Magic Dress - Camp Clive

In Magic Dress - Charlotte, this character was referred to rather disparagingly. I thought you should hear their side of the story.

CHAPTER 1

They say that comics are often sad people - the tears of the clown. In fact, I hated myself, the person I had become. The only person I hated more was 'noted comedy actor' Charlie.

He robbed me of success twice.

The first time was auditioning for a film. A new company, small budget comedy, not much chance of royalties. We both auditioned for the same part, and he got it.

Because he was posh. Graduate of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, no less, RADA as they call it. (So trying to be casual as they flaunt it.) I was only a northern oik, a stand-up comic, just about scraping by in working men's clubs. Most of the others were similar unknowns and thus anxious for minimum rates and the chance of exposure.

Against all the odds, the film proved to be a success, and in fact the start of a series, which rapidly moved from heart-warming and a bit naughty to quite near the knuckle. Just the sort of thing I did in my stand-up.

I auditioned for others in the series but never got in. It seems Charlie held onto any role which might have suited me.

The only compensation as the fact that he hated being called Charlie instead of Charles, and it killed any chance he might have of doing Shakespeare.

I was a bit Billy Elliot. A Yorkshire lad, strictly working class, who liked dancing. I actually did a year at the Northern School of Contemporary Dance, which I loved, but really there's not much future in dancing as a career, and I was flattered with the attention I was getting as a comic in clubs.

The second time was much later. I had gathered enough fans to have the chance of a starring role in pantomime, and had succeeded in persuading them to try something new. I was going to play the part of the Wicked Stepmother in Cinderella, and was going to glam it up, and show my dancing talents.

It was to be my new career, a female impersonator rather than the gay impersonator I had grown so sick of.

It took months, but with exercise, diet and slowly reducing corsets, I had got my waist down so that with appropriate padding I could have quite a good figure. I would have to have some of the Camp Clive gag-lines for continuity, of course, but hoped that my new area would be more appealing. And it was at last the chance to show I could dance.

Then I was ill. Seriously ill, so they had to find a substitute for the role I had created.

And fucking Charlie got it!

Because he's no dancer, they cut down those bits, but the audience doesn't know that.

And he got a contract for panto next year!

And a part in a new comedy film where he played both a male and female role (both baddies - the best).

And Tony, my favourite writer, had filled in on the panto, and worked on the film so wasn't available for me. The rumour is that Charlie had to suck Tony's cock for the privilege.

I can honestly say that though I have sucked a few cocks in my time, it has never been to get something. I was gay, but not a whore.

He actually married Judith, a splendid comedy actress, which in a way is understandable, as they've been thick as thieves, and it was good publicity. But I doubt she gets anything in the bedroom. Opinion was always divided on Charlie being a closet gay or (more likely) neuter. Still, I'm sure she can get a bit on the side if ever she wants it, as she's still a looker.

In fact, I actually envied him Judith. Not as a bedmate, but as a companion. I've seen her around over the years, and she's lovely, really. Smart, witty and kind. I know she didn't like my act (which shows her good taste, if anything) but she was always polite, and fun to be around. She might have done better for herself if she had been a bit less nice.

I've had partners, but never anyone I could imagine living with, like I could with her. Never really anyone who wanted me for myself. I wasn't actually abused - I was always willing and enjoyed the sex. But in the beginning I was, being frank, an attractive young man, and older men homed in.

Later there were younger men hanging around showbiz, wanting to fuck somebody a bit famous, and I fell for the flattery, and of course the sex. I lived with men for periods, but it never developed into anything more than sex and convenience. The variety gave me material for my act, but never satisfaction.

Charlie actually spends a lot of time in the character of Charlotte, presumably for the publicity, but he's really stolen my thunder as well as my parts. If I went with my original plan, people would say I was copying him, when he just had my work handed on a fucking plate!

Well, at least hating him distracted me a bit from hating myself.

When I was better, the only way to keep the wolf from the door was going the rounds as Camp Clive, mocking gays. Oh yes, if you're a member of a minority it's more than OK to make fun of your group. But that means harsher things are excused, and I felt guilty and increasingly uncomfortable.

CHAPTER 2

Thank God for Sammy. The man who saved my life. I was getting lower and lower and could see no way out but ending it all.

He was a dancer in what should have been my pantomime. When it had finished he came to visit me. I was still unwell and staying at my parents' home, so nothing happened.

But he came back again to my flat. He was the one who took me out, got me drunk, then fucked the living daylights out of me. That was just for starters. And gave me his time. Because he liked me.

Yes, that was the unusual thing. Not just for sex or to score points. He liked me, so I moved to his place and we shared rent, which helped both of us. I liked him. Not just because he was a fit young black man (which was no disadvantage) but because he was a nice person. And he took charge a bit.

He got me out and about, and even got me a couple of gigs when my useless agent hadn't.

He insisted I join him at the dance studio. He was now working for a flooring company (it's hard to make a living as a dancer) but went to the studio to keep his hand (or I suppose legs) in. I was embarrassed to be out of shape, but in a while I got to know the satisfaction of my body working well.

He had seen me in some of the early stages of the pantomime before I was taken ill. I had been too engrossed in myself to recognise his friendship. Now I was learning, probably for the first time, what a real friend was.

"You looked good in a dress," he told.

"Don't give up."

I don't know whether it was a coincidence or if the shop display had triggered the idea, but we were outside a shop called Magic Dresses, and he dragged me in.

How could I be embarrassed? The famous Camp Clive?

Well, no-one said anything. In fact, no-one had noticed me for a while.

So I was embarrassed at not being recognised and embarrassed going into a dress shop if they didn't recognise me. You probably don't get it, so never mind.

Anyway, his eye had been drawn to a red dress. He asked the assistant, and she said there were no other sizes, just the one on display.

"Can we try it on?" he asked, which surprised her. I tried not to laugh. Anyway, it looked too small.

He forced me into a cubicle. Neither of us thought it would fit.

But it did.

I was fit, though not as shapely as I had been, so the waist was fine. There were no sleeves so shoulders were not a problem, and the pleated skirt flared out a bit to give the appearance of hips and not show my package, currently contained in traditional male Y-fronts.

Of course it needed some tits which I didn't happen to have on me at the time.

Everyone in the shop was surprised and amused (and so they should have been), me and Sammy included.

"We'll take it," Sammy said, diving into the cubicle to get my clobber.

"Can you put these in a bag, and we'll wear it home?"

He whispered in my ear.

"You're the famous Camp Clive, of course you can do it."

Which anticipated my protestations.

"Your credit card," I whispered back. That showed him, but he did.

So with my male shoes on, and no makeup, I walked out into the street.

People were looking at me - some shocked, but most laughing.

A few got out their mobile phones.

Anyway, when I got home, I was really in the mood for a shag, and Sammy was as well. I mean, we were really gagging for it!

I pulled up the dress, dropped my Y-fronts, he grabbed some lube and we did it with me bent over the sofa.

Now Sammy's a lovely man, and he's got a lovely cock, but despite the myth about black men it's not particularly large.

Except today it seemed different.

"Jesus Christ! You seem so big today!"

"It's you - you're so tight! God it's good!"

It was so intense I thought he would finish quick, but he seemed to go on and on till we both came together and collapsed on the sofa. We stayed there till he started to go soft, and I quickly pulled the precious dress away as a gallon of spunk came out of my arse. I had shot my load over to the other arm of the sofa.

"What the fuck happened?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said.

"But I'm in love!"

I laughed.

"And I want to have your babies!" I told him.

"I'll try my hardest!" he answered quickly, and proved it by giving me another good shafting later. Still in the dress!

By luck (Sammy claimed it was the plan) one of the people in the shop got paid for their wobbly phone video to be shown on national news (slow news day).

It wasn't long before I got a call from my agent.

We decided to keep off the TV for a while. People were going to have to pay to see me.

The contract with the pantomime allowed me to keep some of the props. Despite the fact that I hadn't actually performed, that still seemed to be viable.

A lot of it had been snaffled, of course, but there was still a good pair of tits which had been made to fit me, and a couple of costumes for dances which had been cut from the show for Charlie. Best of all, some shoes, since Charlie was a different size.

In a wig and the red dress, I was now Chloe Campervan. (Yes, I'm embarrassed by the name. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I first thought of a certain red Italian drink, but it's a trademark.)

To be honest, my material wasn't that good, but because I'd been on the news, people wanted to see me, and having paid, wanted to laugh. And we always had the most amazing sex afterwards. It's the adrenaline, of course, and release from tension, but Sammy joked it was the red dress.

I was going to say he encouraged me, but it was more than that. He practically insisted I put on makeup and female clobber as much as possible. In more modest clothes and street makeup, rather than stage slap, people just treated me as another woman. For a dancer, it was easy enough to manage the right walk.

It was good that people didn't recognise me, because there was something developing. I was noticing how women behaved and were treated, and empathising with them. So I started coming up with bits for the act which the women laughed at but the men didn't get.

At the same time, the novelty had worn off, and my agent got fewer and fewer bookings.

At a club where I'd done well a year before, I tried some new material along with a new outfit. This was actually based on my own experience of serving in a fish and chip shop. I had my long hair pulled back (for hygiene), a T-shirt with 'fish & chips' on it and a matching miniskirt, like a shopgirl uniform. Sammy thought it was great, but it bombed. That is, it got polite applause, mainly from the women in the audience.

Afterwards I didn't feel like sex. I didn't even feel like getting drunk, so we just had a cup of tea. Then he cuddled me in bed.

"I do love you," he said.

"I mean it. I'm in love with you. And you know, I really like the woman you've become."

Then we kissed for a long time and he didn't fuck me - he made love to me, long and slow and easy.

"I love you too," I told him.

"Maybe showbiz isn't for us. We'll just be an ordinary couple. I would love to be your woman."

It was true. I hadn't realised how much I loved him, or how comforting it was to be like a woman. I just wanted him, and I liked the woman I was becoming. I'd happily serve fish and chips or stack shelves in a supermarket, just to be with him, and to be as feminine as possible.

Next day there was a call from my agent.

"Ah, Derek."

(Yes I had a real name, Derek Arkwright, but Camp Derek didn't really flow.)

"Your last booking..."

"It's OK," I said.

"I know it didn't go well. I'm giving up showbiz. Thanks for what you've done, but you don't have to try anymore."

"Oh. I see. Well there was someone who liked your fish and chip girl routine, and thought you might like to audition for a TV series. It's a barmaid. A Leeds girl. Soap opera but the character's going to be a bit amusing. Tony's one of the writers."

I was stunned.

The possibility of regular work! The holy grail!

Pretty remote possibility, though. I couldn't imagine for a minute they'd give it to a washed-up gay comic. Ok as a joke, but they wanted some loveable actual female.

Sammy took the phone, and noted down the details. Would there be expenses?

"Give it a go," he told me.

"It's all marketing. Maybe they'll give you a guest appearance in an episode, or maybe you'll get another gig."

"Red dress evening!" he added.

It was a little ritual - silly really. At least once a week I wore the red dress for an evening. And we had amazing sex. It's all in the mind of course, but that's where the best sex was.

Was it Sammy, or did it just happen? I just dressed female every day after that. Something like the ritual my Mum had with makeup and clothes. It took my mind off things.

Come the day of the audition, Sammy said it had to be the red dress. It was Chloe Campervan auditioning, not Derek bloody Arkwright!

I put it on and I didn't care. I was what I was. If they didn't like it they could lump it.

There were two others auditioning. (There may have been others at other times. Maybe the preferred actresses had not been available, and they were now scraping the barrel. More than possible. But I didn't care.)

They looked at me in surprise, and I could hear their thoughts.

"A bit strong for a barmaid on TV. Standup drag artist. No chance."

One was Fiona who casually managed to mention RADA. Perfect accent, but Lancashire, not Yorkshire where the series was supposed to be set. (Jeez!)

The other was a nice girl I really liked, but I thought wasn't quite getting the role. I doubt she'd ever done bar work, which I have more than a few times to make ends meet.

Still you never know who might be screwing them. Perhaps it was a foregone conclusion. Maybe there were others who were better.

If I say it myself (and I certainly do), I nailed it! I was Betty, the Leeds barmaid. Just a bit cheeky but nice. I understood some of the lines the others had missed. To be fair, I suspected it was Tony's dialogue, which it turned out to be.

The nice girl clapped. Fiona frowned.

"Thank you, ladies," said the producer.

"We'll let you know."

I heard nothing for a couple of days, then I got a letter, saying further to the audition, the part had not been cast yet, but I was invited to an interview to just clarify some matters. And would my partner please be in attendance.

What the fuck? My agent didn't know, but wanted to be there as well.

On the day of the interview, Sammy suggested a nice modest outfit. A skirt and top which really made me less noticeable in a crowd.

"No way!" I told him.

"I'm going in the red dress. That's my lucky one. If they don't like it, fuck 'em!"

Then things got a bit odd.

First of all I put it on backwards. Then I couldn't adjust it over the bra. I thought there was something annoying at the back so took it off and couldn't find anything.

Putting it on with extra care, I found it was backwards again. There was now something annoying at the front. Off it came, and there was nothing to see.

I got it right, and the non-existent object was even more annoying.

I decided to go with Sammy's suggestion.

They wouldn't let my agent in. They said it was too personal, but if satisfactory he could come in later.

There were two men and a woman, who asked if it was OK to call me Chloe.

"That's her name," Sammy said, as I nodded, "and I'm Sammy."

"Call me Sylvia," she continued.

"Now your, er, partner, says that you are transgender or at least transitioning. Is that correct?"

"I'm sorry," Sammy said to me, looking panic-stricken.

"It was just in conversation, saying how feminine you'd become, and how we wanted you really to be a woman all the time. I didn't mean to spoil anything!"

I was shocked.

I distantly heard Sylvia saying "Sorry, we thought you'd discussed this. We don't need to pry."

Then it hit me, and I came back to Earth.

"It's true," I said, then told them and myself what I had only just realised.

"Since my illness I've been feeling more and more like a woman, and realising I was unhappy as a man. I thought of suicide, but Sammy saved me, and I want to be the best possible woman I can for him. I'm sorry if this spoils anything for the part, but I do understand why it might be difficult for you."

One of the men whispered in Sylvia's ear, and she nodded, so he spoke.

"Chloe. I saw your fish and chip shop act, and noted how the women in the audience liked it. Your audition was outstanding, but there was some reservation about having a man acting a woman's part. When I heard what Sammy said, we thought there was a great opportunity. We had planned to bring in a transgender character later in the series, though we haven't been really happy with the script proposals yet."

Sylvia took over.

"You may or not have guessed that I am a transwoman. I did your journey long ago, and they asked me to be a consultant. The scriptwriters want to make the barmaid trans instead, with some episodes alluding to the changes and the challenges, but the company does not want this to be too embarrassing or stressful."

"Dr Cauthorn beside me is a specialist in this area, and the proposal is that he should assist you at the company's expense, in order to ensure your mental wellbeing. Perhaps you would like to say a word, Doctor?"

He was a respectable grey-haired man with glasses and a smart suit, every inch a consultant. He wouldn't be cheap.

"Yes thank you. I must stress the aim is to make you happy in yourself. It does not mean hormones or surgery, though it might eventually. You must not feel obligated to do anything but act for the sake of the script. I have taken the liberty of making an appointment tomorrow. We will tell your agent it is a medical before engaging in a long contract."

The other man spoke up.

"The initial contract is only for thirteen episodes, but we do feel that it is one that could run and run, with your character as a key one, since the bar is where plotlines can be quickly developed."

Sylvia added "Actually when I saw a video of your audition, I was really impressed by the way you got into character. But I thought with the red dress it might just be a stage persona, a female impersonator. Seeing you here today, the way you dress and act, I feel your femaleness is genuine, and you will have my sympathy and help if you decide you want it."

My agent took a copy of the proposed contract, trying to disguise his glee, and said it would be a basis for discussion - if I decided to take the role. Actually, he didn't manage to get much improvement, but we did better for the second series.

The medical did involve a thorough physical, which I passed with flying colours. There were no long-term effects from my period of illness. The regular dance exercise helped, and the fact that I've never smoked. My arse and prostate were in excellent shape despite (or because of) Sammy's regular workouts for them. I've never gone bareback with anyone else.