Now there are some things you don't expect to find yourself doing. Things like winning the lottery, or scraping fluff off the London Underground. Some things though are so out there that you couldn't even expect not to expect them. Errmm.. you get the idea.
One of those things is definately walking through Leicester Square on a busy Sunday evening in 4 inch stillettoes, a little black dress that is more little than anything else, and a neon orange cropped fluffy jacket. Basically an outfit that screams "OVER HERE! LOOKIT TH' STRANGE GIRL" - or would, if it wasn't being worn by a bloke. Me. Hmmm. In my short career as a transvestite, I hadn't quite planned to go this far or for matter to be this out. At around this point in all good novels, the bloke in question is usually accosted by his boss, his wife, the police or all three. The truth was a little stranger than that.
But to rewind a little and start from the beginning, what madness had led to this situation? The occasion was the Skin Two Ball weekend. The weekend when all rubber loving fetish fashion converts converge on London in preperation for the Ball on Monday where the core concept is tight clothing, but almost anything kinky goes. Skin Two have been making all this look cool for years now and the party has steadily grown to the point where it's not just a Ball, it's a Weekend, where you can see films, shop, eat and party all in the name of fetish. We were going to the Ball, we had shopped, but on the Sunday evening, the pace was set a little bit lower for a dinner at a good restaurant and bar in Leicester Square. What fun, we had thought - a meal with perverts. In the excitement, we hadn't really taken in the bit about 'in Leicester Square' - only the busiest public place that you could head to to eat in London.
The shopping had been very sucessful - each year the Fetish Fair is held on the same weekend as the Ball so people can do some last minute buying of vital accessories for the coming party - that handy little whip you've always wanted, a stunning corset to hold it all together, or in this case a fantastic little black rubber dress that zippped up the front and had very nice keyhole detail. Thank you very much Pigalle.
After the shopping it was back to the hotel - the very pleasant Philbeach which is a gay hotel in Earls Court that is happy to cater to trannies. I spent the obligatory hour or two getting ready - deep lace topped stockings over recently shaven legs, pretty black lace bra and thong, little black dress that almost covered the stocking tops, 4 inch heeled boots, long straight red hair, wild jacket and plenty of makeup. All this, and I'm trying not to look like a drag act? What's a girl to do?
The hotel helpfully called a taxi, but it turned out that privately arranged taxis don't necessarily know where it is that you're going. We knew that the banquet was being held in Leicester Square - but which end of it? A bit of guesswork didn't pay off, and the taxi left the curb having deposited a six foot-four drag act (it's not drag, it's fashion!) in neon orange at the end of the Square furthest from the bar. If you're feeling shy, it is a really, really long walk past all the cinemas, restaurants and bars from the South end of the Square to the North. And, as I said, at this point in all good narratives there is the unexpected encounter with the boss/ wife/ police (panic as applicable)...
But, this isn't Charles Dickens (did he write about crossdressers?). I didn't unexpectedly run into my partner - because she had been with me all the time, the rubber dress was for her and the only real danger was that I wouldn't be able to keep up with her in heels that needed just a little bit more practice. There have been a lot of merits to being open with her about my kinks, but this experience was new to both of us and we definately needed that first drink and a dark corner to calm down in.
Happily, Little Havana provided exactly that. We arrived to find a mixed throng of beautifully dressed people in rubber, uniforms and in some cases, not very much at all. A glass in one hand helped calm our nerves, though I was still a bit too tense to accept the kind complement I was paid by one woman with anything more than a terse and very unladylike 'thankyou'. I can practice the makeup for hours at home, but the social graces are much harder.
The great pleasure at events like these is watching people. The crowd seemed mainly to consist of the people behind this part of the London fetish scene. Quite a few people knew each other, which made us feel a little bit like the country bumpkins visiting the big city, but the atmosphere was very relaxed and the calm acceptance of each different kink was wonderful to see. Nor were all the people automatically beautiful - though a very obvious common denominator was the amount of effort that had surely been put into choosing each outfit. From the fashionably young pack to couples easily old enough to be my parents (grandparents?!) everyone was dressed - or undressed to impress.
After a while, dinner was announced, provided in the form of a very tasty buffet - the British sense of occasion turning a fantasy event into a chance to queue to be fed. Squeezed onto the corner of a table with a schoolgirl (male, skinny, late thirties) and an American couple (leather clad, leather skinned, tanned and healthy), it was clear that above all this could be the nearest thing to Fetish's 'Industry Dinner' with a number of groups connected with the ball occupying their own tables.
After dinner, everyone returned to the bar area to chat and admire. A couple of entertainers wandered around, producing sillhouettes and caricatures of the guests so we could leave with something to remember the evening by. Perhaps the only pity was that the combination of cliques and British reserve made it difficult to start up conversations with other people. This might be a common factor in all fetish events like these where we have to face the fact that, despite the common bond fetishists share, there is no reason to expect to share even the most basic of social backgrounds or interests. The lesson is maybe that whilst it is great to get out 'in public', it's even better to do it in good company.
Before long it was time to go, and we left to face Leicester Square again, which after such a good evening seemed far less scary. We had time to notice that dressed as we were we were offered free entrance into all of the clubs by touts that would normally ignore us when we wear our everyday clothes. Feeling brave, we went back to the hotel on the tube and I'm pleased to say that we didn't get a single comment or bad reaction. All in all a very happy end to a good night out.