I am in a small boat. It is called “Heidi Aweigh”. It has developed a leak but as long as I keep baling out the water, I will be fine. Will it get any worse? I don’t know. I look around me and all I can see is a vast expanse of water. It is cold, dark and still and I cannot see the bottom. There is no land in sight, anywhere. I have nothing with which to try and test how deep the water is, no rope or stick, nothing. Do I stay in the boat and wait for the leak to get worse, go down with the boat and drown? Do I jump into the water and swim away, uncertain of the direction to take, then tire and drown? Will I be attacked by some horrible shark or creature and dragged to the depths or eaten? So much uncertainty.

Today I have courage. I stand in the boat and pinch my nose, shut my eyes and jump. I steel my self for the cold plunge and then…..

Holy Cow! The water is only eighteen inches deep. It doesn’t reach my knees. I stand there for a moment in disbelief and then I walk away from the boat. I can see the odd fish come near out of curiosity and some larger creatures but I kick and splash and they go away. Eventually I look back to see where the boat is and I see there are other people in the boat. I call out but they can’t hear me. I wave but they can’t see me. I decide I must go back to tell them the water is quite shallow, but as I walk and walk I do not seem to get any nearer to the boat. It is hopeless; I must turn and walk away. I wade on in the dark water still uncertain of a direction.

I have been wading for three and a half years now. I know there is land here somewhere.

The uniform I have to wear for work is only what I can describe as unisex. Women can wear skirts but the company issue ones are not practical for climbing in and out of trains. They are too pencil like and one cannot lift a leg up without having to hike up the skirt and flash one’s sacred areas. I bought some skirts of my own which are more A-line in design and allow a little more freedom of movement.

I recall one particular warm and sunny day last year, I decided to wear a skirt to work. It turned out that day that one of my managers decided that it was a good day to come with me to do one of my periodical assessment rides. They do these now and again just to check that standards are being maintained. He is a nice chap and there was a pleasant informality about the whole thing. He observes what I’m doing throughout the journey and ticks his little boxes (or not), and we chat with the occasional test question thrown in to tick another box. The total journey time was about three hours. On the return leg of the journey, as we rolled into a station, he spied a rather good looking young lady on the opposite platform on his side of the train. She had quite a short skirt on which prompted him to exclaim out loud.

“Phoarr! Look at those legs!”

I think he had forgotten for a moment who it was he was riding with.

I like good looking young ladies myself (yep, I’m lesbian). I don’t have any testosterone so the animal bit in me has gone. I tend to be looking at their shoes or clothes or posture so I can copy it.

Anyway, back to the story. After his remark, something came over me and I immediately said, “And what’s wrong with my legs then?” As I lifted the side of my skirt up almost to my panties to show a long, smooth, white leg. He turned and looked and blushed and spluttered “Err, nothing; nothing at all.”

He was a little quiet for a while but our conversation soon continued

I couldn’t help it. The little girlie devil that sits on my left shoulder made me do it. I seem to like teasing people now with my antics and innuendos.

I think back to the days when I was a Closeteer and so frightened and ashamed of what I was and look at me now. I’m writing to the whole world about me.

I am proud of who I am. I will be in Norwich at Pride in July. Anybody lucky enough to be able to come, you can meet me on the Oasis stand.