Mary and I had just spent an enjoyable evening at TransEssex in Chelmsford. It'd been a special party to mark TransEssex's 15th birthday, so there'd been a splendid buffet, and Fred, as usual, had provided some great music to dance to. Contrary to expectations, there'd been a good turn-out - the summer months aren't always easy for trannies, as the light evenings often make it difficult to leave home without being seen. But as our lady-friends Pat and Ann hadn't been there on this occasion, we'd decided to bid our goodbyes a few minutes before midnight, and leave while the final slow records were playing.
I'd driven a couple of miles around the interminable series of roundabouts which is central Chelmsford when I noticed that the car behind was clearly tailing me, then began sporting a blue flashing light. The police, no less! Trying to remember whether I'd been inadvertently speeding, I pulled up at the edge of the road, turned the engine off and got out. The driver of the police car also got out, and we walked towards each other in the warm night air.
It's perhaps an appropriate point to describe how I was dressed. Being a party night, I'd decided to wear just my red nightie with black lace trim, and a copious blond wig. I had heavy make-up, bright red lips, and my eyelids were covered with glitter which sparkled when I blinked. I also had wind-chime ear-rings, a row of large black beads around my neck, a silver bracelet and a silver anklet, and I reeked of Cool Water perfume. The only thing which spoilt the image was the fact that I'd exchanged my girlie high-heeled dancing shoes for a pair of Reeboks to drive in - they're more comfortable, and, in the eyes of the law, safer. The policeman and I had just a couple of seconds to size each other up, and I couldn't help wondering what he must've been thinking ...... I spoke first, cheerfully.
"Good evening, officer".
"Good evening", he replied. "Do you know why I've stopped you?" I followed his indication towards the back of my car, and noticed that one of my tail-lights was out. I grunted angrily - this was the second tail-light to fail in a matter of weeks. But then he led me towards the front of the car, and pointed out that the dipped beam on one of my headlights was also out. "Oh, shit", I muttered, as I caught a glimpse of Mary's anxious face peering at us from the passenger seat. As we walked back to his car, he opened a flip-pad and started asking me questions.
"Where are you heading?"
"Ipswich to drop my passenger off, then a few miles further up the A12 to my home."
"And where have you been?"
"TransEssex. It's a cross-dressers' support-group party a couple of miles from here."
The police who patrol Chelmsford must know all about TransEssex - I guess I offered an explanation because I was a bit wary that this guy might be trying to catch me out. But he just looked me up and down, grinned pleasantly, and replied, "Well, I didn't like to ask!" I smiled wryly back at him. With the ice now well and truly broken, he continued, "Have you had much to drink?"
"Only a Bacardi Breezer when I arrived at, er, around eight o'clock", I replied truthfully. "I don't drink and drive."
He nodded, and continued scribbling details on his notepad. As he explained, the offence I'd committed was one of not keeping my vehicle in a roadworthy condition - I had fourteen days to replace the defective lights, and to send confirmation back to Essex police. He then asked, "Do you have your licence with you?"
"Damn!", I thought. "The one day I need it, I leave it in my wallet at home!" "No, sorry, I don't", I answered.
"Do you have any form of identification at all?"
I thought for a moment. "Er, not male identification - but I have a credit card in my female name if you'd like to see that", I said, although I couldn't think why he would. But he requested to see it nevertheless, so I went back to my car, collected my bag, and produced a Barclaycard in the name of 'Sally Watson'. He looked at it, bemused, and asked, "How does this work then?"
I explained that it was a second-user card on the same account as my male name. I'm not sure he was convinced, but before I could suggest that he check it out, he thanked me and gave it back. I guess that possession of a valid credit card was one less reason for him to suspect that I was on some dubious mission. He scribbled a few more details, and told me that I'd need to go to my nearest police station and produce my driver's licence and insurance certificate within the next week.
"OK. All I need now is your signature", he said, offering me his pen. "Um, can you sign the name which appears on your licence, please." I grinned at him, took the pen, and scribbled my name as requested.
After bidding each other goodnight, I drove off carefully. He followed us for another couple of miles before turning off the main road - it's my guess that he was on his radio checking my registration plate against the details I'd given him.
All in all, it was an interesting experience, and one which I knew would happen sooner or later. Mary and I chuckled about it for the rest of the journey home. It confirmed what I'd heard about the British police and their policy towards trannies - if you don't mess them around or lie to them about who you are, they ought to treat you exactly as they would any regular person in the same situation. In the event, I think a phone-call to Essex police to say how well I feel I was treated is an essential follow-up - I'd complain if I thought I'd been victimised, so why not pay a compliment where it's due?
From personal notes.