The Dressing room. Melchester City Training Ground.
All the payer staring stupefied – at me! Or concealing their privates from me, with large sky-blue towels. Or dashing for cover. In case I suddenly sexually assaulted them. Because only a minute earlier I had been exposed, on TV, as a dangerous cross-dresser. The snaps and selfies Oscar had taken on his i-phone now inexplicably splattered over the British Media.
A cross dresser in their dressing room!
Oh no! A dripping wet squelchy creature in a sky-blue Melchester City towel. A lethal infectious African cross-dresser hell bent on perverting them – and eating their children’s brains and sabotaging their playing careers. A cross-dresser who only a couple of days before had single-handedly earned them a famous and financially rewarding opportunity to play in the FA Cup final at Wembley.
All I could do was stare back. mouth-open, like a grey Nile catfish. Looking lost and very guilty.
Then. Enter Al. Perplexed. Sweating. Al, my agent, who understands cross-dressing for which he has a penchant, entered and practically pulled me out of the door and into a revving BMW.
And soon I was hauled before a press-conference.
The Press Conference was perhaps the worst experience of my life.
But now? I wish I could repeat it. I play that scene over – again and again in my head – only this time I have answers to their fatuous questions. At that time I just wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have any answers. Cross dressing – my cross dressing is something I hadn’t thought through. Now I have a response to all those ‘loud dogs of rumour’ (as Shakespeare put it) waiting to stuff the ears of men with false reports. My response is angry and I wish I’d have had the bottle to assert it.
When I entered the Press Conference room a blinding electric flash exploded into my face and the camera man was screaming at me to look in his direction. I knew then I was in for a torrid time!
Peter my ghost writer describes the scene perfectly – the aggression, the schoolboy scatology, the unrestrained pursuit of a story (true or otherwise) that would sell their gratuitous tabloids.
You should read RED DRESS REVOLUTION – it’s my story. A cross-dresser who is turfed out of Premier League football for being a cross dresser. it’s like nothing you’ve ever read.