Warning: this is a report of an entirely trans sex party and your correspondent was one of the cross-dressers. Hit reverse gear if this does not suit you.External Link/Members OnlyThis continues the detailed account of my erotic day out first reported in this review of the Bi Fun Club at Sutton:https://www.ukpunting.com/index.php?topic=274081.0Sitting on the Northern Line heading for Old Street tube station I was wearing a floaty black dress with split-crotch knickers and tights, all hidden away under my jeans, jumper, jacket and scarf. In my backback was a platinum blonde wig, jewellery, lipstick, five-inch stiletto heels and a little handbag. Under a pair of oversized sunglasses I was wearing eye makeup and false lashes and I also sported a large hat. No one gave me a second glance, although I imagine a few folks thought, "Why is that prat wearing shades on the underground?" This being London, maybe no one would have batted an eylid even if I hadn't covered up, but I was concerned that I might bump into someone from my regular life.
When I'd looked up the party address earlier it was apparent that The Bunker, at 217 City Road, was not that far from Fantasy Video, a basement porn cinema at No 279 that had closed more than a decade earlier. I went there several times. It showed straight porn but most of the customers were closet gays who used it as a place to have sex with random strangers. According to online reviews there were sometimes couples and cross-dressers there, too, but the nearest I ever saw to that was a young shaven-haired guy naked apart from girl's frilly panties. They were pulled down when a grey-haired businessman impaled the young man's arse on his bare dick in one of the back rows.
Inevitably, Fantasy Video got closed down by the local council in the end, but the guy who ran it tried again at new venue in Deptford, south-east London, very close to where I was living at the time. I went there several times, too, but that's another story.
Back to The Bunker. I arrived at 5.15pm to give myself a bit of time to get ready. The doors had opened to us "girls" at 5pm and everyone else was let in at 6pm. I would have been better off staying at home for at least another hour, maybe two, because the event was very slow to get going.
At the bottom of a flight of stairs leading down from the street I met the hostess Vicky, who was there to greet guests. A guy from the club was taking the entrance payment – a nominal £4 for T-girls before 8pm and still only £8 afterwards. Vicky, who is from Eastern Europe, is also a TV escort in London with the following profile.
External Link/Members OnlyI’d seen that profile before and thought she looked pretty good (and her escort prices are a bit lower than the norm), but in person she is super-hot. The slight masculinity around the jaw that comes across in some of her profile pictures is completely absent in the flesh and her whole persona is feminine. She talks, walks, flirts and flicks her hair like a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman in a miniskirt with fabulous long legs and killer heels. I've already pencilled in an escort appointment with her when I'm next free.
Vicky is a great hostess, too, chatting up the guests, checking if they need anything, asking if the music is too loud (it wasn't, but it was pretty grim to my ears) and keeping an eye on the welcome desk all at the same time. I've put a pic of her at the bottom of this review.
At this stage the club itself was still being cleaned and Vicky showed me into the changing room. An actual changing room with benches and coat pegs. In one corner the resident makeup artist was busy with a guy in his 30s, and just after I came in a third cross-dresser, also 30-something, I would estimate, arrived and began his/her own dressing process.
It didn't take me long to complete my own transformation and after adding lipstick in the bathroom mirror I checked my things into the cloakroom. It was OK to go into the bar now, but for 15-20 mins it was just me and the two guys behind the bar. I ordered a fizzy water and after waiting a while for my eyes to get accustomed to the very dim lighting I went off to explore the many side rooms, dark corners and booths with glory holes.
This was by some distance the best organised and cleanest sex club I’d ever visited. Now it just needed a crowd of trannies for me to play with. The two from the changing room eventually appeared and for a long time I stood making slightly strained conversation with one of them – a girl from Manchester with glasses, long straight dark hair, and a little conservatively dressed. The other CD was hotter than either of us in a teeny tiny miniskirt, but didn't seem interested in joining our little talking shop.
At around 6pm a few guys wandered in, looking either sheepish or over-nonchalant. At some point Miss Miniskirt got into a conversation with the one who looked the least unappealing but my fellow wallflower and I were getting only sidelong glances at this stage. I’d already told Miss Manchester that I didn’t play with guys one-to-one (“I'm anybody’s!” was her reaction).
Gradually more and more people arrived but, to my slight consternation, the next five or six were all men. One of them, a slim black guy in his 30s with a very pleasant face, was much more confident than the rest and he came straight over and engaged me and Miss Manchester in conversation. He was very friendly and interesting and we talked for a good while as a lot more people streamed in, including – finally – some more cross-dressers.
I left the other two still chatting to have a look at the newcomers and see if any action had started. I really don't know what kicked off where, but there was definitely an air of erotic anticipation in the air and the numbers of males and trans girls was now roughly equal. Of course there were extreme variations in how convincing and desirable the girls appeared, from one or two “brickies in drag” (completed with five o'clock shadow) to more than a few who were drop-dead gorgeous.
Coming back into the bar to get another drink (I stuck with water until an hour before I left because I'm a martyr to brewer's droop), I saw Miss Manchester and the friendly black guy on their way to a quieter area. I spoke to her afterwards and she confirmed that she’d just had a proper seeing-to. “He was pretty damned good... I need some time to recover!” she added. I did catch her again and sounded her out for some action with me. But she dodged the issue and I didn't ask again.
At around this time the party took off like a rocket with the arrival of two more trans girls – a small blonde with curly hair and a tall brunette with the tiniest of miniskirts. I spoke to them briefly at the bar, admiring the brunette’s legs with a caressing hand wandering up to her bum. This seemed to go down well so I followed the pair of them into the largest of the side rooms.
I found out later that the blonde is known as Essex Girl Lisa and she is actually a post-op trans girl with a designer vagina (as she put it herself). She and the brunette and lot of their kinky friends have a big online porn presence which you can find from her Twitter if you like. Her most recent production is an hour-long tribute to Max Hardcore, with Lisa playing the role of the innocent girlie corrupted by big bad Max:
External Link/Members OnlyIt all became a bit of a blur after that. Lisa was taking on all-comers in the side room and I lost count of how many cross-dressers I played with in various ways. My fingers and my (covered) cock got inside at least two bums, and there was no end of blow-jobs, kissing, mutual wanking and frottage with many, many others. At one point I went into another of the side rooms and find a male-and-trans couple – a well-known duo who organise another London trans event – playing with each other and whoever wanted to join in. He encouraged her to suck my cock then asked me to suck his. I just thought, "Why the hell not?"
On a trip back to the bar I noticed a very beautiful trans girl on her own and we started talking. Within moments we both realised we actually knew each other but at first neither of us could work out from where. Was she the TS escort from Venezuela a I'd seen a couple of years earlier? No, she was not. Then the penny dropped. She was another trans escort I’d seen more recently, a very petite and sexy little madam. She realised who I was at the same moment as the guy who’d spent a hot and passionate afternoon at her flat. Of course, she had a very good excuse for not recognising me... I hadn't been dressed as a woman when she met me before. My excuse is that she hadn't been glammed up to the nines when met me at home.
Well, we kissed and hugged and talked a bit more, then she said that while it was lovely to see me again, she needed to keep busy and wandered off. I made a certain assumption about what she was up to and that's why I have not identified her.
I hadn't planned to stay much beyond 8.30pm, but just when I was thinking of packing up, I wandered back into the room where Essex Girl Lisa was holding court and found her wearing a strap-on. She was using it to fuck anyone who volunteered. I quite fancied that, so when a vacancy occurred I told her to use it on me. After all, I'd had two enemas that day and no one had made use of my pristine back entry yet.
With each of her “victims” she was at first using a medium dildo of about five inches, then if they wanted to, a much fatter one of around seven inches. I told her I’d be OK with the large one straight away, but she was cautious enough to insist on the usual sequence. She bent me over the “wooden horse” in the middle of the room – this had already seen all kinds of kinky action that night – then pulled up my dress, found her way through my split-crotch panties and split-crotch fishnet tights and gave me a very energetic ramming, first with the tiddler then with the seven-incher.
I enjoyed the sensation very much, though was disappointed to find it wasn't provoking the slightest possibility of a prostate orgasm. During the seven-inch session, Lisa piped up to say I had a cock in front of me if I wanted to give it some attention. It was a guy’s cock of course, but as I’d been in his exact position while some other trans girl was getting shafted earlier in the evening, I thought it would be rude not to give him a little oral bath. This was my first spit-roasting in quite a few years – possibly more than a decade.
After a few minutes, he disengaged and moved round the back of me alongside Lisa. I thought he was sure to step into the, er, “breach” as soon as she had finished with me. This would have been OK by me, but when she did stop he wasn't there any more. C’est la vie.
I still hadn’t cum at any stage during the evening, despite determined efforts. I thought I’d give it one more go and the first person who came to hand was a very submissive blonde lady with glasses who I had fucked and had a blow job from earlier. Her own cock was in chastity – a little cage to stop it being played with, that is. There were quite a few like that at the event.
She was happy to help me reach orgasm, first with a second BJ, and when that didn't work by opening her mouth for me to wank into. But no matter how hard I beat my meat an inch from her willing lips, it just wasn't working. In the end I thanked her with a sloppy kiss and finally went to get changed. It was 9.30pm.
The bar was now teeming with noise and life and lots of even more glamorous T-girls had turned up. Vicky’s estimate afterwards was a total attendance of more than 120. I was tempted to stay longer, but I was tired and it would have been taking an unnecessary risk in relation to my regular life, so I went and got quietly changed. It was 9.30pm.
When I emerged into the dark and drizzle on City Road there were three or four T-girls shivering on the pavement in their heels and miniskirts, causing quite a stir among passers-by. All prompted by nicotine addiction, of course, because there was nowhere else to smoke. I think they were enjoying the attention, regardless.
Me, I fastened my scarf, pulled my hat low against the biting wind, and disappeared in the direction of the Old Street Tube. What a deliciiously debauched day it had been.
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