31 March 1998

It's been an awfully long time since I last looked in here. But tonight I have the urge to do something, ANYTHING, to my homepage. I think it must be the withdrawal symptoms.

I'm pining for Manchester Village, where I had a simply MAGICAL time last weekend. What a blessed part of God's earth it is!

It wasn't my first time out. That was last November in Blackpool. Sorry I didn't document it at the time, but the transfer from cyberspace to reality took a bit of thinking about afterwards. I had my wife with me that time - dangerous you may think, but the right decision as it turned out. It means she has now seen / heard about the tg scene, unvarnished and uncensored, and at first hand. In fact, immediately afterward, hearing what she been discussing with people, I wondered whether our following our usual party habit of circulating separately been a good idea. But she has survived the experience and is now much less worried about the overall context of transvestite culture. Although, not surprisingly, tvism in our relationship still holds its fears for her.

Last weekend was my second time out and about, and this time I was on my own. Apart from other tvs, of course. How could one avoid being with other trannies in the Village!

What a place! It's small, maybe about 400 yards by 100 yards (same in metres if you prefer - my measurements aren't too accurate). It's mostly low, too. Two and three storey, by and large, and loomed over by the much taller buildings of central Manchester all around it. A canal provides a focus, and a broad pedestrian street on the canal bank the main thoroughfare. And at night, particularly Saturday night, it is HEAVEN. I was with another tv, a very good friend who's a bit shy to want to be mentioned here. We spent the evening promenading, sampling the bars, watching the crowds, watching ourselves being watched. There were all kinds of sexual minorities in evidence, but also a sizeable number of trendy straight Mancunians who had come to the Village to savour its wonderful atmosphere. We really felt we were stars! An extremely fanciable young woman in her late twenties even came up to me to tell me "honey, you are GORgeous" with what I am certain was all sincerity. Whoever you are, you made my night... no, year.....no, make that LIFE!!!

So now I'm sitting here suffering withdrawal symptoms. I'm trying hard to settle down, I very much want to get into a controlled routine of perhaps two weekends a year en fete en femme. But despite the fact that it's now 72 hours since that wonderful night, I'm still utterly thrilled and excited by it. Wow!

Oh all right then. Just a peek.
Me in Napoleon's night club: I'm REALLY pleased with this one, even if looking through the camera had begun to mess up my makeup. Serve me right for using kohl on my eyebrows!

Late night modelling underneath the canal bridge beside the New Union. Just to prove that the darker it is the better we look, because we fantasize in the bits that we can't make out!

Any thoughts? You can always email me.

Gloria