transretrogurl

So, it’s been a long time this time hasn’t it? Sometime around early April my life got very hectic and courtesy of a number of fun things I literally have had no bandwidth to sit down for a quiet chat with my blog-readers, so I apologise for that. In fact, so much has happened that I will have to squeeze it out into a number of blog entries, but I have been wanting to write this one for *ages*.

Pictured – and, given the fact I feel fat and unfit, I’ve had some genuinely delightful photoshoots

But first I want to list, in a kind of order, what has happened. Bear with me, there’s some serious fun stuff in there……

1. I ran a half-marathon with no training since Feb (it was in April which feels eons ago). In addition I had IBS for a month before and, like all idiots, I decided to get drunk the night before because, you know, no training so it was going to be hell. It wasn’t. I ran it one minute longer than last year, basically down to happy pills (no training, hungover, happy pills, gotcha)
2. I had a great session (first of two since I last wrote) and in addition the night before I went to a sex club enfemme. And ticked a couple of BIG things off of my bucket list. Let’s just say, and I will probably write about it at some point when I’m not so addled, that I no longer can claim to have not satisfied *men* with my mouth. Cough.
3. I had a superb makeover from Alison Dale, who is still as fun as she always was, and a night out with a friend in the Gay quarter of Manchester. This post is about that, but not what myself and my glorious friend got up to (she reads the blog so it’s lips sealed on all the fun conversations we had). I also walked back from Canal St to my hotel at 4:00am in the morning and took some really fun vids. Which leads me on to…..
4. I got massively trolled and terf-attacked on Insta, but, because I wrote the book on cyber-techniques, I had a lot of fun using their attack to spoof the algorithm into giving me 3k new followers. I’ll write a blog on that in a bit as well
5. I had a nasty case of IBS. Which rolled into a nasty case of viral flu. Which, shortly after I had recovered from, led to a good ol’ fashioned case of Covid. Which knocked me sideways and senseless for a week or so, followed by some intense travelling and work which has made me, for the last two or so weeks, completely exhausted
6. Which didn’t stop me having a glorious session with Cinders last week (13th June)

So, you can see I have had a busy time. My OnlyFans is going really well; there are a surprising amount of people who want to see the whole sets – as of today I have something like 140+ posts and 1.4k of pictures and videos (with a lot that are too saucy for Insta/Flickr).

Pictured – and doing my usual insane level of retro stuff. Channelling Lois Lane in this one…

All in all I have been wiped for the last couple of months, but I have lots of fun stuff to share and some *gorgeous* pictures. But this post is about a certain night out in Manchester…..

A dear friend, who I had never managed, though not through lack of trying, to meet in real life, contacted me back in April and said she’d be out and about in Manchester on a certain date, and would I like to come along? Jumped at the chance, and contacted Patti at Wowgals to sort a makeup-and-go, but it was literally the one day of the year when she wasn’t available (and Happy Birthday to her for that day).

Pictured – I did get back to Patti’s again after the Manchester fun and did a whole retro session

Turns out she was staying with Alison Dale, so I sneakily asked her if Alison could do me a makeover. Alison was one of the very first dressing services I tried, back in, cough, 2014 when I was completely useless at posing and a couple of stone heavier. And she said yes; she lives outside of Manchester so I would need to hop a taxi for 40 mins, go to her place, change and get made up, and then grab a taxi back into town (dropping off the man-gear at the hotel on the way).

So, the day of the evening I drove up to Manchester after work, parked in the Q-Park (hint, if you go to Manchester and don’t want to faff with trains there are a couple of brilliant Q-Parks, always empty, totally secure), walked to the hotel (BrewDog Doghouse, of course), checked in, had my free drink, had a couple more drinks because, well, alcoholism, bought eight cans for the makeover, and hopped an Uber.

Pictured – in completely other news, I found a new source of proper 1940’s frocks. This one is delightful and way too comfortable

It was a beautiful day and the drive over was fun; I’d shaved so my face felt cold and odd, and I was a little excited-scared. I hadn’t seen Alison in ten years, and I’d never met my friend other than a lot of fun online chats and girlie talk. So I was mildly trepidatious.

Got to Alison’s and my fears evaporated. She hasn’t changed a bit and is a gorgeously fun person to spend time around. She and I are similar in age and have the same exercise-caused ailments so there were lots of comparing the aches before we started.

She did my makeup, and during the process my friend arrived in-drab. Cue introductions (and the sharing of beer, of course); my friend was doing her own makeup and headed off to do it while Alison finished mine.

Now, for the outfit I had had a long think. Friday night in Manchester, maybe go for something a little short, modern, revealing? Nope, not at all. I went for a full on 50’s swing frock, gorgeous daisy print. I would have worn a petticoat as well if I thought I would have got away with it, but given I’d never gone out for an evening in proper retro I thought it was time. My friend had a little mini-dress from HellBunny, so we weren’t too dissimilar in fashion. Cue a couple more beers and we summoned an Uber; Alison stayed in and, after a copious spray of glitter (which I am still finding today in my backpack) we hussled into the back of the Uber and headed off to the Gay quarter.

Pictured – this was the complete outfit (spoiler, the night was wonderful and this was me at the hotel after, unable to wipe the smile off of my face)

After a little silliness with the one-way system in Manchester (not the worst city by a long way, but still immensely annoying when you are carrying around six or seven drinks in your bladder, which is being constricted by a dress and a belt at just the wrong place) we dropped off my man-kit at the BrewDog. In fact, when we stepped out of the Uber (me gingerly, my friend way more naturally) we instantly got drunken hit on by a set of passing ‘blokes’, which is both gratifying and a little scary (well, not too much as my bladder/happy pills were overriding any fears I had).

Ten minutes later and the Uber dropped us outside New York, New York. Now, I’ve not been out too many times in the Canal St region (three, not exactly a huge count), and I’d never been in there, but my friend suggested it and she was dead on correct. It was a lot of fun, even though it was heading into the early hours.

The barman was a sweetie; kept calling me madam ever time I went up, and not in an ironic way (which was nice). Plus they had Neck Oil which is a fine replacement for BrewDog when they are not available. So we sat, watched the crowd of people in the bar, had some deep conversations about life, sexual orientation and the quality of Neck Oil.

Pictured – around 4:00am in the morning, I look surprisingly with it…..

It was so much fun we kinda didn’t move. I was thoroughly enjoying just being out, especially in full on retro frock, and my friend and myself had oodles of stuff to talk about. The night went on a bit more, my friend popped her head into the dancefloor to see if it would be fun, and, come about 2:30am, I decided I wanted a pee.

I am going to be honest; all this bathroom stuff freaks me out. Not because I am who I am, but because, and don’t shoot me, I’ve never really been too bothered about using the male toilets. I went to Torture Garden once and ended up standing at a urinal fighting a dead tight PVC frock. I went to Goodwood and was standing at a urinal between two guys in 1940’s army uniform (carefully lifting up my tea dress and trying soooo hard not to make eye contact). I have always felt a little threatened using women’s toilets, which is pretty ironic given the gibberish people like Rowling talk about. You know, all of us in women’s clothing are sexual predators. Yeah, right. All due respect (i.e. none) JK, but if you think a trans person is safe going into the Gents you’re even more deluded than I thought, and that would be saying a lot.

Pictured – again, nothing to do with this post but how gorgeous is this cat print dress and cardy?

Anyway, after an evening of copious liquid and glorious conversations I went, on autopilot, into the Gents at New York, New York.

The instant I walked in this large (and I’m going to say it, very attractive) guy looked at me, and silently (but gently) took my shoulders, turned me around (and yeah, the feel of my dress swishing at that exact moment was sublime) and walked me out of the Gents and to the entrance door for the Ladies.

I stood there, a little in shock (and oddly turned on by the memory of his touch), and then, after ten or so seconds, turned around and walked back into the Gents.

Pictured – again, nothing to do with the article but I love this ‘funeral dress’

The guy was still there and looked at me quizzically. Before I could control my inner wit I said ‘Sorry sweetie, I need a pee and not a queue’. Lovely moment.

My friend excused herself about 3:30am, and I found myself stood on the doorstep of the club. The barman, bless him, came up and asked if I was OK, if I needed a cab, and I told him I was fine and my hotel was not far away. A little bit of a lie as it is about a mile, but it was a gorgeous night/morning and I wanted the feeling of my dress and heels as I walked, daintily, back.

It was about a quarter of a mile before I realised I may have made somewhat of an amusing error. Manchester was heaving; I don’t think I’ve seen a city this alive at that time of the morning. Groups of very drunken chaps were hanging around corners, eyeing up every girl that walked by, and I, under my armour of alcohol, realised that this is exactly the situation they warn you about. As a woman, alone, at that time of the morning, you feel so vulnerable.

OK, so I enjoyed the feeling. But I can imagine if it was like that every time I’d get tired of it very quickly. I walked along, smiling at the cat-calls, taking selfies and videos (more of that in the next post). At one point a large black guy stepped out of a doorway and put his hand on my shoulder as a walked by, and said ‘excuse me’. Again, my inner demon jumped to the forefront and I turned, batted my eyelashes at him, and said ‘What?’ in *the* most masculine voice I could muster.

‘Err, nothing.’ he said, and backed off. Kinda interested in what he wanted, assuming I was a woman. Granted, I was literally the only woman walking around in a 1950’s style swing dress, but still. Pretty sure he didn’t want fashion tips.

I got back to my hotel safely and literally didn’t want to go in. I stood on the street corner for a while, took some more photos, and seriously considered walking the mile back to the Gay quarter and carry on partying, but my emergency sense kicked in and it was off to bed, after removing the makeup and completely failing to remove the glitter. In fact I had a vid-conference a couple of days later and I could see little flashes every time I moved my head, which was gloriously fun.

So, I discovered it is safe and fine to go out in Manchester dressed in retro frocks on a Friday. Especially if you have a good friend with you. Part of me is a little sad (but not much, courtesy of the happy pills) that it took so long to crack that, and part of me wants to do it a lot more.

Anyway, apologies again for disappearing for so long; I hope you can forgive me (after reading that list).

Stay beautiful and live the dream when you can. We only have one runaround on this life, enjoy all the bits you can.

Pictured – oh yeah, I did a Debbie Harry look at the last session. Promise I’ll write more often.