The Awesome Twosome

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

Young Alan Harris tried desperately to become a sportscaster but nobody would give him the opportunity. He believed the TV stations were biased. Only beautiful people need apply.

Please note that this is a work of fiction. Some names of real people involved in the world of sports have been used in the creation of the story. However, quotes given in interviews of these sports figures are not real.

This is a story with images. The beautiful gal is Bambi Hinton. She was kind enough to grant permission for use of her photos in this story.

Also, my apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer for ruining his wonderful poem.

1

"Now to football... Have you noticed that quarterback Tom Brady's hair is much longer this season?" The bodacious blonde beauty smiled into the television camera.

Then highlight clips of Tom Brady's hair sticking out from beneath a New England Patriot helmet filled the TV screen.

"Apparently Tom's wife, supermodel Gisele Bundchen, has convinced Tom to let his locks grow. Isn't it dangerous for an offensive player to let his hair hang loose below helmet level? When opposing defensive players meet at the quarterback, might they accidentally grab Tom by his flowing follicles and rip out his shoulder length tresses?"

Another highlight clip showed a spectacular interception of a Tom Brady pass.

"Pittsburgh Steelers All-Pro defensive back Troy Polamalu has worn long hair for many years and he's managed to keep his scalp intact, but Polamalu's a defensive player. Only when Polamalu intercepts the ball is he in danger of having his hair yanked out."

Sportscaster Bambi Benton smiled. "Split end–isn't it supposed to be a football term?"

Bambi Benton looked up at the teleprompter. "The oft retired Brett Favre continues to amaze football fans with his consecutive games streak. If the Viking's quarterback competes in every game this season, he will surpass the 300 consecutive game mark. To play 19 years in the brutal sport of football without missing a game is truly astounding."

"When we return, who is the number one female tennis player in the world–America's Venus Williams or Denmark's Caroline Wozniacki? Also we'll look ahead to… "

As I pressed the volume down button repeatedly on the remote, the TV sound faded. It bothered me that Bambi butchered pronunciation of the names Polamalu and Wozniacki. She always messed up something in her report.

"Absolutely mind boggling! How can any TV station hire some blonde bimbo when she clearly knows nothing about sports?" I muttered to my sister.

Amy shifted her position on the couch. She elbowed me in the ribs and then stood up. "Al, you are such a male chauvinist pig! Bambi's a good broadcaster! All you guys think that girls know nothing about football, baseball, or basketball. You think it's so easy! Men think that just because a girl is doing the sports report that she couldn't possibly be as knowledgeable as a guy."

"Well duh…Bambi Benton certainly didn't get the job because of her knowledge of sports. Maybe bedroom fun and games, but not athletic competitions! And I've watched her since she first came on the air about six months ago. I've listened to her make so many mistakes that it's downright embarrassing! I swear she must be sleeping with the station's owner 'cause she certainly didn't earn the job on merit!"

"You are so narrow-minded! What's so wrong with Bambi Benton?"

I was about to open my mouth, but it suddenly occurred to me that Amy probably didn't know how to pronounce Polamalu or Wozniacki.

"Look–the only reason Bambi Benton got the job was because of her looks. Plain and simple. Her sports background consists of being a cheerleader in high school. The TV station figures the male viewers will tune in to see Bambi read the sports 'cause she's unbelievably beautiful. And the female viewers might stick with the show to see what clothes, if any, Bambi might be wearing tonight. So bimbo Bambi increases the ratings. Sex sells! It certainly is not for her journalistic capabilities."

Amy looked at me with fire in her green eyes that matched her auburn locks. "You're jealous... it's just sour grapes because she got the job and you couldn't even get an interview!"

That struck a nerve. Amy's accusation was partly true, although I had held this viewpoint about female sportscasters for a long, long time. But the fact that TV station WSLM had sent me an email rejection of my application might have had something to do with my dislike of Bambi Benton.

"No, that is not the reason," I responded calmly. "I know I could do a better job than Bambi could. Or any female sportscaster for that matter. I tell you, the gals get hired for their looks–not their ability. They are in the entertainment business. And you know that too. You're a model, for goodness sakes. Your job is to sell the clothes that you wear at a fashion shoot. And, as the commercials say, if you don't look good, the designer doesn't look good either. Bambi sells the sports news with her looks. Guys have to do it with the words they speak, the insights they offer. Looks are secondary for the guys."

Amy didn't even acknowledge that my points had any validity. "You think it's so easy. All a girl has to do is look beautiful. And the beautiful girls get all the jobs."

"Yeah, pretty much," I replied. "That's the way our society is. Looks matter. It's why Angelina Jolie and Scarlett Johansson are big Hollywood stars. There are two types of people in the world: Those who are born beautiful and those who wannabe beautiful."

Amy's devilish expression should have been enough to warn me of impending doom. "Being beautiful isn't a guarantee of anything. If you could walk a mile in my shoes, I think you'd sing a different tune."

"If I looked as good as you or Bambi Benton, I'd be the new sportscaster at WSLM."

I could swear I heard Amy's thoughts. 'Be careful what you wish for...'

2

When I returned home the next day, I could hear some activity in the living room.

As I was taking off my shoes and putting on my slippers, I noticed a pair of high heels by the doorway that I didn't recognize.

"Ah, Al," Amy called out, "finally you're here. Tied up at work?"

"Yes," I replied as I walked toward the living room. "The editor wanted me to do some fact checking for a feature story. I had to get it done before they went to print."

Even lowly community newspapers that put out one edition a week need a fact checker to confirm quotes. It helps to avoid possible lawsuits. Four years at Northwestern University with a major in journalism - a 3.9 grade average - this is the kind of job I end up with.

From the entranceway, I could see that Amy had some company.

"Al, we a have a guest I'd like you to meet."

I tried not to look too awestruck by this 'stranger' because, to be truthful, at first glance, she was one hot chick!

"You've met Adrienne before, haven't you?" Amy asked as she introduced me to this vision of loveliness.

Adrienne was tall and thin - almost the same height as me. She had curly dark hair; a dazzling smile; teasing eyes that were both innocent and sexy at the same time; and a low cut black top that revealed a rather impressive stacked rack.

"No, no, I think I would have remembered," I said as I extended my hand. But, reading her inviting body language, I quickly decided to embrace her.

I felt the softness of Adrienne's bosom as we hugged. And Adrienne kissed me on the cheek. As I responded in turn, I could sense a heady perfume that was simply heavenly.

"Amy has told me so much about you," Adrienne said in a husky, sexy voice. "I feel I know you already."

A smile came to my seemingly calm countenance as I looked her over from her high-heels all the way to her curly coiffure. "No doubt you are a model."

"Actually, I'm not, although I'm in the fashion business."

"Yes, I've known Adrienne for a long, long time," Amy added. "Adrienne is a makeup artist. One of the best in the business."

"Oh yes," I remarked. "I've heard you talk about Adrienne before." As a matter of fact, I remember meeting your makeup artist Adrian..."

It suddenly dawned on me that the beautiful girl I had just hugged might be the same effeminate man I had met several times before.

"Ah, Al finally figured it out," Adrian said in a deeper tone.

God! He looked absolutely beautiful! He was one hot chick! Or one hot... gay guy?

"Why, why the deception?" I stuttered, with a bewildered look toward Amy.

"Oh, this was just to get your attention, Al." Amy smiled sweetly. "Remember what we were talking about last night? Remember how you claimed that Bambi Benton got the job as a sportscaster because of her looks. Well, what if you could look as beautiful as Bambi? You know, if you could be a beautiful blonde bimbo with boobs stuck out to there, would you be as good as Bambi?"

"Yes Al," Adrian/Adrienne added, "could you be as popular a 'broad' caster as Bambi?"

Adrian's bountiful breasts looked so amazing! How did she/he do that?

"Wait a second . . . you can't be thinking what I think you're thinking?"

Amy smiled. "Why not? Just look at Adrian. He's about your height and weight and he makes one gorgeous girl! Doesn't he?"

I nodded in agreement.

Amy added, "You're not exactly Mr. Macho Man either. So why don't you give it a shot?"

I looked at Adrienne once again. Hot damn! He/she was one sexy babe!

"By the way, Al," Amy said, "in case you haven't heard, Bambi Benton resigned today from her position at WSLM."

I couldn't resist chirping, "The station finally came to their senses and they canned her!"

"No," Amy responded with an annoying Cheshire cat grin. "Bambi wasn't fired. She landed a new job with rival TV station WKCK."

3

As a wax strip was ripped from my lower calf, I yelped in pain. "I must be insane," I muttered.

"You'll learn that beauty comes at a price," Amy stated in a matter of fact tone. "The next time you look at a girl's legs, perhaps you'll appreciate them a little more."

"Amy, I do appreciate what girls do to look good," I said sincerely. "Ow! Couldn't I have just shaved it off?"

Adrienne assured me, "Waxing is better. The hair grows back a little slower."

"That's true," Amy said. "Waxing is better. You'll see that your skin will feel much smoother than with a razor. There's no stubble at all. Besides, seeing you suffer a little for your vanity is just payback for the attitude you gave me last night."

Why oh why did I have to open my big mouth? "What about my underarms? Women shave their armpits, don't they?"

"Yes," Amy agreed. "We'll use scissors to trim off as much as we can. Although, if you prefer, we can rip the armpit hair out strand by strand."

"Uh," I grunted as I held back another rip-yelp reaction to the denuding of my upper thigh. I didn't even want to think about the pubic hair around my crotch.

"Are we having fun yet, Al?" Amy teased.

"No."

"Then just think of it as an advanced game of Dress Up that we used to play as kids."

"Dress Up?"

"Oh Al, I forgot! You didn't play Dress Up, did you? You never dressed in mom's clothes. Or did you?"

"Give it a rest, Amy."

She snickered as she delightfully ripped another wax strip from my thigh. Why did I agree to adventures in gender bending? The truth is, I found it quite intriguing. When I looked at Adrienne/Adrian, I had living proof that the transformation was possible. The inner girl in me wondered what it would be like to be beautiful. Undoubtedly, if I was going to be a girl, I wanted to look truly gorgeous–a 10. Because from my perspective, those who walk in beauty are truly blessed. Gorgeous girls have all the advantages our society can give them simply because they are beautiful.

After a quick shower to rid myself of any waxy residue, I toweled off and put on a jock strap-like thong-thingy, called a gaff, and a light blue smock that Adrienne provided for me. Apparently the fashion models all wore protection while the makeup artists worked their magic.

Amy took out her digital camera. She recorded the complete transformation, she said, so that I could learn to do it myself later on.

Or was it so she could blackmail me?

For the next thirty minutes or so, as I sat on a chair in the bedroom, Adrienne worked on my face. First, I was given cosmetic contact lenses to change my eyes from brown to blue. Then Adrienne worked on covering my eyebrows with theatrical putty. Next, she used a moisturizer to protect the skin, followed by a tattoo cover over the beard area, cake foundation, powder, eyeliner, false eyelashes, eye shadow, mascara, concealor, blush, lip liner, lipstick and lip gloss. A brow pencil turned my brown eyebrows blonde. Adrienne was an artist at work. And so quick!

As Adrienne did my makeup, Amy worked on my fingernails. False nails were added as if by magic.

Adrienne asked me to take off my smock for a moment and stand up. But when Adrienne pulled out a breast prosthesis from her bag of tricks, I couldn't believe it. The piece stretched from the neck and shoulders down to the base of the bosom. Pendulous, glorious globes of fake flesh wiggled in Adrienne's hands. She held the prosthesis up to my body to see if it would fit.

"This is how I get my cleavage," Adrienne announced. "And I think this one will work for you too."

The flesh-colored silicone/latex boobs felt cool on my chest.

"Now feel mine," Adrienne invited, "the best silicone money can buy."

I hesitated, then figured 'what the heck!' Tentatively I touched Adrienne's tits. And, confirming that the plastic fantastics weren't real, my fingers boldly went where they hadn't dared before. I wondered if the prosthetic's texture was similar to human skin?

Then I noticed, around Adrienne's neck, was a small medallion attached to a black metal chain–the Yin and Yang symbol.

I held it for a moment. "Is there any significance to this?"

"Certainly. You know that in Eastern thought, there is a balance of Yin and Yang. Weak and strong, female and male–there is a dichotomy. But people are not strictly female or male. We have characteristics of both sexes."

"That's especially true in your case," I said.

"If you think I'm convincing, you ought to see my sister. She used to be my brother."
I laughed. "Really? Or are you just messing with me?"

"No, it's true, Al," Amy said. "Adrienne's brother lives as a woman twenty-four seven. And she's absolutely gorgeous! She's a transsexual, had an operation, implants, the whole shebang."

"Well, you'll have to introduce me to her sometime, Adrienne."

"I'm sure you'll meet her someday," Adrienne said as he clamped the prosthesis against my chest.

I noted that the breast form seemed to match very well with my body proportions and my skin tone. "How do you attach it?"

"I recommend use of a medical grade adhesive. Spirit gum is another possibility. The adhesive and spirit gum have different scents. I'll leave both of these products with you, plus the solvents to remove the boobs. A little liquid latex, tattoo cover and powder is used at the neck to hide the seam. A necklace will help the illusion too."

Application of the adhesive to the prosthesis did not take very long. Adrienne attached the silicone falsies and then smoothed down the artificial skin on the edges.

Amy disappeared for a few moments. A minute later, Amy came back into the bedroom with a bag containing some accoutrements.

My darling sister removed some clothing from the bag, spreading pantyhose, undergarments and outerwear onto the bed.

I was shown how to roll the sheer nylons up my legs. I must confess there was something sensuous about the diaphanous pantyhose sliding smoothly over my calves and upper thighs.

Trying to control my stirring libido, I tried to think of a cold ice water bath.

The girls decided that a padded panty would give me a better shape. This I donned with no hesitation at all, hoping that it would help to restrict my growing member.

I must admit the breath impeding waist cincher and bra felt very strange. It made me feel so much like a masquerader. A daring deceiver! Somehow, a forbidden decadent pleasure!

A classic 'little black dress' was handed to me. After I slipped it on, there seemed to be a cool unfamiliar breeze beneath my crotch. I know the Scots wore kilts commando style, but I'm not sure I wanted to get used to this airy-fairy feeling. To tell you the truth, it made me feel vulnerable. Like, if I spread my legs, I could be violated at any moment.

Then I slipped on the shoes - stiletto heels - in a size 10. The open toed shoes seemed so flimsy by comparison to the loafers I usually wore.

A set of clip-on earrings and a necklace of sapphires set in silver were added. Finally a magnificent golden blonde wig was placed over my head to hide my short brown hair.

Adrienne used a brush to comb out 'my' hair.

Then Amy, accompanied by Adrienne, led me to the full-length mirror in the hallway near the front entrance of our apartment.

When I looked in the mirror, it reminded me of a scene from the television show that went off the air waves about five years ago called The Swan. I gasped in amazement! I looked at the beautiful reflection in the mirror! Hotter than Bambi Benton!

Hell! The blonde waves of gentle curls framed my face exquisitely! Where did I get those high cheekbones? My eyes were deep, mesmerizing, azure pools–windows to female incarnations from previous lives. My lips, so glossy and sensual, invited long kisses that lasted three days. An elegant swan-like neck too, with a silver chain and dazzling sapphires, drew attention to my breathtaking bosom!

I was almost in tears.

As I turned to look at the side view, I was knocked out by my fabulous figure. My eyes fixated on de-lovely Double D hooters! Those marvelous, magnificent mammaries, plus a tight, tiny waist with nicely flaring hips. Everything in amazing proportion! And my long, lithe legs looked fabulous! Smooth, shapely, gorgeous gams–the wax on-wax off pain had been worth it!

But where oh where had little Al gone?

I must confess I could feel him straining to free himself from the confines of the tight restrictive gaff. Hidden he would remain.

"Thank you Adrienne!" I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you Amy!"

We did a joyful three-way embrace.

4

Dear Diary,

I don't know how I let Amy and Adrienne persuade me to go out to dinner, followed by a visit to a dance club, but I guess I wanted to let my inner girl come out. Tonight Alan A. Harris was reborn as Alana Harris. And yes, there were some growing pains.

These are the things I learned.

Staircases are hazardous to a female impersonator's health. I almost fell down three different sets of stairs because of the stiletto heels.

High heels also changed the way I walked. The heels caused a natural sway of my hips. So Amy taught me the model glide–the one where the models seem to float across the catwalk. Thankfully, that seemed to come quite effortlessly, which was quite a boost to my confidence.

High heels change the way a person dances. There's a natural tendency to just 'shake your booty!'

My voice needed a lot of work. I tried speaking in the upper register of my normal vocal range, as Adrienne had suggested, but it didn't always come out quite right. Sometimes it bordered on falsetto, sometimes it squeaked, sometimes the voice slipped too low. I tried the breathy whisper, which worked well in the atmosphere of a quiet restaurant, but not so well in a noisy dance club.

In the nightclub, I was approached by a lot of guys. And some girls too. At first, I enjoyed all the attention. But somewhere after the fifteenth person approached me, I was getting quite particular about whom I would allow to talk to me.

Humorous advances were the best! I started to take notes on what pick up lines worked successfully and which ones bombed, for Alan's use later.

"A frog goes up to a beauty queen at a crowded nightclub and asks her to dance. 'Are you my Prince Charming?' the beauty queen asks. 'No, I'm a writer of fairy tales,' the frog says. 'How else would I get a beauty queen to kiss a frog like me if I didn't make up such ridiculous stories?'

"Fair Princess, I do not believe you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your Prince Charming. So may I have the honor of dancing with you?"

Much to my chagrin, some affectionate amphibians were very persistent. Which would you choose? Horny toad or hot toddy? Learning how to turn down a frog forcefully was the first lesson I learned in the Bitchy Woman 101 course.

Out on the dance floor, there was a lot of groping. I discovered that 93% of the male population at dance clubs must be blind, deaf and dumb 'cause they appeared intent on communicating with me by Braille.

Luckily my silicone boobs had no nerve endings or I might have received some severe bruising. On the other hand, my thinly padded butt was not so lucky.

Men seemed mesmerized by my hooters. Instead of establishing eye contact, a lot of guys talked directly to my tits.

Imagine how guys would react if women started talking to men's penises. Or about men's penises. I can see it now! The Penis Monologues are coming to a theatre near you!

Very few guys actually assumed I had a brain. They talked to me as if I was still in elementary school.

And playing the dumb blonde ditz was so much fun! Dirt bags wanted to believe I was innocent and gullible so they could take advantage of me.

It became obvious, the longer I danced with a guy, the more he wanted to grope and stroke me.

And girls can feel a guy's boner when they're dancing close.

Fits of dizziness are a hazard for any floozy who goes dancing. I've never whirled around so much on a dance floor. On the fast-paced numbers, I felt as woozy as a break-dancer spinning round and round and upside down.

All guys believe alcohol is the key to a girl's heart - or lack of resistance.

I believe every guy wanted to get me into bed.

Well, okay, only four actually asked me to go home with them.

All right! I admit I was just a big tease. A flirt. Even if a handsome guy had come along and swept me off my feet, as much as I might have wanted to, I really couldn't put out for him. What else could I do?

So I felt very satisfied to return home to my own bed. And Amy resisted temptation too.

As for sexy Adrienne, one smooth operator offered her a lift home. I wonder how the amorous gigolo felt when he discovered the pretty woman he had taken home was a girl with something extra.

5

When I walked past the secretary to the inner office, three gentlemen got up from their seats to shake hands with me.

"Good morning, Ms Harris. My name is Jim Blake." He was a silver-haired fox in the Hugo Boss suit. "This is Hugh Barrows, the News Producer of WSLM, and Don Flynn, our News Director."

And yes, every single one of them stole looks at my stacked rack.

Although I wore a pinstriped Donna Karan suit, the frilly white blouse beneath the navy blue wool exterior showed plenty of cleavage. And the skirt was short enough to show off my sexy legs.

Adrienne had worked his makeup magic on me once more. Everything was absolutely fabulous!

Could I have them eating out of the palm of my hand within the hour?

As I sat down, I remembered to smooth my dress beneath me and then cross my legs. I remembered, using my tongue, to try to wipe possible traces of lipstick from my teeth, before I smiled broadly, showing my dazzling, newly capped teeth. But a little Vaseline on my teeth helped avoid the possible lipstick problem.

"I'm delighted to be here," I said in a breathy contralto that I had practiced over and over again.

"We looked over your resume," Jim Blake began, "and we are quite impressed. You have an excellent point grade average from Northwestern and some intriguing work experience."

"Thank you."

"Also," Don Flynn added, "you scored an amazing 98% on the sports news test that we gave you an hour ago. I don't think we've ever had a candidate score that high before."

Don looked to be in his forties. His Armani jacket and the lack of a tie indicated a hipper, younger attitude than his associates.

Trying to appear modest, I lowered my eyes and said, "I have to admit that there were a few questions where I had to guess."

"Then you have good instincts," Don said. "On air, there are going to be times where technical problems happen. Those who are cool under fire–they are the ones who are successful."

"Yes," Hugh Barrows said. "Bambi Benton was a natural. She knew very little about sports when she began a few months ago, but she picked up so much so quickly. That's why WKCK made her an offer she couldn't refuse."

Jim Blake added, "And the camera loved her! Why, our ratings skyrocketed after Bambi began here. We have never had such a popular sportscaster."

Hugh Barrows said, "Bambi was our big weapon in the Chicagoland ratings war. Our loss, WKCK's gain."

"Yes," I agreed. "Bambi was quite impressive. She was a breath of fresh air, so cheerful and enthusiastic. I think that's why the public loved her!" I hoped my insincerity wasn't showing. In an interview, being positive and upbeat was absolutely essential.

"That's exactly the way we want you to be!" Don Flynn said. "Dynamic, a jolt of sunshine to turn an otherwise dreary day into a memorable one."

I wondered if they believed their own hype. "I'll give it my very best effort. If I can reach out and inspire someone out there in our audience, it will be great to pick up the spirits of our viewers."

"I've got an idea for Alana's theme music," Flynn said enthusiastically. "There was an old 60s tune called My Girl."

"Yes," Jim Blake said. "Sunshine on a cloudy day."

Don Flynn began to sing/talk in rhythm. "I guess you say, What can make me feel this way, My girl, talking about my girl."

All that was missing was four guys on stage doing choreographed hand movements in time to the music.

Hugh asked, "Who did that song?"

Don raised an eyebrow as he guessed, "I think it was a Motown group called the Temptations. Or maybe Smoky Robinson?"

"I'm not sure." Jim Blake shrugged his shoulders.

I tried to sound upbeat. "Maybe my parents would know. But I like the 'sunshine on a cloudy day' theme because that's what the viewers want. Sports is all about fun and games. It's competitive entertainment! It's not scripted. It's unpredictable! It's exciting!"

"Exactly!" Jim Blake agreed emphatically, as he sneaked another peak at my stacked rack.

As the interview continued, I sometimes would lower my eyes, flutter my eyelashes seductively, lower my shoulder coyly, push out my chest occasionally, and smile sweetly. I offered as many little hints as I could to show them affection. All the little tricks Amy showed me that girls did to get love and attention.

At one point, Don Flynn asked me to do a little role-play with him.

"Normally, as the sport desk anchor, you wouldn't be doing what I'm about to suggest. But, down the road, we're looking for some versatility. Suppose you are the sideline reporter at a football game," Don said. "It's five minutes before game time. You are interviewing the coach of the Chicago Bears. I'm the coach."

"Which team are Da Bears playing?" I asked.

"The Green Bay Packers."

"Okay. Shall we stand up?"

"Yes," Don said as he got to his feet.

We moved closer to each other. Pretending to hold a microphone, I stood inches away from him. We looked into an imaginary camera.

Hugh Barrows counted down five, four, three, two, one with his fingers.

Immediately I sprang into action. "Thanks Hugh. I'm with Coach Lovie Smith of the Chicago Bears. It's a big game for your team today. If you beat the Green Bay Packers, the Bears win the division. Lose today and you'll have to depend on help to win a wildcard berth. What did you say to your players to get them prepared for the game?"

Don, as Lovie Smith, paused for a moment, then said, "I didn't have to say anything to get them in the right frame of mind. All week I've been trying to keep them wound down. Now I can open the gates and let the inmates out of the asylum."

Without hesitating, I looked back into the imaginary camera and set up the next question. "Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers has been hot of late. He was 26 of 33 for 429 yards last week. He tossed four touchdowns as the Packers beat the Lions. What are the keys for your defensive game plan today?"

"Obviously we have to put pressure on Rodgers. Last week, he had all day to pick apart the Lions secondary. We have to get sustained pressure on him, disguise our coverages, blitz him occasionally, and make his receivers pay when they catch the passes."

I added, "Your own team struggled on offence and defense in the game against the Patriots, and you lost in a blowout. What can you do to put more points on the board?"

Don/Lovie paused for a moment, then said, "Due to injuries, we were missing some regulars on the offensive line last week. They're back. We're hoping that better protection for our quarterback will give us time to throw the ball deep. The Packers secondary can be beat if our quarterback Jay Cutler has sufficient time."

Now it was time for the human-interest angle. "Coach Smith, at this point of this season, you put in so many hours to get your team ready every Sunday, your wife and children must seem like strangers to you. What can you do in the near future for your family?"

"Well," Don/Lovie began, "they've been so supportive of me, they've made huge sacrifices. I love them very much. I'll tell you what, if we win the Super Bowl, we'll be on the first plane to Disney World."

I laughed. "Back to you Hugh."

"That was great!" Jim smiled as he sneaked another peek at my bosom.

"Terrific!" Hugh added.

"Thank you," I replied. "But Don was wonderful too!" I snuggled up to him and grasped his hands in thanks.

"I'm impressed," Don said. "The way Alana set me up with the questions, they were easy to answer. It's the kind of questions the coaches want to hear."

Then it was time for me to ask questions of them. I started by asking about the work schedule. I was curious about getting out of the studio to do interviews with athletes, coaches, managers, owners and fans. Also, I asked why WSLM hadn't interviewed more female athletes. Inevitably, I had to ask about the salary as well.

When the interview concluded, I gave them all big smiles. As we gathered together, I made sure to grasp the hands of each of the interviewers, which led to hugs all around. Having impressive Double Ds gave me amazing confidence.

Before I walked out of the WSLM doors, I was sure that I had the job!

6

Five days a week, Amy and I try to go jogging each morning. The Chicago waterfront has a beautiful parks system with bike paths and trails that draw people by the tens of thousands to the shores of Lake Michigan.

While we ran, we discussed how landing the new job might change my situation.

Although there was a big upside, there was also a downside to the job.

As a sportscaster, I would be on the 6:30 p.m. and 11:00 p.m. newscasts.

Since Amy's modeling work usually happened in the daylight hours, my future work schedule might not allow us to see much of each other.

I'd have a break between the newscasts, which would probably be a good time to eat dinner with her.

Amy was so important to me. Since we had left our hometown in rural Indiana, we had lived together. I came to Chicago to attend university. Amy followed a year later. To cut down on expenses, we shared an apartment while we went to school.

But when Amy landed some modeling assignments, she decided to do that full-time. Her modeling career took off.

To help me out, she allowed me to live with her when she decided to move to a better apartment.

On long weekends, we usually would go home to see our parents. On occasion, they came up to Chicago. But, to tell you the truth, our parents didn't really like chaotic Chicago that much. Our hometown of Bloomfield, in Greene County, was very much like that little village in the film Hoosiers. In fact, it even seemed to be stuck in the 1950s too. It was like your mythical Mid-western backwater, complete with ardent Hickory High basketball fans, corn and soybean fields, plus reddish golden tiger lilies lining the dusty roads amid constantly changing rural vistas.

My cell phone rang, interrupting my conversation with Amy. I pulled out the phone from my pants pocket.

"Hello."

"Hello, may I please speak with Alana Harris?"

"Hold on," I replied. "Just a minute."

Hell! It sounded like Don Flynn. I should have answered in my Alana voice. I covered the phone with my hand. "Slow down, Amy. I think it's the news station. I have to take this call."

Amy slowed down to a walk and then began to pace around me as I sat down on a nearby bench.

"Hello," I said in my Alana contralto.

"Hello Alana? This is Don Flynn."

"Hi Don. I was hoping you would call."

"Who answered the phone?"

"Oh, that was my friend. We're out jogging right now."

A lady passerby gave me a big stare when she heard my Alana voice emanating from my sweating body.

"For a moment I thought I had a wrong number," Don said.

"No. I'm on my cell phone. My friend had the cell phone because he has bigger pockets in his jogging shorts."

"Oh... anyway, the reason I'm calling is that I have some good news for you."

"Good news?" I crossed my fingers and closed my eyes.

"Yes. After yesterday's interview, you are now on our short list of candidates."

"That's great!"

"We'd like you to come down to our studios this afternoon."

"This afternoon? What time?"

"At about 3:00 p.m. We'd like to do a run through with you in the sports anchor chair."

"A mock telecast?"

"Exactly. Think of it as an audition. We want to see how you handle being on camera and announcing the highlights."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Then we'll see you at 3:00."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

I pressed the red button to end the call and stuffed the phone back in my pants.

"Who was that?" Amy asked.

"It was WSLM. I have some good news. I'm on their short list. They want me to come in for an audition this afternoon."

Amy began jumping up and down. Then I put a big bear hug on her and we kissed and hugged.

7

I looked directly at the camera and the teleprompter.

"Good evening. I'm Alana Harris. The big baseball news story tonight is Cubs battle the White Sox. Tour de France champion Alberto Contador fails a drug test and Tiger Woods looks to end the longest drought of his career. Don't touch that remote, SLaM Sports will be back in one minute."

"That was good," Don said. I could hear the director's voice in my earpiece. "Now, we usually pause for a minute. We'll begin with the baseball highlights. The teleprompter feeds you the words in time to the action in the highlights. When the highlights are on, look at the prompter screen above our camera. The words should correspond to the highlight action... Okay? Ready?"

I nodded.

A crewman did a finger countdown.

The red camera light came on.

"Bragging rights are at stake whenever cross-town rivals clash. The Cubs and White Sox square off at Wrigley Field. After holding the Sox scoreless for three innings, Cubs starter Ryan Dempster serves up a 92 mile per hour fastball to Paul Konerko with two men on. Konerko swings for the fences but goes down on strikes." The action images seemed to fly by.

"But the next batter, Carlos Quentin, connects for a double, bringing home Omar Vizquel and Alex Rios. The White Sox lead 2-0. The score remains that way through seven innings. Then the heavens open up. They're in a rain delay. We'll update the ballpark situation and score before the end of our broadcast."

The camera closed in on me for a moment after showing the rain at Wrigley.

"Cyclist Alberto Contador, after winning the Tour de France for the third time, tested positive for a banned substance. The Tour de France, plagued by drug allegations surrounding Lance Armstrong launched by disgraced former teammate Floyd Landis, is mired in controversy. The Spaniard Contador tested positive for a tiny amount of clenbuterol, a weight loss drug. However, that drug can be used to build muscle as well." Clips of Contador in his yellow jersey climbing up the Pyrenees battling Luxembourg's Andy Schleck flashed across the TV screen as I moved to the next item.

"At the BMW Championship from the Cog Hill Golf and Country Club in Lemont Illinois, on Sunday, when it seemed all the players on the leader board took turns choking, Dustin Johnson struck a scintillating approach shot on 17 and then tapped in for a birdie. Then he made his par on the difficult 18th to secure victory. Call it redemption after being penalized on the 72nd hole of the PGA Championship last month. Tiger Woods finished tied for 15th. The once mighty Tiger failed to finish in the top 30 of the FedEx Cup standings. For the first time in his pro career, Tiger Woods did not qualify for the Tour Championship."

Tiger's long putt rolled to the lip of the hole. It seemed to pause for a moment. A little body English from Woods failed to will the ball into the cup.

I tossed in an aside. "Tiger's Buddhist, isn't he? That's karma at work."

"When we return, we'll hear from Blackhawks general manager Stan Bowman and update you on what's happening on Da Bears Watch."

The audition just seemed to flow so smoothly. I don't think I could have timed it any better.

At the end of the mock telecast, Don Flynn and Hugh Barrows had encouraging words for me. The pace, the energy, the enthusiasm was just right! They assured me that the error free run through was professional in every aspect.

I was so happy! Ecstatic! Floating on a cloud!

As I was removing the earpiece from beneath my golden blonde tresses, I was quite surprised to see Bambi Benton step up to the set.

Wow! Did she ever look dazzling in person!

"Congratulations!" Bambi said. "You were terrific!" She opened her arms and gave me a Cabbage Patch Doll hug. My goodness, Bambi's bust was enormous! I almost bounced off her when we embraced.

As we stood bumper to bumper, I was barely able to resist the temptation to look down at her amazing hooters. Bambi, dressed in a long royal blue dress, was a goddess among mere mortals.

"Thank you," I gushed. "That means so much to me. I'm glad you liked it."

"You did so well," said Bambi sincerely. "You were so much better than I was at my audition."

"Well thank you, but I'm sure you were terrific or WSLM wouldn't have hired you. Nor would you be moving on to WKCK so quickly. So congratulations to you!"

"Thanks," Bambi said as she lowered her eyes in modesty.

"You inspired me to audition for this position," I said earnestly. And Bambi's complexion was amazing. It glowed! Her skin seemed so smooth and elastic, without visible pores, like a baby's unblemished skin. Epidermal perfection!

Also, the whites of Bambi's dazzling eyes were so clear. Mine, on the other hand, depended on Visine to get the red out.

"I watched you do the sports every night since you began. I'm a big fan!" Was that a lie? Maybe not. After all, I did watch her sportscast every night. And she was gorgeous. Perhaps my disdain for her was caused by jealousy, as Amy had suggested.

"That's so nice to hear. I'm glad you enjoy my work."

"You are such a great role model for the young girls out there! Making it in sports broadcasting–what used to be strictly a male domain." In fact, the whole technical crew on the set was male, as were the scriptwriters and the replay editors.

"Why thank you. I really do care about my on air image. I've been treated so well here by everyone. You'll find all the crew here are so supportive. They're like one big happy family."

Was this a scene from The Stepford Wives? Or was this for real? Bambi looked absolutely perfect and she said all the right things.

"So far, I've been really impressed by everyone here at WSLM. And Don, Hugh and Jim have a very high opinion of you."

"Oh, those guys are the best. They are so professional. They make it easy for all of the on-air personalities." Bambi's golden blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. It seemed dazzling under the studio lights.

"I'm so looking forward to this opportunity, although there's so much to learn."

"Oh don't worry, you'll be fine."

"So what's in your immediate future?" I asked.

"Well, I just have to finish up my commitment here. Then, I'll be off to WKCK. I guess I'll have to get acquainted with a whole new group of co-workers. Get settled in. I'll meet with the management first about my responsibilities and take it from there."

"Was it a difficult decision to make?"

"Leaving WSLM?"

"Uh huh," I nodded.

"Of course. I feel so comfortable at this station. It's like I have family here. However, career wise, it's a big step forward. Not only did I get a big salary boost, but at WKCK, I'll be taking on new responsibilities."

"Such as ..."

"I'll be doing a half-hour sports interview show."

"That sounds great!"

"That should be very nice," Bambi agreed. "I guess we always have to have new challenges or we stagnate."

"Very true."

One of the technical crew came up to us at that moment.

"Sorry to interrupt you, Bambi, but we've got the satellite feed from Saint Andrews, Scotland on-line. We're ready to do the interview with Tiger Woods."

"Thanks, Roger," Bambi said with a smile. Then she shifted her attention back to me. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

I paused. "Thanks for the offer..."

"Listen, I'll give you my email address. If you ever need to contact me, please feel free to do so."

At that moment, I decided that, just as everyone else at WSLM had said, Bambi Benton was a really nice person!

"Bambi, any last words of advice?"

Bambi gazed into my eyes. "I know it sounds simple - just remember the Golden Rule. Be generous with your time, especially with the so-called little people. And above all, your sports contacts are very important in this business. Big names draw big ratings."

Then we hugged like long lost sisters. And Bambi kissed me on the lips! I was awestruck! I tingled all the way from my toes to my fingertips! Was the quick kiss an invitation to lesbian temptation - or just my imagination?

8

Dear Diary,

All day Saturday, I was very restless. The audition had gone well, but I had not received any official confirmation that I was the new anchorperson to replace Bambi Benton.

So with Amy's help, I practiced my makeup application, I worked on my walk, my voice and deportment.

Also, I had found some sites on the Internet that could be very helpful to budding cross-dressers. There were a large number of sites that offered transformation help and services. The ones that attracted my attention were the ones that offered help with the voice and exercising the body. My voice and figure would be very important in presenting a convincing female image.

Rather than sit around the apartment all day, Amy and I went out for lunch, we shopped and then we hung out at a coffee shop. At first I was nervous about being discovered in drag, but as time went on I felt more and more comfortable.

Undoubtedly, two beautiful girls walking about on the streets of Chicago do attract attention. But, I kinda got used to it after awhile. The looks of admiration were flattering after all.

I thought about getting a whole new wardrobe. If I wanted to make a good impression at WSLM, I couldn't very well wear the same clothes every day.

So Amy led me to some upscale shops on North Michigan Avenue, the Magnificent Mile. Then I built up the VISA bill buying new outfits, undergarments, shoes and accessories, I tried to justify it my own mind. If I didn't get the job, I was still going to put the female paraphernalia to good use. I enjoyed dressing up too much to just leave the clothes in the closet.

I just wish I had a little more money in my bank account.

When we returned to the apartment and checked the answering machine for messages, I was disappointed. No new calls. Perhaps the decision wouldn't be made until Monday.

When I went into the bathroom, I checked my makeup in the mirror. It was still pretty good! I still looked like a beautiful girl. The lipstick needed retouching. I could redo the eyeliner, add mascara and apply some powder. Then I took off my wig and gave it a good brushing. Without the wig, did I still look like a girl? Perhaps a butch-looking dyke on a bad hair day?

Maybe I was too self-critical. I examined my face once more. I tried to be objective. It certainly was hard to detect the real Al Harris beneath the makeup.

But could I be even better?

Should I pluck my eyebrows? Using the theatrical putty every day to block out the eyebrows was going to get old in a hurry. Should I start electrolysis to eliminate the beard completely?

My amazing knockers jutted out like twin peaks! They'd be great in an ad for a phone company. 'Reach out and touch someone.'

Down the road, would I go for breast implants? Or should I resort to female hormones? If I was going to work as a woman for five days each week, was I willing to live my whole life as a woman?

At this point, I stopped being concerned about landing the job. 'Whatever will be will be' I decided.

9

As I stood in the elevator, I checked my reflection in the mirrored wall. The makeup looked flawless!

Though nervous, I was still confident.

Earlier this Monday morning, Don Flynn phoned me. I was asked to come to the WSLM studios at three o'clock. Although I was excited about the possibility I might be signing a contract today, I was apprehensive about the possibility I might be turned down too.
When the elevator doors opened at the seventh floor, I walked straight to the administrative office. I checked in with the receptionist, and then sat down in the waiting area. As the minutes ticked by, I kept looking at the clock.

Then Don Flynn poked his head out of the inner office and asked me to come in.

This was my big moment.

As I walked through the doorway, I was greeted by Hugh Barrows and Jim Blake.

After I sat down, Don took the seat closest to me. The rest of the guys then took their seats.

Jim Blake began. "Thanks for coming in today, Alana. We should begin by saying we were very impressed by the way you handled yourself during the interview. Your audition was terrific too. I know you came here hoping to hear some good news from us. However, we have some concerns that need to be addressed. And we wanted to give you a chance to clear the air."

'Oh no,' I thought to myself. "What sorts of concerns?"

Hugh Barrows held up a copy of my resume. "Well, we did a background check. You indicated that you had attended the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern and graduated with a 3.9 grade average."

"Yes," I replied. "That is correct."

Hugh Barrows said, "When the WSLM personnel department contacted Northwestern to verify the information, they were unable to do so. Furthermore, when we contacted the editor of the Evanston Chronicle, where you supposedly worked as a researcher, we could not verify that Ms Alana Harris had worked there. Would you care to explain why?"

'The jig is up,' I thought to myself. "I might as well tell you the rest of the story, I guess. The information on my resume is all true, except for one thing. My real name is not Alana Harris. It is Alan A. Harris. In spite my looks to the contrary, I am a guy."

"Yes. That is what we found out," Jim Blake said.

"But," Hugh Barrows asked, "what we want to know is why you carried out this deception?"

"About six months ago, when you hired Bambi Benton to be your new sportscaster, I had applied under my real name of Alan A. Harris. I emailed my resume with a photo to WSLM. Shortly thereafter, I received a brief reply thanking me for applying. The message also indicated that my services would not be needed at that time.

"So this time, when Bambi Benton resigned, I took the hint. I figured WSLM was looking for a female sportscaster to be Bambi's replacement. So, with help from my sister and one of her talented friends, I transformed myself into an attractive female, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, and applied for the job.

"The interview went well. The audition was a success. But, in this day and age, I guess it is difficult to get around the identity issue."

Don jumped in. "I must say, you make a very convincing woman."

The others nodded in agreement.

"Thank you," I said.

"You are very knowledgeable about sports, too," Jim Blake added.

I nodded my head.

"But you aren't what you appear to be," Hugh Barrows said in a disapproving tone. "My goodness, we can't have a faggot doing the sports. We'd be the laughing stock of the whole country."

"I am not a faggot," I countered. "I am heterosexual."

"Well you certainly look queer to me!"

"Wait a second!" Don Flynn interjected. "You'd better be careful here, Hugh. You cannot discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation."

"I sure as hell can!"

"Sexual orientation is not the point," Jim Blake said. "The public are not ready to accept a female impersonator doing the sportscast. This isn't a comedy show or MTV. Also, we're not trying to break legal ground here. We are not going to go out on a limb and hire a guy dressed as a girl."

"It's perverted!" Hugh Barrows was adamant. "We're doing a sportscast. We're not Jerry Springer or some trashy reality show! Our audience includes children too. You can't go and hire Tootsie here and expect that there wouldn't be a backlash."

"Look, I know that I deceived you and you have the right to be angry. But, you have admitted that I did well in the interview and my audition was impressive. But, as I explained before, you wouldn't have even give me an interview when I was Alan Harris. So, like an actor playing a role, I created a character that I thought would have the qualifications that seemed to be the most important to you. You wanted a beautiful girl! And if I didn't get into drag, you never would have given me a chance! So, can you blame me for what I did?"

That seemed to get everyone's attention.

"So what do you suggest we do?" Don Flynn asked.

"At the very least, let me do an audition as myself–Alan A. Harris."

With a shrug, Don said, "That sounds reasonable to me... So what do you say, Jim and Hugh?"

"That's okay with me," Jim said.

Hugh Barrows nodded his assent, but you could tell he remained unconvinced.

So I managed to salvage this one concession. But looking back at the meeting to decide my fate, the curious thing I realized was that I never broke from my Alana voice at all. I stayed in character all the way through the whole discussion.

10

Dear Diary,

Although I welcomed the opportunity to audition as myself, I wasn't convinced that I really had much of a chance. I thought that Hugh Barrows' attitude was going to be difficult to overcome.

Nevertheless, when I went home to change into a suit with a white shirt and tie and my best shoes, I still could comfort myself with one thought. If I had been told a week ago that I had an audition for the sportscasting job at WSLM, would I have been happy? The obvious answer would have been YES!!

So what could I offer that another candidate could not?

Well, I hoped that a sense of humor might be an asset. For example, Chris Berman of ESPN was always a guy I found to be entertaining. He'd sprinkle imaginative quips here and there throughout his broadcasts that were just delightful! A viewer never knew when to expect an injection of humor. Chris Berman's trademark was his imaginative nicknames for players. For example, Craig matinee at the Biggio, Yhency push up Brazoban, John Kitna kaboodle, Bert be home Blyleven, Oddibe young again McDowell, and Neil nice Rackers.

When I performed my run through for the WSLM brass once more, I tried my best to act confident. And I took whatever opportunity there was to add some humor to the broadcast.

One advantage I had was that I had watched Bambi Benton do her 6:30 broadcast first. My try-out followed immediately after hers, so I could cheat a little with the ad-libs. In my mind, I created some humorous quips to accompany the highlights before I took my seat at the sports desk.

When the audition was finally over, I felt that I had given it my best shot. It went even better than the performance I had done as Alana.

But would it be good enough to persuade the powers that be?

11

One month later...

While sitting on my couch watching TV, one of those annoying 'bad drag' commercials for Wendy's came on, so I changed the station from WKCK to WSLM.

Barbara Lee Casey, the new sportscaster, was doing her thing.

"NBA training camps are in full swing. This afternoon I caught up with Coach Tom Thibodeau at the Berto Center, the Bulls practice facility, in Deerfield."

A videotape clip showed Barbara Lee, in a low-cut cream blouse, red jacket and relatively short curly black skirt, standing beside a tall, athletic looking man in a gray suit and tie. Thibodeau had short hair, receding at the temples.

"Coach Thibodeau, the Bulls squeaked into the playoffs last year. But there seems to be a sense of optimism for the coming season. What changes have the Bulls made in the off-season to improve the club?"

"We acquired some very good, experienced NBA players through free agency: power forward Carlos Boozer and an excellent three point shooter in Kyle Korver. Our young players are a year older. Derrick Rose is one of the best point guards in the NBA. Joakim Noah could be an all-star this season. We finished strong last year after a slow start. So we think we are contenders."

The picture shifted to clips of the Bulls on the court scrimmaging as the interview continued.

"You mentioned free agents. How did Kyle Korver look today?" Barbara Lee asked.

The camera zeroed in on Kyle Korver making a three-pointer from the corner. Next came a thunderous dunk from ex-Celtic Brian Scalabrine.

"Unfortunately Carlos Boozer is sidelined with an injury but Korver, Bogans and Brewer have looked good so far. We should be a much better defensive team this season."

"And veteran forward Luol Deng?"

The camera focused in on a long, lean, human jumping jack, Luol Deng, dunking the basketball with authority. Next was Deng taking a 12-foot jump shot, and the final clip showed Deng hustling up the floor to take a pass for a lay up.

"I like Deng's attitude. He's trying hard to adapt to our new defensive systems. And he's shooting the ball well. Then we have a rookie from Turkey, Omer Asik. Of course, he's got a lot to learn about the NBA brand of ball, like anybody coming from Europe. But, he's big, tough and he really battles."

Then it was back to the interview close-up shot of Coach Tom Thibodeau and stunning Barbara Lee Casey.

"When the Miami Magic signed Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh and LeBron James, it surprised some people. Is Miami the team to beat this year?"

Coach Tom Thibodeau tried to correct Barbara's faux pas. "The Heat are a very strong team. They've got a lot of weapons and an excellent coach in Erik Spoelstra. But they still have to beat the Los Angeles Lakers. In the off-season, the Lakers acquired Steve Blake and Matt Barnes while retaining all their key players. Their defense is one of the best in the league and they've got the best closer in the game in Kobe Bryant. Also Boston, with Shaquille O'Neal, should be very strong too."

"Thanks Coach Bilodeau."

"Er…my pleasure."

"When we come back, we'll have a look at the Cubs and the White Sox and the rest of the baseball world."

As Barbara Lee threw to the commercial, I kept thinking, 'What an airhead!' How could she mistake the Magic for the Heat? And Bilodeau for Thibodeau? Bilodeau's a free style skier who won a gold medal in men's moguls for Canada at the Winter Olympics.

This was killing me. Ever since I had been turned down for the sportscasting job, it just frustrated me so much every time I looked at Barbara Lee Casey. I lost out to her! Sure Barbara Lee looked sensational! She was, after all, a former Miss Illinois in the Miss America Pageant.

But Barbara Lee made mistakes on every broadcast! I was so ticked off, I shut off the TV.

It was time to get out of the apartment. A long walk would give me some time to do some serious soul searching.

12

While I agonized about the missed opportunity, another break did come my way. Dan Cooney, the entertainment reporter at the Evanston Chronicle, took a sick leave. So, having paid my dues as a researcher since I had graduated from Northwestern, I was appointed to take his place.

I didn't even have to interview for the position.

However, it was on the understanding that when Dan recovered from his bout of hepatitis, I would go back to being a fact checker and chief gofer.

Now Dan's a nice guy and I wouldn't wish for anything bad to happen to Dan. Like I wouldn't want him to step in front of a bus on his way home from the hospital. But as the farmers say, 'Make hay while the sun shines.' Or some old chestnut like that. This was my big opportunity!

What should I do for my first big story? Do a movie review? Emulate Ebert and Roeper?

Two thumbs down on that idea. Too mundane.

So I ran an idea past my editor about a possible story, and he kinda liked it.

"How about a day in the life of a sportscaster?" I asked.

Grant Olsen, my editor, asked, "Which sportscaster?"

"Bambi Benton. She's a resident of Evanston."

"That would be great!"

So I contacted TV station WKCK and they were agreeable to the idea. So was Bambi Benton.

Of course, I had an ulterior motive. Ever since I had met her, I was enthralled by Bambi. The thought of spending some time with her - any time with her - was exciting. Hell! I worshipped the ground she floated above.

The appointment was for 10:00 a.m. in suburban Evanston, one of the older suburbs of Chicago.

Bambi lived in a high-rise luxury condo–a far cry from my humble abode. After going through the security rigmarole, I took the elevator to the twenty-first floor. When I knocked on the door, I didn't have long to wait. Bambi's radiant face beamed at me.

Wow!

Bambi threw her arms around me. We hugged. I could feel the softness of Bambi's big bosom. Bambi wore a body-hugging, light blue top and exercise tights that revealed every curve of her heavenly body.

Schwing!

"How are you Alan?"

"Very good, Bambi."

"I'm glad to see you."

We parted, with some reluctance.

"You look marvelous as always!" I gushed.

And she did. Bambi's tousled blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and shone like a rainbow at Niagara. Her clear blue eyes drew me into the depths of her soul. Her soft red lips yearned to be kissed. Her body beckoned like Pamela Anderson bouncing in slow motion on the sands of Malibu.

I was in love! I was a bitch in heat!

"Thank you. You're looking good too, Alan A.," Bambi's breathy voice beckoned.

I laughed. "Alan A.? So you know about my dual identity?"

"Yes. Don Flynn confided in me."

I wondered, 'How many other people knew?'

As if reading my mind, Bambi said, "Don't worry, Don only told me because I asked why you hadn't been hired as my replacement."

"Oh," I began. That meant Bambi might have taken an interest in me. "So which side of me do you prefer? Alan A. or Alana?"

Bambi looked me over from head to toe. "I like both sides of you, although it's too bad WSLM didn't hire you as Alana. I think you would've made a great TV personality."

"Thank you," I replied humbly. "I would've enjoyed that opportunity."

"But you're a reporter now!"

"Yes. I'm on the entertainment beat. Although I love sports, I also enjoy the world of entertainment too."

"So what gave you the idea to do a story about me?"

"Oh, that was a no-brainer. For the Evanston Chronicle, we need a local angle. You qualify because you live in Evanston. You're a rising star. The readers would love to know you 'up close and personal' as they say. My editor liked the idea. So here I am... And when I met you after my audition, I must confess, you made quite an impression on me."

"Why thank you."

Bambi gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

Schwing!

"Here," Bambi said, as she put her hand in mine, "let me show you my apartment."

She led me through the kitchen, the living room, her spacious den/office, and then out to the balcony. All the while, we held hands.

Her apartment was expensively and tastefully furnished. It could have graced the pages of Homes Beautiful magazine.

While we stood on the balcony looking east to the shores of Lake Michigan, I admired the magnificent view. Bambi's gorgeous figure was so enticing! The city/lake vista paled in comparison to Bambi's hills and valleys.

And her dancer tights showed off her curvaceous legs to great effect!

There was an immediate ache in my groin. At moments like these I kinda wished pharmaceutical companies had invented anti-Viagra pills that could quell raging hormones.

I still had a job to do and it was getting harder and harder–I meant the job. Okay, a small part of me was suffering what I like to call the Medusa effect. After gazing at Bambi, an enlarged part of me turned to stone.

I had brought along a camera and a digital recording device. So I snapped a few shots of Bambi on the balcony.

Then we went back inside and sat down at her dinner table.

On a dining room buffet, I noticed some photos. One that caught my attention was one of a young Bambi in a cheerleading outfit. Another was an outdoors shot of Bambi wearing a purple dress. Also, there was a picture of a smiling middle-aged couple, probably Bambi's parents.

We settled in and began to discuss 'A Day in the Life of a Sportscaster.'

I must confess that I had a hard time avoiding looking down at Bambi's enormous assets. Then, for the first time, while trying to look at something else, I noticed, around Bambi's graceful neck, there was a thin silver chain and, hidden between her awesome twosome, a small black and white medallion–a Yin and Yang symbol. I'd seen it somewhere before quite recently, but I couldn't remember where.

'Concentrate Al,' I thought to myself. 'Focus on the interview.'

"So let me start with an obvious question," I said. "Is Bambi your real name?"

"Hmm... Maybe we should lay out some ground rules for this interview first. Can we go off the record for a moment?"

"Sure," I replied as I shut off my digital recording device that had been placed between us.

"I'd rather not get into details of my personal life," Bambi said earnestly. "Being a popular television personality, I sometimes get unwanted attention from fans and admirers. I'd rather not give away any information that would help potential stalkers hunt me down. If I gave out my real name, somebody could find out where I live and my phone number. I might lose any privacy I have... and I just moved into this apartment. Also, my family wouldn't want to be harassed either. So a simple question about my real name has some consequences."

"I understand."

"Good."

"So no questions about boyfriends or relationships either?"

"That's right. A private life should remain private... I mean you could tell your readers I am single. But, I have a boyfriend, so don't get your hopes up."

"And do you?"

Bambi smiled. "I tell the people at work I have a boyfriend, so that the guys in the crew won't hit on me."

"All right, can we get back on the record?"

"Certainly."

So I stuck to the 'day in the life' theme.

Bambi usually went to sleep about 1:00 a.m. because her sportscast usually finished around 11:30. She usually rose at 8:00. After a trip to the bathroom, a light breakfast was the first thing on her agenda. She'd take her time as she read over the Chicago Sun Times and Chicago Tribune sports sections.

Then she'd put on the television and watch ESPN as she powered up the computer, got on the Internet, checked her email and then scanned through various newspaper Internet sites for the latest sports news.

Next she'd do her workout, which usually lasted a half-hour. One of her guest bedrooms had some exercise equipment.

My 10:00 o'clock visit had caught her as she was about to begin her exercise routine. Hence the stretchy body-hugging outfit. So we went over to her exercise location. I snapped a few more photos as she began her Pilates routine.

In my capacity as fact checker and gofer for the Evanston Chronicle, I'd had to do photography duties as well. But, I'd never had as interesting a subject as Bambi before.

Within a few minutes, Bambi's face took on that glow that accompanies exercise - or sex. She looked so trim and fit.

Bambi's breathing was mesmerizing. As her lungs filled with oxygen, her breasts seemed to rise like helium balloons. In with the good air; out with the bad. In and out, in and out.

Bambi's body made my little Thumper want to hump her.

Where were those anti-Viagra pills?

13

The Navy Pier is one of those eclectic places that are hubbubs of activity. It has lots of restaurants, shops, movie theatres, a carousel, a Ferris wheel plus a waterfront view that is pleasing to the senses. And on a sunny late summer day, the brilliant sunshine glittered like diamonds off the shimmering surface of Lake Michigan.

Bambi wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to retain some measure of anonymity as we strolled across the Pier. However, the pink top and short denim skirt certainly drew attention to her.

By now, Bambi's reputation had grown. Bambi Benton was the most popular TV personality in Chicago, after Oprah, of course.

We sat down for lunch at a patio table of Harry Caray's Tavern. If one could look beyond the crowds, the souvenir stands and the tour boats, the Navy Pier offered a view of the lake, the magnificent waterfront parkland and the impressive skyscrapers of downtown Chicago.

Bambi ordered a Mediterranean salad and orange juice. I went for a garden salad and cranberry juice. Girls had to watch their weight and eat healthy.

"So, how do you like being at WKCK?" I asked.

"It's been terrific! I have really enjoyed it! It couldn't be any better."

"Any significant changes going from the grand SLaM to the big KiCK?"

"Not really. The people, of course, are different. But both places have great production crews. Fortunately, I got along with everyone at WSLM and I think I have some great relationships developing at WKCK."

"Your ratings have gone through the roof since you switched over to WKCK. Have you any idea why?"

Bambi paused for a moment. "I've been lucky I guess...The news show at WKCK has always been very strong. The news anchor, Craig Calhoun, is a tower of strength. He's widely respected. Our weather person, Jennifer Nash, has a huge following. So, they lead in to me, and I've been able hold onto the audience."

"Actually the ratings spike for the sportscast. At the same time, the WSLM ratings drop off during their sportscast... Any comment?"

"Hmm... perhaps some of my fans from my WSLM days have stayed loyal to me. I don't know. I'm sure that Barbara Lee Casey will be able to pick up a following of her own and rectify the situation."

I remained unconvinced. "If I could offer an opinion, you are so much better than Barbara Lee Casey. Barbara Lee makes so many mistakes. It is downright embarrassing! When the weather report finishes and a commercial comes on, everybody switches to your telecast."

"Can I go off the record for a moment?"

"Sure." I turned off my digital recording device.

I felt Bambi's stockinged foot on my lower leg.

"I think WSLM made a big mistake in hiring Barbara Lee Casey. There is no doubt in my mind. They should have hired you! I saw both auditions. You won going away–either as Alan or Alana. Barbara Lee never even got out of the starting gate. You left her standing there."

"Really?"

"I talked to my old director Don Flynn just yesterday. He said they never should have hired Barbara Lee. Don told me he lobbied as hard as he could for you, but Hugh Barrows overruled him. Jim Blake caved into the pressure from Hugh, but now Jim, too, admits that hiring Barbara Lee was a mistake."

"Wow... what can I say? Thanks, Bambi."

Beneath the table, I could feel Bambi's toes intrude into my sensitive area. As she continued to probe my private parts, her wicked smile bedeviled me.

"I thought that might get a rise out of you."

At that moment, I was praying for self-control.

"Damn it!" Bambi muttered.

She reached into her jacket pocket. "My cell phone's vibrating." Bambi pressed a prominent green button on her phone. "Hello." Bambi listened intently for a moment.

Don't you girls just hate it when your vibrator goes off?

Bambi's phone conversation was brief and to the point. "C'mon," she said as she removed her toes from my crotch, put her cell phone back in her pocket, and stood up. "Sorry to get you all worked up. But we've got to go...That was my producer. I've got to cover a Blackhawks news conference at 1:30."

14

It turned out the Blackhawks news conference at the United Center was to announce the signing of coach Joel Quenneville to a contract extension through the 2013-14 season.

General Manager Stan Bowman fielded questions from the Chicago media.

A forest of microphones had been set up to capture Joel Quenneville's responses. Of course the Blackhawks were the best Chicago sports story of 2010, having won their first Stanley Cup since 1961.

Unfortunately the Cubs and White Sox hadn't exactly distinguished themselves. When it came to Chicago's baseball teams, there was no joy in Mudville, like in the Casey at the Bat poem where heroes often fail. Also, the Bears were in turmoil because of uncertainty surrounding their quarterback.

Although the Chicago hockey fans had celebrated the Stanley Cup victory back in June, the off-season was a comedown. The players wanted to be rewarded for their success.

Pro sports, to a large extent, was all about money. In the film Wall Street, Gordon Gecko said, "Greed is good."

From the perspective of the sports fan, the athletes were all interested in looking after themselves. It was the age of the individual - 'me first.'

Up against the salary cap, the Chicago Blackhawks lost some of their depth players: Kris Versteeg, Andrew Ladd, John Madden, Adam Burish, Brent Sopel, Ben Eager. Plus, one hated to see Dustin Byfuglien go to the Atlanta Thrashers. He was a key player in Chicago winning the Stanley Cup. So was goalie Antti Niemi who signed with the San Jose Sharks.

The Blackhawks did manage to keep some big stars such as: Marian Hossa, Patrick Sharp, Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews, Brian Campbell, Brent Seabrook and Duncan Keith. However, the Stanley Cup magic will be hard to duplicate.

But reporters had a job to do. Journalists looked for the human-interest angle. They tried to tell a story in an interesting way, making the game a metaphor for life. Sometimes commentators hyped a sports tale, building up the conflict, making the personalities of the competitors larger than life. And, luckily for the viewers, the events sometimes lived up to the hyperbole.

I followed Bambi Benton and her camera crew as she tried her best to get a minute or two exclusively with Blackhawks GM Stan Bowman.

Of course, Bambi used all her feminine charms to persuade Stan Bowman to do the interview.

Stan was only too happy to accommodate her.

Bambi asked Stan about the dismantling of the Cup winning team. Stan countered with the signing of coach Quenneville as a positive. Stan did admit that it pained him to have so many changes in his roster dictated by salary cap issues, but the Blackhawks had acquired many good young prospects through trades that would ensure the franchise's long-term success. Signing coach Quenneville meant that the young players would realize their potential and develop into NHL stars.

As the interview concluded, Bambi thanked Stan Bowman. Then she hustled over to the group of reporters surrounding coach Joel Quenneville, all the while keeping her eyes peeled for owner Rocky Wirtz.

It was at that moment I realized that television reporters would regularly spend endless hours each day to cover a breaking story. And that news item would be edited down to less than 30 seconds of airtime.

Bambi Benton was a true professional! She was my heroine! And role model!

15

My first story made the front page!

When A Day in the Life of Bambi Benton hit the newsstands, it got a great response! There, in wide-screen Technicolor, were Bambi's awesome twosome! And her face was deliciously delightful too! Every issue of the Evanston Chronicle got scooped up that weekend!

Everybody told me the pictures were great!

Almost all the emails to the Chronicle were positive. The only readers who complained suggested there should have been even more photos... and maybe less text.

A lot of readers said that when they watched Bambi Benton on television, they always felt teased by the camera angles. Too many head shots and never any body shots. Even though the desk Bambi sat behind was made of glass, it apparently hid a lot of Bambi from view. And there was a lot more of Bambi to show! As evidenced by the Chronicle's photos.

A few people even bothered to read the text that accompanied the pictures.

Some readers asked how Dan Cooney was doing, hoping for a speedy return.

Oh well! The editor, Grant Olsen, liked my work... for a debut story.

'You'll get better,' he assured me in his email message.

Most importantly, I got an email from Bambi Benton. She thanked me for doing the story. She thought the photos looked great, except for one that she said made her butt look fat.

Sigh. Time for a mini-break.

When I stood up, I extended my arms and stretched. I went over to the fridge to pour myself a cup of juice.

My sister, Amy, had gone home to visit my parents in Bloomfield Indiana. I thought about phoning home to tell Amy about my news article. And my parents too. But, hearing about it wasn't the same as seeing it.

So I had an empty apartment all to my lonesome.

When I sat back down at the computer, I emailed a message back to Bambi Benton. I tried to explain to Bambi that the editor chose the photos.

Also, I thanked her for being such a great interview subject.

When I resumed checking through my email, I found one from Adrian, Alana's makeup artist and confidant.

'Great pictorial! Bambi Benton never looked any better! You should be a fashion photographer! You are an artiste with a camera! You really know how to bring out the best in your photo subject. In some of the pictures, it's like Bambi is making love to the camera!

Well, the photographer definitely wanted to make love to Bambi! So I sent off a thank you to Adrian and asked when we might go out to a dance club again. I had really enjoyed that first time out with Adrienne and Amy. We had only been out together once more since then. And it had been a real fun time again!

A few minutes later, when I scanned through other email messages, I found one from Dan Cooney, the regular Entertainment beat reporter.

Dan congratulated me on the Bambi pictorial. He informed me that news of his hepatitis infection had been overblown. The test results were negative. He was misdiagnosed. He was feeling great. He'd be back to work on Monday.

'Terrific!' I replied. 'The news is wonderful, Dan! I am so glad that you are well. I look forward to seeing you on Monday.'

I guess that was good news. I wouldn't wish anybody ill.

But, what about me?

At that moment I realized I was suffering from the same syndrome that pro athletes were suffering from. The ME SYNDROME. It's all about the needs of the individual outweighing the greater good.

I was a darn good researcher and gofer! A passable photographer and an enthusiastic but inexperienced writer.

So I tried to look at my glass as being half-full as opposed to being half-empty.

Then I got up from the computer desk and stretched again. My hands and wrists were stiff. Also, I couldn't account for what was making me seem so lethargic and dozy. Maybe it was that electrical field around the computer that contributed to carpal tunnel syndrome and brain fog. Or maybe it was the underwhelming response to the actual words of my first story ever as a reporter.

I trudged back to the kitchen to refill my empty cup with orange juice. I thought about going out for a walk. Some fresh air might do me good. But, for some reason, I just felt like cocooning. Staying in. Hiding.

So I shut down the computer and retreated to the comfort of my bed.

As I lay there, I thought of Bambi Benton and what happened at the restaurant. And what if...

Was Bambi just a teaser or would she really put out?

What if Bambi and I...

After dozing and dreaming for awhile, the insistent ring of the telephone interrupted my imaginary liaison with Bambi Benton.

I reached for the phone on my nightstand. "Hello."

"Hello, Alan?"

"Yes."

"Alan, this is Don Flynn at the SLaM."

I sprang up to immediate attention. "Yes. How are you Don?"

"Good. I saw your story on Bambi Benton in the Evanston Chronicle. It was great! It was quite flattering for Bambi."

"Well, it was such an onerous task to follow Bambi around for a whole day. It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it."

Don laughed. "You do good work."

"Thank you. That was my very first story for the Chronicle."

"So, are you enjoying being an ink-stained wretch or are you still interested in being a TV sportscaster?"

"As much as I enjoy being a reporter for the Chronicle, I'd leave it in a New York nanosecond to be a sportscaster."

"Good," Don said. "So you are available?"

"Yes."

"Well then, I have good news for you. Barbara Lee Casey isn't working out here. Basically, Casey struck out. Ratings have been terrible. The station has decided to go in a different direction."

"Uh huh."

"We'd like to offer you the position as our new sportscaster."

"That's wonderful!" I gushed. My mind was doing mental cartwheels. "Fantastic! I'd love to work for you. I accept."

"Great. We'd like you to come down to the station at 2:00 p.m. Monday. We'll get you to sign a contract and get all the paperwork taken care of."

"Wonderful! I'll be there, Don."

"Oh, wait a second, Al. As much as we like Alan Harris as a sportscaster, we prefer Alana."

"Even better," I replied. "I can't wait. Or rather, Alana can't wait."

"Alana was always my choice from the very beginning," Don said.

In my breathy, sexy Alana voice, I said, "Oh, that's sweet of you to say, my darling Don. I'm so looking forward to working with you."

Don laughed. "All right Alana, we'll see you Monday."

"Thank you very much, Don. Goodbye."

"Bye bye, Alana."

My arms almost hit the ceiling as I jumped for joy! "Yes!!!!"

16

When I entered the ladies room at the WSLM studios, I was a bit nervous, but confident.

I was scheduled to meet with Don Flynn and Jim Blake in five minutes time.

My first week on the job was like a dream come true! Everything had gone so wonderfully well!

The purpose of the performance meeting was to review the whole first week–to look at the positives, the pieces that had worked well, aspects that needed improvement and bytes that should never have been aired.

As I stood in front of the mirror, I checked my makeup.

I took the lip-gloss out of my bag, uncapped the gold tube, brushed on a dab of pink/whitish fluid to my lower lip, pressed my lips together and checked once more.

Flawless!

I pursed my lips as if to kiss some handsome hunk. Absolutely irresistible!

Then I stood back to appraise myself as objectively as I could.

The azure blue eyes, enhanced by the eyeliner, mascara and a blend of dark eye shadows of different hues, were the eyes of a Vogue model.

The thin, arched eyebrows, lined with a blonde eyebrow pencil, were drawn perfectly. There was no hint of the theatrical putty that hid my male caterpillars.

Dark powder for the outer edges of my face seemed to diminish the chin and jawbone. Light powder drew the central facial features forward, while enhancing the high cheekbones. The long golden blonde gently curled tresses framed my face perfectly. The dress, a bright yellow/gold, matched my sunny smile.

And then there was a figure to die for!

My 42 double Ds drew rave reviews wherever they went. They were awesome! A trim 24-inch waist, with help from a tightly laced waist cincher, had a helpful side effect. It, along with a highly restrictive gaff, gave me a higher pitched, naturally breathy voice because I could hardly inhale.

Padding helped round out my 37-inch hips. But my long curvaceous legs, on gold stilettos, also drew stares from admirers of either gender.

On the babe scale, I was a 9.5.

Why not a 10?

There's a certain look that girls have after they've had mad passionate sex - that freshly ****ed glow! An aura of sexiness that one can sense. The one thing Alana lacked was sexual fulfillment!

But, I checked my watch. It was time for the meeting.

When I walked into the executive office, both Don Flynn and Jim Blake stood up to greet me.

"Congratulations!" Don hugged me warmly.

"Yes, you've been terrific all week!" Jim added as the three of us did a group hug.

This was a good start! I had grown very fond of these guys in the past few days. They had been there for me every step of the way.

Were those the strains of Kumbaya playing in the background? Were Jim and Don closeted hippies?

As we took our positions at the round-table, Don pulled out a chair for me.

"Thank you, Don," I said as I smoothed my dress beneath me and sat down.

"You're welcome, Alana."

Jim held up a report. "We have good news, Alana. No, make that great news! The ratings are in. SLaM Sports has jumped 47% from last week. Not only are you holding the audience that watches our news and weather, you're picking up viewers from other stations!"

Don Flynn interjected, "You're terrific, Alana! You've succeeded beyond our highest expectations!"

"Thank you," I said, beaming from ear to ear.

Jim Blake looked at me with a sense of relief. "Last week, we were so depressed here at work, having to let Barbara Lee Casey go. You are the one who turned it all around!"

Trying to deflect the credit, I said, "You guys have a terrific production crew here. You've made the job so easy for me."

"You know," Don began, "it took awhile for us to persuade Hugh Barrows that you were a better fit for us than Barbara Lee Casey. But, obviously the ratings numbers don't lie."

Jim added, "In fact, we made a minor wager with Hugh that you would make an immediate impact. We bet that you would better our ratings by at least 10%." Jim paused and gave me a devilish wink. "Obviously, you won the bet for us."

"Thanks. I'm glad that I was worthy of your support."

Don shuffled through a few newspaper clippings. "The press have jumped on the Alana bandwagon too. Here's one I highlighted from the Tribune. 'Alana Hinton is a natural! The SLaM reigns with Alana's beauty and brains.' And the Sun Times says, 'Not only is gorgeous Alana Hinton a competent newsreader, she actually knows the score. Alana is quick with a humorous ad lib too. In jock speak, she can talk the talk and walk the walk.'"

I smiled.

Jim Blake said, "The news is spreading around Chicagoland quickly. You're creating the kind of buzz Bambi Benton stirred up when she first got here."

"Already you're neck and neck with Bambi in the ratings," Don said.

"That's great!" I gushed. "Bambi's my idol."

"You are like Bambi in many ways," Jim said. "Just out of curiosity, how do you like your new name?"

"Alana Hinton is fine. It will help protect my privacy... and my identity."

"You know," Don said, "when I look at you, I see all woman."

"Me too." Jim nodded his head in agreement.

The guys came over to give me a hug. It meant so much to me to be accepted.

My first week on the job was like a dream come true! Alana Hinton was a smash hit!

My first week on the wildside was like a magic carpet ride.
To fly higher and higher, I could not aspire!
It was time to celebrate and have a good time!

So, after the late broadcast on Friday night, Amy, Adrienne and I went out to an after hours dance club to party 'til the sun came up!

In my previous visits to the clubs as Alana, I had danced 'til I couldn't dance any more!

This time it was even better! It felt like love was all around me.

The guys and gals at the club couldn't get enough of me. They shook their booties and danced the night away!

And then, as the sea of humanity whirled about me in the midst of soulful dance tunes and flashing lights, it seemed that the people suddenly parted, the music stopped - and there, in front of me, stood beautiful Bambi Benton.

Bambi's radiant smile could have melted Antarctica! We embraced! Bambi tried to squeeze the air out of me! I kissed her on the lips! She responded hungrily, opening her mouth, thrusting her tongue in between my teeth.

This was the mother of all French Kisses! Oblivious to all around us, we kissed and kissed and kissed!

We couldn't get enough of each other! I wanted to ravage Bambi and take her right then and there!

Yes!!! Yes!!! Yes!!!

EPILOGUE

Sports fans in Chicagoland (Mudville) probably want to know how I made out?

Did I hit a home run? Or did I strike out?

My apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer:
Oh somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is great joy in Mudville - beautiful Bambi has put out.

THE END

Acknowledgements:
Photos used in the story used with permission from Bambi Hinton.
Casey at the Bat was written by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.