Larks Among the Loiners - Part 6

The concluding bumper sized instalment of my night out in Leeds.

The End is a “lavish” bar with an “elegant drinking space” located in Hirst’s Yard just off Briggate. Pretty swanky, too, judging by the images on its website. And shamelessly overpriced, judging by a number of online reviews.

Hirst’s Yard itself is a very narrow cobbled passageway. So narrow, in fact, that you can touch the walls on either side at the same time. Reaching The End involved a walk of around 50 yards. As I took a few steps into Hirst’s Yard the sound of men’s voices echoed loudly down the passageway. Sure enough, I could see two or three male figures hanging around further down the passageway, apparently right outside The End. And I could tell from their body language that they had already seen me.

I recently read a great piece of advice on CDH. It said something along the lines of “if you’re out and about and you’re dressed as a woman, be sure to also think like a woman”. In other words, keep yourself safe from possible danger. Instantly resolving to heed that advice, I turned on my heel and returned to the safety of the main street.

It was a bit frustrating that I couldn’t tick The End off my list, but I later learned that, like Bar Fibre, it too was closed on Wednesdays. If I had taken the risk and walked down Hirst’s Yard, there would have been no chance of a quick escape if the men had decided to turn nasty with me.

What to do? It seemed that everywhere except Viaduct and The New Penny was now closed. Also, my legs were moaning at me again, so I decided to return to my hotel room. As I entered the hotel lobby I was greeted with a cheery “welcome back” from the receptionist, which was nice. I would make sure to give them 10 points on the customer feedback questionnaire.

Back in my room I unbuckled my shoes, took them off and wiggled my toes, then put the kettle on for a cup of coffee. Some time later – about 2.40am, in fact – I felt ready for the next and final part of my night in Leeds.

The New Penny, located in Call Lane, is reputedly the oldest continually running gay pub in the UK. Because of its 4am closing time every night of the week, it’s also the place people head for when everywhere else shuts. Known by the locals simply as “The Penny”, it’s another fairly small, traditional pub, with a Drag DJ operating beside a small dance area. Mirrored walls at each end of The Penny gave an illusion of greater length. This being a Wednesday the bar wasn’t crowded. I recognised a few faces from Viaduct: there was the tall MTF trans, still pulling off her outrageous moves for her two friends in front of the Drag DJ; and there was the youngish man with Middle Eastern features. He saw me come in and, after I’d bought myself a drink, beckoned me over to sit with him and his two friends.

Presently he introduced himself. I’ll call him Dalal. (My fictitious name convention falls down here, because I can’t find a Muslim name beginning with C.) More small talk ensued, and Dalal told me a bit more about himself, where he lived and so on. The name Dalal means “gentle, kind, pleasant, friendly’, which fitted him well. His friend (I’ll call him Eddie) proved to be quite a colourful character, gleefully telling me that he’s been barred from The New Penny at least three times for being “naughty”.

The music called to me, so I told Dalal I was off for a dance. It was here that I finally saw another crossdresser – a small, unshaven man in a leopard print dress with a pink bow attached to his bald head by an elastic band. Clearly one of the regulars, he looked like he was having fun.

Dalal hovered nearby while I danced, talking with someone I didn’t recognise. After a quick trip to the ladies’ I returned to my seat, closely followed by an attentive Dalal. After some more small talk, Dalal began complimenting me on my appearance, and finally told me he liked me and was “definitely attracted”.

Feeling flattered and disappointed at the same time, I gave Dalal a polite refusal. “I’m a crossdresser, Dalal,” I said. “I like to look like a woman, but I’m not looking for a relationship - of any kind. I’m just here in Leeds for a nice evening, to chat with some nice people.” I waggled my hand at him to indicate I thought he was one of the "nice people".

Dalal accepted this with good grace. After a few minutes I stood up and went for another dance. The Drag DJ played Murder on the Dancefloor, which was appropriate, because my feet were killing me. Dalal was out of his seat again, no longer hovering near me but chatting to his friends.

I sauntered over to the slot machine by the door and stood to do a bit of people-watching.

“Hello again,” said a familiar male voice to my left. I turned and found myself looking at the smiling face of Barry the Crossdresser Presser. There was a bottle of Peroni in his hand. Where had he come from? I suddenly got the notion that he’d been stalking me ever since our first encounter in Queen’s Court.

"Hi," I said. "Fancy meeting you here."

“Have you had a good night?” he asked. I replied that I had. “Well, I’m heading back to my hotel now,” he went on, “and I’d like you to come with me. It's not far. And I’ve got a bottle of wine.”

“No thank you,” I firmly replied, and repeated what I’d told Dalal only a few minutes earlier. Barry’s face took on a comically confused expression, but, like Dalal, he seemed to take the rebuff well. All the same, I kept looking behind me when I left The New Penny shortly afterwards.

I’d fully intended to stay at The New Penny until 4am closing time, but my feet and legs were begging me to reconsider. There was also the fact that I had to go to my office meeting at 9am, which meant getting up at 8am. So, with a lot of reluctance but feeling very happy with how my night had gone, I returned to my hotel room and redrabbed. Wig-off time was 3.30am, which meant I’d enjoyed eight unbroken hours as Jacqueline Larkspur.

And loved every second.