Sweet Sweet Wednesday

I've been dressing en femme since the age of eleven, it started innocently enough, I was in my mum's bedroom looking out the window when I saw a pair of her shoes on the floor. 'I wonder if they fit me?' I thought.

So I tried them on. And they didn't fit. Then I realised that I was wearing chunky socks. Off came the socks and I slipped my bare feet into the shoes, I can't even remember what type of shoes they were or what colour, just that they felt right on my feet. I walked around for a little while, then I heard a noise downstairs and quickly returned the shoes to beside the window and casually and calmly walked into my bedroom, socks in hand.

I lay on my bed, put on the headphones of my cheap Walkman clone and started listening to Tears for Fears, not thinking much about what I'd just done, and certainly not realising how that would be the catalyst to me expressing a side of myself I had no idea existed.

Twenty years later, I'm sitting at my computer desk, dressed fully en femme, in a style similar to the PAs at my workplace. I'm wearing a tight black pencil skirt and a white blouse with a pussy bow collar (I love pussy bow collars), under this I wear a white bra and panty set with a pair of 10 denier sheer black tights. And of course shoes, a pair of court shoes with three inch heels.

I'm wearing light daytime makeup, as a cis-woman would wear to work. My style is to attempt to be as close to a 'normal' girl as I can, no extreme makeup or clothes for me, I'm just a girl about town. Well I would be a girl about town if I ever left my flat en femme. I've been dressing for years and have never had the guts to step out as my true self. I'd worn tights and panties under my boy clothes, but the world had yet to see the real me, Becky.

I chose Becky as my femme name because she was the first girl I had a crush on at school. But it wasn't a crush like other guys would have, I didn't want to kiss her or do other things to her, I wanted to be just like her, have her long blonde hair, her pretty lips, her thick eyelashes, her breasts, her legs. I wanted to wear the girls uniform just like she did and have my hair in a cute ponytail.

So I'm looking on the internet for safe places to go, I need a place where I can change there as I'm still not confident enough to leave the house en femme, London is a pretty chilled place but I wasn't ready for my neighbours to see Becky at this point. I'd also like somewhere that's close to me, I'd always hated commuting. So I search 'Central London trans friendly clubs' and let Google work its magic.

I'm surprised by the number of results, 'girl there's a whole life out there you didn't even know existed', I feel a flutter in my stomach, am I going to do this? Am I going to go to a trans club, get dressed and show my femme self to the world? The thought excited me but also scared me shitless.

I browse through the results and see somewhere that is only 30 mins away from me, promising.

'SWEET WEDNESDAY is a club for the transgendered community.

Trans-girls - transvestites, cross-dressers, transsexuals - & their admirers,

both male and female.'

Sounds good and it's open during the daytime which also suits me (I work freelance so have lots of time off between projects) and it's on the first and third Wednesday of the month. Tomorrow. There's a party tomorrow. Fuck. I shuffle in my chair. Should I go? What would I wear? Will the people be friendly? Will they laugh at me? Will there be men there? Will they fancy me? I shuffle some more. Fuck Becky, what you going to do.

I don't sleep much that night, I'm tossing and turning in bed dreaming of dressing and showing myself to the world. Well to the part of the world that is accommodating and understanding of people like me. The next morning, Wednesday, I wake and decide I have to go.

I get in the shower and shave off the little body hair that has grown since I shaved a couple of days ago, I'm lucky that I only really have hair on my legs and underarms, the rest of me is hair free, and now with the help of my razor I'm smooth all over. It feels nice, I love feeling smooth. I wash and scrub with a pair of exfoliating gloves and rinse myself. I pat myself dry and rub moisturising lotion over my body, it smells nice, fruity and flowery. I smell nice, fruity and flowery.

I exit the bathroom and go into my bedroom, out of habit I pick up a pair of boxers and begin to slide them up my legs. I stop. Not today, I'm not wearing those ugly, boring, grey boxers today. Today I'm Becky and I'm going to shine, and to shine I need my big girl pants.

I rumble through my lingerie drawer searching for my favourite pair of panties, they are black, lacy and my ass looks fucking hot in them, but where the fuck are they? My mum's underwear drawer was always so tidy, mine isn't and never was, I may have inherited her pretty face and smile, but not her lingerie arranging skills.

After much rummaging I find my panties, I step into them and wiggle them over my bum, feeling the thong slip between my ass cheeks, they make me feel safe but also really sexy and I can hide them easily enough underneath my jeans and no one would notice. I go to put on a pair of socks, but check myself, the socks like the boxers are dull, ugly and boring. Could I get away with a pair of tights? Under my jeans? People might see the sheer nylon, if they look down at my feet. No I can't. I pick up the socks again and start rolling one up my foot. Nah. I throw the sock across the room towards the rubbish bin in the corner. It misses the bin. I'm not wearing socks today. I'm Becky, and Becky wears sheer tights.

Funnily enough at school Becky always wore sheer black tights under her green pleated skirt, god she was gorgeous, am I as gorgeous as her if I wear the same type of tights she wore?

Thankfully fInding the tights is easier than finding the panties. I carefully roll them up and slide the right side over my smooth leg. My legs tingle as the nylon gently caresses them and I smooth the silken fabric up towards the top of my thigh. Left leg is next and then a swift tug and the tights are over my butt and above my waist. My legs look great in tights, my feet are maybe a little big but my legs look great. I check myself out in the mirror and do a little twirl to see my nylon clad bum sticking out. Do I have a nice bum? The male part of me would definitely 'do' that bum, so yes I probably do. I wonder if the guys there will like my bum? Why am I even thinking that? I'm not gay. No I'm not gay, I've only fancied women, but it would feel nice to be complemented, right? Always nice when someone says you look good, whether that someone is male or female.

I slipped my jeans over my tights, jeans feel so different when you have tights underneath, the rough denim brushes against the nylon and every step is noticeable. I check my jean length in the mirror, yeah I think I can get away with that, it's unlikely that anyone will see. Why am I so bothered if people see? I've got nice legs, but I'm a boy, and boys don't wear tights. Am I a boy though? I certainly don't feel like one now. I feel like Becky, wearing my tights and panties.

I see the white bra I was wearing yesterday on the chair near my bed, could I wear that today and not be noticed? It's padded but under a t-shirt and jumper no one would see the slight mounds on my chest. Fuck it let's wear that too. I slip the bra on backwards so I can attach the clasps, then spin the bra around my chest and put the straps over my shoulders.

I love bras, they are so beautiful. I remember seeing Becky's bra straps through her school blouse when we were thirteen, I wanted to wear a bra like her then, and today I am. That makes me smile. I just wish I had breasts to fill it out with.

I cover the bra with a bland t-shirt and jumper. I wish I was more brave and could wear a woman's top, but later in the club I'll be wearing my blouse and people will see my bra straps through its translucent material. I wonder if they'll look at me in the way I looked at her?

I carefully fold my blouse and skirt and place them in my bag along with my heels. I get my makeup bag from the bathroom and put that in the holdall too. Lastly I grab my long blonde wig and breast forms and pack them away too. That's it, I have everything. Time to shine.

I put on my coat and leave the flat, my bag over my shoulder. I'm aware of slight bumps on my chest, but nothing that anyone would notice, and so what if they did? What does it matter?

Standing at the bus stop I'm surrounded by maybe ten people waiting to get the bus. I'm feeling slightly nervous in case any of them see my tights but this is London, they are all too engrossed in their own worlds to even look at me, I blend in.

I sit on the bus and realise that the act of sitting down pulls up my jeans so that you can see my tights clearly now, this makes me feel embarrassed and I place my bag over my feet so no one can see. I glance across the bus and no one is looking.

The bus pulls up at Kings Cross station and I get off and take the short walk to the club. I'm not sure how I feel right now, excited? A little, scared? Maybe. On purpose? Definitely, this feels good, feels like something I have to do and something I should have done ages ago. I stride proudly towards the club entrance and enter the door.

Through the main door there's a staircase to the right that goes up, and another staircase to the left that goes down, to the left there's a trans woman and a man chatting, the trans woman talks to me 'admirer?'

'No I'm a girl actually', I reply, she smiles.

'Changing room is up the stairs, hun'

'Thank you', I turn around and climb the stairs and walk into a room that looks like a dressing room from one of those films from the 1950s where all the showgirls are getting dolled up. My eyes open wide and take in the sight of five or six trans people in various states of dress/undress and makeup. This is amazing. I feel at home here. I walk carefully through the room to a free dressing space in the far corner saying 'hi' and 'excuse me' to some of the girls on the way. Everyone is really friendly but focussed on dolling themselves up, the atmosphere is buzzing and the room smells of perfume and nail varnish.

As a boy growing up I was very shy of being in changing rooms, but in this place I felt comfortable and slipping off my jeans, t-shirt and jumper felt natural even though I was wearing femme clothes underneath, I thought I'd feel self conscious but I didn't. I was just one of the girls getting ready to party downstairs. This is fun.

Without much ado I put my breast forms in my bra and slip on my skirt and blouse. Now I'm dressed totally en femme and no one in the room bats an eyelid. I reach for my makeup bag and go to work.

I start with a light liquid foundation that I blend into my skin with a sponge, then I apply a light pink eyeshadow, black eyeliner and my false lashes. I draw a pair of thin eyebrows over my natural blonde brows. I apply a little pink blush and then some bright pink lipstick along with lipgloss, a routine I'd done a hundred times at home, but never in a room with other people in. But funnily enough, I didn't even notice them, they didn't really notice me, it was like I was in my bedroom, I felt at ease and comfortable.

To complete my transformation I place my wig on my head and brush it gently. I take one final look in the mirror, Becky is here. Becky is out. Becky is ready to show the world her true self. I stand up, walk through the room where the girls are still getting changed and begin my descent into the sweet, sweet world of Sweet Wednesday.