OK - the truth is that I never actually met him - he was on holiday when Rikki and I visited his club in Upper St Martin's Place, London, on Friday 1st October. We'd picked up a free pass at the WayOut Club a couple of weeks earlier, and had decided to give it a try - at least in part because a tranny group was scheduled to perform there, and so the club was publicly opening its doors to trannies for that one evening. However, some research in the days before, and at the club itself on the night, suggested that trannies would be welcome on any Friday or Saturday evening - if they had the chutzpah to go! In fact, we were assured on several occasions that Peter personally likes trannies, and, if we were sufficiently glammed up, we might even be able to get in for free without having to queue!
Well, on the day in question, the hardest part was actually finding the club. Despite having a detailed map, the Friday-evening London traffic and an unfathomable maze of one-way streets meant that it took nearly an hour to cover the last ten kilometres! Nevertheless, we made it eventually, and found a space in a multi-storey car park less than fifty metres from the club entrance. No-one turned a hair as we strode confidently along the street and into the club, posing for photos on the way [1]! We left our jackets at reception, and walked through the still-empty club to where a large bar staffed by two very pleasant young girls made a welcome sight.
We'd been advised to arrive early if we wanted somewhere to park - good advice, as it happened, although it meant that we were almost the only people there for the first hour. We mostly whiled away the time chatting to the bar girls and taking photos, although my request to pose seductively against one of the chrome poles used by the erotic female dancers was politely refused; pity - it would've made an excellent addition to my album. We also took the opportunity to look around the place before it got busy. While totally non-imposing on the outside, the club's interior is extravagantly decorated, lit only by spotlights, and with large mirrors on several walls giving an impression of space - they also give trannies a full-length view to check their appearance! The restaurant is on this level, although we never got a chance to check out the menu (or the prices!), and a cordoned-off staircase towards the back of the building leads to the lower level where the dance floor is situated.
My first trip to the toilets was interesting: I was actually refused entry to the gents, presumably on account of how I was dressed - fortunately, the attendant in the ladies was more accommodating. But that wasn't the only surprise! I was touching up my lips when a young woman came up beside me, commented on the colour of my lipstick, and asked if I could put some on her. With that, she closed her eyes, and pouted at me. Well, what else could I do? So I carefully applied the bright red colour to her lips, and painted on a layer of gloss as well. Then she noticed my perfume - "Ah, 'Cool Water' - my favourite!" But she wasn't satisfied with simply smelling it on my wrist! First, she sprayed some down the inside my tee-shirt, inhaled the aroma deeply, and gave me back the bottle. Then she moved closer so my knee was between her thighs, pulled down the front of her dress revealing her naked breasts, thrust her head into the air, and closed her eyes. By now, I was getting the distinct impression that she was after more than just a makeover ...... She squealed with delight as I gave a good couple of squirts of Cool Water down her cleavage, then she opened her eyes and stared directly into mine. We came together and kissed passionately. Then a voice in the background said something disapprovingly, and we separated, quickly. She looked stunned, and had I not stopped her, she would've run back into the club with lipstick all around her face!
Feeling a bit stunned myself, I replaced the contents of my handbag, then realised that she'd probably assumed I was gay, and therefore 'safe'! Of course, I'm used to Ron Storme's and the WayOut Club, where everyone knows the scene - but here? The poor woman had probably never met a tranny before! I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, and spoke to it: "Now, this is the real world!"
While this had been going on, the bar had started to fill up. Apart from three seriously glam trannies standing near Rikki, every other person in the place was either a real girl or a regular guy. I rejoined Rikki and was introduced to the other trannies, and it wasn't long before we'd attracted some real girls of our own! Amongst a number of unnamed others, there was Jo, Susan and Sarah, and a guy in a grey suit who was apparently attached to one of the girls, although I was never sure which one. He always looked a bit out of place amongst the trannies, and he vanished after a while, never to be seen again that night. The girls, Rikki and I chatted non-stop like old friends about everything under the sun - they were very much at ease with us, and we enjoyed their company.
The female pole dancers were mediocre to say the least - they didn't look like they were interested in what they were doing - they talked to each other more than they interacted with the audience, and we soon got bored with watching them. However, they were followed by a male dancer - in the interests of equality, I suppose. Now, he was good - he looked great, and moved well, and he invited a number of girls from the audience onto the stage to participate in simulated sex-acts in time to the music. Great entertainment - and no, I didn't volunteer!
The club's lower level was finally opened at around 11pm, and we all made our way down the stairs once the music had started. With all the mirrors, the dim ambience and the flashing lights on the dance floor, it was very hard to determine the layout, but the sound system was impressive, pumping out a beat-mixed selection of club anthems and drum-and-bass tracks. During the course of the evening, I turned down advances from five guys, and danced with four other girls. Actually, 'danced' isn't the right word in this context - maybe 'gyrated' would be a better term ...... regular clubbers will know what I mean - it's as close to having sex as it's possible to get without actually having sex! I ended up in one such encounter squeezed tightly against a woman of probably half my age, with both our skirts up round our waists, and our hands on each others' bums! Jo had been watching this shameless display, and insisted that the girl had been taking advantage of me. "Great! And why shouldn't she?", I yelled back over the music. "But you shouldn't let her do that. If she does it again, let me know." I thought that was very sweet of her, although I insisted that I could look after myself.
Well, there's not a great deal I can tell you about the next couple of hours - I danced and I flirted, and I lost Rikki. Apart from that, the evening wore on, the dance floor got more and more crowded, the air got hotter and more smoky, and the guys got drunker and more amorous. Well, some may like that, but as you know, I prefer a bit of space to fling myself about, and I'm not into guys - amorous or otherwise! So when someone's vodka and tonic ended up down my leg and over my feet, I decided that I'd had enough. It was 1.15am anyway, and we undoubtedly had a bastard of a journey out of London ahead of us. I eventually found Rikki, who was quite happy to leave too, so we bade farewell to our new friends. Jo had been chatting on and off throughout the evening about getting together sometime, so we swapped phone numbers. She wrote hers on the palm of my hand, as I didn't have any paper - fortunately, it was still legible when I got home. Yes, I know it's a cliché, but I promise you it really did happen that way!
Oh, I nearly forgot to mention the group. They only sang one number - mercifully: to describe them as 'rubbish' would be to redefine the word. The unanimous verdict was that they had no technique, and they couldn't sing in tune. But that wasn't the primary reason for us going there of course. Stringfellow's is a non-tranny venue, and it was an ideal opportunity to see how clubbers in the real world would regard us. I noted that we tended to attract the girls - maybe out of curiosity, but perhaps also because we're assumed to be gay and therefore 'safe'. On the other hand, the guys preferred to leave us well alone - for a variety of reasons, I suspect - although the occasional one did come up and say hello. But, generally speaking, no-one seemed to give a shit about the way we were dressed.
And the verdict? Well, if I can endure the journey again, I'll certainly go back.
From personal notes and correspondence.