transretrogurl

Sooo, that was a very interesting and fun week and a bit. Somehow I had managed to arrange it so that a number of very cool things occurred in a very short time; this meant I had to have military level organisation in my head, a night time marathon followed a couple of days later by a quick one night visit to Brussels to present on a large stage in front of 200 people, a rush back to the Brussels Midi station by foot (basically 12 miles of walking in a day on heavily blistered and damaged tootsies), a session with the wonderful Cindy the day after, home for a couple of days, then up to Manchester, during storm Amy, for two special sessions – a 1960’s day and, swoon, a 1940’s glamour day with something extra….

Pictured – from the Cinders session, one of my all time favourite pics and it wasn’t planned; this was just ‘I’ll plonk myself down here a second for a sip of the wine’ and Cinders was ‘DON’T MOVE!’

Before you ask, the chosen image for this blog is not AI; I was lucky enough to have one of Patti’s dearest friends as a prop for some pictures. After seeing what we could with AI we thought it would be fun to try some of the poses in real life. Cue an afternoon of extremely fun hijinx, and good wine. And now, home.

So, there’s at least four blogs in there because while in London, emboldened by adrenaline from Brussels (I don’t fly due to, well, having so many near misses while in the service and working in Darmstadt, I can’t go near a plane or an airport without feeling Death’s cold hand on my shoulder) and, cough, copious red wine, I did a couple of firsts I would never have thought myself capable of.

But I’ll take a breath and start at the beginning.

Pictured – also had a chance to wear this expensive and utterly beautiful satin 1930’s style frock. Dribble.

The Night Shine 2026 was tough, but that was because I went out of my way to make it tough in order to make it easy. Confused? Yeah, me too; I normally get a hotel room for the night before and the night/morning of the walk itself. I’ve done it twice before, plus once by myself in Hereford during the aftermath of lockdown, and I am always exhausted at the end. I’m a fast walker rather than a runner, although I did the London Landmarks Half twice, so I keep up a mad marching pace; 2019 I did it in 6hrs 30m, 2021 I did it in 6hrs 47m (time ticks by) so I was expecting to be slower this year. In addition, instead of getting a hotel I decided to drive; four hours there, park in a Q-Park one mile away from the start in Battersea Park, do the walk, walk the mile back to the car park, drive four hours home.

Even when I was thirty years younger (and yes, that means 26 which is rather depressing) that kind of exertion would be insane. And to add fun to it I fell over at LFF and mashed my knee nicely, so as I stood on the start line I was wondering if my throbbing knee would just buckle 30 seconds into the marathon.

It didn’t, and like an idiot who doesn’t listen to his own mind, I slotted myself in behind an older couple who looked like they were on fire in terms of speed, and concentrated on their feet. Seven miles in and I was averaging 13min 13s miles, which is insanely fast. Too fast. In addition the wind was unbelievable. 35mph gusts while crossing the bridges, straight in the face, were not fun.

Pictured – Joanie Clothing have done a collaboration with Christina Hendricks (yes, ‘Mad Men’s Joan!!!!) and this is one of the wonderful frocks.

Cut to the end; the last seven miles were an exercise in pain, and crossing the line I picked up my engraved medal, gingerly went to the toilet, and stumbled the one mile back to the car. Cue four hours driving along the M4 then country roads at 3:00am on a Sunday morning, and home.

Two days later and I’m gingerly lowering myself into my TT. I’m 6ft 2in and the TT was not designed for idiots like me, so squeezing a complaining body with muscles shouting into a bucket seat and then, cough, driving back to London in order to park at another Q-Park and hop a Eurostar was, well interesting.

What was more interesting was what was in my car as I left for the continent. I had said sod it earlier in the year and assumed I was rock hard and, well, thirty years younger. So I had booked a full day with Cinders to have some proper fun, loads of new outfits. And then my company asked me to present in Brussels the day before, two days after the marathon. And I said yes because, what the hell, everything ached anyway. So in the boot of my TT was a glorious set of outfits, shoes and accessories, quietly waiting for me to get back.

Pictured – including this one, really not sure what thieves would have made of it if they had broken into my car…

Through customs I went and for the first time ever I had decided to try and relax rather than obsessively worry about everything; I literally had my phone, my work backpack (which, granted, weighs a tonne) and my passport. It felt kinda freeing to be travelling so light, and the Eurostar is literally two hours from capital to capital.

Arrived in Brussels, walked the two miles from the station to the historic Grand Platz, found my hotel (which was gorgeous, Novotel off of Grand Platz – it had free beer in the mini-bar). Checked my demo (I like to give demos live as the rush of it f*cking up is yet another adrenaline rush), popped to Delerium Village for a gorgeous pint of Red (lambic cherry beer, nothing goes down so easy), tried a restaurant someone suggested which was gloriously 1950’s European, hit the sack.

Awake early, checked out, walked the five miles to the venue (I like to walk European cities, you see the history and the way culture has evolved), did my pitch, left the venue at 15:00, decided I was too early to go straight to Brussels Midi so back to Delerium, three pints of Red (dribble), marched to the station, wandered through customs happily drunk, two hours later I’m in London, walked to the hotel from Euston, dropped off the backpack, walked the mile to the carpark, checked the gorgeous bag of goodies was still there, walked back via Luna (a magnificent new wine bar on Shad Thames, *highly* recommended), picked up a posh bottle of wine, back to the hotel, sleep…..

Pictured – another of the Christina Hendricks frocks. Gorgeous….

Still with me? Going to be honest, I was running on fumes but felt on top of the world. Woke up the next day, shaved fully, strolled across back through Shad Thames to the car park (wonderful coffee shop on Shad Thames, ‘Watchhouse’, another one to try. If any of you are doing a sesh with Cinders and do the fun walk along the riverside, just pop down the alleys onto the old Shad Thames, it is literally 30 seconds away from the place all the ‘outgoers’ have their piccies taken.

And then…. the session.

So the title of this blog is all about firsts; I had a great session, always do, lots of laughing, messing about etc. I met the fabulous Freda, someone I follow on Instagram and Flickr; I have always adored her work, she does the retro fashions as well, so to meet her in person was lovely. My session finished around 18:00 and I was buzzing, even with the residual damage of the marathon and the European wandering.

Pictured – and some pics for the OnlyFans. Legs don’t look too knackered by the mistreatment, she says modestly.

And I remembered that it was Trans Roma night. So Trans Roma is, to put it mildly, a T-Sex club up on Old Street that runs once a month. I had been once before where I indulged a little in a personal fantasy; let’s just say the dark rooms there are dark and there are plenty of excited men who find the idea of a T-Girl kneeling in the room a turn on.

So I decided, what the hey, I’m here, I’m dressed (with some gorgeous Christina Hendrick frocks from Joanie Clothing; I’ll cover the session itself in the next blog in detail as the outfits were to die for).

It’s around 19:00 by now. I’m wearing a lovely floral modern frock and I casually ask Cinders if I can borrow the wig I’m wearing until the morning. She says yes, and I thought sod it.

Sooo. I packed up my masculine clothes into my backpack, along with my work laptop (reminder, remove session photos from work laptop before I forget 🙂 ), put all the session outfits in my femme-carry back and, in two inch heels, hug Cinders goodbye and step out into the world.

Pictured – Tower Bridge in the background, backpack on; not shown, proper walking boots hanging off the back by their laces, army style….

I’ve been out and about before, and once, at the last session, by myself along the river for some exciting selfies. But this was different. I had my backpack on which kinda spoilt the illusion slightly, but I tottered in a feminine way, pulling my bag on wheel, a couple of streets over to the carpark, where I daintily put my femme kit in the boot of the TT, and, shouldering the backpack but keeping my figure as femininely shaped as I could, climbed the two set of stairs to come out of the carpark.

It’s around 20:00 now and London is buzzing; it’s a Friday night, people are outside the pubs. I walked, proper short steps and click-click of heels, remembering to sway the hips, all the way along Shad Thames (cobbles), up the stairs and onto Tower Bridge.

No-one batted an eyelid at the slightly tall woman with the backpack, even though my walking boots were tied onto the side (sigh, you can take the solider out of the army, but you can’t take the army out of the floral frocked cross-dresser taking her stuff back to her hotel room). All the way across the bridge, down the alley to the right hand side and under the underpass, alongside the Tower, up the underpass by Tower Hill Underground station and to the hotel.

It was glorious. To feel the breeze on my tights, that wonderful spark of keeping your steps short, walking with the hips and not the knees. I had some smiles from some men, which, being honest, kept that cold rush of adrenaline pumping in the chest. Also, I wasn’t wearing any falsies as the hormones have given me a small amount of boobage, so the feeling of them under a strapless bra, under the lovely fabric of the dress as I walked, was like nothing else.

I know it’s a fetish, and a personal one, but I’ll never know how women get anything done with the feel of the fabrics of their clothes against their skin. It’s like being in a glorious feminine cloud all the time.

Pictured – before I finished I did sneak out for some piccies in the pink Christina Hendricks frock. Nothing to see here, just an over-excited CD….

Anyway, I was on the 6th floor of the hotel. Walked in through the doors, strode across to the lifts, pressed the button, waited. A couple joined me, also waiting, and when the door opened the gentleman indicated I could go first. The lift had mirrors on both sides, so I ended up watching myself as the lift ascended, playing with my hair, checking my lipstick. The couple were young, and the woman was checking her phone. He other half wasn’t; let’s just say he was drinking in the frock I had on and leave it at that. It’s odd to be in that situation; as a man I never stare at a woman, and as a CD I expect the stares to always be ones backed by mocking, but this wasn’t that, at all.

Luckily they got off on floor four, her still looking at her phone as she walked out and him watching me until the doors closed. Hit the sixth and I went to my room, took my backpack off, and stood there breathing heavily.

That was about a mile and a third through London on a Friday night by myself, including some dark paths and an underpass or two. It’s a normal walk, but for me, the way I was dressed, it was gloriously exciting.

Pictured – also went outside in the 1930’s outfit. No-one cared. Bliss.

So, having put down my backpack, I sat on the bed thinking about whether or not I should go to Trans Roma. I was by myself, no safe escorting by Cinders. I would need to get an Uber, get myself into the club, find a way back. And would I go to the dark rooms again?

Five minutes later the decision was made for me. Somehow I had fired up the Uber app, entered the location and summoned an X…..

I freshened up in front of the mirror, took my phone and my hotel key (the frock had pockets, which was cheating, but still). Literally three minutes later I am sat in the back of an Uber, legs tightly together, dress wrapped around them, looking pensively out of the window as Friday night London sped by.

Remember at this point I had been in Brussels literally the day before, talking tech on a massive stage. Now I found myself sat, dolled up in a gorgeous frock, going to a T-Sex club by myself.

Pictured – in the back of the Uber! Squee!!!!

Yeah, it was a riot of a night.

No, I didn’t go in the dark room. Got there, got to the bar, got fondled three times buying a drinking, met a wonderful young Asian chap who was there for his first time, sat and talked for an hour, kissed and cuddled. Bumped into the fantastic Jenny Lunden and a male friend of hers, drank more wine, got fondled some more, got asked to do some pretty kinky things (I declined). Once the club got too busy I stepped outside for some air, got fondled again, summoned an Uber, went back, alone, to the hotel. Rode the lift, fell asleep on the bed without taking my dress or shoes off.

It was wonderful.

Then. Up early, popped the wig back to Cinders, went to the carpark, drove home, did three days working from home, drove up to Manchester in Storm Amy, had an utterly wonderful two sessions. But those, and the frocks of the Cinder’s session, will be future blog posts.

Sounds odd, but I’m really proud of myself. Two, three years ago I would have been paralysed by anxiety just going to Brussels. Or doing a marathon walk overnight in London, not to mention all the femme-firsts. Walking across Tower Bridge, I would have been petrified, even with someone escorting me. The last two weeks have been eye-opening, in a wonderful way.

Couple of downside – walking a mile in heels on feet that did a marathon, then 12 miles of Brussels cobbles, has left me with pre-painted nails (purple) that I’m sure I’m going to lose. My hips feel like an 80 year old’s. My knees are not talking to me, I have a bruise under the arm where my backpack rubbed my bra (first world woman problems), and I have never been happier…..

Pictured – sneak peek of the 60’s day; that beehive was sublime…..

So, a couple of posts to come including the lovely male prop session which was hilarious.

Stay beautiful, and realise you can do whatever you want, just be brave.

Pictured – bucket list checked; be the loving 1940’s housewife for a hunk. Blog post coming soon…..