A Gothic Weekend in Whitby
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After Whitby (5) - T-girls In The North East free porn video
AFTER WHITBY (5)
T-girls in the North East
Friday night had been emotionally exhausting. My first ever visit to a T-
girl club had been exhilarating and great fun, but I hadn't got home
until the early hours of Saturday morning and had also burnt a lot of
adrenalin! This would not ordinarily have mattered; I could have just
slept on, but unfortunately I had to drive from Wokingham - (just west of
London) to Billingham in far the North East on Teesside.
So when the alarm went off at 07:30, I groaned, rolled over, and promptly
fell asleep again; I didn't wake until midday! Now it should only take
between four and five hours to make this journey by car but I knew from
bitter experience that it frequently took a great deal longer - and I
hadn't yet even started packing.
Leaping out of bed I jumped into the shower. This helped wake me up and I
was starting to feel more human as I stood in front of the mirror ready
for my shave. I looked a sight! Clearly when I got home from the club
last night I had failed to properly remove my makeup. I was confronted
with a face with lipstick smears in the corners of my mouth, traces of
eye-liner and mascara around my eyes, and streaks of foundation running
into my hairline. So it was out with the cotton wool and makeup remover
before shaving and then back into the shower for a second attempt to get
clean. All this took time and once clean and dressed - (male mode!) - my
tummy was telling me that it was ready for both breakfast and lunch!
I found a packet of smoked salmon in the freezer and with this and my
last few eggs and slices of bread rustled up a delicious brunch of
scrambled eggs on toast. This together with several cups of strong black
coffee restored my spirits and gave me the strength to get down to my
packing.
Having just spent 4 weeks on leave, I knew I wasn't going to get back
home for a while, so I loaded one suitcase with clean clothes for 'Tom' -
(my real name) - and then packed another with everything I would need to
become 'Sheena' - (my femme self). Needless to say, Sheena's belongings
required the larger of my two suitcases!
Knowing that there was no way I was going to arrive in Billingham at the
time I had originally planned, I rang my landlady there - a sweet woman
called Mrs Ryan - and told her I wouldn't be getting to her until late in
the evening. She assured me that would be fine, which took a load of
pressure off my mind.
The journey north turned out to be relatively quiet and I arrived at Mrs
Ryan's house at 8:50 pm. Now, as a project manager overseeing the
installation of large and complex plant, I inevitably have to spend long
periods of time away from home 'on-site'. Long ago I got fed up with
living in hotels and started staying in small bed and breakfast
establishments. I had found a real star in Mrs Ryan. She was a widow;
probably in her mid-70's - (but you never ask a lady her age!); and had
run her home as a B&B for many years. Soon after I started staying there
she told me that her late husband had been a professional musician and,
after he died and she needed to earn her own living, she had started off
running 'theatrical digs' for touring performers. As touring theatre and
variety declined, she had diversified and now offered rooms on a long
term basis to people like me who wanted somewhere they could call their
own whilst away from home on business. I certainly thought I had fallen
on my feet. Mrs Ryan had even offered to make sure I could return to the
same room after my four week absence and had kindly stored some of my
things for me.
Mrs Ryan greeted me warmly as I staggered through her front door with my
two heavy suitcases. "You poor lamb," she cooed, "you take those cases up
to your room and then come straight back down to the parlour. I put some
dinner aside for you and it won't take a minute to heat it through." This
was very thoughtful of her and I thanked her from the bottom of my heart.
Supper turned out to be a pork chop and a vast pile of vegetables. This
was served with a large glass of beer and was followed by steamed treacle
pudding and custard; just what I needed after a long drive. Eventually I
had to admit defeat and leaned back in my chair with a satisfied groan of
contentment. ""I'm glad you enjoyed that" remarked Mrs Ryan; "I like to
see my gentlemen satisfied!" A large meal after a long drive had done for
me and I made my apologies and staggered off to bed.
I felt much more like myself when I awoke on the Sunday morning. I could
smell bacon and eggs cooking as I washed and dressed before hurrying down
to breakfast. I said, "Hallo," to a couple of other lodgers whom I knew
before tucking into one of Mrs Ryan's renowned breakfasts.
After breakfast I went back to my room; fired up the laptop; and logged
into my work account. As I had expected there was a progress report of
what had been happening during my leave. The good news was that the
component we had been waiting for had now arrived on site and was ready
for installation. I spent the rest of the morning updating my project
plan and sorting out how to proceed with the next phase.
I don't want to bore on about work. Suffice it to say that the next few
weeks were extremely busy and I had little time for myself, let alone
'Sheena'. So my larger suitcase remained unopened. Eventually the
pressure of work slackened and I was able to give some time to my own
affairs. I searched the internet for signs of cross-dressing activity in
the North east of England. There were a surprising number of hits. Of
course I didn't know any cross-dressers up here and there was no-one to
advise me, as Anne had done down South.
So I resigned myself to dressing in the privacy of my room, whilst
continuing to try to make contact with some of the t-girls who were
clearly active in the North East. On the odd evening and at weekends I
took to dressing as 'Sheena' and started posting messages on a couple of
t-girl forums. After spending time sifting out sexual opportunists, I
eventually made contact with a 'girl' called Cindy who seemed nice and
genuine. She lived in Newcastle and told me of a couple of places I might
care to visit. "They are social gatherings, not sex markets" Cindy
assured me. "If you get the chance to get up to Newcastle, let me know
and I would be happy to introduce you to some of my friends." This was a
kind offer which I accepted with alacrity. All I needed to do now was
create an opportunity to drive to Newcastle one evening dressed as
Sheena.
'Dressed as Sheena'; there was the rub. It was one thing to sneak out of
my own house in Wokingham wearing my feminine finery; quite another to
leave Mrs Ryan's boarding house un-noticed! I knew I could always book
myself into a hotel in Newcastle and change there, but for me half the
fun of going out 'pretty' lay in getting ready at home and then driving
to the venue. Still beggars can't be choosers and I was just coming to
terms with making an overnight stay in Newcastle when the bomb dropped.
I had just got in from work one evening, when there was a knock on my
bedroom door; it was Mrs Ryan. She looked a little concerned; "Excuse me
Mr Wakefield" she started. This was ominous; she hardly ever called me
'Mr Wakefield'; it was usually 'lamb', 'pet' or 'dear'. What could I have
done to upset her? "Have you been entertaining young ladies in your
room?" she enquired; "Only you know that is against my rules." I hastened
to assure her I hadn't been guilty of this heinous crime. (In fact I
would have been grateful for sufficient time away from work to have found
myself a woman to bring home!) "Only when I was changing your linen this
morning, I found these under your bed," she continued, producing a bra
and pair of tights for my inspection.
Of course they were Sheena's. How could I have been so stupid as to
misplace them! I blushed furiously. "I'm very sorry Mrs Ryan" I mumbled,
"but I can promise you I haven't been sneaking girls up here in secret.
In fact those garments are mine!" There, it was out in the open. If Mrs
Ryan chose to throw me out of her house, so be it. I wouldn't blame her.
To my surprise a beaming smile crossed her face. "Oh that's alright then.
I was afraid you were being devious." "You don't mind that I dress as a
woman some evenings?" I enquired nervously. "Of course not," she
responded. "I'm a woman of the world. I haven't always been an elderly
landlady you know. In my youth I was a quite a racy young thing." She
then went on to explain that as a young woman she had trained as a dancer
and had performed in many theatres and clubs with female impersonators,
so was very familiar with men wearing dresses. "Why don't you come down
to my sitting room," she suggested "and we can chat more comfortably. I
can tell you a bit more about my personal history and you can fill me in
about your feminine side." I gulped. This was all going a bit fast, but I
couldn't see anyway of avoiding this conversation, so with some
trepidation, I agreed.
We both went downstairs to Mrs Ryan's private sitting room. "Make
yourself comfortable dearie and I'll open us a bottle of wine," she said,
waving me into a chair whilst she vanished off into the kitchen to find
some wine. She soon returned with two brimming glasses. "Get this down
you; it will help you to relax!" was her considered advice. I did as I
was told.
"Now then," said Mrs Ryan, making herself comfortable in a chair opposite
mine. "I'll start," she continued. "You will probably find it easier to
confide in me if I can demonstrate that I am not the old biddy you take
me for. For a start you had better call me Maggie rather than Mrs Ryan
and I will call you Tom - unless you would rather I called you by your
femme name; I assume you have one?" I nodded. "Tom will be fine when I am
in male mode; when I'm dressed my name is 'Sheena'". "That's a pretty
name" said Maggie; "You can tell me how you came to choose it later."
We both settled back in our chairs and Maggie started. "When I was a girl
homosexuality was still a crime. 'Queers', as we then called them, used
to go to private clubs in order to enjoy themselves. Society was much
more prudish in the 50's and all men who cross-dressed were assumed to be
homos. Now I know things have changed since those days" she interjected
as she could see I was about to protest that I wasn't gay. "But, as I
say, cross-dressers also had to resort to private clubs. Now I have
already told you that I used to be a professional dancer. I never made it
above the rank of 'chorus girl' but I appeared with some big name stars.
Quite a few of the male dancers in the chorus were gay and several of
them became good friends. One in particular used to look after me - I was
only eighteen - and when we were between shows and needing alternative
employment he would help me find work in one or other of the gay clubs
here in Middlesborough in order to maintain an income until the next show
opportunity came along." "You mean even somewhere like Middlesborough had
gay clubs?" I exclaimed. "Oh at least three to my certain knowledge,"
Maggie replied. "Anyway, I used to work as a waitress or barmaid in these
clubs and got to know many of the clientele quite well. In fact I met my
husband, Frank, in a gay club!" This came as a bit of a surprise as I had
often speculated about the late Mr. Ryan. "Oh he wasn't gay," Maggie said
with a laugh. "He was like you, a straight man who like to indulge his
feminine side from time to time by getting into a frock. He was also a
professional musician - he played trumpet - and after we started going
out together we often arranged to work on the same shows."
"He was a lovely man, my Frank," Maggie said wistfully; "We married and
were so happy together. Then he was diagnosed with cancer and within the
year he was dead. I was only 32 and a widow! We hadn't been blessed with
children and Frank, poor love, had no money to leave me, so I set up as a
'theatrical landlady' and so I remained until touring theatre dried up.
The rest you know; I now look after 'travelling gentlemen'."
"As I have said, Frank occasionally liked to cross-dress," Maggie
continued. "I didn't mind, and in fact it spiced up our sex life more
than a bit! Sometimes we would go out together with Frank in a dress. He
was never totally convincing as a woman, but that never worried us and we
used to laugh at some of the looks and reactions he got from passers-by
and shop assistants."
"Now that I have shared with you, it is your turn to tell me about
'Sheena'," Maggie said, leaning forward in her chair with a gleam of
expectation on her face. "Well there isn't that much to tell......." I
started and then proceeded to tell Maggie all about my deciding to visit
Whitby, only to discover it was a 'Gothic Weekend'; how I met Alice and
all unsuspecting ended up dressing in her clothes. I told her how I had
found that I really liked wearing skirts and had continued to explore my
feelings during my holiday back home. I mentioned Anne and Simon and
their 'Illusions' dressing service; how they had helped me to dress
convincingly and assisted me in buying my first female garments.
".............and then, just before I came back to Billingham, I visited a t-girl
club" I continued. "I loved meeting up and talking with other 'girls' and
had hoped to find a similar club up here where I could go dressed and
meet up with other trannies." Finally I ran out of things to say and
subsided into an embarrassed silence.
"Come and give me a hug" said Maggie, holding out her arms. I complied
with her request and found myself crying on her shoulder. "There, there
dear" Maggie soothed me; "of course you must continue to explore your
feminine side. Now that you know it is no big deal as far as I am
concerned, feel free to allow 'Sheena' to come and go as she pleases." I
was too overcome to speak. Never in a hundred years would I have expected
this sort of reaction from my elderly landlady!
Maggie continued; "I would really like to meet Sheena" she said. "Why
don't you join me for lunch on Sunday?" Now Sunday was the one day of the
week when we lodgers had to fend for ourselves food-wise, so this was a
serious invitation. I hastened to accept.
The next few days were a bit nerve-wracking. At one and the same time I
wanted to show Mrs Ryan - Maggie - that I could make a convincing woman,
but was also scared at sharing my 'other self' with my landlady. Still I
had committed myself, so there was nothing for it but to go through with
what I had promised. On the Sunday morning I lay in bed working out what
best to wear. I finally settled on my royal blue dress, barely-black
tights, and my blue heels. The decision taken, I went into the bathroom
and gave myself a really close shave - body as well as face. Wrapping
myself in my dressing gown, I scurried back to my room and applied
copious quantities of moisturiser to my body before sitting down and
starting on my makeup.
I took especial care to get my makeup as near perfect as possible. When I
had finished I was really pleased with the result. Clearly all my hours
of practice in front of the mirror were paying off. I then proceeded to
dress, starting with my foundation garments - lacing my corset as tightly
as I could to give myself the necessary curves! I slipped my blue dress
over my head - taking care not to smudge my makeup - and shimmied it down
into place. It was very clingy and did look good over my swelling breast
forms and tightly corseted waist. I slid my nylon clad feet into my
pretty blue shoes with the little bow on the four-inch heel. Sitting down
once again in front of the mirror, I set my auburn wig on my head and,
using my fingers, teased the waves and curls into place. A squirt of
perfume and I was ready; needing only to check the contents of my
handbag, which took but a few seconds.
I checked my watch; I was a bit early to go down to Maggie's, so I sat in
my easy chair with a book and tried to read - with little success, I was
too nervous. Finally the hands of my watch moved laboriously to 1:00
o'clock. I picked up my handbag along with the box of chocolates and
bottle of wine I had purchased the previous day. I had thought long and
hard about what might be appropriate to take as a small gift in return
for luncheon. Flowers seemed more appropriate if coming from a 'man', so
I had settled on a medium-dry white wine and a box of Thornton's best
Continental Chocolates - (I knew Mrs Ryan had a sweet tooth!)
As I descended the final flight of stairs into the hall, I encountered
one of my fellow lodgers on the way to his room. Summoning up all my
courage, I gave him a wan smile and said "Hello Dennis". From is bemused
expression it was clear that initially he didn't recognise me. Then the
penny dropped; "Oh my god, it's Tom!" he exclaimed. "Correct" I replied,
"only today its 'Sheena'!" Whilst he was still struggling to find what to
say next, I hurried past him and went through the pass-door to Maggie's
private rooms. "Well that has put the cat among the pigeons" I thought to
myself, "there is no way Dennis won't pass the word around; I'm
definitely 'outed' now!"
I knocked on the door of Maggie's sitting room and, on her call of
welcome, entered. "My, but you are looking a bit pale" she exclaimed, "Is
anything the matter?" I told her of my encounter with Dennis. "I wouldn't
worry pet" Maggie reassured me. "It was bound to come out sooner or later
and at least you no longer have to worry about being seen in a dress
around the house." This was true but faint comfort. Still there was
nothing I could do about it; Dennis had seen me dressed and that was
that.
I proffered my gifts to Maggie, which she accepted with delight and
ushered me to a chair. "Lunch is nearly ready," she announced. "Let's
have a glass of sherry together whilst the last few bits and pieces come
together." Now sherry isn't a favourite tipple of mine, but I accepted a
glass with a polite smile. It was far too sweet for my taste, but I
sipped it gently whilst making polite small talk with Maggie. Fortunately
she soon announced that lunch must be ready for serving. I asked if I
could help in any way and was swiftly scolded and told, as a guest, just
to seat myself at the table.
Lunch was very good; Maggie was, as I already knew, an extremely good
cook. Today she served us roast lamb with a lovely selection of
vegetables and crisply roasted potatoes. "It is the goose fat that helps
produce the best roast potatoes" Maggie announced, as if sharing a
culinary secret with another lady. I tried to do justice to her lunch,
but my tight corset limited the amount of food I could consume. My wine
however went down well and was much enjoyed by both of us.
The lamb was followed by apple crumble and custard - which was almost too
much for me. I did manage to get down a moderate helping however and
declined Maggie's offer of 'seconds'! "Let's have our coffee in the
comfort of the sitting room" Maggie suggested. "Would you like a small
glass of port?" was her next suggestion. I politely declined, somewhat to
her disappointment I could see. "But don't let me stop you" I hastened to
add, "It is just that port doesn't really agree with me. I'll just stick
to the coffee, if you don't mind." Clearly a glass of port was a regular
part of Maggie's Sunday lunch because she needed no further urging to
pour herself a large glassful.
Over coffee Maggie quizzed me about my plans for going out as 'Sheena'. I
told her that I had made contact with Cindy and had arranged to drive up
to Newcastle the following Saturday evening. "Make sure you come and show
me what you are planning to wear before you set off" Maggie instructed. I
promised that I would, indeed, pop in to show her my outfit first.
Once we had finished our coffee, Maggie took the dirty cups through to
the kitchen and started to wash up. I insisted that she let me help and
after some show of reluctance, she agreed. "But you must put this apron
on" she insisted, handing me one complete with bib. "You don't want to be
going getting grease splashes on that pretty dress." In the end she
washed and I dried. Once everything was put away, we went back to the
sitting room and Maggie regaled me with tales of her time dancing in
shows and as a theatrical landlady. She clearly had worked with or knew
some seriously important actors and performers. She kept me entranced and
I totally lost track of the time until, at last, she said; "Oh my
goodness, is that the time? Only my television serial will be on shortly
and I don't want to miss it." Maggie asked me if I would like to stay and
watch it with her, but I could see this suggestion was made out of
politeness rather than conviction so I thanked her for a lovely afternoon
and splendid meal; made my apologies; and departed. I did not encounter
any other guests on the way back to my room!
It was too early to go to bed and I wasn't ready to put 'Sheena' away
just yet, so I took of my dress and heels and stripped out of my
underwear, leaving just bra and knickers over which I donned my
nightdress and negligee. Slipping my feet into my mules, I curled up in
my armchair and looked at the listings to see what was on the television
that I might enjoy. To my amusement, the big film showing that night was
'Tootsie', so I settled down and really enjoyed that.
There was no time for dressing during the week that followed; I had too
much on at work. I did, however, manage to communicate with Cindy and get
directions to the tranny club in Newcastle. We arranged to meet there at
9:00 pm and Cindy kindly emailed me a photograph so that I would
recognise her. To my shame I realised I had no photos of 'Sheena' to
return the favour.
Saturday finally dawned and I awoke really excited by the prospect of
meeting up with some more cross-dressers. I reckoned I needed to allow a
good hour to drive to Newcastle, park, and make my way to the Club; so, I
started to get ready at 6:00pm. A close shave, shower, application of
moisturiser and then down to the makeup. I settled for a subtle evening
look; sophisticated and glamorous but not 'over the top.' Shape-wear was
next, followed by nude pantyhose and then my outer-wear. I had decided to
wear my black, sequinned skirt, pink top, and black heels. When topped
off with my curly auburn wig, I thought I looked ok. My wool/fur-trimmed
coat was too heavy for the time of year, but I clearly needed some sort
of jacket over my flimsy top. Unfortunately I didn't have anything
suitable in my feminine wardrobe so had to resort to a male anorak - not
exactly the image I wanted to present! I also slung in a pair of trainers
as I knew I wouldn't be able to drive safely in heels. (Another note to
self; remember to buy a pair of flat-heeled shoes.)
As promised I knocked on Maggie's door before setting off. She loved my
outfit but was very dismissive of my anorak. "You can't wear that pet"
she admonished. "Let me see what I might have in my wardrobe." Now Maggie
was a 70+ woman so I didn't expect her to have anything that would suit
'Sheena', but to my amazement she produced a lovely jacket. "This must
have been at the back of my wardrobe for over 40 years" she announced
with satisfaction. "I am a real hoarder and this just goes to prove that
you should never throw anything away - unless it is worn out, of course."
The jacket, which was black and shiny, looked great with my outfit and I
was happy to borrow it. "Keep it if you like," said Maggie, "I'll never
wear it again."
Thanking her, I made my way to the car and set off for Newcastle. I
managed to park reasonably close to the venue, which was in a side road
just off Grey Street. The Black Garter pub in Clayton Street seemed aptly
named as a venue for t-girls! Cindy had told me that the 'girls' meet in
an upstairs room, which I found without difficulty. There was a table at
the door where I was relieved of a ?10 entrance fee by a middle-aged
tranny. "This covers the hire of the room and there will be some nibbles
coming round later" she explained. This seemed eminently reasonable and I
paid up without demure.
The upstairs room at the 'Black Garter' was typical of late
Victoria/Edwardian pubs; heavy on moulding and embossed wallpaper; it was
furnished with iron and mahogany tables and uncomfortable looking chairs.
Entering, I quickly spotted Cindy across the room. She was immediately
recognisable from her photograph. Crossing the room, I introduced myself,
and we air-kissed. "So glad you could make it" said Cindy. "It is lovely
to meet you in the flesh after all those weeks of emailing. Come and meet
some of my friends." She led me over to a table of 'girls' and introduced
me to Gail, Sylvia, Mary, and Gladys. They were all very welcoming and I
sat down with them whilst Cindy got me a soft drink from the bar. (As I
had to drive back to Billingham later, I had decided that 'no alcohol'
was the safest policy.)
It was a pleasant enough evening and I chatted with lots of different
girls. However, on the way home in the early hours of Sunday morning, I
reflected on how little I had in common with the cross-dressers I had
just met. Apart from the fact that we all enjoyed wearing skirts and
indulging our feminine side from time to time, I hadn't met anyone who
shared my interests in music, theatre, and the arts generally. All anyone
had wanted to talk about who was sleeping with whom; how Newcastle United
was doing; and being bitchy about friends who weren't present. It
occurred to me that I would never try to strike up a friendship with a
man simply on the basis that he wore a similar jacket to me; why should
it be different with trannies? Just because we were all chose to wear
women's clothing did not, of itself, mean that we would naturally be
friends. This was a bit of an eye-opener for me and I reflected upon it
frequently during the next few days.
Needless to say Maggie wanted to hear all about my outing and insisted I
join her for a cup of tea after lunch on Sunday. I think she was a bit
disappointed when I went down to her in male mode. Clearly 'Tom' was not
viewed in the same light as 'Sheena'! However, when I explained my
ambivalence about the evening, she immediately understood. "In time it
will be much better if your existing friends come to accept you as a
tranny, rather than you having to make new friends out of people with
whom you only common link is that you both cross-dress" she said. This
summed up pretty accurately how I was feeling.
Over the next couple of months I made the journey to Newcastle about
three times. On each occasion I had a pleasant time but did not find any
genuinely kindred spirit with whom I felt I could become close. And then,
quite suddenly, the Billingham project came to an end. One day we seemed
to be struggling to meet deadlines and the next, as it were, the client
had completed acceptance tests; signed off the project; and I and my team
were free to depart!
My employers were very pleased with the way this particular project had
gone - within both time and budget! They were very complementary about me
personally and, in due course, this manifested itself in tangible
recognition by way of a sizeable bonus! In the meantime I was promoted to
Senior Project Manager and given an office at our Reading headquarters.
From here I would be expected to oversee a team of Project Managers, each
of whom would be running a project somewhere in the UK. I would still
have to undertake a certain amount of travelling, but my days of living
out of a suitcase in digs were over; thank goodness!
It was with some sadness that I said farewell to Maggie Ryan. She had
proved to be a good friend - as well as an excellent landlady - and I
would miss her sensible advice. Still, I would be living back home in
Wokingham from now on and thus in striking distance of my very good
friends Anne and Simon and their excellent dressing service, 'Illusions'.
They would certainly be supportive of my cross-dressing.
As I drove back south, I mussed on the events of the last few months. In
a comparatively short time I had gone from being a boringly conventional,
middle-class, middle-manager, to a vibrant, attractive - (well I thought
so!) - part-time woman. What the future held for me was unclear. The only
thing I could be certain of was that it wouldn't be boring!
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