In the first part of this reminiscence, I explained how it
was that at a cross roads in life, I ended up wearing a light summer frock and
a large straw sun hat, walking out of Calais with my thumb held out hoping that
I wouldn’t have to walk far in the sun before I could get moving on the first
steps of my long T-girl odyssey to Kathmandu!
To be honest I had organised the whole thing in moments and
it was while I was walking along the road that I thought for a moment about my
situation with a little more clarity. I had no male clothes except a pair of
women’s jeans and nothing to ‘escape into’ as it were, my becoming Andrea had
meant tearing up my ‘get out of prison card’ so I couldn’t just change my mind
and chicken out, slipping back into male clothing as I didn’t have any
with me. For a moment my courage faltered and I began to wonder if I hadn’t
just set out on a road to disaster, my muppet headed planning just
setting me up for a big fall. Then as I walked along the road through the town,
I caught sight of myself in a shop windows and saw reflected back a tall girl
in a suede miniskirt with long legs, knee-high cowboy boots and a gypsy style,
loose blouse with a large shoulder bag now slung so it hung down my back. The
question was would I pass as a young girl? Almost on cue at that moment a lorry
went past and the driver gesticulated out of the window in the universal body
language signage that says “I’d give you one darling given half a chance” My
spirits rose and I decided there was no going back, I am now Andrea, in Europe
and I am a pretty girl!....sort off with just a few ifs and buts!!
The first couple of lifts were a bit non-nondescript, one, a
Belgian woman, who gave me a lift as far as the main road to Abbeville then on
to Amiens. There followed a quick succession of lifts all of which took me
closer to my southern pointing route but still doing more ambling through local
B roads than I had hoped for. I did finally strike gold and got a lift with an
English family who looked like something out of a McGill seaside postcard. They
were driving a large brown Humber Snipe and he looked like the old actor Fred
Emney, with a monocle held tightly in a red eye and wisps of white hair flying
loosely around his head. He wore a rather dirty white linen suit and a blue
cravat. His wife called... and I jest not! Blossom..was sitting in the back
seat sweating in a cotton dress and I guessed weighing in at about 20 stone.
They were deeply eccentric but were offering to take me south past Paris and on
towards Chartres, which looked like a good deal.
I had still had no serious sexual situations or advances
made and the conversations with my other lifts had been a bit stilted with my
school French but as I bundled my bag into the front foot-well of the dusty old
car and slid my bottom into the front passenger seat next to my driver, I was
about to have my first!
We were bowling along the French highway with a blue sky and
little fluffy clouds above while my host hummed tunelessly at the wheel and his
wife blossom ate doorstep sandwiches in the rear and talked non-stop about her
family, sweating and cotton versus linen, and the French people’s
arrogance....and on and on, till her voice became a sort of background hum like
the sound of the engine.
After half an hour or so I was suddenly roused out of my
torpor when I suddenly felt a warm hand on my thigh and looking across at the
driver, saw that he was staring ahead, still with one monocle in his eye, one
hand clutching the wheel the other now lightly stroking my thigh. His hand was
wandering around my inner thigh and pushing up the hem of my skirt higher and
higher.
I realised that it was probably better to put up with his
tentative fondling and play along with him. After a while he grasped my hand
gently and pulled it towards his trouser pocket, for a moment I wasn’t sure
what he wanted me to do, then I twigged and as he lifted his weight slightly, I
slid my hand into his left trouser pocket only to discover that like some
spotty schoolboy, the lining was basically missing and my hand was in amongst
his wrinkly, sweaty, naked and growing genitalia.
There followed about five minutes of me fondling his penis
and balls trying to keep my arm as still as possible so Blossom did not catch
on as to what we were up to in the front. Finally he seemed to freeze at the
wheel, made a faint coughing noise in the back of his throat and shook slightly
and for a moment I had visions of us crashing spectacularly of the road as he
quietly orgasmed, covering my hand generously with his cum. I managed to
withdraw my hand discreetly and wipe it clean with a tissue from my bag. He now
sat back comfortably in his seat and withdrew his hand from my thigh! Lust
satiated and obviously a little payment in kind for the lift!
We parted company after some hours traveling together They
both seemed to accept me for what I appeared to be which is a girl alone and
they was no hint of unusual curiosity or mention of gender, although they might
have just have been being polite!
I stayed overnight in a small pension and again no comments
were made although the owner a slim elderly French lady but didn’t notice that
the picture of a long haired young man was the girl standing in front of her. I
am lucky in that I don’t have and never have had a strong bear growth so
shaving once a day was just about OK although if I went out in the evening I
shaved again just to make sure, I also was quite tanned during the trip so
didn’t really need much foundation. I concentrated on my eyes and lips and that
seemed to be more than enough to give the look I wanted. It was wonderful
weather so I woke up early got showered and changed, getting into a routine of
washing my knickers and tops and putting them in a plastic bag and then trying
to dry them the sun while I waited for lifts or just sat near the edge of the
road enjoying the scenery. Most of the time on the road I made a lot of effort
to make myself look good, first for myself as I adapted to my female persona
and also because the more attractive/pretty/sexy/cute I looked, the more
quickly came the lifts. I managed to set my hair every morning so it was clean
and had large curls courtesy of my Carmen rollers!
Three days in and I had managed to get dropped off at a
small town near Poitiers and managed to find somewhere to stay. The next day
was hot and sunny again, the weather seemed to be endlessly glorious, I can’t
remember a rainy or really horrid day or maybe that is my memory playing tricks
on me and letting me view this time through rose–tinted glasses! I felt
in a wonderful mood setting off to find the main road out towards the South and
I wandered to the edge of the town, on for a further mile or so and settled
down on a tree stump near the edge of the dusty road, which had a clear view
either way but was in some shade from a little group of trees along the edge of
a field.
I watched as cars passed me by for about half an hour when
an old Peugeot pick-up truck came meandering down the road towards me, carried
on past a few yards, and then reversed up. The driver was a round faced man in
his late forties with a large moustache and twinkly eyes. He was not what I
would call handsome but he was very attractive in a cuddly scruffy sort of way.
He lent over and asked me if I wanted a lift and I scooped
up my things and jumped into the cab slamming the rattling door closed and
grinned across the transmission hump at him. The truck must have been about 20
years old and was typical of a peasant farmer or artisan who kept it going with
some tender loving care and a good hammering now and again! I explained in my
halting French I was heading South for Perpignan and then on across Europe and
he smiled and lit a cigarette and we set off. He explained that he was making a
number of different deliveries and would have to stop off along the way at a
couple of farms and a friend’s house. If I was happy to take a slightly slower
route, he would be glad to take me further south towards Perigueux where he was
sure a friend of his would be happy to give me a lift on towards Toulouse
tomorrow as he had business in the city.
For me that sounded like progress so I agreed and settled
down to a rickety journey through some of the byways of rural France. We
chatted gently although there were no questions about my gender and again I
felt a bit smug that I seemed to be getting better at passing and fooling
people into believing that I was female! I sometimes felt that I was outside
myself, looking in and watching myself closely, observing my mannerisms,
how I held my hands and arms, the tone of my voice, the way I kept my knees
together and smoothed down the back of my dress when I sat down. It was like an
intense self-study into female body language, as I became more practiced, my
movements became more natural and I had to work less and less at making an
effort to ‘perform’ as a girl all the time. My walk was becoming natural and
instinctive, with smaller steps and crossing my legs over each other to mimic
the effect of having wider hips.
We stopped off at the two farms he had appointments with and
I waited in the truck or got out and stretched my legs and by lunchtime he
suggested we stop for a rest and some food. He drove down a small side road
avenued with trees, that ran between glowing fields until we stopped at a heart-stopping beautiful spot, where an old stone bridge crossed a small
river bordered by a copse of trees that were giving shade over the bridge and a
grassy space at the side of the bridge that led down to the clear water of the
river.
He pulled off the road and stopped switching of the engine
and getting out to go round to the back of the truck. He took out an old straw
basket....and in a scene that was so stereotypically French I nearly
laughed...he produced a small tarpaulin and a picnic lunch. We settled down on
the little ‘natural’ lawn that went down to the water and he lay out the bread,
sausage and tomatoes and fruit he had brought with him, then came a cheap
plastic bottle with wine in and smaller plastic bottle with olive oil and
some kind of sauce. It was all rather idyllic and we sat on the tarpaulin and
chatted gently, managing to make broken conversation getting by and mostly
understanding what the other was saying. He offered me some wine from the
plastic bottle that looked as though it should contain industrial cleaner but I
declined because of my recent rehab experience and wandered off to role a
sneaky joint while he lay back and snoozed with a handkerchief over his
face.
I was standing in the shade having taken my off my boots and
was standing ankle deep in a few inches of the cool river water. There was a
little clump of saplings nearly in the water which shielded me from the view of
the road and the bridge and I stood enjoying the picturesque scene in front of
me.
I finished the joint and flicked it into the water and was
standing relaxed and luxuriating in the quiet and the warmth, when I heard a
little splash in the water and felt a hand softly clasp my bottom.
He had come to join me standing in the river, having left
his socks and shoes on the tarpaulin. I stood there and he moved his hand slowly,
caressing my buttock and I saw him watching my face intently out of the corner
of my eye, while I, slightly nervously, stared straight ahead avoiding his
gaze. I started to feel softly sexy and really quite turned on. He was
not a handsome man but he was certainly more than just attractive and I was
feeling increasingly feminine being on the receiving end of his ‘opening moves’
in what he had clearly decided was to be my apparent seduction. I was suddenly
nervous that if this went any further my true gender might be suddenly revealed
if his hands went any further and reached my crotch and he discovered I was a
girl with a bit extra!
Being a bit stoned probably made me err on the side of wild
abandonment and I turned my head and kissed him. That was clearly the signal he
had been hoping for and he grabbed me tight to him and we had a wonderful, wet
tongues entwined snog! He held a buttock in each hand and pulled me hard into
his crotch, kissing my neck and ears with a wet, Gallic enthusiasm. I was a little
taller than him but the height difference didn’t seem to dampen his ardour!
Then it happened!...his hands were sneakingly exploring my
knickers and he discovered my little secret....He froze for a moment and I
stood there, his arms still holding me tight and he looked me in the eye,
looking quizzical and a bit stern, then he grinned and carried on exploring me,
his fingers probing between my buttocks and starting to play with me, creating
a wonderful sensation in my thighs and stomach.
He told me later that he thought I was a trans girl after we
had been driving together for a while, although it was only a suspicion and he
was a definite fan of T-girls although his experience was very limited. He
found that both the idea of me, as well as the actuality of me, very exciting!
Now his fingers were eagerly probing my bottom and I managed
put him on ‘pause’ for a moment and explain in primitive French, that I was a
little too dry! He caught on quick and trotted back to the picnic, returning
moments later with the plastic bottle of olive oil! his face beaming.
So we set too with a lustful and aroused enthusiasm that
ended up with me lubricated like a French salad with good quality virgin olive
oil...a bit of an irony considering my complete lack of virginity, I was then
rolled onto my back and we took the missionary position and after some very
enjoyable fumbling, he managed to enter me and suddenly it was like being
back in 1066! ....with a French invasion on my spread shore/thighs!....only
this time the experience was being thoroughly enjoyed by both sides.
He was a good lover and we rolled around changing
positions... sometimes with me sitting straddled over his hips while he jerked
and struggled to get his dark blue work trousers off his legs and ankles. He
took his time as well which always turns me on more and devoted huge amounts of
attention to different parts of my body, giving me the most wonderful
sensations.
After 20 minutes of delicious sex I ended up on all fours
while mounted me from behind and I felt his climax build as I tightened and
squeezed myself around him and then welcomed his seed into the depth of my
belly as he made deep throated strange whimpering noises grabbed my hips
tightly towards him and came.
Seconds later I had my own orgasm and then collapsed on the
grass beside him, while around us the French countryside buzzed and hummed and
the river gurgled past our feet.
Over the years I have had many lovers but that moment still
lives as one of the most perfect moments of sex I have ever had. It was romantic
and I think I was probably at my prettiest and most feminine. I lay there, eyes
closed, while he ran his finger over my stomach and legs and I felt his seed
ooze a little out of me. After what seemed ages we got up and adjusted our
clothing, me retrieving my knickers from where they had been tossed and cleared
up the picnic and got back in his truck.
I spent that night with him at a strange place that was part
of a small industrial estate. He had a storeroom which had attached a small
room with a bed and a washroom and shower. We ate some soup and bread and made
love again squashed together in the small bed.
We parted the next day and his friend took me on past
Toulouse and closer to the Mediterranean.
I met many more strange and eccentric characters as the
journey progressed and I’m not giving anything away by saying that I never got
to Kathmandu! That was something I realised much later in life and in different
circumstances.
I did end up in Italy though and my trip carried on for some
months before I returned to old blighty!....a little older, much wiser and over
the weeks much loved by numerous lovers and fellow travelers, but that must
wait till part three if there is going to be one!!
