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Have you ever seen the 1953 romantic comedy film “Roman Holiday”, starring Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck? It's about a princess locked in a gilded cage who longs to be free even for a day and manages it with the help of the Gregory Peck character. There's a twist to the tale, of course, just to keep it interesting, so I won't spoil it for you if you want to watch it.

Why is it my favourite film? Let me tell you. My story takes place in the early 1960s. My name is André, Prince of the tiny Principality of Moldanova, a landlocked country in Eastern Europe, then ruled by my father Prince Stefan. We live in a 16th-century castle, with modern amenities of course. The country was very poor for centuries, and then, just before my father became the prince, a deposit of very rare earth minerals was discovered by a prospector. The government was smart and didn't allow a big multinational company to take over but developed it for the good of the country.

I know that I should not sound ungrateful for being given a life of privilege and pleasure, only having to lift my finger for anything I want, but like Audrey Hepburn's character in the film, I felt stifled in my gilded cage. I know that my father was not pleased with my 'playboy' image and several times reminded me that one day I would be taking over running the country, so I should take life more seriously. I'm ashamed to say that I took little notice of his advice.

How I longed to escape, even if it was only for a day, just to wander free among the people, but in Moldanova that was impossible as everyone would recognise me, In fact, because my face is so well known, I would probably be recognised anywhere I went. I thought and thought about it and always drew a blank.

I had a personal dresser, a handsome young man called Tarquin. He was a bit effeminate in his mannerisms, but as my dresser and valet, I couldn't ask for a better person. Each Christmas, my father held a Fancy Dress Ball for all of the palace staff, a tradition that carries on to this day and people could come in any outfit they like. That Christmas, I was dressed as a gladiator and during the ball, a stunningly beautiful young woman in an 18th-century gown glided into the hall. I didn't recognise her and neither did anyone else. She had to be in the palace staff since they were the only people invited.

Intrigued, I walked up and asked her to dance. She was so light on her feet as I whirled her around the dance floor, and the softness and subtle perfume of her body entranced me, but even up close I still didn't know who she was. I actually started to find my body reacting to her nearness which was a bit embarrassing. I hoped she couldn't feel it through the fabric of her gown and the petticoats beneath. If she did feel it, it didn't seem to bother her.

Finally, I gave up and said: “I'm so sorry mademoiselle, but I don't remember seeing you in the palace before.”

In a husky but musical voice, she replied: “And you won't ever see me again, Your Highness.”

Exasperated I said, peremptorily and rather rudely I confess: “Who are you?”

She laughed a musical laugh and said: “You really don't know, do you? I'm Tarquin, but tonight, I'm Esmerelda!”

“Tarquin?” I was astounded. “But you look so, so...”

“So feminine? It's a hobby of mine to dress as a woman. I hope you are not upset?”

By now I had recovered my composure. Staring hard at her face, past the powder, blusher, eye shadow, mascara and cherry red lips, I could almost see Tarquin, but it was a stretch.

“No, I'm not upset, but the change in you is astounding. I hope you will go and dance with more of the staff and see if anyone realises who you are.”

“Your wish is my command, Your Highness. I'll let you know how successful I am.”

It turned out that nobody guessed. Just to confuse them, 'Esmerelda' told them she was a new maid, and for weeks afterwards the staff went around looking for her.

Time passed and I felt more and more frustrated, but then fate took a hand. Our government had formed a company to exploit the rare earth minerals and had bought a small office building in the heart of Paris and renovated it to be our Western Europe headquarters. My father, Prince Stefan had been invited to officially open it, but as luck would have it, he was not well, so he asked me to do the honours in his place.

Paris! The city of love! Was this the opportunity I was looking for? The trouble was, I still didn't have an idea on how to disguise myself. While I was alone with Tarquin, I discussed my problem with him again.

"I suppose I could stick on a false moustache,” I said. “But I don't think that would work.”

“I have a suggestion that is guaranteed to work. sir,” said Tarquin. “Do you remember how I was disguised as a woman at the Christmas Ball? I could do the same for you.”

“Dress me as a woman? That's crazy! I'm a full-blooded heterosexual male, not some, some...” I saw the hurt look on Tarquin's face and stopped abruptly. “I'm sorry Tarquin, I didn't mean...”

“That's alright, sir,” he said, but I knew he was deeply hurt. There was a long silence as he busied himself about my room, and it started to occur to me that he was right. Why was I getting so uptight about wearing women's clothes anyway? It wouldn't make me a transvestite. After all, male actors dress as women quite often, they are just playing a part and that's what I would be doing, playing a part. My reluctance was going to prevent my one and only chance to experience Paris as a free person.

I took a deep breath. “Tarquin, I'm very sorry for what I said just now. You are perfectly right of course. Do you think you could disguise me as a woman so well that nobody would recognise me, just like they didn't recognise you at the Christmas Party, please?”

Bless him, he didn't bear a grudge; instead, his face broke out into a broad smile: “I'm sure I can, Your Highness. The people in Paris don't know you well and there are so many people there. You will melt into the crowd.”

“We arrive two days before the official opening, so perhaps we could both go out as women the day before, but how would we get out of my suite? There will be a security man stationed at the door,” I said.

“Well, Your Highness, if I may be so bold, it's not unknown for you to entertain pretty ladies overnight. The security man knows this, so if two girls leave the suite early in the morning, he will assume you invited them to stay.”

“Tarquin! You're a genius!” I said.

“I have another suggestion,” he said and disappeared into his room which was adjacent to my suite, coming back with a pair of lady's court shoes with three-inch heels.

“Please try them on for size Your Highness. You will have to wear heels and walking in them takes practice.”

It was fortunate that we were very similar in size and that included our feet. He helped me put on the shoes after I took off my socks and put on some ankle stockings instead. Then I stood up gingerly, holding his hands. Tarquin was right, I would have to practice walking in heels, or my idea would fail. For the next week, I practiced at least an hour a day at times when I wouldn't be disturbed and soon became quite confident. I think Tarquin could be described as a 'shoeholic'. As soon as I was confident walking in three-inch heels, he brought along progressively four, five and even six-inch heels for me to try.

“Don't worry, Your Highness, for day-wear you will only need the three-inch heels, but I thought you would like to try the higher ones, just in case.” Just in case of what?

Two weeks later we left by train for Paris, taking two large suitcases with us. If they had been examined by Customs, they would have been surprised at the clothes they found in them, but as a Prince of Moldanova I had diplomatic immunity, so my luggage passed through unchecked. We arrived at a five-star hotel and the cases were taken up to my suite. Tarquin put them on the huge bed and opened them, taking out the clothes and laying them on the bed. The suitcases contained my dress uniform to wear at the official opening, together with various insignias and medals, but in addition, they contained two very pretty dresses with full skirts (remember this was the early sixties), petticoats and the silk lingerie worn at that time, bras, panties, slips, suspender belts, and nylon stockings, plus matching shoes with three-inch heels and two wigs, one blonde and one brunette. There were also two bags containing makeup.

“Do I have to wear all that?” I asked Tarquin. “Nobody is going to see what's under my skirt. Can't I wear my own underpants and singlet?

“I do advise it, Your Highness. Remember that you will be a young woman for the day, and if you dress completely as a young woman, you are less likely to forget it. You will need a feminine name too; I suggest Andrea as it is close to your real name and easy to remember.”

I sighed but realised he was right. If I wanted to pass as a young woman, I mustn't forget it for a moment. I turned in for an early night. We would be getting up early in the morning to allow plenty of time to get ready.

The following morning I awoke at six o'clock. The sun was shining through the window and looking out I could see the Eiffel Tower. Today was the day! There was a tap on my bedroom door and Tarquin appeared wearing his dressing gown.

“Are you ready, Your Highness?”

“Yes indeed,” I replied. heading for the shower where I did a very close shave of my beard and also my chest, under my armpits and my legs. My hair was very fair, which would help a lot as I wouldn't need a heavy foundation to disguise my beard.

Coming back into the bedroom I dropped my towel and stood there naked. I was not embarrassed to do this in front of Tarquin, after all, he was my dresser, he had seen it all before.

“Right, Your Highness, let's start. Something I forgot to tell you about is a little gadget called a gaff. It's designed to keep your maleness under control, so you have a smooth feminine appearance.”

I was about to ask again if this was really necessary but decided to defer to Tarquin's experience.

“I've brought along two gaffs; may I show you how it's attached?” he said.

I hadn't seen Tarquin's 'equipment' before but watching him attach the gaff was obviously necessary since I wasn't going to let him loose on mine! When I did attach it following his instructions, I must admit that it felt a little uncomfortable, but he assured me that it was necessary and that I would be able to cope with bodily functions. Then I started to put on the lingerie.

This was my first time ever wearing women's clothes and I confess the sensuous feel of the silk on my shaven skin sent a thrill through me. Now I realised the need for the gaff! Tarquin helped me put on the bra and then produced a couple of forms which he slipped into the cups to give me 'breasts'. Panties and the suspender belt followed, and when I slid the sheer nylons up my newly-shaven legs, there was more sensory overload. Then I put on the full silk slip trimmed with lavish amounts of French lace. I was almost speechless at the effect it was having on me. I had plenty of experience undressing women, but this was something else entirely.

“Now, Your Highness, or may I call you Andrea now so that I don't forget myself?” he said, and I nodded my approval. “Please sit down at the dressing table and I will apply your makeup.”

I sat facing Tarquin as he laid out pots, sticks, and brushes on the dressing table and set to work on my face. It was obvious that he knew exactly what he was doing and after the Christmas Party, I didn't doubt his expertise for a moment. When he had finished, he attached the blonde wig to my head and said: “Now if you'd like to look in the mirror, Andrea?”

I turned to it and I admit I gasped. My usual face had disappeared and in its place was a very pretty young woman who was looking back at me with amazement on her face.

“Tarquin, you're a genius,” I gasped. He smiled in a deprecating sort of way.

“Years of practice, Your, err Andrea,” he replied.

Now he helped me step into the petticoat and tied it around my waist, then gathering up the dress he lowered it over my head. As a final touch, he attached some clip-on earings, saying “It's a pity you don't have pierced ears, but these are very pretty.”

I stepped into the shoes with three-inch heels and finally he gave me a clutch bag containing the lipstick, a powder compact and a spare pair of nylons “For running repairs,” he said with a smile.

I rose to my feet and stepped back to look in the mirror again. Tarquin had transformed me into a pretty young woman, and I can say that without being boastful because it was true.

“Now, if you'd like to wait here, Andrea, I'll go into my room and get ready.”

It took Taquin less than thirty minutes to reappear as a pretty young woman. As he said, "Years of practice”.

“How do we get out without the security guard seeing us?” I asked.

I tipped a little something into his coffee last night. You'll find he's a bit drowsy,” said Tarquin. I know I should have been angry as this was the man who was supposed to be alert and guarding me, but now was not the time for recriminations.

“Ready?” said Tarquin.

“Ready”

He opened the door to the corridor softly and looked out. The guard was in his chair and snoring softly. We took off our shoes and tiptoed softly past him in our stockinged feet and walked down to the elevator where we put our shoes on.

The hotel lobby was quiet, but the desk staff took no notice of two pretty girls leaving the hotel. They are used to rich clients entertaining female company in their rooms and so take no notice. We walked through the front doors and into the cool morning air. I felt like a prisoner must feel when he is finally released. I was free at last!

We walked down the street, our heels clicking on the sidewalk stones, and I felt the cool breeze brushing my skirt against my stocking-clad legs. I have never felt more alive in my whole life.

'This is what women experience all the time!' I thought. 'I wonder if they appreciate it?'

We hadn't had any breakfast, so our first stop was at a cafe where we had a coffee and a baguette with butter and jam. Tarquin, or 'Tina' as he now told me to call him, paid the bill with the money I had given him. As a prince, I just wasn't used to carrying money around with me.

We left the cafe and turned onto the Champs Elysees, I was happy for Tina to take the lead, this was her world after all, and I was the novice. Normally I have no interest in clothes so long as they make me look good. Tarquin buys what he thinks will suit me and he is rarely wrong. Now, as a woman, I was happy to go with him to browse the windows of the fashionable boutiques and actually found myself wondering if a particular dress would look good on me. It was a 'prêt-à-porter' boutique and Tina finally persuaded me to step inside and we did more browsing at close range.

“Andrea, you would look stunning in this colour,” Tina said, holding out a beautiful dark pink dress for me to see. “Why don't you try it on?”

I was about to demur and then I thought 'Why not?' I followed Tina into the change room, and she helped me slip off my dress and then put the new dress on. Looking at myself in the mirror, I had to agree with her, the dress really did look great on me.

“Why don't you buy it?” she asked. I could think of a thousand reasons why I shouldn't buy it, but then I thought that since Tina was the same size as me, I could make a gift of it to her, so I agreed. “In fact, why don't you wear it now?” she said, so that's what I did.

Tina paid rather a lot of cash for it, and we walked out of the shop with me carrying my other dress in a bag with a prestigious name printed on it and I confess I felt very happy at what I had done. It was my money after all.

All this browsing and shopping had taken a while and now it was time for lunch, so we stopped at another cafe and Tina ordered for us. I can't remember what she bought but I do know that it was delicious. The French pride themselves on their food and they are right to do so. It was while we were eating that I noticed two very handsome young men at a table not far from us, and they seemed to find us an object of fascination. They waited until we had finished our meal and then they stood up and walked over to us.

“Bonjour, mademoiselles; my name is Louis, and this is my friend Charles,” said one of them. “I suspect you are visitors to our fair country; would I be right?”

We were fortunate that in addition to French and English we also spoke our country's own language, Moldanese, so I asked Tina “What do these two jerks want?”

I watched them as I said it but there wasn't a flicker of expression to show that they understood what I was saying.

“They want to pick us up,” replied Tarquin in the same language, “Let's play along, it could be fun.”

Then she replied to the young men in perfect French. ”How clever of you to recognise that we are visitors enjoying your beautiful country.”

“Perhaps we could take you for a tour of Paris? It would be our pleasure,” said Charles.

“How very kind of you, we would love that,” I replied.

They had obviously decided which of them would partner which of us, as Louis held out his hand to me, and Charles did the same to Tina. We stood up and let them lead the way, holding our hands. It was a delightful afternoon as we visited the Louvre, Notre Dame, and were persuaded to go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was quite windy there and we had great difficulty keeping our skirts under control, blushing as we did so, much to the young men's amusement. I was surprised at myself; normally I never blush, but somehow the thought of exposing my petticoats and legs made me feel really embarrassed.

“From what I see, you both have amazing legs, why not let your skirts go?” said Louis as he and Charles both laughed their heads off, and finally we couldn't prevent ourselves from laughing too. Thank goodness, I had taken Tarquin's advice and shaved my legs!

The time slipped by far too quickly. The young men insisted on treating us to dinner, and as the evening wore on, we ended up in a jazz club called 'Le Grappelli' after the famous jazz violinist. We had been served wine at dinner and I confess it had slightly gone to my head. I found myself in Louis's arms with my body pressed against his and my head on his shoulder as we shuffled around the dance floor in the dim light. To my surprise, I discovered that my presence was exciting him. I was getting excited too, thank goodness for the precautions that Tina insisted that I take!

When we returned to the booth where Tina and Charles were sitting, I was surprised to see that Tina was kissing Charles deeply while sitting with one leg over his and her skirt rucked up. Charles had one hand on her leg, and it was sliding up under her skirt. She didn't seem to mind. I was amazed; what would happen when he found out that 'she' wasn't what he thought she was? Was she confident that the gaff would keep her secret?

Louis and I sat opposite them, and it didn't surprise me when he turned my head to his and pressed his lips against mine. In no time his tongue was in my mouth and curling around mine. I have to admit I found it thrilling, me the heterosexual male and seducer of many women was being a woman and thoroughly enjoying it! Suddenly I found that Louis had his hand on my leg under my skirt, and there was no doubt where it was heading. I suddenly froze, He felt the change in my demeanor, removed his hand and said: “Why are you suddenly reluctant, princess?”

“Princess? Why did you call me princess?” I blurted out. Louis looked confused.

“It's just a compliment. You look so beautiful, and you are so intelligent that you could easily be a princess.”

I suddenly felt I was making a fool of myself. “I'm sorry,” I said and suddenly thought of the age-old women's excuse. “I'm sorry, but it's not a good time of the month. I hope you understand?”

“Of course,” he replied, and I could see the disappointment on his face.

Glancing over at Tina and Charles, it appeared that she didn't have any problems. I was frankly amazed. Suddenly she caught my eye and had a questioning look in hers.

In Moldanese I said to her. “Tina, I think this is going too far, can we make an excuse to get away?”

In French, Tina said “Gentlemen, can you excuse us? We need to visit the 'Ladies'.”

Charles reluctantly unwound himself from her, and Tina and I rose to our feet. I nearly picked up the bag with my dress in it until a warning look from Tina made me leave it; the men were expecting us to return, after all.

Fortunately, the layout of the club meant that we were able to walk towards the Ladies and then change direction and head out of the front door without our escorts seeing us. Even more fortunately, there was a taxi waiting outside for a fare and we hurriedly stepped inside. I nearly said the address of our hotel, but Tina cut in and gave the name of another hotel. I suddenly realised what she was doing. and shut my mouth. At the hotel, we alighted, gave the driver his fare and a tip and walked inside. Then we waited until he left and went outside again and took another taxi to our hotel.

“That taxi will probably go back to the club, and if the men ask him where we went, that will throw them off the scent,” she said (in Moldanese). I had a feeling it was not the first time she had done that.

Tarquin paid for the taxi and took the elevator up to our rooms. There was now a problem, how to get passed the security man who presumably was now wide awake. We solved it with a mixture of self-confidence and timing. We exited from the elevator chatting animatedly without a care in the world. I had carried the suite's door access card in my handbag and now secreted it in my hand. We beamed at the security man and said in French: “Bonjour monsieur, His Highness has requested our presence at his suite. Would you let him know we've arrived please?”

Thanks to Prince André's reputation, the security man never blinked, but as he fumbled for his walkie-talkie (this was in the days before mobile phones), Tina dropped her handbag. The security man, being a gentleman, stooped to pick it up and at that moment, I slid the card through the reader and the door clicked and opened.

“Ah! No need to call His Highness, he must have heard us,” Tina said, and we walked through the open door, calling out to the empty corridor: “Bonjour Your Highness, we are here.” I then called out in my normal voice “Welcome ladies.”

The door closed and we smiled at each other; we had done it!

“What an amazing day it's been. Thank you so much Tarquin,” I said.

It was time to get undressed and go to bed as I had the 'official opening' on the following day. The odd thing was that I felt quite reluctant to take off my women's clothes. If I was honest with myself, I had really enjoyed wearing them, I had had the most wonderful day and wondered if I'd ever get a chance to do it again.

During the night I had a vivid dream; I was In bed with Louis, but this time I really was a woman, and we were making mad passionate love. I awoke with a start to find that I had had what is politely called a 'nocturnal emission' – how embarrassing! I finally drifted off to sleep again and was awoken by Tarquin at eight o'clock with my breakfast. I felt really strange; had yesterday's events really happened or was it all part of a dream?

“Tarquin, did yesterday really happen?” I asked.

“I don't know what you are referring to, sir,” was his answer. I suddenly remembered that before going to bed the previous night I had sworn him to secrecy and that in no circumstances, bribes or threats, was he to refer in any way to our day out. Now I was caught in my own trap.

“Never mind,” I said.

“Very good, sir,” was his reply.

When breakfast was finished and I'd had my bath, during which Tarquin has laid out the clothes I was to wear that day, he returned to help me dress and see that I looked 'spick and span' for the events of the day, namely the official opening of the new offices. I wore a blue suit, with a white shirt, a tie, black shoes, and on my left breast was a variety of medals including the Knight Commander of the Order of Moldanova, a very impressive piece wrought in silver and gold with an emerald at the centre.

I was still puzzling over the events of the previous day as I thought I remembered them, while I was taken in the official Mercedes to the new building. Perhaps it hadn't really happened, and it was just something I wished had taken place.

There were a number of people present at the entrance hall to the building and a white ribbon had been stretched across a doorway to be cut by me. The office manager stepped forward to greet me, bowing low and expressing his thanks that I had deigned to come to Paris for the event. Why wouldn't I come? I had precious little else to do.

I made a short speech, I'm rather good at that if I say so myself, and taking a pair of large gold-plated scissors, cut the ribbon to general applause. After that, champagne and canapés were served. I was introduced to various notable guests and shook their hands, indulging in some small talk, generally along the lines of how glad I was to be in their beautiful city and how much Moldovana looked forward to working with the French to make this a great success.

Suddenly another face, a familiar face, appeared before me. The office manager said: “May I present Monsieur Louis de Gaulle, feature writer for 'Paris Hebdomadaire? He is going to write a feature article about our office.

“M de Gaulle,” I said, extending my hand.

“Your Highness,” he replied. We had a firm handshake.

“Thank you for inviting me today. May our photographer take a picture for the article?”

I could hardly refuse, and anyway, thousands of pictures of me were in existence.

I noticed that he seemed to be staring at me.

“Please excuse me, Your Highness, but have we met before?” he asked

'Met? Last night you had your tongue halfway down my throat and your hand on my knee,' I thought, but what I actually said was “I don't think so monsieur. This is my first visit to Paris and I've hardly been out of my room due to a slight indisposition. I hope to see more of your beautiful city the next time I am here.”

“Ah! Well, they say everyone in the world has a double somewhere so perhaps I saw him.”

“Indeed,” I replied. Fortunately, the office manager steered me away to meet some other people.

Once all the wine was drunk and the canapés consumed, the crowd started to drift away and as soon as was polite, I left too and returned to the hotel, where Tarquin had packed our suitcases.

“I saw Louis today, him of the wandering hands. He's a journalist and going to write a story about the new office,” I said to Tarquin. “He thought he recognised me, but I managed to persuade him that it was impossible.”

We took the night sleeper train back to Moldanova, and I reported to my father about the success of the official opening. Fortunately, he was feeling a lot better.

This isn't quite the end of the story. It all happened a long time ago and as I've already confessed, as a young man, I was a playboy, picking up pretty women, flirting with them, bedding them and then dropping them when a new target caught my eye. Although that day in Paris was never repeated, it did have an effect on me, seeing the world from a young woman's point of view. I suppose I finally started to mature as there were no more 'one-night stands'. Instead, I settled down to learn my duties and married Princess Euphemia from a neighbouring principality, a very pretty woman at the time who remains a mature handsome woman to this day. I have remained faithful to her all our married lives. I am now the ruler of Moldanova, and I have six children and ten grandchildren, with a great-grandchild on the way.

Tarquin finally decided that he wanted to be Tina full-time and underwent hormone therapy and some surgery. He is still part of my household although semi-retired now.

One other thing, after that day wearing silken lingerie, I developed a taste for silk pajamas, which I wear to this day.