Tog Hill

From time to time my duties would take me on boring errands from Bournemouth to depots and offices around the South. One such journey, destination Cardiff, took me on the tedious 3hour drive up the A46 through Warminster joining the M3 at J18. As I trundled north through Hinton, I spotted the welcome appearance of a faded blue 'P' signpost telling me that a rest stop was 100m ahead. I decided it would be a good idea to stretch my legs and have a pee before I hit the motorway. That place was called Tog Hill.

I pulled into the scrubby car park, my tyres scrunching over the gravely surface as I made a circuit of the folorn toilet block that occupied the centre of the rest area. The place was utterly deserted, I didn't even bother to lock my car door as I made my way into the building.

The dreary exterior hid a naughty secret, inside the plain plaster walls were covered with graffiti of a rather pornographic nature. Until my eyes adjusted to the unlit interior the walls looked like they had been decorated with an impressionistic abstract scribble design, as my vision improved though the abstract became clearer, more figurative. My eyes roved over the walls, they were covered in beautifully executed line drawings of transvestites sporting erect penises and performing every conceivable debauched sex act with male admirers who were, to a man, hung like donkeys. I wandered in and out of the cubicles a smile playing over my lips, I loved the style of the drawings they reminded me of Bill Ward's work, the trannies or she-males (as some were depicted having boobs) wore fifties style stockings and suspenders, flared skirts, girdles, longline bras, flouncing hair, ribbons, high heels. They were exciting, my heart beat faster as I read the scrawled mini accounts of encounters between men and TV's, celebrating their depraved acts. As I headed toward the exit one drawing caught my eye, a trannie stood outside the toilet building in high heels raising her mini skirt and revealing a teeny erect cock, she looked proud with a pouting, inviting smirk shaping her cupids bow lips. I realised my cock was pressing hard against my jeans. The sound of another car pulling into the rest area snapped me out of my reverie.

Buckling my seat belt on I thought how exciting to be like that TV slut in the drawing, but would I ever have the courage to dress like that in a place like this? At my present stage my outfit was nowhere near convincing enough to give me confidence.  I was still a very shy, private girl. It would mean working harder on my TV persona and thus far I hadn't really committed myself to being a serious TV, maybe this would be a turning point......I turned the ignition key and drove away from Tog hill.

Over the next three months I wrestled with dreams and plans to revisit Tog Hill 'en femme'. The plans were half-hearted but they never left my mind. 'What would it feel like to parade myself like that shamelessly?'...........