A Bargain Tale

Glancing in a shop window on a windswept road, I saw two dresses on hangers inside. They were amongst other items of clothing on offer in this pop-up second-hand shop, which had previously sold gas fittings and boilers. One black & white number was particularly inviting, and soon I returned for a better look - attired in a way more acceptable, perhaps, for such a purchase: makeup, skirt, and stilettos rather than faded jeans and stubble.

Buoyant with confidence, I asked, “Could I see that dress in the window?” in a convincingly girlish voice. At least, there was no strange reaction from the woman behind the counter. There was also a bright red pair of high-heeled Mary-Jane shoes, although a practised glance told me they were far too small. Size matters for the comfortable cross-dresser!

The dress of my desire was cotton, in a stylish floral print, and fell just short of the knees. “Four pounds,” she said; so I bought it.

The red shoes stayed in the shop a while longer, attracting my eye but pointless to buy. Then the place closed down, taking the shoes with it. Wherever did they end up? I passed by many times later, as a man, remembering the dress and how I had acquired it. Of course, I had done that sort of thing before.

It was the summer of 2011, and Brighton Pride was approaching. I had missed out a couple of years, for unpleasant and unimportant reasons. Usually, I liked to go in a beautiful outfit - either a Goth-type look with black lace or a more innocent Alice in Wonderland style. By now, I had become familiar with the Lolita fashions of Japan - as seen in Brighton's Anime Festival - and tried to mimic this approach, albeit cheaply.

The black & white dress would figure in a big way. Thick petticoats puffed it out, with a blouse and purple ribbon tie. White tights and chunky shoes added to the look, along with the pink jacket I had bought, embarrassingly, as a man. Adding a blonde wig, owned for years, I became a wonderful vision for the sunlight.

Joining the parade in the town centre, I was stopped for a photo or two like the latest novelty. My look was a far cry from the bare-chested hedonism also on display, but I found it delightfully chic. An Asian girl selling fizzy drinks beheld me in wonder, saying I looked so pretty - or words to that effect. I used a male voice to speak to her and she was astonished I was not a girl. As we reached a local park for the main festival, I met Sam – another cross-dresser – as we did on and off, unpredictably. Soon, it was time for refreshing tea and mutual admiration.