This story involves descriptions of interactions between transgender girls. If that offends you, or you are under 18 or live in a place where this is illegal, exit now. This story is copyrighted and may be used only with the written permission of the author and is provided to the Nifty Archives in accordance with its editorial policy. All persons are fictional and any relationship between real people and places is purely coincidental.
Down Under
I need to invest in another make-over. I just got a digital camera, so I need to document what I look like before I get any older. Plus, there are all kinds of things you can do with digital photos. My last professional make-over was a couple years ago, and I didn't save anything from the experience, except the very unsettling image of myself in the mirror that made me look a little like Elizibeth Taylor on a bad day. I was still in a relationship with a woman then and it was just too complex to hide my wardrobe and I was scared to death of getting caught. I don't know why. Things are much easier now that I have just accepted who and what I am. I don't know if the lady who did one for me a few years ago is still in the business. She was very nice, but she also had a dominance business on the side- she had been a slave and branched out to become a Dominatrix. She was really nice, but I understand that line of work has a pretty good burn-out rate.
Submission is not one of my big fetishes- although these days I like go get down on my knees as much as any girl. But pain and humiliation aren't that much fun. Although I can resist everything but temptation as Oscar Wilde used to say. I like a good spanking when I have been especially bad, though. But if you are reading this to see me get strapped up to some torture rack and beaten while being force-fed hormones and having surgical procedures, this isn't the story for you. But it is a story about nice people and being totally free with some of the gratuitous sex that goes along with being a person of the male sex and indeterminate gender. So I'm open to suggestion.
I was in Australia a couple years back, just when I was on the verge of figuring things out. This was an opportunity to get out on the town without any fear whatsoever of running into anyone I knew. My company had a deal going to sell a big telecommunications package to the Sydney phone company, and I was asked to go down-under and do some preparatory work for the installation. It was going to take a month, so I started to complain to my girlfriend about the imposition and the expense to make sure she didn't decide to take a vacation with me and started to do some research on the Web. I met a lady named Desiree on-line who indicated the monthly meeting of her support group was going to be during the week I was in town. So when my girlfriend was at work I packed a nice dress, heels, hose and a short pert wig in a carry-on bag. I'm not sure I could do it with the new baggage rules, and even then I got a strange look from the guy who x-rayed my bag. And a smile. I just smiled back.
Sydney is a great town, it has to be to justify the 13 hours it takes to fly there. I was in economy class because the company is run by a bunch of cheap bastards, but I took comfort in the fact that Qantas has never crashed one. I had a decent seat with an empty one next to me and there was a handsome flight attendant and it made the flight tolerable. Sydney is the Aussie San Francisco. The people from the phone company had me met when I got out of Customs and took me to a hotel near King's Cross downtown. That is the wild district of town, where almost anything goes. Of course that is Australian anything goes, so it is quite civilized compared to New York or LA. I got pretty far along on meetings and my jet lag only took a couple days to get over. I made contact with Desiree and made a plan to hook up before the meeting. I didn't have a car because the company was too cheap. They said I could hire one if it turned out I needed one and it was too much of a hassle to park it in The Cross. So Desiree said she would pick me up at the hotel.
I got dressed after business was done Thursday in my room. I took my time and had fun with it. I soaked myself in the tub and shaved my legs (that was going to take some explanation when I got home, but I was going to be gone long enough that I thought I could get away with it). I did my nails and toes in rich red and the make-up a little heavy, with a lot of mascara and blush and a deep rich ruby lipstick. I wore panty hose and a girdle and heels with four-inch heels and open toes. I wouldn't stand out in The Cross, since a lot of gay/Transgender stuff goes on. There are a lot of T girls, not all of them amateurs! My ride was way late and I was beginning to panic, all dressed up and no where to go! Then I got a call from the lobby and gulped, picked up my purse, and waltzed right down to the fire exit to walk the four flights down to the street. I hoped I wouldn't see anyone from the phone-company at the bar, and I looked into the lobby from the street to see if I could see Desiree.
I saw a very passable lady, slim, who was seated in one of the easy chairs. I walked in the side entrance and asked if she was Desiree and she said she was, and that she was happy to meet me. She got up and we walked back out to the street. We talked in the car as we drove out of town. Desiree was English. His wife put up with her hobby, but didn't like it. Caused tension in the relationship and she preferred not to think about it. I asked her if he was bi and she just smiled.
We had a wonderful drive out to the outskirts of town- I was getting a little antsy about where I was, but it was fine. There was a neighborhood clubhouse where we met a collection of ladies, decent blokes, one real brash, a brunette who was a lawyer and didn't care who knew it. She was the Alpha Queen of the group and a real bitch. Everybody else was nice, including a gal who was on hormones. I was really impressed by the change the chemicals had made in her. She had a picture of herself as a guy. One of the other gals said she wasn't that good looking before, but the metamorphosis was remarkable. I wondered about the level of commitment it takes to do that, though I confess it would be nice to have more natural cleavage.
After the chapter meeting was over we went to a coffee house, about six of us, and didn't get a raised eyebrow. This was shortly before ANZAC Day, the week that all the Aussies and Kiwis go crazy. It had started as their Memorial Day to the soldiers of the First War. If my girdle hadn't been killing me I would have had a better time. The coffee went right to my bladder. I have a lot of sympathy for real girls who wear this stuff all the time.
After coffee three of us to go to the Auto Club, a place they said was THE place for Sydney's transgender crowd most nights of the week. It's on Flinders street, during the day a staid place called the Governor Club. It is reasonably small and comfy, with a couple of bars, bistro meals, lots of pokies, and a disco. It cost the princely sum of $5 (Australian, a little more than ours) to join for a year although admission to the main part of the club is free. I treated myself and bought a year's membership, since I would be there another few weeks. I realized that the stop for coffee was partly to kill time, since the disco usually gets going starting at midnight. That is usually closer to when I get up than when I go to bed, but my body clock was on its head anyway. Desiree told me there was usually a dozen or twenty girls there, some sex workers, bunch of gays and admirers and most just out for a good time.
The Auto Club was in full swing when we got there. I told you it was nearly ANZAC eve, and the crowd was boisterous. If you saw the movie Pricilla: Queen of the Desert you get the idea. Some of my new friends introduced me at the bar, but it was hard to hear anyone talk and the when the Aussies get going it its hard to understand them anyway. The restaurant was very nice, not funky like some of the places back home. The Auto Club only opened up after nine PM. The back of the place was cleared out and there was the predictable We had enjoyed a cappuccino at the coffee house, so between that and a cold Fosters Lager in a pint glass the girdle quickly became the center of my world. I couldn't concentrate on anything else. The pain was excruciating! I was wondering what to do, the music pulsing in that club sound. There were two blondes at the bar that looked like twins, both well over six feet, in heels and big hair and I talked to them for a while. They had on minis and bare tummies and huge boobs and looked like Valkeries. There was a big Gay Pride parade associated with the holiday, so everyone was out, gay-lesbian-and-us. It was electric!
The crowd was thick at the bar and I lost track of my new best friends. I could hear the lawyer in the background making some fashion pronouncement in her nasal accent, almost got lost in the swirl of the music and the flashing lights. I felt giddy and comfortable at the same time. I let myself go with the moment, on adrenaline, caffeine and embrace of the moment. I was starting to sway with the music and swayed right off my heels when a young man pushed his way to the bar. I got a pint of beer spilled down my shoulder, making my dress cling to my bra and darkening the pastel color. He was very apologetic but there was nothing he could do. I was soaked! My false decolletage was highlighted (water balloons- I liked the texture and weight and had filled them up pretty well!) and he looked at it intently.
Long story short, I solved all my moisture problems by daubing the beer with toilet tissue in the loo and peeling the girdle off. What a relief! My young man had tagged along and seemed fascinated by the whole thing. We went back out on the dance floor and swayed around and I discovered he was aroused. I thought that was the nicest complement. I saw Desiree and the other girls in a nook in one of the corners. I was relieved they were still there and gave a little wave over my young man's shoulder. We kept swaying and he held me closer and closer and he gave me a peck on the cheek. I was enjoying his embrace and kissed him right back. There was a fantasy that I wanted to act out and so after the next dance I took his hand and we went back to the loo. I pushed him into one of the stalls and closed the door behind us. I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down with his briefs and had him sit down on the commode. He leaned back with a smile and his proud cock waved over his lap.
I got down on my knees facing him and my pumps stuck out under the door. I licked him up and down and got a condom out of my bra (a girl has to be prepared!) and tore it open and rolled it down his shaft. Then I plunged down on him and bobbed my head up and down, moistening the latex with my lips and taking him all the way to the back of my throat. He put his hands on my shoulders and held me gently until his balls began to boil and he erupted into my mouth. I would feel the jets against the smooth surface of the rubber and wished I knew him well enough to take him unprotected. I like the taste of a young man's jism, but you can't always just go with the passion of the moment.
While he softened I got a wad of toilet paper and slid the rubber off him and cleaned him up. He had a very handsome cock, even soft. When we emerged from the stall there was a round of applause from the other girls and boys in the bathroom and I gave them a big smile. Having cum, and I suspect being a little sobered, my young man lost his ardor and explained he had to meet his mates. I returned to Desiree and the girls. She told me I looked like the cat who had just had the canary and I told that I had. She helped me fix my face and we chatted and watched the dancing couples until very late. When she decided to go home, I went with her. We piled into her white Vauxhall and rolled across the darkened streets back to my hotel in The Cross.
She dropped me off in front of the hotel and it occurred to me that the front desk might wonder about me. My makeup had run and despite Desiree's repair job I probably looked a bit like a raccoon. I reeked from the beer that soaked my dress, my girdle was in my purse and I'm sure I looked as though I had been ravished by an Aussie-rules football club. But the front desk staff barely looked up. I assume they have seen just about everything in The Cross. Back in the room I removed my makeup and decided to leave my nails and toes painted. ANZAC Day was coming, and there was much more excitement to come. I rubbed my smooth legs together and smiled. What a wonderful town!
I love being Down Under.
Oh, make-up was Revlon from CVS, foundation and blush, Max Factor mascara and Cover Girl eye cover. Fashions by Marshall's, wig from one of the two places in Old Town. All of it wound up in the dumpster in back of the hotel when I finally packed up to come home.