a little by surprise with a hug and a kiss. I remember that tgirls that I met at Fiona Floyds tended to greet each other like this. It’s a nice girl thing to do and a sweet way to say goodbye or hello.

I had a great time. Relaxed. Unhurried. Great company. And no hassle from anyone at all.

On Wednesday I’ll try and find time to talk a little about the Pink Punter trip with Laura … tomorrow is a TV dinner at Kathie and Billie’s so no time to blog at all.