Oh Yes!

Another first. My daughter has asked if she can borrow my mascara. Apparently the one I have is better than hers.

Following On From Yesterday ...

... there's a good chance of other people knowing you're a tranny when you leave a pair of high-heels lying on the back seat of your car all day at work. Oops.

I did it once, but I think I may have got away with it ...

You Know You Are A Tranny When ...

... you find a pair of slingback sandals on the bedroom floor, and have to look and see what size they are before deciding whether to put them in her wardrobe or yours.

I Could Be A Bond Girl

Well, I have a similar hairstyle to Gemma Arterton, anyway - see the second picture in this article. I never saw myself as a trend-setter before :-)

Angel Dust

So I did Angelic. More to the point, I did Angelic with Mrs Rachel.

Yes, having done the Philbeach in November and WOC in December, I did another tranny venue, Pink Punters, this weekend. And, having offloaded the children on a Scout camp or my parents (depending on which child you are thinking of), Mrs Rachel and I were able to go together.

And we had a great time. It's true the music was a bit average (and not easy to dance to in the middle of the evening), but the company was good, and the whole weekend went smoothly. An added bonus was meeting up with my TS friend Kirstie for a meal at the Campanile beforehand.

And the title? Well, Mrs Rachel decided that her outfit was best enhanced with spray-on glitter (and she was right; she looked lovely). The problem with spray-on glitter is that it sprays on. Everything. Including much of our hotel room, and some of my bloke stuff. On the night I sparkled*, but I'll be glittering for weeks to come.

*Yes, it's the Next dress I got on eBay. It was a joy to wear**.

**A woman at the club was wearing the tunic version. She said she thought I looked better in mine than she did in hers. Which was quite a boost.

That There London

Well, today was the day I went for another adventure. I decided that I'd like to just go out for the day as Rachel; not to a TV venue or other 'safe' environment, but just out into the 'real' world. In the end I went into London. Not really the 'real world', but close enough.

The Plan: Go to Adam and Eve. Get dressed. Go out. Have lunch. See museum. Do some shopping. Back to Adam and Eve. Go home.

And basically it worked.

The idea was to use Adam and Eve as a base, not as a dressing service. So I took my own stuff and was going to do my own makeup as well. Which is good, as Josie wasn't available on the day, and just left me the key.

Yes, I had a whole dressing service to myself. Analogies about kids in sweet shops sprang to mind. But I was very good, resisted temptation, and just did what I was supposed to do - made myself up, got dressed, went out.

This is what I chose to wear:



Add a coat and scarf, and this is how I looked when I headed out onto the streets of London:



Did I pass? I don't care. I was comfortable, looked good and, most importantly, felt I had made an effort to pass. I can honestly say that I oozed confidence as I went out.

And the day passed as I planned. I went on the Tube (my first time on public transport dressed, if you exclude a late night taxi in December). I browsed in some shops. I had lunch. And I did the National Portrait Gallery and Trafalgar Square. I know I was read a number of times, but who cares? People treated me exactly the way that most other people get treated in London - with utter indifference. And that's good enough for me.

Eventually I headed back to Adam and Eve, where I did give into temptation and try one teeny, weeny outfit. Just for the fun of it. I present - this:



And then home again.

What did I learn?

(i) Being a tranny is much more fun when you can share the experience with someone. Let's face it, I'm a social tranny. I can, and will, dress on my own for my own amusement and satisfaction (no, not that kind of 'satisfaction'), but it's much more fun - more satisfying - when there's someone else to share it with. I was on my own all day, and it did put a bit of a damper on the experience. I'm not sure I'd rush to do it again soon; not on my own anyway.

I suppose that what I'm saying is that the day gave me an insight into why I dress and what I want out of it. Which is good.

And, let's face it, if you're on your own, who is there to take photographs?

(ii) Wear shoes that you are used to. I wore shoes I thought were practical and comfortable. They were the former. They weren't the latter; they rubbed my feet, and what seemed like a minor annoyance for the first part of my expedition turned into unpleasant blisters for the latter part. Ouch.

(iii) Am I a real tranny? I went into plenty of shops, saw a number of things I like - and didn't buy anything. I am ashamed.

And that was my day, really.

Six Word Stories

Today I have mostly been trying to write Six Word Stories. These are, as the name suggests, stories in only six words. There are lots of them around, if you look.

Apparently Ernest Hemmegnway started them, with this poignant narrative:

"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

And others have followed, mostly miles behind. My personal favourite is Alan Moore's:

"Machine. Unexpectedly, I’d invented a time"

Anyway, As I say, I have been trying my hand at these, and it was inevitable that, in trying to make them personal, I ended up doing some tranny ones. Since I'm not going to post them anywhere associated with Mr X, I thought I'd stick them here. After all, it's not every day you invent a new literary genre - six word tranny fiction. Except, of course, that strictly it's not fiction.

I managed three that I thought were worth sharing. Together they form a sort of narrative of their own:

"His trousers hung next to his dress."

"The mirror showed him Rachel's reflection."

"Satisfied, he hid her away again"

I know; not that good. But as creative as I get.

Androgynous

Had a weird experience on Saturday ...

For the last few months I have been chatting online to Sarah, a local t-girl. Sarah and I seemed to have much in common with regard to personal situation and attitude to dressing, and we had considered the possibility of meeting up for wine, nibbles and a proper chat. A possibility that became reality on Saturday, when, having her place to herself, she invited me over for the evening.

Now, I have certain self-imposed restrictions on being dressed locally; I try not to do it. If I do dress and go out from home, it involves a quick scuttle to the car, and I leave the area as quickly as possible. I don't go out and about around here. Sarah, of course, lives locally. So, how to become Rachel without compromising my restriction?

Sarah had offered that I could change at hers, but I thought that turning up there as Mr X, the disappearing off for an hour to get ready was a little unsociable (albeit practical). What I decided to do was to dress as much as I could at home, and trust to my coat and the darkness to hide me from casual inspection. Then I could quickly finish off at Sarah's.

What I went for was this: I could wear my undies and shapewear, obviously. My coat was baggy enough to hide my boobs. I wore flat shoes which wouldn't be too noticeably feminine (to casual inspection). The only makeup I put on was cover, foundation and powder. I chose a nice pink sweater I hadn't worn out before, but that would be under my coat, and put the skirt I had chosen in a bag with my makeup and wig. I wore my male jeans. Upon arriving at Sarah's house all I had to do was put on my wig and skirt and do a quick eyes and lips job, and I was done. Easy.

So, I got ready. And looked in the mirror. Which is when I had my weird experience.

The makeup softened my face, and made I look, well, not like me. It was neither Rachel (whose facial shape is as much defined by my choice of wig than anything else) or Mr X staring back at me, but a strange combination of the two. The sweater is fairly close-fitting, so my body was as I'd expect it to be when I am dressed - boobs and a slim waist - but the jeans made my legs look male. Except near the top, where they were filled with the unfamiliar bulge of (artificial) hips and bum.

I looked odd. Not unpleasant, but somehow not me.

Even driving to Sarah's was strange. I could feel that I was dressed, and yet wearing familiar Mr X trousers and without my wig I felt 'wrong'. Again, it wasn't unpleasant; it was just strange.

Those shoes, though. They may have been flats, they made far more of a click-clack noise as I walked. I bit too obviously girly for my subterfuge to be anything but cursory. Oh well. It's a good job I didn't meet anyone between my car and Sarah's house.

Epilogue: After a very pleasant evening (thanks Sarah for your hospitality) I travelled home dressed; it being after midnight I had decided that the chances of being spotted by anyone I knew were minimal. I did have to pass through a small group of chavs on my way back to the car, but survived intact (and seemingly unremarked upon). I then had to scrape ice off the car, so I'm glad I packed - and wore home - my warm winter coat (Dorothy Perkins, via eBay). Got home all safe. Time to plan the next trip out. And what I have learned? Against all expectation, I reckon Rachel might look OK in trousers. There. I've said it. But not just yet.

Not So Plain

When I first went online as Rachel (so long ago that I can't remember when, but I'm guessing a good three years or more) I needed a Yahoo ID*. So I started setting one up. I knew that my femme name was Rachel (I had flirted with others before this, but Rachel was the one for me), but didn't have an identity beyond that.

But Yahoo wouldn't let me have 'Rachel' as an ID; someone had already got that. And I didn't want to be 'Rachel' with an arbitrary number after it. But neither did I want to use my real surname. Or invent one; giving myself a new first name was strange enough; a whole new surname was just too weird**. All I wanted to be was 'Rachel'; just plain 'Rachel'. So that's what I went for - Just Plain Rachel. justplainrachel.

You'd be surprised how many people think I'm doing myself down and that it's a comment on my looks. It's not. Frankly I think I look pretty good; not plain at all. Big-headed? Oh, yes. But I do. Aside from the nose I'm pretty happy with how I come across. And even the nose will do at a pinch. Still, it's nice when people do get the wrong idea, and tell me that I'm not plain. So don't stop doing it on my account, please. I love it.

Anyway, it's now my online identity. JustPlainRachel, that's me. And you're stuck with it whether you like it or not.

So there.

However the night of the Christmas meal at the Criterion saw a major change; a 'first', relevant to this whole thing. It was the night I had to phone for a taxi. They asked me my name. "Rachel," I said, "Rachel MyRealSurname***". And, arriving at the Way Out a while later I had to sign in, and without hesitation I wrote 'Rachel MyRealSurname'. That was the night that Rachel stopped being just plain 'Rachel'. Some of the time, anyway.

*It was to dump some photos in the now dead Yahoo Photos. Because the first thing you do as a tranny, when you've got yourself dolled up all nice and lovely, is to get some pictures taken, then dump them on the internet. Mine are really bad. And you're never going to see them.

**Oddly enough in one place I did create a surname for myself, probably because I had to. We'll pretend that it doesn't exist, because it tends to defeat the whole point of this post.

***I guess that you realise that MyRealSurname isn't my real surname. It's just something I made up. Rachel isn't my real name either. Well, it is sort of. But it isn't. If you get my drift. Trannying really makes for a complicated life, doesn't it.