Living The Dream 2 – The Time Has Come

Last time, I talked about my dream to book into a hotel under my feminine alias – Ms Amanda Johnson – and the steps I took to turn that dream into reality.  It was now five weeks since I booked the hotel and D-day had finally arrived.  But those five weeks hadn’t been easy.

The way I feel when I wake up in the morning often sets the tenor for the day ahead.  When I had freedom to dress whenever I wanted, I’d sometimes wake up with an overwhelming need to express my feminine side and as soon as I could be certain that Mrs A had started work, out would come the stash.  On the other hand, waking up without those feelings would herald a day feeling fine in my male skin.  But now, as ‘D-day’ approached, I was waking up with a feeling of dread more often than not.  What the hell had I let myself in for?

I seriously contemplated scrapping the whole idea but that would mean losing the £73 I’d spent on the hotel.  Being a cheapskate at heart, I’d saved £7 by selecting the non-refundable option so I was stuck with the booking regardless of whether or not I used it.  Maybe a quick email asking them to change the name on the booking would sort things out or even just turning up and saying that my partner had mistakenly booked the room in her name, not mine, would do the trick.  I even wondered whether to just stay at home and forget the whole idea of a night away.

As I wrestled with the whole thing, I started to understand that I was experiencing a conflict between superficial and profound feelings.  Superficially, what I was planning was a crazy idea, bordering on insane.  I was going to make a journey of over 150 miles, stopping en route to change from male to female clothes and then apply makeup in the confines of my car, then check into a hotel under an alias and leave myself no option other than to maintain the persona beyond checkout the following day once again stopping en route to remove all traces of makeup, change back into male clothes and arrive at home praying that the makeup wipes had done their job and not missed even a square millimetre of slap.  To say I had serious doubts would be a gross understatement, not least because I had no idea if, when the day came, I’d want to go through with it or whether I’d be experiencing one of those times when I just wouldn’t be ‘feeling it’.

But at times that the superficial feelings of madness didn’t engulf me, I realised that there were profound feelings at play too.  I thought back to all the times that I have had similar concerns only for them to evaporate as the inner woman emerged from her slumbers.  I remembered the feelings of euphoric bliss as I walked amongst the population, no longer constrained by being in the closet and the need for secrecy that all of that entails.  I realised that the time had long since passed when I could just brush off my feminine proclivities as just a bit of harmless recreational fun.  This is a significant part of who I am and the night away was my opportunity to live, and be seen, as that person.  ‘Amanda’ would no longer merely be a label added to online posts to denote authorship – it would now be my identity, an identity I could wholly assume.  And the practicalities of life mean that it could well be not only the only opportunity I would have to take things that far but quite possibly the last opportunity for anything other than a snatched hour here or there.  Miss it and I knew that it would not be relief that I would feel but profound and lasting regret.

-o-O-o-

My in-house preparations went exactly as planned.  Mrs A had already left for work and my daughter was still asleep so after a quick breakfast, I was on my way to my chosen place for the full transformation.  Even finding a suitable place had not been easy until I hit on the idea of using a railway station car park.  In the South East of England, most are jam packed with cars during the week as their owners take the train to commute to London but, I figured, should be more or less empty on a Saturday morning and having arrived at one that I’d identified as suitable on Google maps, I was pleased to see that my hunch was correct.

As a result, the changeover to ‘her’ whilst a bit challenging in the confines of the car, went without issue and in less than one hour, Amanda had started her 36 hour adventure.

-o-O-o-

As I mentioned last time, I need a valid reason to be away from home overnight and this time, it was a couple of back to back model shows with the hotel stay enabling me to avoid driving 100 miles home in the evening and then another 100 the following morning so the first of the shows, in the North West of England was to be my first port of call.

I’d originally planned to go to the show as ‘him’ then change afterwards but during the run up to the weekend, I’d decided that there was no reason why I couldn’t attend in my finest, here my finest being my check in outfit (insert photo 1).  Whilst I knew I would be a bit conspicuous, I can’t remember the last time I attended a show and didn’t see several trans people so even though I knew I’d be a bit overdressed, I figured I’d be OK.  In fact, I’d only been there a few minutes when one guy, seemingly interested in what he saw asked ‘are you a modelmaker?’!  I just smiled and carried on walking!

There was also a small steam railway adjacent to the show so I decided to have a ride.  The carriage was quite full but I found a vacant seat and the guy in the opposite seat, probably in his late 60s (i.e. not much older than me), uttered one of those smalltalk conversation starters – something like ‘it’s a bit crowded here today’.  I just smiled but a minute or two later, he tried again.  This time, I thought ‘what the hell’ and engaged with him and we talked about this and that for more or less the whole journey.  If ever I needed reassurance that nobody cares how I’m dressed, that was it.

But let’s face it, much though I love attending model shows, this time it was just the pretext for something far more important so having spent a couple of hours there, I returned to the car for the 90 minute drive to the hotel.

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‘I have a reservation in the name of Amanda Johnson’

It felt good to hear those words come out of my mouth to say the least.  The receptionist didn’t bat an eyelid and after a few taps on her computer keyboard, handed me my keycard and explained the dinner and breakfast arrangements to me.  And that was that – no fuss, no smirks, no looks of disapproval.  It really was as easy as that.

I touched on this in the first part but it’s worth briefly talking about what that simple act really meant to me.  First of all, ‘Amanda’ up to that point had just been a nom de plume – a label on my writings to denote authorship.  I’m registered on a private forum as ‘Amanda’ but, again, it’s just a label chosen because I particularly like the name.  ‘Johnson’ bears no relationship whatsoever to my surname – in fact they have no letters in common – but I’ll say cryptically that it has a ring of truth about it!  But as soon as those words came out of my mouth, it became my identity and, as the weekend unfolded, it started to feel more and more natural.

Secondly, on all of my previous hotel stays, I’ve checked in as ‘him’.  I’ve then transformed myself in the room before going out.  But that has entailed going back past the receptionist in a very different guise to the one I was in an hour earlier and that always makes me feel quite uncomfortable.  I know that they’ve all seen it a hundred times before but, even so it goes against my wishes to keep my two sides completely separate.  But now, having arrived in my feminine guise I had no such worries and could just be me for the whole time.

Anyway, having retrieved my four bags from the car (four!  I’ve never understood why women need so much luggage for the shortest of stays but things are a lot clearer now!) and had a quick rest, it was time to start preparing for dinner.

-o-O-o-

I was of two minds about my dinner outfit.  On the one hand, I’ve often looked at myself in the mirror, dressed up to the nines, with a sense of disappointment that I was all dressed up with nowhere to go.  Dinner in a hotel restaurant was a chance to make that fantasy a reality.  However, whilst the hotel was nice and a step up from the places I usually stay, high end it wasn’t and I was worried that my planned outfit of black dress, off white pashmina and black courts/ pumps would be too dressy.  In the end, and for the second time that day, I thought ‘what the hell’ and went full glam (insert photo 2).

I made my way to the restaurant, delighting in the sound my stilettos made on the tiled reception floor as I walked though, smiling to the receptionist as I walked past her (quite a contrast to the mad dashes I normally make to avoid being spotted!) and giving my room number to the waitress in the restaurant who then showed me to a table and handed me a menu.

She returned a short time later and, after taking my order, told me that she liked my outfit.  I later found out that her name was Basma and, by the look of things, she was in her early 20s at most.  Whilst I’m no expert, I would say that my outfit had a classically elegant vibe to it and certainly not a look that most young women would consider for themselves (more than anything, most would consider the knee length hemline far too low!).  But even better was to come.

Basma’s compliment really made my day.  It also became apparent that she was still under training when a mix up regarding the price of the meal had to involve her manager to resolve it, so it’s quite possible that I was the first CD/TG person she’d encountered in that environment.  But as with my previous interaction with a wonderful waitress during my trip back to my home town (The Homecoming – 2 – True Acceptance), I wanted to say thank you to her for making my day.  So when the bill was all sorted out, I called her over and told her that it was a special day for me and what she said had made it perfect.  I handed her a banknote and said that I wanted her to have it.  She said that I didn’t have to and I replied that I really wanted to at which point she said ‘thank you and you do look amazing’!

That really was the icing on the cake for me.   Of course, I was overdressed for a restaurant in a hotel chain only one rung above ‘budget’ where everyone else was dressed casually but her simple comment, which was made in the full knowledge of what really lay beneath the veneer, said that it didn’t matter.  I returned to my room on a real high and settled down to watch TV for a couple of hours before finally removing everything, changing into the black lace edged nightdress I’d bought especially for the weekend and turned in for the night.

To say that the weekend had been a resounding success so far would be an understatement.  And I still had another day to look forward to so stay tuned for the third and final part.