If only this story could have begun in the middle when JJ came to the rescue me from a humiliation worse than a ladder in your stockings. But it didn't. It started, not with a kiss as the song goes, but a humiliating disaster. Not of titanic proportions, because the only person hurt was me, it devastating to my pride and to my self-esteem as a would-be woman. The girl inside me simply refused to come out to play when faced with the reality of the big, bad, ever-so real world until of course stumbling upon crossdressing UK.
He, the male grey part of me had planned everything carefully: the meticulous attention to detail for which my male persona is renowned had decided exactly what was to happen. Three nights in a London hotel, dressed in my womanly finest. He even arranged a make-up session for me with a nearby salon, after luxurious spa treatments. The perfect preparation for mind, body and soul rolled into three days of perfumed bliss. Or so he thought. Little did he anticipate what terrors I was about to experience? Until that fateful day Miss Kitty had lived in a private, secluded domain.
A domain that was safe, warm and comfortable if somewhat lonely. But now I was thrown into the abyss and should have looked for a crossdressing UK service beforehand. I changed into my female self in the spa and it felt so good to have the finest lingerie caress my body. I walked, as steadily as my rapidly beating heart and moderately high heels would allow, the 100 yards to the hotel. My first few female steps in public so to speak and I booked into the hotel. I was shown to my room and my bag was brought up.
Then the first moment of panic, as a man I would always tip the porter. But what should I do as a woman? Then he left, without a tip, and I was alone in the room. With dinner booked for one in the hotel restaurant just an hour away came my second moment of panic, no - not a moment, several moments. I had actually a non-stop anxiety attack and lost what little nerve I had. Cursing my male persona with unladylike Anglo-Saxon expletives, I should have used my female intuition earlier to find a crossdressing UK service. I had left the country I was working in without forward thinking then all this heartache and upset could have been avoided.
I called room service and I ate in seclusion. I checked out the next morning and I felt terribly sad, all the meticulous planning for what? I lost my nerve. Miss Kitty berated my male self for his lack of foresight. "You're supposed to be so clever. You boast about your influence in the corridors of so-called power. But when it comes to understanding women, you are pathetic. You couldn't plan Miss Kitty's way out of a paper bag. No, pathetic is hardly strong enough" ... and so on. (And this is the censored version.). He deserved it.
And he certainly got it, pathetic grey male that he is who thought as usual he had everything under control including me, the delightful Miss Kitty that just wanted to be free to explore her feminine self. Three months later, Miss Kitty decided to act so she went to Google as any self-indulgent girl would and looked up crossdressing uk services with various search terms and eventually found a crossdressing UK boudoir for the disconcerting lady in waiting.
Most of the entries, especially those in London where I am based, appeared to be offering sexual services. Not my style. And certainly not what was oh-so-needed for this lady in waiting to make her debut into London society. But amongst the chaff was a grain of wheat: there was an intriguing but refreshingly straightforward title 'Dress-Me-Up' in Cheshire of all places! I have long been a fan of Alice in Wonderland, and my favourite character is the Cheshire Cat.
Crossdressing UK Boudoir
So I was already predisposed to look positively upon the county and all in it. I looked at everything on the website carefully. I found evident kindness, empathy, professional pride, a wonderful sense of humour, and a tremendous intelligence at work. The testimonials were obviously genuine, and so warm in their praise of their visits to JJ in her crossdressing UK boudoir. So on a windy day, just before Christmas, from a windy street, I telephoned the contact number and nervously enquired about a possible visit to crossdressing UK boudoir and perhaps, just perhaps an escorted trip into the wide world.
A few emails later and one further phone call: a visit to JJ’s crossdressing UK boudoir was arranged: I have written about that life-changing visit elsewhere. But an escorted outing in London was also planned. The outing was last night. I met her as she walked up the platform from the Cheshire train. As with my visit to her crossdressing UK boudoir, she simply took my breath away. We took a taxi to the hotel where I was staying.
Excellent hotel of course: nothing is too good for JJ. She, of course, had her own room, with a view towards some of central London's finest jewellery and clothes shops. During the afternoon, JJ worked hard to settle my all-too-obvious fears. I was not the best client by any means; I was talking far too much and listening far too little. But with consummate skill she edged, coaxed me towards my freedom.
At 7.30 pm, after a glass of calming chilled Chablis, we left for the restaurant. We both wore pencil skirts and satin-silk blouses. Her clothes were Italian. My skirt was M&S and my blouse was Thomas Pink. Her hair was impeccable. Mine was a chestnut wig. She wore patent leather high heels. I wore lower court shoes - much safer given my wobbles on stilettos. She looked gorgeous. She made me feel gorgeous too and all that was read and said at the crossdressing UK website was coming into fruition.
Even so, not until half-way through the meal did I realise just how fantastically feminine I felt and all thanks to JJ and her crossdressing UK service. Suddenly I melted. My anxieties evaporated. I was a woman. JJ had worked her magic. Writing this 24 hours on, I have just taken a sip of wine, noticing that I automatically held the glass by the stem, with my first lesson in feminine table etiquette learnt well it seems. But my fingers tips are no longer adorned with nail varnish. No exquisite impression of lipstick is left on the rim of my glass. The dullness of my male clothing creates a little dark cloud around me.
But, with a quiet smile and an inner sense of satisfaction, I can feel the bra and panties worn underneath. Miss Kitty, having been liberated by JJ and her transformation crossdressing UK boudoir now insists on being there, if at times only in the background, always. Miss Kitty says that from now on her judgement must prevail. But she also says that without JJ she would have been hidden behind closed doors. So that my feminine self must from now on listen to and trust JJ absolutely. Which I do joyfully. And my male persona? ... Well, he should do what he does well. Earn enough to keep Miss Kitty in the style to which she is now becoming accustomed. And keep out of the way when Miss Kitty hits town, especially when escorted by JJ from the crossdressing UK boudoir. And if he has any more bright ideas, he now knows precisely where to stick them.