Skirting The Issue

Another First

2010-01-10T05:52:00.002Z

It's true that I like recording crossdressing 'firsts', and I've racked up another.

My first train journey as Rachel.

I've done the London Underground a few times, but don't really count that. This was something I'd been wanting to do for a while, and hadn't got around to - a day-trip up to Sydney. It's a two-hour train journey from here, but not to expensive, so I decided that it would be worth the effort. Doing it in the middle of the school holidays perhaps wasn't the most sensible plan, perhaps, if I was aiming to avoing the tranny's natural predator - teenagers - but in fact everything went well.

So there we are. Easy.

In Sydney I poked around a few shops (and decided that the new 'Doctor Who ' role-playing game is out of my price range), and did some sightseeing around Hyde Park. Nothing fancy - it was too hot really.

Here I am hiding in the shade:

One thing that did come out of the trip was the realisation that long hair is more trouble than it's worth. I do love the freedom of my wearing own hair as Rachel, but it's a lot of effort to maintain, especially given that for 95% of the time I'm wearing it as a bloke. A wig may be warm, but, frankly, it is more convenient. So, I'm thinking about having my hair cut off ...

How Things Change

2009-12-21T10:38:00.005Z

"You're quite welcome to come to the meal as Rachel if you like."

Three years Ago:

"Rachel? Who's Rachel? I don't know what you mean." Thinks: Shit! How did they find out?

Two Years Ago

"I'd love to. I just need to make sure it's dark when I leave the house so no-one sees me."

One Year Ago

"Fantastic! Great! Thanks! She'll be there. What to wear? What to wear?"

Saturday

"That's OK. I can't be doing with the effort of getting femmed up. I'll just come as a bloke."

In other news, I am now living in a strange world where it's considered normal to drive 100 miles, and for 2 1/2 hours (each way) to go for a meal. We added in some Christmas shopping to justify the outing, though. I guess the key phrase to bear in mind in cases like this is 'Dispersed Tranny Scene'.

I've Been Here A Year, You Know

2009-11-17T11:10:00.008Z

Hey! I have a blog! It's a bit dusty, though. Must have been neglected for a while.

So, since I last used it, I have moved house (not by choice, it has to be said) and generally not done much else of note. Here's a resume of my crossdressing since the last time I blogged:

Two meals up in Sydney, and a morning out shopping in Wollongong, where I somehow ended up on the beach again.

Yesterday I revealed my latest 'new look' to the world. Earlier this year I experimented with 'wigless' as a look. I attacked it with confidence, but decided that my hair was really too short for it to work properly. Now, six months on, it's had chance to grow, and:

I went Christmas shopping with Mrs Rachel up in Sydney, and felt great. As before, being wigless was truly liberating, but this time I was totally happy with how I looked. I know that 'passing' isn't really important*, and I don't presume to do so anyway, but looking the best you can helps with the confidence needed to get out and about. And I felt justified in my confidence yesterday. We're off away thsi weekend for Transfusion and, whilst I may pack a wig just in case, I think the whole thing will be wigless again. I may even get around to blogging it sometime. Probably next year, though, based on past performances.

The truth of the matter is that I started this blog so that I had somewhere to document my tranny experience. But a year ago I basically came out 'fully' on the 'net (and, by extension) pretty well everwhere else as well, so I have found other outlets through which I can share my experiences; ones where I can share them not as an anonymous tranny, but as a relatively normal married man and parent who can show that crossdressing doesn't turn you into some kind of evil monster. The need for this blog has diminished. But I still have a soft-spot for it, so it'll be around for a while yet.

*Saying that, one of the high points of my day was waiting at a counter for lunch; the woman next to me was asked by the assistant what she'd like and pointing at me replied "Actually I think that this lady was here before me".

Of Wigs And Balls

2009-08-18T08:07:00.002+01:00

It appears that I've been neglecting this blog. Again.

I see that the last entry was the 6th May, and now I've been hunting around trying to work out what I've been doing since then. Obviously I've been ticking away happily as a bloke for most of it, but you're not interested in that I'm sure. What you want is frocks, and various tales of tranny life in the Colonies. Errrm, you may be disappointed.

I see that in my last post I mentioned that I was thinking of buying a new wig. And I did; a week or so after that post I went back into Wollongong and got this one:

It makes me look a little older and more sophisticated than the other one does, but I love it. And it seems to have met with a good response from other people, so I guess it was a good choice.

Mrs Rachel came with me to help make the choice; it's always good to have another person with you when buying something that so defines how you look. Unfortunately the lady in the salon thought that she was my mother, which was amusing up to a point, but, like The War, is something best not mentioned ...

For anyone wondering, my own hair is growing nicely, and I may use it again in a couple of months.

That picture was taken at the end of May when I went out with Lettie, Mrs Rachel and various girls and partners from the surrounding area to Wollongong's Japanese restaurant (again). It was a good night out, and I chose to wear trousers - leather trousers. Leather trousers from a charity shop. Bargain. I like to look ultra-sexy on a budget.

And that was it for two months. For six weeks or so the urge to dress left me, and then for a couple of weeks the opportunity didn't present itself. This partially explains why this blog hasn't been updated; there wasn't anything to write about really.

When Rachel re-emerged, at the end of July, it was still with the new wig and we were out in Wollongong once again. But I managed to completely fail to get any pictures of the outfit I wore. It was actually this one, but with different shoes:

Oh, and a different wig, of course. And a different bag. And a different jacket. And different tights.

It was the same dress. And me inside it.

And this weekend I was out again, when we all headed up to Sydney for the Seahorse Ball, run by (of course) The Seahorse Society.

I looked fab:

Mrs Rachel looked fab as well, but I didn't get any pictures of her. I'm rubbish like that.

The ball was good fun. Each bit of it seemed very average (and I really could have done without the Elvis impersonator), but the whole thing seemed to hang together well. Rather like one of my outfits really. We danced and drank and ate, and had good company. Brooke and Fiona from Melbourne were a beautiful couple, and I was privileged to share a table with a Uniting Church minister who was accompanying one of her trangender parishioners as part of the support the congregation was providing during the transition process. You read many terrible tales of what happens when people's religious beliefs meet the trangender world, and it was great to encounter a positive story of support and fellowship at first hand.

The day after the ball we had a brunch and shopping trip into Newtown, where I failed to buy anything at all, despite being sorely tempted by the vast array of goodies on display. Mrs Rachel was suitably impressed. With it being Winter here I was rather hoping to wear some of my cooler weather wardrobe, but the forecast was for temperatures in the high twenties (celcius) and it wasn't wrong. So it was light Summer wear for me:

I also skipped a layer of makeup (no beard concealer) and that seemed to work out OK. I have a new electric shaver that seems to do a wonderful close job, and just didn't need it. I do find that I tend to overdo the slap, so being able to leave a bit out helps give a more natural look.

Heading home from Newtown we stopped off to pick up my children, who had been stopping with their cousin (my niece) for the night. This was another milestone, as it was the first time that any member of Mrs Rachel's family had met Rachel in the flesh. It was a nervous moment for me, of course, but it all went off OK. Indeed I have been promised a trawl through her cast-off skirt collection at some point, as it turns out that we're roughly the same size; she's diplomatically smaller than I, of course.

When we got home I was spotted by both of our neighbours, who may or may not have already known, but probably do know now.

And that brings me up to date. I'm out again in a couple of weeks, and then we'll see where we go from there.

Mr And Mrs

2009-05-06T11:58:00.003+01:00

I'm still alive, you know. Don't think you've got rid of me.

I confused a shop assistant today. I had some shopping to do in Wollongong, and decided that it was a chance to have a dressed outing. One of my trips was to our local electrical retailer, and when you buy something there they enter your personal details into their computer so that they can print out the warranty docket. She started out OK, putting in my surname. She then skipped over the 'Title' box, and put my initial in the next one (which is not 'R', in case you were wondering). Filled out my address and telephone number. All well and good.

When she hit 'Return' it flagged the 'Title' field in red - it was a compulsory field, and she had to put something in there. It was then that I started to realise that she'd skipped it because she didn't know what to put, and wasn't sure how to ask. She must have spotted my wedding ring (which I wear, even when dressed), and putting two and two together entered 'Mrs'. I'd like to report that I said something witty at this point, but all I did was smile sweetly and say "You can put 'Mr' if you like".

So she did.

So here I am - Not-Mrs Not-Rachel:

You'll notice that the wig is back. It returned a couple of weeks ago when we went out for a meal in Wollongong with our friend Lettie, and her daughter, who was meeting her dad's femme side for the first time. I thought that under the circumstances my experimental look was probably a bit much, so went for my 'normal' appearence. And I realised how much I actually missed it. My own hair is still growing nicely, and I will 'use' it again sometime. But, for various reasons, at the moment I need the comfort of the old Rachel.

I did, however, start shopping for a new wig today. Saw and tried one I like, and I may go back and get it in a couple of weeks. I have to say that the ladies in the shop/salon I visited were very friendly and helpful indeed.

So, stay tuned. There could be another new look coming in a few weeks.

Bargains Galore!

2009-03-30T07:07:00.004+01:00

The wigless experiment continues. This time I tried a headscarf:

Now you might say "If you're going to wrap your head in a scarf, why not just wear the wig?" And that's what I thought. But, do you know what? It was more comfortable than a wig, and not half as warm to wear. And, given that my default look is 'hippy chick' not a million miles away from the style I've opted for anyway.

Come the Winter I'll try Hats :-)

Full outfit shot, because I'm a photo view whore:

I wore jeans. It is possible for a crossdresser not to wear a skirt.

The last few weeks have been on and off stressful in the Rachel household, and both Mrs Rachel and I have sought solace in retail therapy. Being cheapskates, of course, we've hot the sales racks and charity shops, and found some real bargains. I've got two pairs of 'cute shoes' (slippers/pumps/whatever you want to call them) for a few dollars each - both pairs are gorgeously comfortable, which is a real bonus for girly shoes I buy. And I have managed to get three personal wardrobe essentials. Numer one is that salwar kameez (Indian trouser suit) I always wanted. It wasn't dirt cheap, but was under A$50, which was good enough for me. Dove grey cotton, with lovely green embroidery. There are hours of entertainment to be had just working out how to wear the dupatta (shawl). The other finds were even better. A couple of weeks ago I found a perfect Little Black Dress in a charity shop, for a grand A$4. Fits like it was made for me, and is simple enough in style that I can dress it up or down as needed with accessories. And today? A pair of leather trousers. For A$3. Gorgeous. I've found a number of tops and shoes they go with, and am itching to inflict them on a jealously waiting world.

I nearly added a floaty chiffon evening dress to the haul today as well - A$10 of utter loveliness. But it didn't quite fit. Probably for the best; we need to keep some money for food ...

The Only Tranny In The Village

2009-03-22T05:37:00.002Z

Wollongong has a gay nightclub. That's 'gay' in the LGBT sense, not the 'yoof-speak' sense, so it's a club for people who are gay, rather than one that's not very good. Anyway, said club has a small web-presence in which, on a Saturday night they promise 'Glamourous', a night for those of any gender to come and sparkle and be seen

A tranny night out in Wollongong? Sign me up! Ever since I've got here we've been looking for the local tranny community (as opposed to the one in Sydney) on the assumption that, since The Gong is a reasonably big place by Aussie standards, there must be one.

So, last night, Mrs Rachel and I decided to go and see what this night of local tranny activity was like. I got myself all glammed up, as, of course, did she, and away we went. It's only about a ten minute drive from us, and entry is free if you get there earlyish, so we reasoned that our time wouldn' be wasted.

And it wasn't. The club was fairly nice. Edgier than Mrs Rachel normally likes, but not too crowded, and with both a loud dance area and quieter seating/chatting area. We spoke to a few interesting people and had a pleasant time.

Only one problem.

I was the only tranny at Wollongong's premier tranny venue night.

This did tend to defeat part of the point of actually going, of course.

So, am I the only tranny in The Gong, or are the rest all hiding somewhere else?*

I also went wigless again. I looked good; the club had lots of mirros and I could check frequently. But when I came to take some pictures later (you didn't think I wouldn't, did you?) I was disappointed. I looked terrible in virtually all of them; my hair just doesn't work. Now it could be that the style wasn't quite right this time, but I think it's mostly that it doesn't really have enough length to work properly yet. It does just seem to be in photos, but it's now shaken my confidence in how it looks in real life. And confidence is everything.

I'm still going to continue my move towards wiglessness, I think, because I love the freedome it gives me. But unless I can find some ways of diguisling my very male hairline a little more (hats, headbands or similar) I'm going to wait until it has a bit more length and body to it. At the moment it's too short to really work properly.

*We do have one local friend, but she lives in Albion Park, and that's not Wollongong. As any fule kno.

New Look

2009-03-12T01:08:00.004Z

It was my wife's idea really.

Last night we went up to Sydney with our friend Letty for one of the regular tranny meals held there. So the late afternoon found all three of us getting ready at our place. I had just done my makeup and put on the outfit I was planning to wear and was getting my wig ready, when Mrs Rachel said, "You know, you might get away with your hair as it is". Now my hair is short and blokey, but still mostly all there. It's a far cry from Rachel's faux-silky reddish locks, but it does the job.

The truth is, her comment reinforced something I'd thought earlier; maybe I could just go out with my hair as it was. I asked how she thought I might get away with it. "Gel it up and comb it into some kind of shape. If it doesn't work you can always stick your wig on."

So I did. After ten minutes with gel, a comb and a hair-dryer I had something that wasn't quite my normal bloke look, but wasn't the Rachel that I, and you, know and love.

And do you know what? I liked it:

I looked like ... me.

I went for it. With my new look we went to Sydney, and did a little cruise around some shops before going to the restaurant where we were due to meet the others. And I felt as confident as ever. Different, but confident. I thought I looked good, and I felt good. If I ever passed before, I didn't now, but what does that matter? I am a crossdresser, and proud of it, and as long as people accept that I'm fine.

It's strange. I've always felt that the wig is what 'makes' the person I call Rachel. I never felt fully dressed without it. It's usually the last thing I put on; a ritual of 'becoming Rachel'. Last night I just made that leap without the wig ritual.

I guess the wig has been a kind of mask; something I could hide behind and which gave me the confidence to go out and face the world as Rachel. Last night I took off the mask and let the world see something more real, perhaps. The wig made me look more feminine, but perhaps that's less of a worry now I'm more comfortable with the idea that people see me as a bloke in a frock. I can just redefine 'passing' to suit myself. Although perhaps a bad experience will change my mind on that score; so far I have been lucky and not had any encounters with people in the real world that have shaken my confidence.

So will I do it again? I'd like to. I may let my hair grow a little more, and then get it styled in some adaptable or gender-neutral way. I'm not sure I want long hair again, but I think it needs just a bit more length. It may mean a change in how I do my makeup as well, as I've always done it on the assumption that my face will be 'framed'. And if it doesn't work, I always have the wig to fall back on. It's been a good friend up until now, and will still be there for me when I need it.

Actually my biggest concern is that my wardrobe has been designed around 'Redhead Rachel'. I'm hoping that he stuff will work for 'Short-hair Rachel' as well, otherwise this project could get very expensive indeed :-)

The Perils Of A Vanity Google

2009-03-03T06:26:00.002Z

I googled my user ID:

"One day I was just plain Rachel and the next I was a Page 3 girl"

May be NSFW? Depends on where you work, I guess :-)

Separated At Birth

2009-03-02T10:03:00.000Z

I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not:

Two Months Seems So Long

2009-03-01T00:40:00.003Z

All right, it's been more than two months since I wrote anything here. Anyone who's followed my male blog will know that I'm extremely lazy blogger, and this one looks like it's going to be affected by the same malaise.

So, what have I been doing?

Well, we are settling nicely in to our new life in Australia; Mrs Rachel and I are in the throes of setting up a (non-tranny related) business, whilst the children are now at school. There are a few things we could do without, but on the whole life is good.

From a Rachel point of view things have been relatively inactive. After Transfusion I didn't dress again until the middle of January, when Mrs Rachel, Letty and I went up to Sydney for the semi-regular Concord meal. It's always pleasant company, and good food, but the two-hour drive each way isn't much fun. And we always get lost in the Western Suburbs. the next one isn't in Concord, but in newtown, so we'll have somewhere new to get lost in :-(

It was also on one of the hottest days of the year up to that point. One of those days when I envy those t-girls who wear their own hair, and don't need the security blanket of a thick layer of makeup. You can see me suffering a bit if you look closely at this picture:

But I survived.

And then it got hotter. Fortunately this coincided with a major dropping off in my desire to dress, so I didn't have to make the choice between not induging my tranny urges, or doing so and cooking for my sins. I know that in the UK there was a perceived drop-off in tranny activity in the Summer, due in part to holidays but also because it's not much fun when it's too hot. Well, girls, it's worse here, I can tell you.

But, Summer is nearly over, and this week saw me go out not once, but twice.

As the weather cooled the urge crept back, and I indulged it with a shopping trip into Wollongong. I'd been promising myself this for ages, partially because there's lots of clothes shops there (I'm so shallow) and partially because I'd promised the owners of two of them (both vintage/esoteric establishments) that they'd get to meet the feminine version of the beardy bloke who kept coming in and trying on their frocks and skirts.

I actually wore one of the skirts I'd bought in one of them, and the lady who runs the shop was thrilled. But it is a wonderful skirt. Have a look:

And, yes, I had a walk on the beach as well. Not just a walk; I ran barefoot across the warm sand, allowing my skirt to fly out around me. I rejoiced in being alive and free to be me. And it felt wonderful.

But I gush. I'm sorry.

In terms of hard practicalities I came away from that outing with two more skirts and some jewellery, and a 100% pass on the Schoolgirl Test. Yes, at one stage I walked past a gaggle of teenage schoolgirls who either didn't notice me, or were so polite that they didn't call out anything. I know that neither thing would have happened in the UK; girls there have well-tuned tranny radar, and gobs like skips when it comes to letting you know they've spotted you. Apparently.

Three days later - yesterday, in fact - I was off out socialising again. Letty (my local tranny friend) organised a local get-together. This time it was the Sydney-siders who had to travel down to us. Letty and I were the only locals, and we had a couple from Canberra as well, but the aim was to show the girls that we know must be in Wollongong that there is some tranny activity here, and that they needn't be shy. We ate in a very public and busy Italian restaurant, with no bad experiences (and at least one nice one, when the waitress complimented me on my shoes), and then went to a local bar/club for the rest of the evening. A group of tall, blokey-looking girls turned a few heads there, but again there were no problems and we had a very pleasant evening drinking, talking and dancing. Here I am before we went out:

In trousers again, I hope you note. I was going to wear some different, tighter trousers, to show off my legs (tart!) but unfortunately they also showed off too much else in the ... nether regions. And no amount of tucking seemed to hide that problem. They are trousers for another day, and a much longer top :-)

So, that's me caught up with news for the last two months. There's another Sydney meal coming up in a couple of weeks (see above), and Mrs Rachel and I are considering popping back to the club we went to last night; entry was free if you got there earlyish, the drinks weren't too expensive and the clientele were of a wide age range, including old fogies like us.

It's also the first time that I've been clubbing as Rachel in a 'regular' club. Previous outings have always been to LGBT establishments. As I have said before, being a tranny is a series of 'firsts' sometimes.

Better Late Than Never

2008-12-23T07:15:00.003Z

In my last post, written a month ago, I promised a report on Transfusion in Sydney. This is one of the big events in the Aussie tranny calendar, so it would have been rude not to go. So I went.

Of course, I was limited in terms of outfit because my stuff still hadn't arrived from the UK, but I eventually settled on a sequined minidress that I just happened to have with me, and spent a happy afternoon scouring Wollongong for accessories.

Letty (see previous post) offered to drive me up to Sydney, and back, thus alleviating the need for me to take the train. And Letty was going to be en-femme all weekend, so I decided that the time had come for a new adventure and followed suit. By some standards 30 hours is not that long, but it's the longest sustained time I've spent as Rachel. And in the Aussie heat it was long enough as well.

So, we drove up to Sydney, and Letty showed me the sights of Newtown - loads of little shops and cafes, many of teh former selling gorgeous vintage clothing, which I resisted (aside from one skirt which I tried with a view to buying, but which didn't fit). After lunch in one of the aforementioned cafes we headed for our hotel so that we could change for the evening. Since so many girls were staying at the same place we were having pre-event drinkies on the roof, so we needed to get ready fairly briskly. After all, it takes forever to look as good as we do, doesn't it :-)

So here I am at the hotel:

I changed. I headed for the roof. Somehow I failed to find it and, much to my embarassement got stuck in a fire-escape stairwell. Fortunately a quick call on my mobile alerted Letty to my whereabouts and she opened the door to the roof and let me out. A good start to the evening.

Up on the roof:

The venue laid on a bus for us, so transport was easy. The return was either the bus (at an appropriate time) or taxi.

Transfusion - it was fun. Great to meet so many Aussie t-girls in one place. The music was OK (as good as you get at any tranny event in the UK), the drag act was typical of its genre and the food was average. But I danced like nobody was watching, and chatted to the usual interesting cross-section of people that inhabit the tranniesphere. I'm going again next year.

So, the event drew to a close, and the club (ARQ), was opened up to 'real' people, mostly muscular and (seemingly) shirtless gay men. Not my thing to be fiar, but I decided that the night was still young and that I'd hang about and get a taxi back, rather than taking the bus back to the hotel. Eventually I tired of the club, and met up with a couple of other girls (and a partner) in a next-door venue, The Taxi Club. This is closer to a pub or cocktail bar than ARQ (similar to The Philbeach, say, but without the hotel bit), so it was easier to sit and chat. And it was fascinating watching the few tranny-chaser's eyes follow every girl that walked past.

It was 2am by now, and I decided to head back to the hotel. Now, I knew its name, and knew it was nearby. It was a Waldorf (still is), so I reasoned that it wouldn't be too hard a destination to find.

I was wrong.

I'd headed out of The Taxi Club alone, knowing that I could pick up a cab outside. But none of the drivers I stopped knew where the hotel was. And, I realised, neitehr did I. I knew its name, but not what street it was on; Sydney is a foreign city to me still, and I was, to put it mildly, a bit buggered. Eventually a nice couple used their mobile internet to look up the address for me (thank you, if you ever read this), so I had a street to give the next driver. But still they seemed reluctant to try and find it. A lot of them obviously spoke little english, that was clear; getting a taxi at gone 2am in Sydney was proving harder that I thought it would be. And, for the first time when I was out as Rachel, I could feel my confidence slipping. I was basically alone in a strange city and I was en-femme; I won't say I felt scared but I did feel a little vulnerable and was staring to consider what options I had.

At that point a driver puleld up who did know where I needed to go, and I was rescued. He opined that it may not have been geographical ignorance that he other drivers displayed but the simple fact that they didn't want 'one of you' in their cab. Transphobia, or geographical ignorance? Who knows. Anyway, I was saved, and returned to the hotel by about 3am, ready for sleep.

And up bright and early so that Letty and I could head into Sydney city centre for breakfast. Which we ate at a pavement cafe, before heading to the glorious Queen Victoria Building for some shopping and sight-seeing. I didn't buy anything femme, but did get a card-game from the local games shop. Which I haven't played yet.

And here I am in the QVB:

And then back to Wollongong, where I was genuinly glad to throw off the trappings of Rachel, and slob out in male-mode.

Thanks to Letty for being my escort, guide and chauffeuse for the weekend.

I was back in Sydney a fortnight later, with my family this time*, as we went to see 'Priscilla: The Musical'. See it. I have spoken. That is all.

Oh, and our stuff turned up from the UK a couple of days after Transfusion. It's only when you unpack things that you realise how much of your wardrobe is taken up by each persona; in my case Rachel takes up more than twice the space of my bloke self. For clothes that are worn less than 5% of my time. Daft, really.

Anyway, have a good Christmas, and I'll probably be back in the New Year. At present I'm in a 'not bothered aboout trannying' phase, but the urge will return I'm sure, and I'll be ready when it does :-)

*And me 'en-bloke'.

Milestones

2008-11-24T03:44:00.003Z

Life as a tranny seems to be made up of a series of milestones; first time out dressed, first time in the 'real world', first chat-up line*, and so forth.

This week saw me deal with two more.

Firstly I managed, quietly, without any fuss, to nudge open the door towards going public. That is to say I posted a picture of me as Rachel on my male Flickr stream. I've done this once or twice by accident (and vice versa with Rachel's stream), but this was a deliberate act. Since moving to Australia we have a new life to build, and new contacts to make. These people will have no expectations about us, and may as well know about us properly from the word go. When we were living in the UK we had a constant worry about neighbours or people from work 'finding out'. We have decided that this no longer applies. For better or for worse I am a crossdresser, and people will have to deal with that.

That's not to say that we are forcing it on them, but neither are we taking any special measures to hide Rachel from the outside world. We have discussed it with the children and they are comfortable with it as well, and to be honest it was them that mostly drove a lot of the discretion in the UK anyway.

Anyway, those who know me in bloke mode will know that I have been doing a daily self-portrait project on Flickr. Over the last year I have found ways of introducing Rachel into this without bein too blatant about things (although I've done it enough that I know several people suspected I was a tranny). However the other day my self-portrait was of me as Rachel. Any suspicions anyone may have had were confirmed, and anyone who cares to look at my stream and who doesn't know I'm a tranny will do so now. I haven't, as yet, associated my male stream with that of Rachel, or, indeed Rachel's stream with my bloke one. That's a step to be taken at a later date.

So far responses have been positive. But the genie is now out of the bottle and we'll take what comes.

And the next milestone?

Since we arrived in Oz I have been in e-mail communication with a local girl, Letty. We decided that it would be good to meet up sometime, and last night we did so. However as meets go it was pretty momentous. Letty invited me to her place for a meal, but extended the invite to Mrs Rachel and the children as well. Now Mrs Rachel has been out with me enough for this to be a non-issue, but this would be quite a big step for the children. However we discussed it with them, and they were quite happy to join us - the first time that they have ever been out with me as Rachel. Also the first time that they had met another crossdresser in girl mode. Anyway, we all had a very pleasant evening, and, when our stuff finally arrived from the UK, we will return the favour. There are many times that your children make you proud - last night was one of them; they were brilliant.

Anyway, I'm off out again next weekend for the Transfusion Christmas party up in Sydney. Report and pictures when I get back.

*A year ago. It was roughly 'My mate really fancies you.'

Rachel Steps Out Again

2008-11-20T06:50:00.004Z

Fresh from the success of my shopping trip to Shellharbour a couple of weeks ago, last night I went to my first tranny social event since arriving here in Oz eight weeks ago. This was a restaurant night in a suburb of Sydney, so required a couple of hours' driving there and back. But it was worth it; Mrs Rachel and I met three girls, two of whom had their partners with them, and we had a very pleasant Italian meal. And, just to rub it in to those of you in the UK, we sat outdoors :-)

I'm out of practice in getting ready for these things, and we were late leaving home because I was still putting my face on when we should have been in the car. Add to that the fact that we don't really know our way around Sydney (which, we think, covers a larger area than London, despite only having half of the poulation) and got lost, it was no surprise that we were late turning up. However no-one had ordered, so we didn't disrupt things. To balance things out we also got lost on the way back home as well and, just as we finally found the correct route out of the city, we got caught in the mother of all thunderstorms; lashing rain and bright sheet lightning all the way down to Wollongong and beyond.

Anyway, thanks to Jan, Caroline, Karen and their other halves for making us welcome. I'll see some of you in just over a week at the next big even - Transfusion.

I wore some particularly high heels for the evening and to get used to them spent a morning wearing them around the house. Which led to the bizarre sight of me, in full bloke mode, playing competitive Guitar Hero against my son whilst wearing 5" stilletos. It actually seemed to improve my ability to play.

And it was my son who, whilst we were getting changed at the local swimming pool this afternoon, notcied that I had forgotten to remove the raspberry pink nail varnish from my toes last night. Oh well.

My Aussie Debut

2008-10-31T05:35:00.003Z

Well, The Urge finally caught up with me, and I decided that I had to get frocked up and have some kind of outing or I'd go spare. Since we arrived in New South Wales a couple of weeks ago I've not been shy about trying things on in shops whilst in bloke mode, (and buying some of them as well), but it's not the same is it?

The downside is, of course, that it's too bloody hot for trannying a lot of the time. So I bided my time until we had a relatively cool, overcast day and then went for it.

In fact it wasn't an exciting outing - I just went shopping in the local mall (Shellharbour Stockland) - but it was my first time in not only a new area, but a new country. I have no reason to assume that urban Australia gives a damn about the odd tranny wandering around, so I wasn't too worried, but I will admit to a few butterflies as I parked up and started to get out of the car.

For those that like to know these things I wore some leg-flattering cord trousers from Next which I bought in Staines the day before I flew out here, my New look dolly shoes and a lovely loose flowing tunic top in cream with lace trim I picked up in a vintage/esoteric clothes shop in Wollongong earlier this week. Here's the ensemble.

I can report the best thing one can always report after an outing into the Real World - nothing happened. A few people did a double take, anyone who stared got my winning smile and most people didn't notice me or ignored me. Just what I'd expect. Shop assistants were, on the whole, polite and helpful and seemingly unfazed by a crossdressing Pom spending money like it was going out of fashion. The only place where I noticed a reaction (definate sniggers as I left) was the local games shop which I'd been into to see if they had a release date for the new Guitar Hero game for the DS. Perhaps it was my taste in games they were laughing at?

I did every clothes shop I could find in the mall, and tried on things in several of them. In none of them did I have any problems doing so. Looking confident always pays off I guess.

Anyway, I came away with a new iPod FM thingy for the car, a new bra and a lovely 50s style floral dress which I now need an excuse to wear.

Next time I go shopping it's going to be Wollongong city centre - there are heaps of lovely clothes shops there just waiting to be explored. And I shall have to work on the next outing as well; there's a nice Thai restaurant just down the road from where we're living which could be a possible venue.

Made It!

2008-10-16T22:56:00.003+01:00

G'day!

Just a short note to say that I'm in Australia now. Actually I've been here for a couple of weeks now, but we started with a two week holiday in Northern Territory and it's only in the last couple of days that we arrived in New South Wales, where we intend to live.

I have tried to maintain some tranny credentials. On the day we flew out of the UK I bought a new pair of shoes, and on my first day in New South Wales I tried on a nice looking black pinafore dress in the local shopping centre. Didn't buy that one, though; I wasn't sure it suited me.

Look out for new pics and adventures when i get myself properly organised.

The End Of An Era

2008-09-17T07:53:00.002+01:00

Last night I went out as Rachel for the last time in the UK. In less than two weeks I, and my family, will be emigrating to Australia and waving these shore bye-bye.

Appropriately, and coincidentally, I wore pretty much the same outfit I wore last October on my first major public trip out - a meal with my wife, brother and sister in the centre of Birmingham. This time I was going out with Mrs Rachel again, but meeting up with the three work colleages who know about Rachel. Oddly enough they were all people who, for various reasons, were unable to make it to my official work leaving-do on Friday, so it was a proper chance to say farewell to them. But it was also the first time they had met me as Rachel, which was an odd experience for all of us. They'd seen photos, of course, but the real thing is always slightly different. Better, I hope :-)

Anyway we had a meal and a drink at a nice pub/restaurant in Ash. They were also fashionably late, which meant that Mrs Rachel and I had a panicked few moments wondering if we'd got the right night or the right pub even. We even both ambled around the place looking to see if our friends had turned up through a different entrance and were sat somewhere else. Guess which one of us attracted the most attention there ...

The last couple of weeks has also seen my last Transdoori curry-night and my last trip to the Surrey Swans. Thank you to all of the friends we have made over the last year. Your support has been invaluable, and we will keep you acquainted with our adventures Down-Under via this blog, my photos and all of the usual forums. But that's it. In a few days 'Rachel' will be packed up for transit to Australia and there will be a (brief) break in her activities. Maybe, if there's space, I'll pack a 'stripped down' Rachel in my luggage, but otherwise she's going in the crate with the bulk of our other possessions, and making a long slow sea journey. So, until she catches me up, bye for now.

A Year On ...

2008-09-01T08:00:00.003+01:00

I realise that it's over a month since I last posted, and I have allowed a couple of personal anniversaries to pass by unnoticed.

At the end of July I should have marked the passing of the first year since Mrs Rachel first met Rachel. Although I had come out a couple of months previously, we had left the actual presentation of me in femme mode until we were both settled and ready. And when we could find some time away from the children.

So it was, at the end of July, we went into London where I had a session booked at Adam & Eve, twith Mrs Rachel as an observer. The idea was that instead of just seeing Rachel appear 'fully-formed' (and, remember, at this stage she had never even seen a photo of me dressed), she would see me transformed bit by bit, which we hoped would reduce some of the shock. Obviously it was a nervous time for both of us; neither of us knew what the reaction would be.

I think you can guess, from the fact that I am writing this, that things went well. Mrs Rachel didn't freak out. Yes, it was hard for her. I think it still is. But she coped and we realised that should could live with me appearing, from time to time, as The Other Woman. We even went out for lunch together at a local cafe. More importantly we felt confident enough to invest in something I didn't have at that point - a wardrobe at home. We hauled off to the infamous Doreen's where I was able to pick up my 'look'; all the basics I felt I needed to be Rachel. This was the point where I stopped being someone created, in part, by a dressing service and took full control of my appearence.

Needless to say that my wardrobe has expanded somewhat since then. I'm a tranny. It happens.

With that milestone out of the way we started telling family members. The big one was telling the children, who accepted it with little problem at all. They knew that we had some kind of issue that was being resolved, but not what it was, but when they finally found out they were accepting and understanding. They saw me, pretty much in bloke mode, trying on a skirt. They had a play with my wig and boobs. And then, towards the end of August, we put aside a Saturday evening and Rachel came to tea. The children saw me fully dressed for the first time. And they didn't freak either.

Obviously there's more to these tales of acceptance and understanding than I've written here, but that would make this post far longer than it needs to be. Suffice to say that, thanks to a wonderful family, I have been able to happily and comfortably express myself as Rachel and, I hope, have been a better person because of it.

Security Breach

2008-07-25T08:07:00.002+01:00

So there we were, playing 'Rock Band' on the X-Box; my daughter, her friend and I. It was first time, and my daughter was explaining (badly) how I selected my character. As I fliundered around the controls a woman popped up and I decided to give up working out what I was doing an use her.

"Yeah", says my daughter "That seems a good choice, given what you are."

I flash her a warning glance, taking in her friend (who seemed oblivious), and indicating that the Tranny Thing was a no-no in the present circumstances.

"Oh, it's OK", says the fruit of my loins, "She knows."

Cue Rachel in bloke mode sitting there open-mouthed.

"I told her."

Even more open-mouthed.

Her friend still seemed oblivious, and I gave my daughter a special "We'll Talk About This Later" look (I'm good at looks). Then we murdered whatever song it was we chose to murder.

And she had. Told her. Weeks ago, apparently.

The thing is that whilst I am not strictly closeted, I do maintain a certain level of secrecy about being a CD in my local area, precisely because the children were concerned about it getting out at school. Now, fortunately, this friend of hers goes to a different school, so we have something of a buffer in that respect, but they both go to the same Guide group as people who do go to my kid's school. Really it's not a matter of if word gets out, but when. For my wife and I we'll live with it. Indeed if I no longer have to conceal my trannying from the population of Staines I can shop a little more freely and worry less about being spotted when going off to various events. My daughter has made her own bed, and will have to lie on it. But my son was the most concerned about word getting out, and now she's potentially blown it for him. We'll see. All being well we won't be around these parts much longer, so it may all be academic, but if word does get out, we'll know the source.

Kids. Who'd have them?

Magic Theatre IV - And A First

2008-07-21T07:02:00.004+01:00

Magic Theatre IV has come and gone, this time with the magic transferred to a new venue. Previously held at the Rivoli Ballroom somewhere in SE London, this time it was held in Blomsbury. The new venue was interesting - a 1930s ballroom - but we didn't think it had the charm of the Rivoli, and the bars, though less busy than the Rivoli were far more expensive. Central London prices I guess. Parking was fine; we managed to get on-street parking for free only a couple of minutes walk away.

I went with Mrs Rachel (of course), and also my brother and his wife. Despite my annoucement of a few months ago I did go as Rachel; the chance to dress up was too strong, and with the way our life is panning out at the moment (more on that in a later post perhaps) I need to take any dressing opportunity I can at present.

So here's my outfit, with the added bonus of a brief glimpse of Mrs Rachel in the background:

However Helena Love took a much better picture at the event itself, which can be seen here.

What few pictures I took that came out can be seen here. My camera wasn't up to much in the low light of the venue; whilst the flash gives you an image you can see, the auto-focus can't see anything to focus on, so you get a well-lit blur.

The format of the event was as you'd expect; fabulous costumes, dancing to a varied selection of music and a few cabaret acts. Whilst all of the acts were good, top marks went to
The She-Creatures; great music, a great show and wonderful costumes. I liked them enough to download stuff when I got home.

When I got home, eventually, that should be.

Driving into Central London on a Saturday evening took a while, but no longer than we expected; just over an hour to do the 20 miles or so, and that was taking into account some roadworks in Earl's Court. We thought he journey home would be quicker. After all, it was going to be 1am; just how busy could it be? The answer was very busy; Central London was utterly gridlocked so far as we could see. We were heading west from Bloomsbury, and it took us more than an hour just to get as far as the Natural History Museum. It certainly took us over two hours to get home which, when you're tired and (as I was) fully trannied up, is a bit of a strain. All things considered we enjoyed Magic Theatre at the new venue (was the dance-floor extra slippery, though, or was that just me?), but we'd have to consider how we are going to travel there next time or, at least, consider an alternative route.

As I said earlier, my brother and sister-in-law joined us, having come down from Birmingham earlier in the day. On Sunday, after we emerged tired and danced-out and ate bacon sarnies, we headed back into London (on the train this time) so we could pay a visit to Camden Market. And what a great time we had; there were just far too many shops for us to deal with, just as we remember from our last visit (about 15 years ago!). I was in bloke mode, but was in the market for Rachel stuff. Which meant that there were plenty of stall-holders who saw me browsing clothes and asked what size I was looking for. "Oh", I'd say, "I'm a 12" (I was looking for skirts). As my wife has said before, I might as well hang a sign around my neck saying 'I Am A Tranny!'. But the thing was I was in an area where people have seen it all, and it wasn't an area where I needed to be discrete. True I had the children with me, so I tried to avoid anything that would blatantly embarass them, but I was able to happily admit to people that I was a crossdresser, and enjoy shopping for clothes and other bits openly and happily. Which gave me a new tranny first; seeing a skirt I really liked in one of the shops I went and tried it on; my first time trying Rachel clothes out and about whlst in bloke-mode. I didn't come out and model it in the shop, it's true (the children didn't want me to and, frankly, I'm not sure I would have been a good advert for the shop's wares in a pretty skirt with stompy boots), but try it on I did. And I bought it; a lovely brown/maroon hippy skirt with floral motifs on it which I think I will wear to the Surey Swans next week.

I say my children had the possibility to be embarassed, but not enough that they wouldn't back me up. On one stall I was looking at a nice skirt whilst my daughter was with me. The lady asked if I liked it, and we negotiated a price before I considered trying it. "You want to try it on?", she said. "Yes please", I said. "Oh," she said, "Is it for a party?". "Oh no," I replied, "It's for me. I'm a transvestite". She looked at more for a second, then turned to my daughter; "Is that true?", she asked. "Oh he is, yes", said my daughter, and for a brief moment her eyes said 'And don't I know it'.

The skirt was too small.

Not For Public Display

2008-07-11T13:23:00.003+01:00

So, it's just about a week to go until Magic Theatre IV. Because of a potential tranny drought in the near future I have decided to abandon my plans of going en-bloke and will frock up for it. I start chosing outfits, even to the extent of ordeing a possibility from eBay.

The Plan: By tomorrow (Saturday) I should have a choice of frocks and shoes. Indeed I know which shoes I want to wear, and am merely deciding which frock I want to wear with them. Easy. It's Saturday. I can spend the morning trying on the outfits, and then decide which is to be The One. I can then head out to the shops and accessorise. By the end of the day my outfit will be chosen, and I can then relax and enjoy the run-up to the event. Easy.

The Reality: We put our house on the market, and are informed that we have at least four viewings during the course of Saturday. It is felt that me parading around the house wearing pretty frocks, high-heels and a beard (I save shaving for tranny-nights only) is likely to put off potential buyers. Tomorrow Rachel will be locked firmly in the closet. And the accessories I need will stay in the shops I won't be visiting.

Bums.

Musings On Wimbledon

2008-07-04T22:40:00.002+01:00

I don't follow Wimbledon these day. To tell the truth I've never really followed it that avidly, although I did once skive an afternoon off school to watch the Ladies' final once (in the days when it was played on a Friday afternoon).

Anyway, I don't follow Wimbledon, but I did catch a few minutes of BBC2's coverage of it last night, when I switched on for the finale of 'Heroes'. They were previewing the all-Williams final, and showed various shots of them playing. Now I don't know which sister it was, but one of them was wearing the most enormous hoop ear-rings. And all I could think was, "How does she play tennis in those?"

Even when I manage to drag myself into the Mysterious Blokey World of Sport, I can't manage to do anything more than comment on ear-rings ...

Trace Elements

2008-06-30T08:02:00.002+01:00

This morning I was making my lunch, as I do on any work day. I'm organised like that; make sarnies in the morning and I don't have to forage for food at lunchtime.

Anyway, as I was buttering my bread I looked up and saw my wife gazing at me with a lovely smile on her face.

And I smiled back and thought: "What a lucky guy I am."

And then I saw her eyes moving over my face and I said: "You're checking me for residual make-up, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said.

What a lucky guy I am.

Yes, I was off out trannying last night, and managed to do another cliche. Strictly it's one I've done before, a long time ago at a dressing service, but that's one best left forgotten, far back in the mists of time. This time I did it well. And Mrs Rachel did it too. No pictures of that, though. Not for you lot, anyway :-)

But to return to the original theme of this post, there's no residual makeup, but both Mrs Rachel and I still have red staining on our fingers from the nail varnish we wore. We really are going to have to find a better quality red varnish. I can't use the "I've been painting model soldiers again" excuse every time ...

Best Wishes From ...

2008-06-20T08:05:00.003+01:00

Last night I went to the June Transdoori and had one of those minor, odd experiences that you have when you're a very part-time tranny.

We're all sat down to eat, and cards went around the table. Not playing-cards - this was a curry night, not a bridge evening - but 'sign your name' type cards. One was a Thank You card for a lady who used to run a restaurant and had been particularly supportive to the local T-community, the other for someone who was in hospital for an op. You know the routine - sign your name - 'Best wishes from ...' - and pass it on.

Anyway when the first card got to me I went to sign my name and realised that, well, I'd never done it before. Oh yes, I've signed cards plenty of time - as a bloke. But this was the first time that I had signed my name as Rachel. You see, even when dressed I use my bloke credit card, and that not often. And, anyway, with chip and pin who signs their name for that any more? Sure I've filled my name out in the 'visitors' book at clubs, but even that's not the same*.

No, this was the first time that I could informally scribble 'Rachel' on something. And it was very odd. After nigh on 40 years writing my bloke name it's developed into an unreadable squiggle which, whilst distinctive, is barely recogniseable as a name. Last night I ended up printing 'Rachel' very neatly. Somehow it looked wrong, like it didn't seem to be a sentiment from me.

Perhaps in 40 years time Rachel will have her own signature as well ...

*Although I have appended my real surname to Rachel in at least one case, giving a bit of a lie to my 'just plain' soubriquet.

Book Meme

2008-05-20T21:51:00.003+01:00

I got tagged by Pandora on this one:

The requirements are as follows:
1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Locate the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences on your blog and in so doing…
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

I'll skip '5', as most of the people who are likely to want to do it have already done it. Indeed I've already done it, years ago, on my bloke blog. It was a different book, of course.

So, the nearest book is grabbed and we get:

"When the steam engines and oxen failed to do the job, another method was used, known as 'cabling'. The locomotive was uncoupled and driven several hundred yards up the slop into a specially dug pit. A hawser was then attached to a drum on the engine and Mimi and Toutou were drawn up."

From 'Mimi and Toutou Go Forth' by Giles Foden.

It sounds like a right sissy book really, but it's actually about the British expedition to seize Lake Tanganyika from the Germans during WWI; a small, bizarre but ultimately very successful campaign in all respects. However the officer in charge, Lt. Commander Spicer Simpson-Simpson did include, amongst his many eccentricities the wearing of a garment that was quite obviously a skirt. So there's a bit of a tranny connection there really.

Worth reading.

Anniversary

2008-05-05T09:26:00.003+01:00

Today is a special day of sorts.

It's a year ago today that I sat down with my wife and said those potentially fatal words:

"I have something to tell you ..."

At the time I was a thoroughly closeted tranny. I got to dress once, perhaps twice, a year if I was lucky, through dressing services. And to do that I had to resort to subterfuges to get the time away. Lies, basically.

Things had come to a head a couple of weeks before, when I made my first visit to 'Adam and Eve' in East London. This was the first time I had been to a dressing service where I had the chance to actually go out dressed, and I jumped at the chance. And why not? I looked and felt fantastic, and wanted the world to see me.

And it did. Just for twenty minutes or so, as I strolled up and down Brick Lane buzzing with happiness.

There was no going back. Rachel was truly alive, I knew that I wanted more of her, and that once a year wasn't going to satisfy it. But to do it more often than that would mean more lies and more deception. I couldn't do it. Which is why, a couple of weeks later, I sat down with my wife and had The Conversation.

The next few days were not fun. The day after was especially bleak as, to put it bluntly, our marriage teetered on the brink. But we got through it. We started talking. We arranged to have counselling. We worked hard to keep our relationship together. A few months later we went back to 'Adam and Eve' and my wife saw me as Rachel for the first time. We started telling people; family at first, then other friends. Other people knowing helped relieve the burden on us but also helped make it what it should be; a normal part of life.

And, a year on, we seem to be succeeding. Oh, there are tensions and worries, of course. But no more, perhaps, than in any other relationship. Coming out and being able to express myself as Rachel has made me happier, healthier and more confident than I have been in a long time, which has been of benefit to all of the family. Indeed it was obvious that the suppression of Rachel for such a long time had been subconsciously grinding me down and making me unhappy. Now my biggest worry is wardrobe space ...

I didn't ask to be a tranny. If someone could wave a magic wand and make it go away, that would make things so much easier (although I'd miss the social life). But the reality is that I'm stuck with it, so I make the most of it, in my own way, and get as much happiness and enjoyment out of it as I can. I'm lucky. I have a supportive family and, for now, I am content with who and what I am.

Various people have helped us in various ways over the last year. Indeed some of you will be reading this. To all of you I say thank you.

Tranny Cliche #6

2008-04-19T15:24:00.002+01:00

Well, I've done PVC, Bride and Sissy. I've even done Schoolgirl and French Maid in the past (although those pictures are so horrible that they aren't fit for human consumption).

So it was only a matter of time before I found my way into a Victorian Maid uniform.

Here is the evidence:

That is all.

Rachel In Trousers Shocker!

2008-04-17T16:43:00.007+01:00

Exclusive! Blurry photographic evidence has been found which suggests that obscure Staines-based crossdresser Rachel (just plain Rachel) has been seen in public wearing ... Trousers!

Eyewitnesses in the Earl's Court area of London state that she was seen leaving an hotel in the area, in the company of a friend (a conventional crossdresser, in a skirt), and entering the Thai Princess restaurant where she consumed a rather tasty meal, including pudding.

Sources close to Rachel confirm that this case of trouser-wearing really did take place, and was brought on through a combination of her acquiring a couple of pairs 'the other day, from a friend at work', and the realisation that she still couldn't find a suitable skirt to go with the gorgeous green Chinese blouse she wanted to wear yesterday evening. They also confirm that the trousers made her 'bum look nice'*.

And unfortunate incident involving an electrical failure in the hotel and a need to catch what has been described as 'the last train home' meant that a post-meal photo-session to garner clearer pictures didn't take place as planned.

Further incidents of unrepentant trouser-wearing are expected in the future, and may be reported. Or not.

Some semblance of normality was maintained yesterday, however, when it was observed that a crossdresser matching Rachel's description was seen in the vicinity of the Victoria and Albert Museum - in a skirt.

Rumours abound concerning pictures of Rachel in and even more stereotypical crossdresser outfit, but these have not yet been released to the public. Further news on this as the pictures are tracked down and processed.

*Source: Mr X, whose opinion on these matters may be considered biased.

Rachel, Queen Of The Desert

2008-04-05T23:34:00.002+01:00

Tonight I ticked another tranny box; I saw 'Priscilla, Queen Of The Desert' for the first time. Loved it!

It has a certain resonance for me, of course. As you may know (or may not - you will in a second), the Family Rachel are hoping to be leaving these shores and going to live Down Under. Indeed, had there not been some kind of appalling cock-up with parts of our visa application we hoped to already be there by now, but that's a whinge for elsewhere. So trannying in Australia is going to be a reality for me, I hope. Although I think I'll stop short at a thong-dress.

Now, whilst we will be aiming to live near Sydney, one of the things we hope to do when we get over there (When? If?) is to take a holiday and drive around the Northern Territories. Darwin to Alice Springs is our main plan. In a great big camper-van.

I have been forbidden - FORBIDDEN, I tell you - to ride on the roof of the van with a huge scarf trailing out behind me.

Pah!

Going For Bloke

2008-04-01T08:11:00.003+01:00

In my last post (and elsewhere) I mentioned the possibility of going to a future Magic Theatre in bloke mode, and this seems to have provoked a little bit of interest. So let me explain.

Since I came out last year I have acquired much more of a social life than I had before. Indeed, I have pretty much acquired a social life where I didn't have one before. Since she likes to be involved, so has Mrs Rachel. However, as much as she enjoys the events we've been to, she has said that she's like to do some of these things without Rachel; she wants to do some of these things with the man she married, not the woman he likes to present as sometimes. Which is fair enough.

But, let's face it, a lot of outings are more fun as a girl. I don't know why, but they are. For example, as a bloke I get very self-conscious about dancing. As Rachel I love it. I'm odd that way.

How to compromise? Well, Magic Theatre offers that possibility. As I have said elsewhere it was the first event I've been to as Rachel where I spent as much time admiring the male costumes as I did those of the girls. There were some great efforts, and I looked at a few of them and thought 'I could carry that look off'. This wasn't an evening of gorgeous girls and boring blokes; this was bloke-wear you could get excited about. This was costume and, let's face it, as a 'Weekend Princess' that's what a lot of my trannying is about - my dressing is, in some ways, a costume that lets me become Rachel more easily.

So yes, with the right costume, one that made me feel 'dressed up', I could do an event like Magic Theatre in bloke mode.

And bits of Rachel would still be there. It's amazing what girl clothing you can slip into a male outfit if you try. Many years ago, when I was deeply buried at the back of the closet, I went on an extended trip where we spent the whole time in Victorian costume. Those with money had proper reproductions made (oh, some of the frocks were to die for ...); the rest of us improvised. Most of the clothing could be easily sourced from modern male equivalents. A few things (frock coats and the like) required a trip to Camden Market. But some accessories needed more imagination - the modern male equivalents just didn't look right - which I why I ended up with a hat and some gloves purchased from the ladies' section of our local departmenst store. Indeed I still have them, and have subsequently worn the gloves as Rachel.

I got married in a lady's waistcoat. The cut's the same as a bloke one; it's just which side it buttons that's different. And no-one notices that. Oh, and I borrowed a pair of socks from my sister as well. Long story. So in some respects I trannied when I got married. But I was still a bloke.

Suffice to say that even in bloke mode it's possible to tranny, if the costume allows for it. I already have an idea for a bloke costume suitabel for Magic Theatre, and can do most of it using elements of Rachel's wardrobe. So even if I lack the wig, makeup and boobs, I'd still be a transvestite. And since that's what I am, and am happy being, that's good enough for me.

No Tranny Apathy Here

2008-03-30T14:38:00.002+01:00

In my previous post I pledged that on or before the 29th of March I would fight tranny apathy and take a picture of myself in girl clothes.

So I did. Twice.

My first go was at the newly reinstated Transdoori evening in Chiswick on the 19th March. A number of us t-girls got together, along with a few partners (including Mrs Rachel) for an Indian meal and a chance to socialise. It was good fun, and it appears that there will be another in April. I hope to be there.

Anyway, here is a pic of the outfit I wore (although not full-length, so you can't see my lovely blue suede shoes):

And here I am in the restaurant:

And last night Mrs Rachel and I were off out again, to Magic Theatre III, held at the Rivoli Ballroom in SE London. It's a stunning venue in its' own right, being a 1950s style dance-hall, but add to that the sheer range, quality and variety of costumes on show and the whole thing was quite overwhelming in its splendour. I took a few pictures of the evening itself, but so far have only uploaded the ones of me. So, as my main contribution to the attempt to end tranny apathy, I present my Magic Theatre outfit:

It's a lovely Indian wedding dress, which originally belonged to and was given to me by my sister-in-law. The original top didn't fit me, so I sourced an appropriate replacement from eBay, then added jewellery also sourced from eBay. It wasn't the easiest outfit to wear - the gold thread embroidery on the skirt and shawl makes it very heavy, and in order to deal with the skirt's length I wore my highest (and least comfortable) stilletos - but it was worth it; I felt like a million dollars. Towards the end of the evening I ditched the heels and danced barefoot, which was quite liberating, and an interesting experience in a skirt that length.

Anyway, if there's a Magic Theatre IV I think Mrs Rachel and I will be back. But, shhh, a confession. I might consider going in bloke-mode. After all, I often get a chance to dress as Rachel (although not in an Indian wedding dress, which is why I took the opportunity to wear it last night). But I rarely get the chance to really dress up as Mr X; Magic Theatre offers that chance and I'm tempted to take it. But we'll see closer to the time; the lure of the frock is a strong one.

Tranny Apathy - It Stops Here

2008-03-18T22:07:00.002Z

Support Gillian's fight against Tranny Apathy. Read about it here.

So, following Gillian's example:

I Rachel, being a transvestite of sound mind and sexy body (most of which is kept in a drawer under the bed) do hereby commit to posting a picture on Flickr of me wearing girls' clothes on 29th March 2008, said pic to be taken anytime in the preceeding two weeks.

Oh, and since I'm promotng things on other people's blogs (always a lazy way to do blogging), this tickled me pink. Pinker.

Praise Indeed

2008-03-05T20:43:00.002Z

On Saturday night I went out clubbing. I got myself all glammed up, got my bits together and came downstairs. My son was sat on the sofa, doing whatever it is 12 year-old boys do on a Saturday evening (watching TV or chatting to his girlfriend on MSN or something). As I collected my car-keys he glanced up and looked at me in my mini-dress and boots.

"Dad," he said, "You look the business."

Wow!

Raining Me In

2008-02-25T06:46:00.004Z

One of the things about being a relativly newly out-and-about tranny is that you get to do a lot of 'firsts'. First time out on your own, first club, first time on public transport, first wolf-whistle* - that sort of thing.

Back in October I drove by myself as Rachel for the first time. It was the evening of the Surrey Swans' Goth Night, and Mrs Rachel couldn't come along with me as my daughter had to be collected from a party. So I drove from Staines to Ash and back by myself; not a considerable journey (a 40 mile round-trip) but, at the time, quite an adventure. Needless to say I was a little nervous as I started my journey and hit the main roads. At which point, of course, the heavens opened and it poured with rain - really poured, turning an already nervous driving experience into, well, a more nervous one. But I survived.

Fast forward to last night and another Surrey Swans meeting. I have a pair of flats I use for driving, but I'd put on the high-heel boots I wanted to wear for the meeting and foolishly decided that it wasn't worth taking them off. They were comfy, and the heels aren't too excessive and I was happy I could drive in them if I took it carefully. And Rachel is, if nothing else, a much less aggressive driver than Mr X. So off I went - my first time driving in heels. I was nervous, but coped well, and soon got into the swing of it.

Halfway into the journey, the heavens opened and it poured with rain ...

*Not yet.

Secret IDs

2008-02-10T21:31:00.000Z

On another forum (unrelated to trannying) I was challenged to take the 'Which Super-Villain Are you?' quiz. The results were illuminating:

Your results:
You are Poison Ivy

You would go to almost any length for the protection of the environment including manipulation and elimination.

Poison Ivy		63%
Dark Phoenix		62%
Mystique		62%
Mr. Freeze		559%
The Joker		58%
Apocalypse		58%
Magneto		57%
Dr. Doom		56%
Venom		56%
Riddler		54%
Lex Luthor		54%
Two-Face		54%
Juggernaut		46%
Catwoman		46%
Green Goblin		38%
Kingpin		30%

Click here to take the Supervillain Personality Quiz

The top three were all female, and one of those spends a lot of time pretending to be other people (although far more convincingly than I manage the one extra role in my life) . Of the two blokes that made it into the top five one of them wears rather too much makeup. It's strange how these things work out.

(On an unrelated note, I have no idea what those enormous gaps in the post are all about. They seem to defy any attempt on my part to eliminate them; they aren't there in the HTML. Probably something to do with that table of results or something.)

Cloverfield - A Tranny Perspective

2008-02-02T17:31:00.001Z

Mrs Rachel and I went to see 'Cloverfield' this afternoon whilst the children were out of our hair. This is my review. Contains spoilers.

Beth's gold sequined party dress was fab; I was quite disappointed that it didn't feature later in the film. Lily's frock was OK as well, as was her ability to run around New York in those gold high-heels. No other outfits caught my eye. There was a monster. It attacked New York. The film was quite exciting. We liked it.

Oh Yes!

2008-01-30T18:51:00.001Z

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 ...

2008-01-29T08:14:00.000Z

... 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 ...

2008-01-28T08:26:00.000Z

... 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

2008-01-26T13:41:00.000Z

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

2008-01-21T18:35:00.000Z

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

2008-01-17T19:50:00.001Z

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

2008-01-14T19:06:00.003Z

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

2008-01-07T19:15:00.001Z

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

2008-01-05T18:54:00.000Z

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.

St. Trinian's

2007-12-29T10:50:00.000Z

I laughed. I laughed some more. I admired a few frocks. And I thought Rupert Everett made a fantastic woman.

You could see his beard stubble in a couple of scenes though. Not that I'm one to talk, but it's such a tranny thing to look for :-)

Needless to say, it's a film I'm glad I went to see.

Rachel's First Christmas

2007-12-26T08:01:00.000Z

I'm 43 you know. Yes, yes, I know it's hard to believe. Thank you. Stop it; you're making me blush. Anyway, I'm 43, so I've done (if my calculations are correct) 43 Christmases. However, for 42 of them I was, knowingly or unknowingly, a closet tranny, hidden away in a secret little world of my own, afraid to come out.

Not this year. This year was the first Christmas since I came out; the first Christmas since the existence of Rachel was thrust onto an unsuspecting world.

This year was Rachel's first real Christmas.

And she had one. Just a little one; nothing spectacular, but something. Mr X got loads of lovely presents, as you'd expect from someone so handsome and popular, but tucked away in the stocking were three little packages for Rachel. A pair of ear-rings (clip-on, of course), a hair accessory and a book (Camilla Morton's 'How To Walk In High Heels: The Girl's Guide To Evrything'). Small presents, it's true. But a big step and a level of acceptance I neither deserved nor expected.

To my wife: thank you.

No, no, I'm fine; just a little something in my eye ...

Last Minute Shopping

2007-12-24T11:51:00.001Z

I've mentioned this is a previous post, but if you're looking for a last-minute present to get me, well, I want one of these please.

Update 26/12/1007: Oh, no. It's not on their website any more. It doesn't even appear to be in the Sale. Help!

Update 29/12/2007: GOT ONE ON EBAY!!!!

What Was I Thinking?

2007-12-22T10:57:00.000Z

The other day I logged into Rose's forum and, as happens, was confronted by the front page with my avatar on it. And I looked at the girl in the picture and all I could see was me in make-up and a wig. And I thought 'What the hell am I doing, looking like that?' And it's not the first time it's happened.

It's a strange feeling. Most of the time I can see pictures of myself dressed, and I'm happy. And why not? I'm actually pleased with how I present as a woman. I think I look OK. Don't get me wrong; I also look at pictures of myself in bloke mode and think the same. Apart from the bit about being pleased with how I present as a woman, obviously. Both Rachel and Bloke (I really need a name for Bloke. I'm going to call myself 'Mr X' I think. OK?) are happy by what they see. But every so often I see a picture of myself as Rachel, and she's not there to be pleased by it. It's just Mr X looking at a picture and thinking 'What the hell ... etc"

I see this as a good thing. It means that Rachel's happy to drift away from time to time, leaving me to get on with things instead of wondering about such things as how I can justify buying that gorgeous sequined dress that Next are selling at the moment. Despite her being properly unleashed on an unsuspecting world over the last six months or so, it means that she's not in charge.

The time to worry is when I look at one of the many (oh, so many) pictures of Mr X that are on the 'net and Rachel thinks "What the hell am I doing, looking like that?"

That Gabriel Wears A Frock, You Know

2007-12-19T13:27:00.000Z

Following on from my (with hindsight) slightly sacriligeous post of the other day concerning my desire to play Mary in a Nativity play, comes another seaonal musing.

During todays's carol concert at work we sang 'Whilst Shepherds Watch'. We even sang the correct words (which we didn't do for 'O Come All Ye Faithful' as an editorial error had mixed up the words to some of the verses). The words to 'Shepherds' (the correct ones) include the line 'Fear not, said he ...', where 'he' is the Angel of the Lord. That simple little word reminds us that the Angel of the Lord is a bloke.

So how come he's always played by a girl in Nativity plays? I'd never thought about it before, but I guess I've become more susceptible to gender-related musings of late. It's up there with Mary in terms of great roles to have; you get some lines, you get to wear a frock (sorry, 'robe') and, unlike Mary, you get to wear lots of sparkly bits. It has something to be said for it. And it's a male role. Oh, the missed opportunities.

You can see that if I had my way the traditional Nativity play would turn into some kind of bizarre pantomime. Which is, of course, what my daughter almost managed to do to hers at the end. But that's a story I'll not relate here. Or, probably, anywhere else. Let's just say it involved a glove-puppet.

Christmas At The Criterion

2007-12-17T17:02:00.000Z

As I said in my previous post I was out and about in London this weekend. The occasion was the Adam and Eve Christmas meal, at the Criterion restaurant in Piccadilly. I have a real soft-spot for Adam and Eve; the dressing service has had a major impact on my life, providing me with the impetus to come out to my wife, and helping introduce my wife to the 'other woman' when we had got through the difficult early stages. I promised myself that I'd attend one of the events they organised, and the Christmas meal seemed just right.

The plan was to get ready at A&E, taxi to the Criterion, eat, taxi back to A&E, possibly do some cocktails over the road and then head to the Way Out Club for the rest of the evening. To this end I booked up an hotel room at the Chamberlain around the corner from the Way Out; not cheap, but comfortable and very pleasant.

This arrangement presented an interesting logistical exercise. I was going to get dressed at A&E, but finish the night at the hotel, travelling back to A&E the following morning in order to pick up the things I had left there. To this end I had to go to A&E, drop of my frocks and femme stuff, then walk over to the Chamberlain, check in, and drop off a complete set of bloke clothes ready for the next morning, plus my toothbrush and all my make-up removal stuff. Then back to A&E to actually get ready.

There were seven of us, all told; myself, Jo, Christine, Helen, Jackie, Stevie and (of course) Josie. I had met Christine and Helen before, but only in bloke mode; the others (aside from Josie) were new to me apart from in photos. Getting trannies ready for a night out is like herding cats, but we just about managed to get ourselves presentable in time for the taxis, and got to to the restaurant just in time, despite the best efforts of London traffic to prevent us.

The meal and the restaurant were fantastic, and the conversation very pleasant. We got plenty of opportunity to parade ourselves in public, including getting pictures taken in Piccadilly. I have to admit it; part of the fun of being a tranny is being out and being seen. If that makes me a bit shallow, then so be it; I'm a bit shallow.

The meal finished we taxied back to A&E, where most of us changed for the next part of the evening; cocktails. It was at this point that the others decided, for various reasons, that the Way Out was probably an event too far. This left me in a tricky position; I had booked my hotel on the assumption that a group of us were going to the Way Out. Now I was in the situation of being all dressed up, but with no-one to go with. Those who know me in bloke-mode will know that I'm not really a club kind of person, but I had set my heart on trying out this tranny venue, and decided that if I had to do it on my own, I would.

So I did. After a few cocktails with the other girls, I took a taxi to the Way Out; the first time I had used 'public' transport alone as Rachel. The driver knew of the club, and didn't seem fazed by having me in his vehicle (they see all sorts, I'm sure), but was surprised that I was all dressed up and not on the pull. He seemed to think that we (as in trannies) all just dressed because it made us horny (as he put it). I hope I modified his views a little in that respect; he was certainly surprised that I was there with my wife's full knowledge and approval.

The club was all I expected it to be, and I had a great time, despite being on my own. This surprised me; as I say, I'm not a 'club person', but I was intent on enjoying myself, and parading Rachel to the world, and made sure I did. After an initial drink I stepped out onto the dance-floor and, apart from short breaks for drinks and a longer break for the cabaret ('The Wizard of Oz', as a pantomime), I stayed there all night. Dance, dance, dance; that's pretty much all I did. I did manage to chat to a few people - the Way Out is a friendly place - and had two men make advances to me, which I dealt with by polite refusal. Polite, because even though I'm straight it's always flattering to be thought worth chatting up. Does that make me even more shallow? Perhaps. I don't care.

Half past three, I decided to call it a night, and headed back to the hotel. After a few photos (you have to, and I hadn't had an opportunity at the WOC) I stripped off the slap, and went to bed. Where I discovered that the Red Bull I'd had earlier wasn't going to let me sleep.

Later that morning: After a couple of hours' sleep I gave in and did breakfast, before checking out and heading to A&E to pick up my stuff. Went home. Uploaded photos. Fell asleep. Properly, this time.

And that was my weekend. Thank you to Josie for organising the meal, and to the other girls for being great company. I'd certainly love to meet up again some time.

From my point of view I learned a few things:

(i) It is possible to walk into Fairy Goth Mother, various markets and a shop chock-full of vintage clothing and accessories, with money in your pocket, and not buy anything. I know; I did it. I was amazed.

(ii) When leaving a set of bloke clothes at an hotel, don't get so wrapped up in making sure you have pants and socks that you forget that you need a belt for your trousers. Unless (as I was lucky enough to discover) the trousers will just about stay up without one.

(iii) Rachel is far bolder than the my Bloke Self (I must find a name for my Bloke self, aside from the traditional Bob. Or my real name. Although some of you know that anyway. Sorry. Digressing). My Bloke Self (whatever his name is) would have baulked at the idea of doing a late-night taxi across London, and walking into a club on his own, then spending the evening there enjoying himself. As Rachel I happily did so. She worries me, sometimes.

Piccies:

My WOC Frock:

Outside the Criterion

Inside The Criterion

The Tag Effect

2007-12-17T12:02:00.001Z

I was out in London this weekend indulging my outer tranny, about which I will blog when I have more time. As is inevitable, I took a few photos. These can be divided into two camps: there are the pictures of Me, Me, Me which are compulsory whenever I slip on a frock or skirt, and then there are those which can be termed 'scenery shots' or which are pictures of me in bloke mode. The former (and only the former) go into my Rachel photostream, thus giving people the idea that I'm self-obsessed and don't take pictures of anything else. The latter go into my Bloke Stream, where they show that I do sometimes take pictures of things other than myself (notwithstanding the several hundred self-portraits in that stream :-) )

Anyway, having returned from London I uploaded my pictures. There were eighteen tranny shots which went into Rachel's account and fourteen non-tranny shots for the Bloke account. I did the fourteen first, then sifted through the Rachel ones and did them an hour or two later. I am a compulsive tagger when it comes to Flickr, so uploading a batch of pictures always takes a bit of time.

About half an hour after uploading the last pictures I had a browse to see if anyone had been looking at them. The Bloke pics had been available for a couple of hours, and had, between them, attracted about seven views. The Rachel pics had been around for a quarter of that time, and had already totted up over a hundred views. Even now, a day later, the best one of the Bloke pics has managed is seventeen views. One of the Rachel pics is well past one hunderd and fifty.

Stick on tranny tags, and the world flocks to your door.

A Seasonal Thought

2007-12-13T20:26:00.001Z

I went to my daughter's school Nativity play this evening. She was Mary.

Mary gets to wear the best frock and be the centre of attention.

I want to be Mary :-)

What To Wear?

2007-12-13T13:18:00.000Z

According to my wife I now have more female clothes than male clothes. This is, of course, not true, but I have to admit that, looking at my wardrobe sometimes, you can see why someone might think it.

So how is it that, given the array of feminine goodies I have available, I'm still not sure what to wear for any given outing. I mean it's not like I get out that much; I've settled on about twice a month as a frequency with which everyone seems to be comfortable. And yet before each trip I agonise over what outfit to wear, and never feel that what I have selected is quite right.

Or does everyone feel like that?

(The solution, of course, is to buy more stuff. This may not, on balance, be an idea worth pursuing, however.)

My Tranny Footprint

2007-12-11T21:52:00.001Z

I'm a sucker for this kind of thing:

My Tranny Footprint

912673 COt

(COt = Cubic Ounces of trannieness)

Calculate your tranny footprint at BeckysWeb!

Does The World Need Another Tranny Blog?

2007-12-11T21:10:00.000Z

Probably not. But it's getting one anyway.

I'm Rachel, forty-something, married, two children. I live in Staines. What more do you need to know?

In the broad spectrum that is Transgender I identify myself as a crossdresser, in that I wear women's clothing for the pleasure of it. No, not that kind of 'pleasure', smutty person. I wear them because it makes me feel right; in touch with a side of myself I have difficulty expressing otherwise. In a way it's fun. Almost a hobby. Almost.

No, I'm not gay.

No, I don't want to take hormones and transition.

Yes, most of the time I'm happy being a bloke.

I just like frocks as well.

Anyway, I decided that I needed a blog so that I can ramble incoherently about tranny things without 'outing' myself on my real blog. A number of people (my family, mainly) know about Rachel, but for reasons too involved for a first post I have to be discrete about her on public forums like this. So this is me being discrete.

Anyway, that's enough for now. The first post is always the hardest :-)