My first time writing anything like this, be kind, this is just the intro to get you an idea of the scenario, and all of what I will divulge in this and coming chapters is 100% true of my experiences, I have just tweaked some elements for artistic license and better chronology.
I sighed, it was a heavy, troubled sigh, the sound someone makes when they have a big decision to make and they have no idea what to do. The underground train i was on was busy, the chatter of foreign languages from tourists blurring into the background, the colourful bundle of lines on the map infront of me blurred into a hazy mess, my eyes unfocused as I thought hard about what I was about to do.
Hi, I’m Ben by the way, a mid 20’s guy from London, 5’10 tall, average to slim build, long hair tied up in a bun on top of my head, with larger than normal designer glasses balanced on my nose, my pale complexion dusted with freckles, my hair a dark brown. I’m wearing a hoody over an oversized plaid shirt and some skinny jeans with converses, a duffel bag thrown over my shoulder. It’s a slightly weird look when it’s mid May and 25°C outside, but it’s hiding a secret.
You see, I’m a crossdresser. Have been for years. Underneath all the clothing I’m currently wearing is a red lace bra, matching red panties and a pair of black stockings with red seam lines up the back. In my duffel bag is a slivery grey wig, a tonne of makeup, some breastforms, a butt plug, lube, condoms, heels, a black dress and another pair of panties.
I’m heading to a club I’ve read about online, it’s a club in the heart of London, a sex club, that hosts trans and crossdresser friendly sex parties in the middle of the day in a basement bar, and I’m a nervous wreck. Dressing at home in your bedroom and taking a couple of selfies this isn’t, this was the real deal and whilst I had dressed up outside before, it was strictly in quiet public places, usually late at night, or in SoHo during pride and Halloween where no-one looks twice at a dude in a dress.
“The next station is Kings Cross” the electronic announcer states, waking me from my troubled thoughts. The train glides to a halt, and I automatically jump off the train and rush off the platform and up the escalator as fast as I can, leaving my worries behind for a few moments as I play the “fastest commuter” game, beating everyone from my train to the ticket hall.
I walk along the edge of the square, making sure I know exactly where I’m going, furtively checking the location on my phone, trying not to let anyone see what I’m searching (as if anyone in London gives a fuck what you’re doing) before trying my best to look casual as I head towards my destination. After a few minutes I turn into the street I needed, and aim for a shabby looking pub on the corner, The Central Station. My cock twitches in anticipation as I grow near, I feel the head of it strain slightly against my chastity cage, I blush to myself, knowing how much of a whore I’m going to end up looking, if I follow through with my plan.
I stop, just across the road from the pub, and eye it with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, taking in the drab exterior, making sure I’m at the right place. A pride flag, tattered in places, hangs limp from an upstairs window, the downstairs windows obscured by a mixture of grime and frosted panels, the shadows of people inside flutter across them, distorted by the lights from within. Suddenly the door on the side of the pub bursts open and a girl steps out, grabs a fag from her handbag, lights it and takes a long drag. Drag is an apt word here, as I take in the manly hands with over the top false nails, the huge hair, massive tits and skyscraper heels. A second woman has joined her, in a skirt so short i could see the bottom curve of her ass cheeks, a collar around her neck that read SLUT and makeup so thickly put on that it resembled a mask. My cheeks grow hot as I try not to stare, I must be in the right place, but the sight before me does little to quell my fear. I get my phone out, casually pretend to dial someone and tell them where I am, and why they haven’t arrived to pick me up yet, waiting for the girls to go back indoors.
Once they’re inside again, I cross over the road, slowly and steadily, like a cat, ready to run at any second, making my way to the front door. “Perhaps I’ll just pop in and order a drink, see what it’s like in the upstairs and make a decision then” I think to myself, a lump slowly rising in my throat. I stand on the entrance mat outside, plucking up the courage to go in. I take a deep breath, push the door and step into the pub, and make my way over to the brightly lit bar where a very feminine guy is pouring a glass of red wine for a middle aged man in a suit. I pull up a stool and wait for him to saunter over, before ordering a double rum and coke, trying to act natural and not looking at the cluster of crossdressers sitting over on a sofa in the corner, or the two “girls” i saw outside earlier playing pool over the back.
Without any hesitation the bartender leans over and says quietly “first time here? The changing facilities are upstairs to the right, and the door to downstairs is along the side of the bar there” nodding his head slightly to his left, before touching my hand and smiling, his gaze fixed upon my duffel bag.
“Is it that obvious” I think to myself, before mumbling a thanks, and handing over the cash for my drink. I drink it quickly, and order a single, this time neat. I pay and say my thanks, before necking it and hefting my bag up on my shoulder, and head down so I can’t see anyone’s stares, head towards the metal staircase by the entrance to make my way upstairs…
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hmjiwb/sweet_wednesday_an_introduction