What do 'real men' think of us? Marcia Armstrong tests out the 'fella factor' By Marcia Armstrong

Cartoon: two female figures in a bar, and one says to the other "You're a transvestite aren't you? I like that in a man."

The funny thing is, it happens all the time, only it's usually another man who who says that to us. Yes I know the standard formula: "Just because I like wearing frocks, it doesn't mean I'm gay. Under this sequined boob-tube beats a heart as heterosexual as John Wayne's. The proof is, I love women so much that I want to be like them...."

And I have no doubt that the Woman magazine's national survey on men's sexuality was right when, a few years ago, it found that the proportion of gay men among TVs was not greatly different than among the nation at large.

Only... There is a niggling feeling in the back of my mind that this is not the end of the story.

Picture the scenario: There you are on a Saturday night at the bar of your favourite club. You have chosen that red silk blouse and the black velvet skirt that just skims your knees. Nail varnish, 'Bet Lynch' earrings, red heels.

The leg shaving alone took you forty minutes to perfect. Be honest now, this is not a get-up in which you expect to be discussing the chances of Arsenal for the cup and league double. You are not about to seriously chat up that smart piece of stuff in the corner. No, you are there with the intension of passing as an even smarter piece of stuff yourself, and getting chatted up in your turn.

I remember the first time it happened to me. A lad who looked about fifteen asked me: "Haven't I seen you here before?" and like a twerp I reacted to this as a serious request for information, It only dawned on me later that this was the classic chat-up, the social equivalent of pawn to king four. Nowadays I know what to expect.

Delicate

And what to expect is not to receive advances from a gay man. This is to say, not a delicate creature with limp wrists and a job in interior design, nor a Burt Lancaster look-alike with white tee-shirt, white jeans and a droopy moustache. The first one hasn't existed since Julian and Sandy on 'Round the Horne', and the second will be too busy searching for another Burt Lancaster look-alike to give you a second glance.

Hadn't you realised that gay men aren't actually interested in anyone in skirts? It is quite possible to sit for hours in a gay bar and not be spoken to by anyone other than the barman, and then only to overcharge you for the drink.

No, this is where the social interaction between TVs and the real world gets very interesting. There are two common reactions in my experience, one from women and the other from not-really gay men.

From women, it is very common to be earnestly and sympathetically interviewed on what you're doing, what makes you tick, whether you do it 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and (as the evening wears on and the conversation becomes more intimate) how you manage to hide it, you know, 'it'. The reactions will be fascinated, encouraging, but always never sexual.

There may be some swapping of hints on make-up, and even swapping of wigs and boobs- well, not swapping exactly (dream on!) but touching and trying. But all this will remain at the technical level. At the end of the evening she will go off with the fella she arrived with, who has been spending this time getting in his ration of lager and smiling self-confidently to himself.

This is not to say that conversations of this kind are a waste of time. On the contrary they can lead to beautiful friendships, and every tranny can use all the friends she can get. I know a lesbian couple who are great fun for an evening out the town, and wouldn't we all like a big sister to show us the ropes, go shopping with us and let us know when our slips are showing? But to expect it get much further than that is wishful thinking.

This leaves us with the other group of acquaintances we might expect to strike up - the fellas.