Date: Sat, 4 Jan 2003 08:56:21 -0800 (PST)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Down Under - TG Friends

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.