Chapter 5: Throb - A True Story

I used to write stories based on my real life encounters as part of my ‘True Story’ series. I have decided to continue on in this vein in this true story of a nightclub encounter that happened last year.

Living in Darwin Australia there is only one venue where a crossdresser or transvestite can really go out to and be guaranteed to be accepted and be safe, that is full of like minded souls and even has a drag show.

That place is Throb Nightclub and I go there on and off, usually in the cooler months of the dry season. I don’t really go there to pull or hook-up; I go there because I can go out glammed up, drink, dance and meet people who are either LGBT or are LGBT friendly. Throb doesn’t open until eleven o’clock and closes at four AM so it suits the nightlife crowd.

I had been starving myself since Thursday because I wanted to look good in the beautiful gown I had bought at Paddy’s Market in Sydney a couple of weeks before. It was a red silk, ankle-length; long-sleeved, mandarin-collared, slit sided dress studded with diamantes and sequins. It was in fact a modern take on the traditional Vietnamese Ao Dai. These dresses are split on both sides up to past the waist, as Ao Dai are designed to be worn over matching loose trousers. I discarded the trousers and sewed up the side-splits so that they opened to the top of the thigh, making it into an elegant evening gown.

I was going to Throb nightclub on Saturday night and I had spent most of the afternoon getting ready after seeing my ‘Saturday afternoon regular’ Ron. Ron came around as usual at about one o’clock and I serviced him with a long session of fellatio followed by a sound fucking. I had shaved my body all overt and my legs and arms and had douched; my regular Saturday morning ritual so there wasn’t much more to do other than surf the web, post in the TVChix forums, and answer the occasional text and email. My excitement was building and about nine thirty PM I started to get ready. I shaved my face again and took a nice long shower washing off the makeup I was still wearing from my encounter with Ron. Having not eaten there was no need to douche again and I didn’t really intend to pick up anyway.

I laid out my red Ao Dai, red satin panties with a matching bra and satin-sheen sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. Stockings are impractical with the Ao Dai because it is split so high on both sides so I needed the sheer-to-the-waist hosiery to show off my toned legs and thighs. I selected my silver high-heeled sandals with a nice ankle-strap that I had bought especially to wear with the dress. I had debated whether to buy red high-heels but the silver heels accentuated the decoration on the dress and I intended to accessorise with silver jewellery and I though red heels would be just too much red. My pantyhose had sheer-toes and I intended to paint my toenails so the ‘nylons and sandals faux pas’ that appals so many fashion aficionados was moot as far as I was concerned.

I paid particular attention to my makeup applying concealer to any blemishes and along the line of my beard. I smoothed out the concealer and applied foundation, good quality Maybelline, one shade lighter than my skin tone as this suits me best. I worked the foundation all over may face and neck; the dress has a high mandarin collar so I didn’t need to blend it down to my decolletage as I usually did. I brushed finishing powder all over my face and was happy with the result.

Next I went to work on my eyes, the next best of my features to my legs in my opinion. I carefully applied black eyeliner to my upper and lower lids, I applied it thicker than usual as I wanted that smoky smudged effect which I achieved using that little rubber stubby thing on the end of the eyeliner pencil. It looks like a pencil eraser and I have no fucking idea what it is called but anyway it did the job. Eyeshadow was a problem; I didn’t want to use any red or pink shades, that would be too much red with the dress, and blues would clash. I compromised with a light mauve on my upper eyelids and dark purple on my lower lids; I needed striking eyeshadow and heavy black mascara and eyeliner otherwise my eyes would be lost with the bold red dress. I applied lashings of mascara and was happy with my eyes.

I highlighted my cheekbones with rouge; I needed to accentuate my cheekbones because of the high collar, and then I carefully applied the base coat of my favourite plum red Maybelline SuperStay 24hr lipstick to my lips. I sprayed deodorant on my underarms and perfume on my neck and decolletage; I wanted to smell nice and sexy.

Having finished with my makeup for now I slipped into my black satin and lace housecoat and took a break for a glass of wine and a cigarette while I painted my finger and toenails with ruby-red nailpolish to match my lipstick. I probably looked quite a sight as I sat on my balcony in full makeup but no wig wearing the flowing housecoat, sipping wine, smoking a ciggie, painting my nails; but to be honest I didn’t give a fuck. I knew that none of the neighbours in the surrounding units knew me and I had got up to far more nefarious things on that balcony with some of my girlfriends and men friends.

Glancing at the clock it was closing half-past ten and time to dress. When I am wearing pantyhose I always wear my hose under my panties; they look and feel better. If someone sees up your skirt they see your nice sexy knickers instead of a pantyhose gusset with a seam running up the centre; it’s just aesthetically better in my opinion.

I rolled up the legs of my pantyhose smoothed them on one leg at a time careful not to snag them, adjusting the toes and pulling the gusset into place around my waist. The tight gusset gaffed my penis nicely between my legs and I pulled on my red satin panties, as always the feeling was absolutely delightful as the satin panties slid up my hosed legs. I put on my brassiere and with no need for breastforms due to the high-collared gown; I slipped ‘chicken fillet’ silicon breast augmenters into the cups and adjusted them so it would look like I had nice small firm breasts under my gown. It would look stupid with Mae West falsies.

After some final adjustments to my hose, knickers and bra, I carefully stepped into the gown and slid my arms into the sleeves. I pulled it up and adjusted it and then fucked around awkwardly as I attempted to close the zip at the back. Having closed the zip after uttering a string of expletives as I contorted and wriggled to zip it up, I closed the catch on the back of the dress and the two small catches at the back of the mandarin collar. Men have no idea how hard we girls work to look nice for them!

Obviously the only suitable wig for the ensemble was my short black bob which I brushed out, pulled on, and adjusted until the fringe skimmed my eyebrows. I brushed it again and opened the drawer to my jewellery collection. I had already decided to wear my faux emerald collection set in silver. The necklace hung around my neck, the emeralds nicely accentuating the diamantes and silver sequins on the bodice of my dress. I put on matching drop earrings, bracelets, two paua shell rings on the fingers of my right hand and a large faux diamond ring on the ring finger and a silver lace-patterned ring on the little finger of my left hand.

I took my heels into the lounge to sit comfortably while I put them on. These shoes are designed to look good, not be comfortable and I knew from experience that I would have to careful walking in them. Not that it mattered as I would be driving to Throb and catching a taxi or a pedi-cab home (Darwin in the dry season is infested with backpacker-driven pedi-cabs blaring loud music and festooned with coloured lights. They seat two comfortably and are cheaper and more convenient than taxis for short stints around the city and its environs.) I buckled the shoes and carefully stood and tottered over to fridge for one last drink and ciggie before I left. I loved the way my dress split either side as I walked displaying my gossamer-glad thighs right up to just below my panty-line.

After my drink and cigarette it was now quarter past eleven and time to go. Throb would be open and I wanted to get there before a long line of revellers developed at the door. I took my small black Pierre Cardin knock-off purse and threw in lipstick, a compact, a small cosmetics brush, my cigs and lighter and in the zipped compartment some cash and my driver’s licence (leaving all other forms of ID and credit cards behind). I took all of the extraneous keys off my key ring leaving only my car and apartment keys on the fob.

In the entry mirror I applied the clear-top coat to set my lipstick, bushed my hair again and sprayed myself liberally with perfume. The brush, lippy and perfume went into my purse. Gripping my purse I stepped outside of my apartment and pressed the down button for the lift. This is always the most nervous part of the evening for me. It’s funny; I don’t care if the people in the apartment blocks across the street see me but I don’t want to clocked as a tranny by the people who live on the same floor as me; that would be just a little too uncomfortable. The lift arrived and it was empty; I have been in the lift before when people have boarded during the descent, and I have been amused by their various responses.

One couple stared at me obviously trying to figure out ‘if I was or wasn’t’, two girls in their twenties complemented me on my outfit and makeup, and one rather intoxicated young man tried to chat me up and invited me to a party. None of them had any idea on what floor I had got on the elevator or even if I lived in the building and as Michele looks absolutely nothing like her male alter ego, I wasn’t concerned.

As I said, in this case the lift was empty and no one boarded on the descent to the ground floor. The last tricky part is getting into my car without being clocked. It’s parked in an open parking area with the numbers of the apartments delineated on the parking bays so if anyone was to see a tranny getting into my car, parked in my bay, a reasonable assumption might be that it is me. In the past I’ve had to pretend to fuss about with my makeup or just stop for a ciggie in the grounds while waiting for a neighbour or two to fuck off so I could slip into my car unseen. But once again I was fortunate and able to seat myself in the driver’s seat and close the door without being clocked by a nosy neighbour.

I dropped my handbag on the passenger seat and unbuckled my right high-heel and kicked it off so I could drive safely. I quite enjoy driving around as Michele; its comforting sitting safely in the car watching the pedestrians walking the streets and I’ve also had the odd smile or wink from male drivers when stopped at the lights. I’ll be honest and say I’ve also had the odd rude stare. I opened the security gates with the remote and exited my apartment block for the short, ten-minute drive to Throb.

My car is nothing special but Darwin is a small place so I do not park it outside of the nightclub. I usually park it in one of the side streets nearby or on Smith Street, which is the adjoining main street running parallel to Mitchell Street on which Throb stands, which is what I did that evening.

After checking the street was clear I switched on the interior light to brush my hair and check my makeup, then turned it off and buckled my high-heel. I took out a fag and my lighter, checked to see the coast was clear, and climbed out of my car, locking the door. I lit my smoke, for some reason it’s a confidence enhancer, and I made my way down the dark street. Just before the corner there is a little area with a large fig tree set back from the pavement and as usual there were a couple of lads sitting under it drinking and smoking. They have never given me grief before, just the odd wolf-whistle and being dressed to the nines tonight I appreciated the wolf-whistle and catcalls.

At the corner of Mitchell Street the overhead lights lit the street and I could see the entrance to Throb with a small contingent of early arrivals congregated outside. I confidently sauntered up to the door and stubbed out my smoke in the large outdoor ashtray provided for customers. The doormen (bouncers if you like) were setting up the little roped area and red carpet that leads to the door and keeps the line of punters orderly and off the street when the crowd builds. They carefully check ID of the younger crowd and refuse access to the rowdy or the overly drunk. They are actually great guys and greeted me with their usual cheery smile.

Transvestites are welcome at Throb, it is a gay nightclub after all, but it also attracts the younger crowd looking for something a little ‘softer’ than the rowdy crowds at Lost Ark or Monsoons. The main attraction is the two drag shows, one at about midnight and with an encore about 1.30am. The shows are usually parodies of current theatre productions or have a fairytale theme and are high camp and very comedic. I daresay that having the odd non-performer but attractive transvestite in the nightclub can only add to its appeal. For that reason there is no cover charge for trannies and the gorgeous Tina Morecock, one of the ‘showgirls’, stamped my wrist and hugged me welcome.

The two flights of stairs leading up to the club can be a little daunting when wearing high-heels and I held onto the handrail to support myself. I smiled at the bouncer at the top of the stairs and made my way over to the bar.

Throb is not exactly a ‘five star’ establishment. It’s your typical ‘drink and dance til you drop’ nightclub, dark, with disco lighting the only real form of illumination, beer and cocktail sodden carpet with vinyl seating along the walls and vinyl couches and formica tables facing the stage-come-dancefloor. It has a large horseshoe bar, unisex toilets and a nice little quiet lounge out the back where you can chat and canoodle, which only opens after the first show. It is charmingly named the Pussycat Lounge and has nice comfy lounges, dimly-lit table lamps on low tables and is one of the few places in the club that you talk without shouting over the disc jockey.