A popular subject for airing is passing in public.
My dear wife knows and gives me tacit permission, (if not exactly endorsement) of my transgender adventures. Notwithstanding, that no longer am I flying under the radar, every day out, requires planning and forethought to a level well beyond that deployed by the incompetent FSB agents in the Sergei Skripal case, Salisbury. Seems to me those guys needed to learn at the coal face of illicit cross-dressing. Had they done so they’d have got away with it. Though arguably, not if they combined the two disciplines.
This day I decided to travel en femme to Swindon from my home in Devon for the inaugural post-Covid Amy Jane’s event.
My journey entailed catching a train from a South Devon market town station very early one hot sunny day.
Against all received wisdom my outfit for the day was an above knee summer jersey dress, tan sheer stockings tan handbag and sling back peep toe court shoes. In other words, quite distinct from trackies or leggings so de rigeur among the fairer sex. Especially at 6AM.
First steps from my parked car were nervous but I duly presented on the station platform looking as demure as I could muster: i.e. probably not very. Nevertheless the cohort waiting for the train seemed unperturbed. The sky did not fall in and I appeared to be invisible to them.
My journey to Swindon was uneventful. It was lovely to sit with one’s legs crossed looking at pretty painted toes that were my own in broad daylight and in public. A highish hem dress. A dream.
In common with many events before I had been keenly anticipating the day. This one more so because of my decision to go there en femme on the train being a three hour routing. Ultimately though it was a little anti-climactic.
I got to Swindon in good time and bought a coffee to review my next move. I decided my false nails were a failure. I took a moderate walk to a nearby Boots. In the process, on a whim, I bought some perfume from The Perfume store.
Arriving then at the portals of the club smelling nice, I made the unwelcome discovery that I’d left my credit card at the perfume counter. By the time I’d made the return journey to retrieve it: a) I was melting and b) my shoes were killing me. No wonder high heels are a rarity.
And that dear reader, is that. In my extended appearances this day, presenting as a woman, no one accosted me (save in the club but that’s another story) and I was free of harassment. No requirement for #metoo. For the record I used the shopping centre ladies loos; again, without issue.
Sated at the club, I made the return journey home, in drab. My feet were grateful.
I love dressing and the full extent of presenting in drag. Though I do sometimes wonder if this cross dressing malarkey is the best use of my time. But then, tomorrow is another day.
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Good for you. The sky not falling in is a definite bonus 
Glad you had a good journey xx
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Does the Met Office give a severe weather warning for when the sky is going to fall in? 
Sally xx
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Enjoyed your adventure, I hope to read more
Those 1st steps into daylight are the worst, but it’s a step we have all taken together at some point
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did you purchase a train ticket ?
That’s the key important thing about safely travelling on the train.
Otherwise .. everything else sounds awesome.
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I have traveled on the Tube as Kara and it’s been ok. I get more looks if I’m in male mode and wearing a dinner suit or white tuxedo jacket or suit. I blend in more as a woman than a guy for some reason.