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With my treasured and life-long object of desire (my pink skirted swimsuit) packed in a bag, I breezed down to reception to ask about using the spa facilities.
My heart was racing a bit, just from the excitement of being able to fulfil this fantasy, and also from nervousness – I couldn’t really change in the gentlemen’s area – how would the hotel consider this? How would other guests consider this?
I decided to make that the hotel’s problem, since I had been assured in advance that the hotel supports people like us, and does not tolerate any kind of “anti” behaviour.
I was also wondering, in the back of my mind, would the forms make me more or less buoyant? Would they attempt to escape from the swimsuit in a massively embarrassing way? What on earth was I going to do when it came to showering the nasty chlorine off?
Actually, sorry to disappoint, but I had actually decided that showering in my hotel room was the best option all round!
So I asked the lovely lady on reception what the arrangements for spa were, very simply, and left it to her to be the lovely intelligent, experienced person that I took her to be.
She gave me a fresh towel, asked if I had my swimming costume, told me I’d need a coin for the locker, which I had anticipated, and gave me a card key, saying “down below decks” (there was a door labelled “Below Decks”, use the card key, then the ladies changing room is to the right.
Mind blown, but calm face adopted, I thanked her very much, with a smile, and headed below decks.
I crossed leagues of open carpet, sailed past the isles of gym and treatment, and navigated the double doors into the spa atoll.
Clearly labelled, to my right, the ladies, where I had been directed. No apprehension for me, as Laura, this was where I needed to go – I couldn’t very well go into the gentlemen’s room – a room for which I have long-standing loathing – the repulsion of hairy, sweaty, rank, naked male bodies in close proximity to me has always been utterly nauseous to me, and the thought of being surrounded by the equivalent female forms quite the most attractive….
Yes, yes, even putting it that way kind of elicits an “Of course you want to be surrounded by naked women, old chap – you’re a man!
And the more I say “but it’s not like that, honest”, the more comes the reply “methinks thou dost protest too much” – and it’s a losing battle.
Let’s start again, with the utter revulsion in male physicality, and leave it there.
This is a very difficult and sensitive point of view to put across, and it’s not about being lecherous.
The room was empty.
6 cubicles were lined up, and I chose the one in the middle.
I was here now, and this was my changing room, and it was for ladies like me – as well as ladies different to me.
I quickly and keenly got into the beloved swimsuit – at last, at last, at last!!!!
Wooooowwww!!! It felt amazing, amazing… hang on – this is just my swimsuit – no need to get carried away!
The forms nestled perfectly in the padded areas – which came up high enough to completely cover them, with a little adjustment of the straps.
The skirt negated any need for tucking or gaffes, and I was ready!
I put my clothes into a locker, and headed out for the pool, feeling like a tall, elegant swimming diva, probably from the 50’s in that cossie, but this is my choice, my style, my way or the highway.
There was a gentleman, who just started chatting to me about this and that, don’t bother with the sauna, it takes ages to get hot, the hydro pool is wonderful, you must try it, there’s no steam room, but the pool is nice and warm… what a talkative chap!
I said that’s a pity about the steam room or lack of, thanked him for the information, and headed off to the pool, maybe slightly aware of being watched as I walked away… but not turning. This was going to be good. No. This was going to be great!
And it was.
I quickly discovered that swimming with forms nicely secured by the costume alone does work. I was actually not aware of being hindered by them, or detecting any movement other than a slight sense of top-heaviness, and really enjoyed my swim. I floated on my back for a while, delighting in my own chest shape, and grateful for the little skirt, which did it’s job perfectly.
No-one else came into the pool – I had it to myself, but another gentleman came in to use the hydro pool, and I really didn’t want to share it with him. My alienation from maleness heightens when I am en femme – I can’t even bear being touched, accidentally or not, and proximity feels choking. My own maleness is hidden underneath layers of female clothing, and I am at peace and happy in myself.
Swimming over, I thought I would try the sauna.
I flicked the switches, set the timer, and it did get hot.
After about 10 minutes, I suddenly noticed the sign advising that, since this was a dry sauna, wet swimsuits were not to be worn. Instead, it advised “loose clothing may be worn, if desired”.
So the alternative is…?
Anyway, it got hot, hot, hot in there, so I exited. Time to prepare for the show!
It’s shower time!
The ladies changing room was still empty.
It’s my changing room – the one I was directed to, and the one I feel at home in, safely away from male bodies…
No-one came in, to my admittedly partial relief, and I quickly dressed and went back to my room, to shave, moisturise, and get really stuck in to some glittery makeup. Oh yes, where I lack the skills, no-one will ever accuse me of lacking the sparkles!
Makeup done, on with the dress… but what’s this?
I cannot, cannot get the rotten zip up!
Forgot to bring a coat hanger with a piece of wire – but that probably wouldn’t have helped – I was convinced I’d tried it on – it’s a beautiful long, red, yes and sequined dress – just amazing, but it wasn’t going to fit today. Right. The bloody diet starts right now!!!
So I settled for a peculiar, slightly off the wall semi-sequined semi-opaque short dress, popped in the forms, on with the wig and Laura is going to the show!!
Heels in my new pink sequined bag – you can’t have too many sequins ever, says this girl – thick, autumnal scarf and long furry coat and off, up the hill, on the 15 minute walk to HB’s.
A few people encountered, responses ranging from indifferent to wide eyed smiles, a few car horn toots and some indistinct shouting – non aggressive – and one guy saying “Hi, Steve” – but maybe he had a headset on…
But there’s a queue – qu’elle horreur!!
Marching, diva-like to the front, I flicked my scarf and said Laura’s here, honey, in the house and in the VIP!!!
The bouncer did not crack a smile.
Professional, I’ll give him that.
He told me to go to the back of the queue, and I was like “Are you serious????”, with a big smile, to convey the fact that the Laura attitude is purely one of fun, and “Diva” is just my middle name.
This did not wash, so, with mock annoyance, I huffed to the back of the queue to wait for the guy to come down the line and filter out those with VIP tickets. Not many of us, and an odd system – but I was inside, with next to no queue for a drink, friendly co-VIPs and a choice of tables.
Our area was cordoned off, after a short while, the support acts were introduced, and the non-VIPs allowed in to watch us meet and greet the awesome star of the show.
Ugh!!!
What a palaver, but my turn came, and I approached Victoria with my typically Laura arms outstretched, big wide smile, enjoying her reaction to me, shimmying for her to sparkle out some more sequin, becoming a bit captivated by her star quality glamour, preparing for the air kiss, then promptly crashing to the floor as I tripped over the step in those 3″ heels.
A very audible “Ooooo!!” came from the crowd, but just before I hit the deck, I managed to get my hands on the floor and recovered my standing position at a speed that impressed me!
“That’s making an entrance!”, Victoria quipped.
“I really fell for you – I mean, I meant to do that!” came my slightly garbled reply, and the chatter was just back and forth whimsical banter as we posed for pictures, and then I asked if I could possibly get a selfie with her.
“Of course you can, my darling”, came the reply, and I clicked the button, but forgot I had the timer on.
Quick as a flash, I yelled out “Seven, six…”, the crowd got the idea, and Victoria looks amazing in the selfie that I just had to upload to my public photos section – wow, you don’t get one like that every day… pity my lipstick had rubbed almost totally off, and I am in full “Guy in a wig” mode… but still – makeup under lights needs different skills to the ones I am learning, and other excuses…
After that, the evening became a bit of a blur, drinks, people coming up to me, loving my dress, chatting, dancing, then one girl, who I had been noticing all night, because her hair looked like my daytime hair (much less curly than my going out wigs), her features were strikingly similar to mine, albeit far more feminine and cute, and she was wearing the faux leather jacket/skirt/boots combo that I love, fixed her eyes and smile on me, and walked through the veils of dry ice as if in some oddball rom-com.
The room suddenly only consisted of her walking towards me, her image captivating me intoxicatingly – oh my gosh, I wish I looked like her!
Then she was talking to me, admiring my look and my outfit, and we quickly became the mutual admiration society, we danced like best friends, we chatted, then I felt a bit awkward, like male me was having some pathetic guilt trip, and I went to the toilet.
She came in shortly after. Well, of course, I did have to use the ladies, it should go without saying. We laughed, did our makeup together and it was lovely, and she told me her name was Ellie – and I recalled Elle in Bournemouth, who had captivated me, and knew that it wasn’t a pathetic guilt trip. It was doing the right thing. It was breaking the magic where magic had no place.
The chain, in the Fleetwood Mac sense, couldn’t be broken or replaced with another, and so it was my responsibility to not get involved with someone I wanted to emulate and found a great deal of pleasure in her company. I am taken, but it would never do to create hurt in such a beautiful creature, and, with this knowledge, I went to the dance floor and danced with her, and with as many others who would dance with me, like a proper hussy should.
The show started, and it was brilliant. You’ll have to go and see Victoria Scone for yourself to find out how brilliant!!!
Afterwards, my friend and I danced some more, then it was time for her and her sister to leave, and we bid our farewells.
More girls approached me, and admired my dress, and we chatted, laughed, drank and danced until I realised that I would only just make the walk back to the hotel!
My heart felt so big and light, I was like a balloon, drifting past the University buildings, the Navy sports fields and the grand Victorian Naval college buildings.
When I floated through the hotel doors, a voice said “Hello, you must be Laura!”
“Haha!! And you must be Kat”, I replied, at which she flashed her badge, with the name “Katherine” emblazoned on it and said “It’s so nice to put a face to a voice!”. “Yes, it is”, I replied, and she took a quick cigarette break to come back out of the hotel and chat with me about CDing, what I’d been up to in Portsmouth, her house move and cosplaying until she couldn’t justify the length of the break.
I bid her goodnight, and fell, quite literally into my bed, only to awaken a few hours later…
And that was just the first day!
Part 3 will inevitably follow…
Love Laura
Magic!
And condragulations on your first drag show, Bobbisue – I am sure you’ll have a total blast!
I have to say that “athleticism” is not something I have ever practised – my recovery was pure instinctive adrenaline kicking in, with a dash of luck!
It was, as Angela so rightly says, quite the trip…
Love Laura
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