Partially Cross-Dressing While Behind The Wheel

I spent a week working night shifts in Doncaster. On the final morning, I finished by six and needed to drive home for 170 miles. I stopped at a secluded spot to swap my trousers for a pencil skirt. The journey along the A1 was smooth until I exited onto the A14 near Huntingdon. An accident had slowed traffic to a crawl, with cars frequently overtaking on the left or driving parallel to me. Since it was so late, I hit Cambridge’s rush hour. This time, there were not just cars but several lorries too. They pulled up alongside my vehicle; sometimes I managed to pull ahead before they could squeeze in front of me. However, I felt anxious because their view into the car allowed them to see my skirt clearly. Then it occurred to me: “Who cares? At least no one knows who I am.” I was relieved when I reached another quiet spot where I changed back into trousers.