Names changed to protect the humble
A friend of mine qualifies as a full-on tranny chaser, so much so that she eventually married one. She spent ages trying to persuade me to get glammed up for a fancy dress party with a theme of 'Khaki, Kinky & Kitsch'. I agreed on the promise that it was an effective pulling technique.

The evening came around and I went over to hers for some serious preparation. (Mr Steve is occasionally likened to Sean Bean, but craggier.) Two hours later and we're ready to set off, all piling into my chums little car. She's driving in a very fetching Lara Croft get-up. (She's blessed with impressive norks.)Her then boyf is in the passenger seat in combats and a red basque. In the back we have three of us crammed in rather tight. My idjit lodger who has worn the only khaki thing he owns: some kind of Indian pyjamas, a gay mate who is unwisely dressed for the inclement weather in a series of studded straps, very big boots, and little else. And I dahlings?,I am resplendant in a spray-on tube of black lycra, I huge wig, about a ton of 'slap' vertigo-inducing heels, and a tortuous corset.
Suffice it say that lodger boy is feeling decidely uncomfortable squeezed between the leather queen and the drag queen.

At the party - a hired out bar in the City near the Barbican - all is in full swing. Despite having trouble with the heels, I get pissed and attempt to dance, falling on my arse at least twice. The downside of all the beer is the frequent trips to the gents, which involves hoiking the ankle length dress to waist level to display the now bruised arse to any chaps using the facility. I get a few comments from beered up tossers, but no worries.

And of course there are gate-crashers! A bunch of beery louts (city wallahs rather than chavs) come lurching down the stairs and start throwing their weight around. Predictably I jump into action, shepherding and goading the twats out. Halfway through this I realise I'm dressed up like a big tart, and not terribly intimidating! However the lager louts move on, and the party heaves a sigh of relief.

A nice young lady comes up to me and thanks me for dealing with the 'crashers. In no time she's feeling me up, which I have to admit was a very erotic experience. Give it a try folks, honestly it works for me!

The drawback was that the young lady only wanted to get jiggy if I was wearing a dress, which was fine for 'jiggy', not so good for a social occasion.

Retelling this story to other girls has always produced the desired results, they're nearly all turned on by it. Guys in Frocks are the future I tell you.

The bastard shoes on the other hand, I can do without...

Length? an extra 4" in those bastard heels. The corset took care of the girth!
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Fri 16 Mar 2007, 19:57, Reply)