The Journey Home

By Michelle

The conclusion of Michelle’s Royal Ascot outing en femme.

We joined the throng of people leaving the event and moved through the Grandstand, while I held my hat firmly on my head, a now regular event as a sudden draft blew through the now open doors as we headed for the exit. Before we left, I got some more photos at the racecourse and then we looked for the footpath back to the train. This was easier said than done as the crowds were being directed to a particular crossing in the road, but eventually we found the way back to the footpath.

As I mentioned before, this is a relatively short walk which caused no problems this morning, but now to my horror, I found that the return journey was downhill all the way as far as I could see – not the easiest thing to tackle after being on 4-inch heels all day and walking for a good part of it. In fact, this was the most difficult thing I had to do all day. Add to that the surface was uneven. Help!

Taking very small steps, I walked as fast as I dared, which was not very fast. Everyone was overtaking me and my friend was always a few steps ahead. I think I can boast a little here; despite my inability to walk at more than a snail’s pace, I had no muscle ache in the following days after wearing these shoes all day and only the most insignificant of blisters (well done Graceland shoes and charity shops and me!)

Eventually the train station came into view and after checking which train we were to get on, we waited in the crowd until we were let onto the platform. We then walked onto the waiting train and managed to get a seat immediately. I felt there was one person who was watching me closely, but she soon lost interest. I must develop the art of looking at the person and smiling in these situations, as I understand this usually results in them looking away. The group of lads who were quite noisy took no notice of me at all, however.

What a day! Perfect in so many ways. If I’d been asked did I want to go again the next day, my answer would have been “where do I sign?”

To go to Ascot had always been a dream of mine (as I suspect it is for many of us), but I never really thought it was within my capabilities. This year a number of things happened which made it all more possible; some of these factors may not be there next year.

Added to that, I have heard of a number of people who have become seriously ill or even worse recently – some of a similar age to me. My thoughts were if this happened to me in the next few months making such outings impossible (and who knows if it will?) it would be a dreadful thing to think I could have gone to Ascot this year, but decided I could do it at some other time. I guessed it would be highly unlikely I would think “I wish I hadn’t gone to Ascot.” So I went. I might still regret it, but I have gotten to an age where sometimes you have to take a risk, otherwise the chance will pass you by.

As you may know if you saw my article last year that the idea that Ascot was possible was sown after reading regular Ascot-goer Carolyn’s article on Femulate, so my thanks must go to her and I hope if she went this year, she enjoyed it as much as I did. I’m not sure if I’ll go again, but if a good opportunity arises I would say “Yes!”

Also, I’m especially grateful to my friend who offered to accompany me on the big day and was great company throughout it. If he had dropped out at the last moment, would I still have gone? The answer is probably “yes,” but it would have been a lot more difficult.

When I returned I wanted to tell the world about the experience and show my  photos; fortunately there aretwo people who I could. Firstly my wife, who asked about it and a work colleague who couldn’t wait to see them and again asked me all about the day and said she was so chuffed for me

A week later, the thoughts on my big day are that at times, it was stressful beforehand, but I would now be feeling very deflated if I hadn’t taken the plunge. If you are thinking of doing the same, you’d better plan it well and most of all, make sure you are confident and will “pass” for the most part. Otherwise, as the drink flows there could be some direct and perhaps unpleasant comments.

Having said that I experienced nothing of the sort and I exchanged many smiles with people who were also having a great time. I like my sport, but really cannot see myself ever following horse racing seriously, so this is unlikely to be a regular outing. As regards being en femme, however, there is not a better event. Not only do you get the chance to overdress (in fact, it is a requirement of entry), but you can move around freely and anonymously in a big crowd. Add to that, you are under a big hat and dressed to the nines, as is every woman – perfect!

As I look through the photos once again, I realize I enjoyed every high-heeled, posh-frocked and big-hatted moment of it!

 

 

 

Wearing Bebe.

 

 

 

Playboy bunny femulators at Baltimore Pride

At the Races

By Michelle

Michelle continues recounting her day at Royal Ascot.

The journey seemed to take forever; road work, traffic delays and desperately looking for a rest area where I could change and apply my makeup meant arrival at my destination town late. And then I couldn’t find the train station.

After a few minutes, I saw directions and arrived to see my friend waiting. He didn’t spot me at first, but as I drove up next to him, he recognized me and came over suggesting that I could park on a nearby road, which I did – a free parking space only 500 feet from the station – almost perfect.

I had about 10 minutes to tidy up the car and sort myself out before the train came. I didn’t think this was possible, but a swift turnaround and I experienced a wonderful feeling of freedom as we walked onto the platform in time for the train.

Having said that, there was another train 30 minutes later and in hindsight, I should have waited for it and given myself more time before leaving the car. I was feeling a little rushed and in addition, my partner for the day had not commented on how I looked even after all the effort I had made (apart from eventually a “nice ensemble” comment, after I had said he looked smart). Oh well, such is the woman’s world.

There were others similarly dressed for Ascot at the station. This was the last point I could have chickened out had I suddenly lost all confidence. I didn’t, of course, and as the train approached and stopped, we boarded and the doors closed behind us. There was now no going back.

“Next stop Ascot,“ said the announcer; we would soon be there. The train was crowded, but we had a choice of seats. This was my first time on public transport en femme and so far not a second glance from anyone – wonderful.

After the train stopped, we made our way onto the station platform. It was crowded and I felt exposed, especially since there was a group of young women ahead of us who obviously noticed me and seemed to be asking “is she?” or “isn’t she?” I’m 6’5” tall in my heels and maybe there were discussing my height. Whichever it was, it was no big issue, but not a good start.

There was a 10 minute walk to the racecourse (they say 7 minutes, but not in my shoes!) where we picked up the tickets and entered the turnstile to the racecourse . The Grandstand is a magnificent site and seems to go on forever. With the colors of the crowd, the lawns and the well-kept environs, on a sunny day, the whole scene was breathtaking (as I hope you can see from the photos).

I am always amazed at how few people take any notice of me and this was certainly the case on this day; just a few second glances. After a nervous start, I felt perfectly at home. We surveyed the areas where we could go (as we had Grandstand tickets that was pretty much everywhere except the very exclusive Royal Enclosure). We decided to go into the Grandstand itself to pick a decent spot for when the racing started and carry on to the grass area in front of the Grandstand where the benches are situated, whereupon we sat on one to survey the scene providing an opportunity for more photos on the glorious lawns in front of the Grandstand, as you can see. 

I texted a friend to see if she had any good betting tips, but to no avail, so we were on our own. At this point, my friend admitted he knew next to nothing about horse racing and although that was more than me, it was not a great comfort. However, he did explain when he was a young boy he watched a race on the television with his brother-in-law and went “through the card” merely by choosing the jockeys he’d heard of. Had he put a small bet on each, he would have won many hundreds of pounds. Now this was looking better!

We wandered off to get some lunch in a café and enjoyed what was one of the best burgers we’d had (albeit the most expensive). Ah, this was the life, I could become a “lady who lunches.” Anyway, we finished our meal and both needed to go to the public conveniences.

My friend disappeared not realizing how long it takes me to “visit the ladies.” Without going into too much detail, there are many things that have to be accessed and then carefully put back into place when I’ve finished and that’s before replenishing makeup, checking hair and (with it being Royal Ascot) my hat. The toilets themselves were the best Portaloos I’d been in with ample mirrors and no queues.

I eventually rejoined my friend as the Royal Procession was about to go past. We caught that and then went up more stairs to go to the parade ring where we surveyed the horses before the first race. We didn’t know what we were looking at but my friend had heard one of the jockeys being interviewed and put £5 on him at 5-4.

We returned to the grass, which was now packed (how quickly these people arrived) to watch the race and were pleased to see our horse come in first. So I’m betting on the next race again using the system of betting on a jockey I’d heard of. I chose Frankie Dettori’s mount and went to place my bet. As I reached the front of the queue, the bookmaker said, “Yes, Madam?”

Yes Madam? I’d been “Madamed” and I almost forgot what I was there to do, but quickly regained my composure and said “£5 on number 8, please.” He took my money, gave me my betting slip, and I floated towards my viewing position. Whether I won or not was now of secondary importance as we looked for a space in the packed Grandstand. However, I did win and at 5-1!

My friend betted on the other races and won on four out of six attempts. Me, I chanced my arm once more and lost, but was still £20 up on the day. Wow! My friend, was over £30 up on the day. If I go again, I’m inviting him along.

Before the last race I took my betting slip to collect my winnings and I was “Madamed” again as I handed over my slip to receive my winnings. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture of this momentous moment. As the last race finished, we had to decide on when to leave and as neither of us are have a great voice, we forwent the community singing and headed for the train station.

Michelle’s Day at Royal Ascot concludes here tomorrow.

 

 

 

Wearing Badgley Mischka.

 

 

 

Femulator appearing in the 1968 documentary film The Queen.

The Build Up

By Michelle

UK Femulate reader Michelle recounts her day en femme at Royal Ascot.

The story so far…

The idea was hatched at the British Grand Prix last summer, when I explained to my friend (and one of the three people who “knew about me”), that I had an ambition to go to Ascot. I didn’t want to go in a group because I would feel too conspicuous.

That was when he offered to go with me if I wanted him to – well, there’s an offer I couldn’t refuse. He even suggested a “dry run,, so we met up for lunch October. When he saw me en femme “in the flesh” for the first time, happily, he coped well. Now read on…

The first barriers on the road to Royal Ascot had been overcome, but others awaited. How could I tell my wife?

She is wonderfully accepting and often joins me on nights (and days) out. This was different, however, and when I first told her of my plans, she was less than enthusiastic. Mainly, I think, because she thought I was taking a big risk. I didn’t want to go if she was really against it, but the first response from her didn’t actually say that.

Time went by and I found it very difficult to raise the subject again – and it was stressful not knowing. Eventually I broached the subject again a few weeks before I was due to go and again she was non-committal, but asked me the date and said because there was a meeting at work on that day, she couldn’t come (and I had no alternative day I could do it). I took that to mean “I wish you weren’t going,” but not “I’m stopping you going.”

Before deciding whether or not to go ahead and buy the tickets, I had to get back to my friend to check whether he was still free. At first, he wasn’t sure, but after an agonizing few days, he got back to me to say that he was. Great – I’ll get the tickets.

I was surprisingly nervous when calling the box office to buy the tickets. I suppose this was the point where it was obvious that I was going, yet my wife still didn’t know at that point. Anyway, the payment was made and £130 was debited from our account. I texted my friend, “Excellent” was his response. This was good news as I was concerned he had lost his original enthusiasm for the visit.

This was a continuing theme during the few weeks leading up to “the big day” as texts and e-mails to him always took days to get a reply (this is not his usual style). I have since learned that was “slightly nervous” beforehand and this was obviously an issue. We had a conversation on the day before the big meet up, however, and decided we would not attempt to go to the racecourse by car, but meet at a train station and continue on public transport.

I haven’t said what I decided to wear. Well, the photos show you, but there were many alternatives, so I hope you like my choice. The shoes were a last minute thing. I didn’t have many that fitted me well enough for a whole day (or indeed fitted the Royal Ascot bill). Just over a week before I was due to go, I had to go and pick up a car full of items for someone and on the way, I stopped for a coffee at a nice little town we know.

As I sat looking out over my drink, I noticed a charity shop on the other side of the road. I thought it may be worth a visit before I continued on my way. I walked in and soon saw it was, as there was a whole range of UK size 9 high-heeled shoes (this was meant to be).

Nobody knew me in this town, so without embarrassment, I tried on the most likely pair and they fitted well. Now I did have a problem; as I said I had a whole car full of “stuff” to pick up and possibly nowhere to hide the shoes. Should I buy the shoes and take the risk? I could only get one pair; I certainly couldn’t hide any more than that. £4.50 for a pair of unused, fashionable, 4-inch stilettos and in the right size, too? Yes, I should take the risk!

I bought the shoes and when I got back to the car, I hid them next to the spare tire, even though big heels are not the easiest things to fit into confined spaces (perhaps you may know this already). When I arrived at my destination, loading the car was done under close supervision from me and there was hardly an inch to spare – any more to put in and we well have considered using the spare wheel section of the boot. Phew!

I now had to hope we didn’t have a puncture on the journey home, as there would have been explaining to do to my passenger. Anyway, no punctures and once back home, I transferred the shoes safely to my bedroom.

The dress has nice memories for me – a purchase from Marks and Spencer’s Per Una range and the first item of clothing I ever bought whilst en femme; it seemed right for Ascot. The makeup was very much a rushed in the car affair because on that morning I was running late and it looked that way. I wish I could have gone back and started again, but “that’s life.”

Three days before the big day, my wife had got a readout on our bank account and saw the £130 withdrawal. I said it was for Ascot. She was satisfied with that and said no more. I really didn’t want to force the situation on her and waited for her to ask further questions, which she didn’t, so no more was said. However, as she went to work on Tuesday, she asked what I was doing that day. I said “Going to Ascot” to which she asked “Is it today? Have a good day. The weather looks good.”

Well, there you are. Months of anguish finished off with “Have a good day.”

She left for work and I shaved, loaded up the car (double-checking that I had everything) and left for a day at Royal Ascot!

Michelle’s Day at Royal Ascot continues here tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Circa 1970 femulating.

Royal Ascot Adventure

 

Every June, I see photos of people dressed to kill attending Royal Ascot thoroughbred horse races at Ascot Racecourse in the UK.

The women are dressed to the nines and I often thought that if I lived the UK, I would make an effort to attend the event en femme.

It seems that I am not the only femulator to come up with that idea. Over the years, I have noticed an occasional femulator showing up in the photos from Ascot.

Turns out, a Femulate reader, Carolyn Stevenson of Carolyn's Classy Closet fame, is a regular attendee at Royal Ascot and she volunteered to tell her story. So without further adieu, here is Carolyn's “Royal Ascot Adventure.”

For you thrill-seeking femulators out there, nothing comes even close for the most fun, ego-massaging, glamorous event anywhere.

In the middle of flaming June (well most years) a horse race meeting takes place 30 or so miles west of London to which almost 300,000 flock over six days. Travel is easy as long as you take the train; driving is a two-hour traffic jam nightmare as are the parking fees.

Ascot Racecourse is just three miles from Windsor Castle and the Queen and her entourage drive along an avenue from the castle in horse drawn carriages, arriving every day at 2 o'clock.

I mentioned fun. Everyone who comes has been preparing carefully, some for months to get the outfit just right. So on the day, nothing is going to get in the way of a good time. The 170,000 or so bottles of champagne consumed during the week may have something to do with it!

One can pay several hundred pounds to have lunch in the tented village around the Royal enclosure, but most people bring some lovely food and wine to picnic alfresco in the usually lovely weather.

I took just a sandwich and a wine glass last year and my glass was never empty! The friendliness and generosity is simply overwhelming.

As one moves around, people beg to have their photo taken with you, to share a glass or two, or ask you to join the many groups sitting on the grass overlooking the course. Being a trannie never felt so good!

There are so few it seems, opperchancities to dress up these days, that those who have made an effort appreciate those who have too and we sit chatting and exchanging tips and mutual admiration. The ladies and some gentlemen are glad to have in their midst a "special" lady, who in most cases outshines the "real" ones.

Ladies' Day is the time to see some extravagant examples of the milliner's art, but I tend avoid that day as some of the ladies get a bit too merry and it's not a pretty sight. No matter which day you go, you will see some lovely outfits; the colours and combinations worn by young and old are sometimes breathtaking. I've never embraced so many attractive women in such short time and space.

I was asked, "Why do you dress?"

I answered, "How many men do you see around here with four ladies on their arms?"

Once lunch is over and the Queen has arrived the race program begins. Some of the best horses in the world race here, but I have to confess, such was the hectic nature the socializing, I never saw a race last year! Saved me loosing my shirt, pardon me, blouse on that occasion!

You may judge by the above that I love the glamour and general party atmosphere, so many radiant beautifully dressed people all there for a fabulous day out. The party even continues on the train where a glass or two is still being raised on the way home. Some even gather after reaching London on the Embankment next to Houses of Parliament to continue the merriment well into the evening.

I forget how many times I've been, starting about 12 years ago and on the last occasion, I went on my own after a friend dropped out and I had the best time ever.

Start looking for your big hat now and I'll see you there. It's not too long 'til June!

Carolyn Stevenson at Royal Ascot

 

Royal Ascot attendees.