I am a crossdresser but, after I m*********, I detest being in women’s clothes. Last week, late on a Saturday night, I put on p******, a tight old fashioned open girdle with seamed stockings, a longline bra, a petticoat, a blouse, a knee-length pencil skirt and a jacket and drove to the far side of town. I swapped my shoes for a pair oh heels, locked them in the car, put the keys in a self-addressed envelope and mailed them. Then I went into a dark back alley to m*********.

I can’t describe the sheer horror afterwards, being fully cross-dressed, loathing it, and realising I had now to walk home at least a couple of miles through the busy Saturday night streets. It took me hours, hiding in side-streets and trying to hurry (in heels! in a girdle!) whenever I thought the coast was clear. I ran into people on several occasions – the looks on their faces! One group of drunken guys followed me for a good 15 minutes, laughing at me and hurling insults. God help me, they even took photos with their smartphones. I was wearing a wig and had on eye shadow and lipstick – please God don’t let me be recognisable if they turn up on the internet.