Another lovely weekend in Bournemouth

I've often heard the phrase "Own it".

It's one of those weaselly little phrases - so simple in essence (just do it, be you, own it) - but it's a kind of glass ceiling too, as you know what it means, or think you do, then you realise just how much you're not owning it, not really being true to yourself, just attempting to live up to some vision that some imaginary society is imposing on you.

Gah!

It can drive you round the twist if you think about it too deeply!

But this weekend, I felt like I owned it.

Bournemouth was my playground  there for my pleasure, and it was therefore up to me to make it a lovely, friendly place for everyone who encountered me.

It was tipping down with rain.

The precipitation was persistent.

I'd dressed that morning in my new, amazing, tight Levis jeans, size 12, bitches - Yeah, that waistline is slowly evaporating - an Atmosphere stretch t-shirt under a gorgeous soft black jumper, Reebok trainers... all women's items, with the lovely, soft materials that manufacturers reserve for ladies clothes - not a hint of rugged maleness!

Yep, full-on stealth mode, soft bra under the t-shirt ready to accept the forms, just add wig and boom!

Laura is here today, and ain't no stopping this girl today, whatever the weather!

With McFadden and Whitehead's finest hour lighting up the ICE, I set the cruise control for a perfect, if wet journey down.

Winchester services for the obligatory coffee pit stop - it's MY pit stop, so my clothing rules- and a clear run to the hotel.

In the car, I spent a good hour getting a fresh makeup with the best eyeliner and contouring I'd ever achieved - my face looked the most feminine I'd seen it, and I felt that familiar rush of euphoria as I applied the lip gloss for that final "Pop!".

I aim for Agnetha from ABBA, but am happy to settle for vaguely looking like Chloe Sevigny.

I'd packed the biggest brolly, so a good walk around town, ending up at Flirt for lunch was in order.

The lovely barista with the amazing eyes and tattoos welcomed me like an old friend.

Aha, Bournemouth - you are mine!

People walking around the shops barely noticed a 6'4" CD in my get-up. I was wearing my beige trench coat, belt tied at the waist to suggest a figure - and just felt amazing - like as much me as I could be. I was owning this, I could feel it.

After lunch, it was back to the car to exchange the rather wet jeans for a flowing, autumnal orange skirt - more ladylike - for some shopping, prior to checking in.

Now I needed some talc, as I had bought my first breast plate for the rather daring costume I was planning on wearing to the show tonight. It's October, so Oktoberfest all the way, darlinks!

More on that later, I now headed to Lush for some Silky Underwear.

It's the perfect, most fragrant and, as the name suggests, silky powder I've encountered. My wife loves it, and frequently applies it to me, which is beautiful!

So I went into the shop, and a beautiful, tall girl with a hypnotising face asked me what I was looking for.

So I asked "Do you have Silky Underwear?", maintaining a slightly pouty, mischievous grin.

Her eyes and smile widened, and her brow became slightly quizzical, but I maintained my somewhat impish smile, and realisation quickly dawned on her face, which broke into a wider grin with charming dimples around her cheeks: "Of course! Let me show you!" came the teasing reply.

As I followed her to the shelf, I noticed her lovely, sparkling top, and just said it; "Oh my gosh, I love your top!"

"Actually, it's my mother's - Do you like glitter? Let me get you some free samples" - and off she went to return with a handful of sample products, and further bright, flirty, chit-chat.

It struck me that I would love for her to accompany me to the show, as I loved her company, but 2 things occurred to me to prevent me asking.

1. I am still married, even if my wife doesn't engage in my cross dressing. Even though my intentions were only companiable, who knows?

2. The shows are sold out weeks in advance.

So I bid her a slightly hasty farewell, and continued back to check in at the hotel.

Alessandra, the receptionist, recognised me immediately, and greeted me fondly, with "I booked you into a sea view room this time!".

Wow! I didn't even ask - and what a lovely room it was, with a large bar window, overlooking the pier and beach, and two large leather armchairs by a coffee table to relax and enjoy the view from.

Changing my skirt and top for a more Laura-like patterned dress, I decided to do just that - but not in my hotel room - no, I wanted to be out and about, mingling, making friends, being a friend.

A blue glow caught my eye as I went into the lower gardens from the beach end - on investigation, it was a kind of musical installation - a huge set of chimes, and tranquil background music was emanating from the wooded grove it was set up in.

"Come on in - be the first to have a go!", called a girl, handing me some beaters.

Not quite what I had in mind - but an amusing diversion, nonetheless.

As I continued towards a coffee shop, I became aware of other artistic installations all over the gardens - large insects on tree trunks, mini fields of mushrooms, peculiar tents and such like.

The rain was easing off now, and a friendly woman approached me, handing me a booklet of the artistic and musical events - apparently it was the start of an arts festival, which they'd delayed a bit, because of the weather!

Laura, you always land on your feet, girl!

How come things like this never happen to me in male mode?

I normally find out I've just missed something like this - and random people almost never just come up to me and start chattering excitedly about art, music and stuff - which I do love and participate in.

It must be clear to most that Laura is friendly and very approachable - the ice needs no breaking as the warmth melted it a long time ago!

Absolutely no comments were made about men in dresses or how brave I am - which was very refreshing. I was simply taken at face value - you get what you see, and, let's face it, I was feeling gorge, so must've projected gorge.

I didn't notice a single adverse reaction all day.

Ok, I cheated - I didn't look for adverse reactions, only positive ones, as those were the ones I felt I deserved - and I got loads of smiles from random women and girls, which kept my smile buoyant and free.

Now, onto the costume.

What can I say?

It's October, so only the cheapest Bavarian bar maid costume will do.

On with the white thigh-high stocking, the green dress with the lacy, white apron and brown, laced bodice - but, before that, there was the breast plate.

A lavish dusting of Silky Underwear, and stretch that baby, and hope she doesn't rip, as so many reviewers have said they do.

No ripping... But how on earth do you roll down the back?

Somehow I managed, after a good 30 minutes of struggle - no tears but... Oh wow!

I'd ordered a size E, as the reviews all said to go at least one size up from normal - but these girls are big!

I was a little worried they wouldn't fit into the dress!

Fortunately, the lace up bodice was accommodating and arooogaaah! The cleavage looked amazing. The lace frill around the edges was like icing on a delectable cake, with the bosom heaving realistically as I tried to get my breath back after struggling into it!

Zipping up my brown boots, and wrapping my red trench coat around me... well, the lower 3 buttons, anyway, I set out for Rubyz.

Alessandra's eyes nearly popped out of her head!

"Oh wow, Laura, you look incredible!"

The first of so many lovely comments on my 20 minute walk up the hill, clutching my newly acquired red sequined bag with spare heels in - most comments from men, along the lines of "Great job - what are you doing later?" and, of course, "Cor, check out the tits on that!"

All massive boosters, and yes, Bournemouth, you are mine. I own you, like you own me. It could be time for pastures new!

Up at the club, the same praises were heaped on my costume and my breasts, and I was immediately invited to the table of a massive hen party of very excited Essex girls, had so many photos taken, and my breasts squeezed - one girl asked me to get them out, and, since it was her hen party, I duly obliged to riotous cheering - and I was fully integrated as one of the badly behaved party.

How badly behaved?

Well a massive, inflatable male appendage was produced by one of the girls, quite early on in the show, and thrown around the audience.

The drag queens were in hysterics, but fortunately kept the show together - by incorporating it into an improvised routine - and it was the funniest I'd ever seen them.

The hen got pulled up onto the stage, and a male appendage item affixed to her head for a spot of hoop-la, the Conga train in the after-show disco went all around the hotel and woke up some rather dead looking bars, and I am surprised my plate withstood all the groping (and remember, the audience at these shows is 99% female!) - but all in the name of fun.

I was part of the entertainment, and definitely one of the girls and I didn't talk about cross dressing to anyone for the whole day. It was simply not an issue. I am what I am, I am my own special creation...

Tired out, I wiggled and giggled my way back to the hotel amid the wolf-whistles and happy chattering of people I encountered, to sleep it all off.

The next day, the sun came out, I chose a pleather skirt to go with my pleather jacket and (ladies) Motorhead t-shirt with boots.

Now this is the outfit I would have worn back in the 1980s, if I'd given myself the choice.

It felt so natural, so me, and, amid the arts and music playing everywhere, I felt like I fitted right in.

Again, people male and female, randomly just started talking to me like it was the most normal thing.

I had won.

I owned it.

Love Laura.