- This topic has 17 replies, 9 voices, and was last updated 1 month ago by .
One of the things that I really like in a multi-part story is a good segue.
Between chapters, between paragraphs, between asides from paragraphs – it doesn’t matter – a good segue provides continuity and momentum.
And momentum was what I was feeling. A continued drive from one exciting femme adventure to the next.
Content with the food, which more than made up for in quantity what it lacked in quality or taste, I walked daintily but quickly back to the hotel, showered, shaved and wiped off the makeup.
Yes, I cursed myself a little for doing it that way around, and, once the makeup was off, shaved again with a fresh blade, searching for all those tiny, stubborn patches that resist every effort.
A quick whizz around with a nose and ear-hair clipper (easily forgotten essential), and it was time to moisturise, and do the makeup properly, with plenty of light and a big mirror.
Despite attending a wonderful live demonstration, having 2 makeovers and being a total Glow Up (makeup TV show) addict, I struggled with my eyes worse than I ever had!
The liner insisted on going on smudgy, and attempts to clean the edges resulted in panda eyes. The mascara clumped, despite my efforts to shake it and wipe the excess off the brush – and my eyeshadow! Oh! It looked like the most colourful black eye imaginable, no matter what I did to style it.
So I stripped it back to a boring but serviceable smoky eye, with a bit of glitter for luck, fixed my eyebrows into that quizzical, slightly surprised look that is fashionable, contoured the male features as deeply as I dared, hoping the venue would be dark, and selected a pretty blue leaf necklace to set off the green eyeshadow.
It’ll do – finally, those lips.
Let’s see… nice, full lower lip, sharp and full widow’s peak, drawn carefully with lip pencil, filled in with lip paint, pop the dress on while it dries, pop the heels into my back pack, and gloss it all up.
Let’s have a look…
Well, yes the dress looks absolutely stunning – a kind of petrol blue, with, of course, sequins arranged in swirling patterns, front and bank.
Just covering the thighs, sleeveless, and a lovely sheer arrangement around the neckline, giving the impression of cleavage – I felt totally right.
The shine off the sequins catches the glitter around my eyes, and my face seems to have a glow, like a kind of halo.
Well, no angel I – it’s time to take this show on the road, and woe beside anyone who has something bad to say about this look, because I Lovett!!!
Suffice to say that no woe betode (betided?) anyone.
I was a bit disappointed not to get any comments at all – after all the effort!!
Walking past the pier, I felt a kind of catwalk strut enter my movements, as music pumped from many venues, and the sounds of surf and people enjoying themselves filled the air around me.
As I went up the other hill, towards the venue, I saw a delectable vision – a perfectly presented lady, in a white dress which looked a bit out of date, but fitted so perfectly, and positively gleaned – I was transfixed again! I loved that dress – but now, no envy. No sadness that I couldn’t wear clothing like that – but another rush of euphoria.
I was jolly well going to tell her how much I loved that dress as we passed, and I jolly well did… and noticed, as she turned her downturned, slightly too large face away from me, with a bit of a grimace, that she was a CD! A sister, who had no interest in communication with another. Well, there’s a puzzle, but I respected her wishes, and kept walking, until I reached the Hotel Celebrity.
Point to note – I never look down, unless there’s something to look down for, such as a kerb or drain, when wearing heels. There’s far too much to look around at and observe. Most GGs I’ve observed are constantly looking around, fully absorbed in the moment – and rightly so.
The Hotel Celebrity bears a plaque, stating something along the lines of “Tony Hancock once performed here”.
Tony Hancock, for those who don’t know, was a comedian, whose main character traits were a somewhat pretentious, curmudgeonly outlook on life – and he was very popular in the 1950-1960s.
The Hotel Celebrity looked like they hadn’t touched it since by way of renovations, presumably in Hancock’s honour. A fairly useless rock band were playing in a function room, and most of the audience, some, in fancy dress, were on the large patio, outside the room.
I sashayed over, and asked the guy nearest to the car park if he knew where Rubyz was, as my Google Maps had clearly said that it’s here somewhere.
He retorted that I must have the wrong place, but I thought it better to go inside and ask.
I noticed that one of the girls was dressed as Ginger Spice, in that Union Jack dress, and so I said “Wow, it’s Ginger Spice – great outfit!”
She seemed pleased with the attention and sent me some sexy dance moves, so I followed up with “I would’ve dressed up too, if I had known it was fancy dress!!”.
This elicited a laugh from a number of them, and it seemed I was making myself the centre of attention, so I bade them all have a lovely evening, and went towards the main entrance to the hotel.
3 lovely girls were standing there, one with beautiful blonde locks, a face that seemed lit up, with dreamy big eyes and the most amazing, low-cut, high-split red sequined dress I had ever seen!
I asked if Rubyz was in the hotel, to which she replied “Yes”, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying “With a dress like that, I thought you were rubies!” and, turning to the other two beauties, almost repeated the line I had spun to great effect with the gig attendees.
The ladies laughed at this, the blonde in red observing that I had almost as many sequins as her – and directed me to the function room known as Rubyz.
As I went in, I heard her remark “Looks like it’s going to be a good night!”.
Assuming that those girls were the welcoming committee, I went in, gave my name to the chap at the door, and he directed me to my solo table at the back, next to a table set for 6 people.
In fact, all around the room were large tables, except to my left, which was set for 2.
I looked around, as the venue filled – it wasn’t very big, and the tables were mostly socially distanced, and I guessed that the audience would be around 100 people. The odd thing was that most of the audience appeared to be women.
Hold on – this is a drag queen show – I got the impression that many women were offended by such things – yet there were probably only 2 or 3 other men in the room.
As I sat contemplating this, the ladies from the door came in, and promptly sat at the table next to mine.
With a huge smile, my blonde friend greeted me like an old friend, and said “Why don’t you come and sit with us?”.
I couldn’t think of a single reason not to sit with 6 beautiful ladies, all out for a good time and to party (No sex, please, we’re British!), so I simply said “I can’t imagine anything I’d like more – thank you so much!”.
The blonde then turned to me and said “You’re ours now!”, and I couldn’t stop myself: “Oh, goody!!!”.
We’ll there were introductions and lots and lots of idle happy chit-chat – I had been taken into the group, and was being treated not just as one of the girls, but as one of the close-up knit group. We even went to the toilet together – although I always draw the line at cubicle sharing. In this case, that wasn’t requested, which made things so much easier and more relaxed!
I was one of the girls, and hadn’t been pulled into the group because one of them fancied a fling with a cross dresser (very, very flattering, but, for a married man, awkward and yes, that has happened to me a few times in Brighton), but because they just seemed to like me. I put my heels on, and instantly came the demand for me to stand up and give them a twirl, which I did, to a chorus of whoops from what seemed the entire venue!
The show was surprisingly good, and the women screamed, banged the tables, got up and danced, on other tables, some took their tops off – it was a crazy night, although my table were comparatively well-behaved (all women in their late 30s-early 40s, married wirh kids, and out for the first time in years).
During the break, we shared pictures of our children, the blonde showed me a picture of her on her horse, and we talked a little of ordinary life. I got up to go for a vape, and one of the girls asked if they could take me back with them! I laughed wantonly and replied that they could take me anywhere, but right now I needed a vape.
The girl who had asked came with me, and started asking me about cross dressing – every question I’d heard before, but not in such a quick fire way.
Of course, all my answers are ready, and condensed so I don’t feel like I am hogging the conversation, but she seemed absolutely fascinated, and said that I had smashed all of the preconceptions she had about it.
Her first question was whether I was gay or not, and my answer visibly surprised her, and she hung onto every answer I gave like it was a revelation into a world she had no idea existed. We returned to the others, still chattering – then the dancing started, and I was swung around, I swung girls around, I accepted bump and grind from behind, but generally kept shy of taking the male role unless reversed into…
One lovely girl in a fantastic pink jumpsuit kept smiling, wide-eyed at me across the dance floor (a lot of ladies did, but I noticed her mostly because of the jumpsuit – and when she broke my resolve not to play the male role!), After that, I became sport, and did I mind?
It was a crazy blast, and we all danced until the music stopped, and I wasn’t sure I could actually continue dancing in 3″ heels for another second…
I accompanied my lovely friends to the door, where they were to await their taxi, at which point, after a kiss all round, it was time for us to part company.
I gave my Laura Lovett email address to my blonde friend, so she could share it round, but refused to take any of their details, saying that I would love to go out with them all again, or chat about anything, but, if I were them, I’d think long and hard about sharing my details with a strange man – and they don’t come much stranger when they’re wearing a dress!
Bidding all my fair Spanish ladies adieu (No, they weren’t Spanish, it’s the song title!), I floated down the hill, and barely noticed the walk back to the pier, and to the bench on which I sat, at 00:40, looking at the reflections in the sea, reflecting on the events of my first day trip to Bournemouth en femme – but certainly not my last.
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.