Angels in Providence

by Laurie S.

Have you ever gone for a professional makeover? After makeup artist Jamie Austin performs his magic, Laurie goes to a dance club with beautiful T-girls Tiffany and Kiana. This is a true story. Or mostly true. Some names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. This tale is dedicated to Kiana, Tiffany and Jamie for their participation in the real life adventure and also for the use of their photos.

Chapter One

As I boogey and jive to the rhythm of the beat, I feel like I'm back in the disco daze of the 1970s.

The Bee Gees Staying Alive pulsates through the dance club's sound system. There are speckled lights whirling around the multi levels of Gerardo's from the mirrored disco ball above the dance floor.

A drop-dead gorgeous blonde named Lynne playfully grinds her rear end into my crotch as we dance together. A beautiful brunette named Bethany, thrusts up against my delectable derriere. I feel like I'm the meat part of a club sandwich, but who's complaining?
Another beautiful girl joins our 'club'. Then another gorgeous gal as we hop, bop and bebop.

There are smiling faces all around the dance floor, watching our decadent line dance. We all seem to have caught Saturday Night Beaver Fever.

Lynne reaches behind her and grabs my hips, forcing me into her rear end. She moves her mounds of soft flesh up against my pent up penis, as Bethany bumps me from behind.

I cuddle Lynne's taught waist, and then slyly massage her bountiful bosom. She smiles and then moves her right hand from my hip and slowly rubs her hand over my quivering crotch.
I'm in Seventh Heaven! What a glorious night! Never in my wildest dreams did I expect this to happen.

Friday afternoon in Auburn Massachusetts — it's a small town, about 45 minutes west of Boston.

I am searching for a store called Glamour Boutique.

The mall is smaller than I expected. As a result, I drive by the store. I have to turn around and backtrack.

One thing that throws me is the address. Southbridge is the name of the street I am looking for, but I never see a road sign with that name.

When I pull into the parking lot, I notice the Glamour Boutique sign is displayed prominently. There is a colorful Marilyn Monroe cutout at the entrance. From the outside, it looks like I have found the right place.

At the women's fashion store beside Glamour Boutique, there is a going out of business sale. Up to 70% off.

Outside, it is a hot summer day. But inside it is cool. I am thankful for the air conditioning.

First impressions? Glamour Boutique is not glamorous. This is not Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, California. But then again, I am not Julia Roberts in the film Pretty Woman. There are many racks and racks of dresses, skirts, blouses, lingerie, bras, girdles, and
pantyhose that fill up the store space. Stacks of shoe boxes, makeup displays, rows of wigs atop white Styrofoam forms, breast form counters, and any other women's paraphernalia jam the store to capacity.

Glamour Boutique, I suspect, sells a lot of its products to people on the Internet. As a result, priority is not given to the in-store displays. Instead product availability seems to be most important. Thus, the store has a lot of its stock taking up space.

There are a few people in the store.

John Warrener, the owner, says hi, although he is busy with a customer. He is bespectacled, middle-aged and casually dressed. (Later on, I'd discover that John is always on the phone — talking to suppliers, customers, and the staff at the new Glamour Boutique in Las Vegas — wheeling and dealing.)

A young blond haired teenager is trying on a corset over his T-shirt. He stands about 5' 10" in heels and must weigh about 180 pounds. The waist cincher is being tightened. The flesh above the apparatus looks like there are possibilities for realistic looking cleavage. In a high vocal tone, he is talking with a female friend who is giving him a critical eye.

Then John is telling the teenager about a gaff and how one uses it.

The feminine teen is wide-eyed at the explanation.

I wander over to another rack of bras. I am looking for a push up bra. I already own a black Wonder Bra. Also, I have a black bra with water-filled pads. Perhaps I can find a flesh colored one that will enhance my bosom. But, after several minutes of searching, I am unable to find a beige colored push-up bra.

There is a young Asian "girl" moving about at the back of the store. She is looking at a typewritten page and searching through stacked boxes of shoes. Wearing colorful five-inch heels, a red acrylic top, and jeans, she has longish dark hair and she is lightly made up. Lipstick and little else.

I am tempted to ask for help, but she looks preoccupied with her search. So I decide to look for a waist cincher.

John and the teenager are still talking. The conversation shifts to the occasion when the young crossdresser might get into drag.

At that moment, a middle-aged lady comes in the front door. She smiles at the sight of the teenager wearing the waist cincher. Then she begins to search through the racks of dresses.

I approach the young salesperson.

She looks up, smiles, and says, "Hello, can I help you?"

"Yes please. I've been looking for a beige push-up bra? Do you have any?"

"I don't think so . . . we have bras in black and white, but not beige."

"Then how about a waist cincher?" I ask.

"Yes, we have some at the back. What size would you like?"

"Small please."

The salesgirl leads me to the back of the store. She takes a turn to the right into a small room. Within seconds she has a waist cincher in her hands, packed in a clear plastic bag.

"Small right?"

"Yes. Thank you," I reply as she hands me the package.

Quickly I look it over. It looks rather straight-sided, but I cannot tell if it is really what I need. I have several black outfits that I can wear this with, but I know I'd like to get a flesh colored waist cincher.

"Do you have this in beige too?" I ask hopefully.

"No — black only."

After pausing a moment, "Okay, I'll take it."

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes, I'm also looking for some false eyelashes."

"Oh, we have those at the front of the store."

Then we move past the piles of shoeboxes, past the racks of bras and dresses.

"Here they are. We have a sale — two for $7.00."

The sign says they are made from human hair. "Thank you for your help."

As I go to the cash register to pay, there are some business cards on the glass top-display counter.

One of them shows a beautiful Asian girl. Then it clicks.

"Is your name Kiana?" I ask.

"Yes," she replies. "How did you know my name?"

"From Jamie Austin. I am coming back tomorrow for a makeover. She sent me a photo in her email message. When she found out I was Asian, Jamie sent me a photo of Kiana."

"Yes, I have posed for Jamie."

"You look very beautiful in the photos. And very pretty in person."

"Jamie is a magician with makeup."

"Yes," I agree as I look again at the business card with Kiana's mouth-watering image on it.

John Warrener hangs up the phone.

"Hello, I'm John," he says as we shake hands.

"I go by the name of Laurie," I reply. "I've communicated with you by email. And I'm scheduled for a makeover with Jamie Austin tomorrow."

"Yes, I remember. That's good! I'll send him an email to confirm that you are here. Laurie, I am sure you'll be happy with the makeover. Jamie is really talented with the makeup. He'll make you look gorgeous!"

"I hope so," although I am not at all sure that is possible.

"Yes, I think you have petite features. Jamie will make you look marvelous. But, he also is very skilled at having the models pose for the camera. There's a real art to that."

"That's good to hear. I've never been one who liked to hold still for photos."

"Jamie will have you doing contortions you never thought possible."

There is another ring of the phone. John excuses himself.

The purchases are all tabulated on the cash register. I get out my wallet to pay.

"So Kiana, how did you like your makeover with Jamie?" I ask.

"I thought it was very good. Although he put a lot more makeup on me than I normally wear."

I look again at the business card with the delicious photo of Kiana on it. "But you look gorgeous here." And she does.

"Yes, but it's so much trouble. I'm wearing a wig. There is a lot of eye makeup . . . lip-gloss, and things you don't see."

"Like what?"

"Tape for instance. Jamie used tape and elastics. He lifted my eyes."

"Really? You're so young. You don't need a facelift."

"It helps to give a more feminine arch to the eyebrows."

Thinking back to the full-length photo of Kiana, I say, "Your photos look great though . . . You must get a lot of attention when you go out to the dance clubs."

"Oh no, I don't go out to dance clubs."

"Really? Why not?" I ask.

"I haven't had much opportunity to dress up. Until I got this job, I never had the opportunity to put on the makeup and the dresses and the shoes."

"And you haven't gone out to a dance club?" I ask.

"Just once. I went with Tommy . . . She works here too."

"Where did you go?"

"We went to a lesbian dance club in Providence," Kiana said.

"So what was that like?"

"I enjoyed it . . . I had a great time."

"Did you dance a lot?" I ask.

"A few times. I danced with some girls."

"How about Tommy?"

"She danced a lot. In fact, she had just had a makeover with Jamie. A lot of girls asked Tommy, who calls herself Tiffany, to dance. She looked very beautiful and the girls gave her lots of attention . . . Tiffany got a lot of compliments that night."

"Hmm, I'd like to go out tomorrow night. Would you recommend that club?"

"Yes."

"I'm not from this area. How would I get there?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't do the driving."

"How about Jacques in Boston? Have you been there."

Kiana shook her head. "It's a gay club. I've heard bad things about it."

"Such as?"

"It could be dangerous to go there on my own . . . Also, there are prostitutes there."

"I've seen their site on the Internet. There's a beautiful girl on the Internet who operates a site called URNotAlone. I think her name is Vicki. She really promotes Jacques as a place to see a lot of beautiful 'girls.' They also have female impersonation shows. I thought I'd go see it tonight . . . Have you ever seen a drag show?"

"No. I'm not sure I'd want to see something like that."

"Why not?" I ask.

"I dress in women's clothes because I'd like to become a woman. I'm not that interested in seeing men dressed as women."

"But a female impersonation show is entertainment. Even straight people will go to see them. And if you're dressed as a girl, I doubt that the prostitutes will bother you."

"It's just that my co-workers have told me to be careful. Some people are prejudiced and might beat you up if you are out on your own."

"I suppose that can happen. It is safer to go with other people," I reply. "I'd be happy to escort you, if you like. We don't have to go to Jacques. We could go to that lesbian dance club in Providence."

"I didn't bring the right clothes for going to a club."

"Well, I'm having my Jamie Austin makeover tomorrow. You could bring along your clothes and makeup to work tomorrow. We could go out after that."

"Okay."

"Wonderful. All we have to do is get directions to one of the clubs. Then we'll be all set."

"Tommy will be coming in tomorrow. We could ask her."

"Good. Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"Okay . . . Goodbye."

I pick up the bag of merchandise in its plain green plastic bag. I wave goodbye to Kiana and to John, who is still talking on the phone.

Chapter Two

When the phone rings, I fumble around in the dark in unfamiliar surroundings. As I reach for the phone, I remember that I am in a hotel in Auburn Massachusetts. I pick up the phone and mumble, "Thank you."

Why do I do that? It's an automated wake up call, isn't it? I guess it's part of my Canadian upbringing.

I drag myself over to the bathroom. I pour myself a glass of water as I look at myself in the mirror.

Why was I out so late last night?

Jacques Cabaret is why. It has a lively female impersonation show. Also I had a chance to chat with a few of the beautiful show performers, and I had a few brief chats with some of the gorgeous ladies of the evening who frequent the stand up section of the bar. They are rather aggressive girls.

One of the impersonators, Diamond Dunhill, was delighted that I had seen her web page on the Internet. She is one sexy girl! A really beautiful person who is so easy to talk to. Although she is Asian, she has the last name of Dunhill? It's because she smokes that brand of cigarettes. Diamond? I know a female illusionist named Jilian Diamond. I guess Diamond is a popular drag name.

I was surprised to find that Diamond didn't do her own makeup. Apparently a talented friend helped make her gorgeous. But Diamond explained that it was because of a depth perception problem. Diamond didn't want to poke herself in the eye when she applied eyeliner. When I thought of my own struggles with things like false eyelashes, I could relate. I remembered seeing some people use tweezers to apply false eyelashes. I never tried that because of fear I'd poke myself in the eye.

Diamond is so thin. We talked about how she maintained her figure. She says she does a lot of walking. But she eats anything she wants. I'm jealous. I wish I had her metabolism.
But, I have no time to dither because of the late night. I shit, shower and shave as quickly as possible.

Getting ready for a transformation is not easy for me. The big hurdle is the tucking. There is something about pushing one's testicles into the cavity from which they once descended that rubs me the wrong way. Not to mention, the pain that may hang around for a few days after.

Also, I realize that the tape I use to hold 'things' in place might cause some pain when I remove it later on. I think about shaving away the pubic hair, but I decide to leave it as is.

After applying the tape to hold the family jewels in place, I put on the 'Jane Belt' or gaff. I ball up the flesh colored tights and carefully pull them up over my legs. I check them out in the full-length mirror. Fabulous!

All cross-dressers are narcissists. I love the sensuous feel of the nylons on my smooth skin. And, the reflection in the mirror smiles back at me.

I suspect that the hotel room mirror is one of those slimming mirrors, because I don't remember ever looking so thin, at least in recent memory.

Perhaps it's the effect of all the stomach crunches or the fasting and dieting.
Whatever! It looks great!

I slip into a T-shirt and track pants. I grab the duffel bags filled with lady's clothing and makeup.

I am running a few minutes late for my one o'clock appointment.

The store is only a five-minute drive away from my hotel.

A few minutes later, I pass by a miniature golf course. There's a big sign congratulating 'Laurie' on her birthday. I wonder if it is an omen of good fortune for me today, although it isn't my birthday. It's just that seeing 'my' name on a sign rarely ever happens.

I pass by a McDonald's. It's one of the 'landmarks' to use in finding the strip mall and before I know it I am at Glamour Boutique.

After a struggle to extract the duffel bags from the trunk of my blue Toyota Camry, I drag the bags to the entranceway. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves; I open the door. With a big smile, I say hi to John and Kiana as I enter.

They give me a warm greeting.

I ask if Jamie Austin is here.

John says that Jamie has an hour and a half ride to get to Glamour Boutique. He'll be here shortly.

So I ask to use the bathroom.

At the back of the store, I open up the duffel bags and root through them in search of a small package. Finally I find the press-on nails. They are beautiful clear nails that are easy to apply.

Then a man appears at the doorway of the small room at the back of the boutique where I am encamped.

"Hi, I'm Jamie," he says as he extends his hand.

It's like coming face to face with the mysterious, faceless Wizard of Oz!

I had seen 'her' photo on the Internet. But, I cannot match this person with the photo I have in my mind. Wasn't her nose thinner in the photo on the web site? The shape of the face seems different too.

"I'm Laurie," I reply, "at least when I am 'dressed.'"

"Yes, you look pretty much like your photo."

Two weeks ago, I had sent photos of my male self, plus a $50 deposit to Glamour Boutique.

"Well," begins Jamie, "I guess I should give you a brief tour of the store."

"Actually, I dropped by here yesterday . . . I wanted to make sure I wouldn't get lost," I explain.

"Were my directions easy to follow? Or did you get lost?"

"The directions you emailed me were pretty good. But, I drove right past the mall and then had to backtrack." 'I still haven't seen a Southbridge Street sign,' I mutter to myself.

"Well, I usually start by showing our guests some samples of my work."

"I'd enjoy that."

Jamie leads me over to a door that is covered with photos of beautiful 'ladies.'

"This is Danielle," he says, pointing to a photo of a drop-dead gorgeous beauty.

"I think I've seen photos of her on your web site."

"Yes, she's been featured as one of Austin's Angels."

"Danielle looks amazing."

"She's a really nice person too," Jamie adds.

"This girl is Tiffany, right?" I ask as I look at a collage of photos.

"Good guess."

"She looks quite convincing!" I try to recall how I know her. "I checked out her web site when you emailed me a list of former clients who had their own web pages."

"That's right. As a matter of fact, she works here at the Glamour Boutique. She even might drop by later today," advises Jamie.

"Oh! Kiana mentioned her yesterday . . . She's certainly dressed to impress. She looks like a soap opera star! Quite glamorous!"

There must be about 15 photos on the doorway. Jamie tells me an Entertainment Tonight tidbit or two about each one.

"This is Diane. She stands about 6' 2" and weighs about 200 pounds. Would you believe she drives a truck?"

"She doesn't look that big."

"Her shoulders are quite muscular. You see the gown she's wearing?"

"Uh huh."

"It's all part of the visual illusion. It covers up her shoulders and draws attention to her bosom."

"She looks amazing! Like no truck driver I ever saw . . . Maybe I should start hanging out around truck-stops . . . What about her? I point to a spectacular blonde vixen with a figure to-die-for.

"Michelle's a building contractor. She does some heavy construction work."

I wonder if Jamie is pulling my leg or if he is telling me the truth.

"And this one owns an auto dealership."

I look closely at each photo. I cannot penetrate the disguises. I do not see any guys here. These must be real ladies.

"There are a couple of real girls among the boys here…Do you think you can guess which ones?"

I take a close look at the photos once more.

"This one must be a real girl . . . " She has magnificent mammary glands and a great complexion without any heavy makeup.

I look at the photos again, very carefully.

"And this one here as well," I announce confidently.

"You're right. The first one is a stripper. Her name is Morgan. She came in for some glamour photos."

"She's really sexy. What a body!"

"Yes, she was really happy with the results."

"I bet!"

"And the other one is the girlfriend of one of the 'girls.' But how did you guess?" asks Jamie.

"I've looked at the photos on your web site many, many times. I simply selected the girls I hadn't seen before."

"That's a relief. For a minute I thought I might be slipping."

"No, not at all. It's hard to believe these beautiful girls really are guys . . . In fact, that's why I decided to give this makeover a shot."

"So the website got your attention?"

"Right. There isn't any other reason. I took a look at the stunning Austin's Angels. They look so glamorous. Then I compared your services to other makeover artists I've seen and . . . I couldn't resist . . . Besides, I am not getting any younger."

I try to imagine what I will look like after the transformation.

Jamie leads me out to the middle area of Glamour Boutique. On a display counter sits a large photo album with a blue vinyl cover.

There are some dazzling beauties here as well!

Jamie takes the time to tell a few tasty morsels about each gorgeous 'girl.'

"Don't you have any butt ugly girls come in for a makeover?" I ask.

He laughs. "I can do a lot with makeup to enhance the attractive or feminine features and there are some tricks I can use to diminish the masculine traits. A lot of these guys look like average guys — plain and ordinary — rather than feminine girly guys."

I feel a little anxious at this point. I want to get started. I can't wait to see what Jamie can do with me.

Chapter Three

On the wall by the doorway to Jamie Austin's 'studio' hang gowns seemingly piled on top of each other. There is quite a wide selection of colors and fabrics and styles. Some are glitzy, some are velvety, some are slutty; but all are sexy.

"Let's have a look at the dresses."

Jamie looks me over and then makes a suggestion.

"Here is a basic black 'Hump me now' little number," he quips. "Irresistible."

"Okay," I nod with a laugh. "My name is Ivanna . . . Ivanna Humpalot . . . And I am here to uncover Austin's powers."

Jamie smiles. "Let's put that 'Ivanna' number over here," he says as he places it on a chair to his left.

The chaotic room is filled with paraphernalia of all types. It could use some reorganization, but it is not a large room, so I doubt whether or not reorganization will allow everything to fit neatly in any case.

Jamie chooses a glitzy red swatch and holds it up.

"I like it. But, will it fit?"

"Remember that beautiful truck driver, built like a brick shithouse. If he can fit into it, you can too."

We search through a few more samples. Some we like; some we turn down.

"I've brought a few of my own dresses," I say to Jamie. "And I have high heels in black, silver and gold . . . Also, I brought along three wigs."

I step through the doorway and reach over to the duffel bags and the garment bag I have placed on the floor, just outside of the 'studio.'

After a few minutes, I have gathered my selections together.

"I have some dazzling numbers I think you'll like," I say to Jamie. "There's enough tinsel here to light up Broadway."

I show him a red-sequined gown with a Chinese motif. It has a beautiful golden dragon emblazoned on the front.

I pull out a slithery, silver, body hugging, 'Temptation Island' caliber number.

Then there is a whisper of black. I hold it up for Jamie.

"What do you think?"

Jamie's eyes almost pop out. "It looks more like lingerie."

The dress is very short, with spaghetti straps and a low-cut front. There is this black see-through material that hangs down from the back and sides, with an opening at the front, drawing the attention up to the V.

Jamie asks me to take off my clothes.

"I'll give you a robe to wear if you like," he says, once I begin undressing.

"No thank you, I don't think I'll need it. It's not that cold in here," I reply as I take off my T-shirt, and then my track pants, revealing a set off tights.

I pull out my brand new waist cincher and try it on. It fits very well. It thins my waist, giving me the Tinker Bell look. 'I do believe in fairies. I do believe in fairies.'

"I have one that will be better. This should get you down to 24 inches," Jamie says. Then he asks me to pull up a wooden stool and sit in front of him. He directs me to turn my back to him.

A few seconds later, I am trying on Jamie's waist cincher. My first reaction is that it doesn't feel very tight.

"It's 24 inches. It's too big," says Jamie.

He quickly finds another one.

"If we squeeze you into this one, your waist should be 22 inches."

The waist cincher is stiff and there are three eyelets and hooks to attach at the front. Once these are fastened, Jamie starts pulling it together. I have no idea how because it is being tightened from the back. It probably involves laces.

Jamie pulls and pulls.

"There," says Jamie.

It is very tight. I can hardly breathe. Thoughts of Human Bondage come to mind, but not of the Somerset Maugham kind.

"Do not take deep breaths. Don't breathe from the diaphragm, but from the chest."

I think back to a Turn of the Century museum I visited once. Women's fashions in 1900 demanded that women wear corsets to create a narrow waist while retaining wide hips, well-rounded rear ends and naughty breasts. But the extremely tight corsets often damaged internal organs.

What women do for the sake of fashion!

After a few minutes, the pain becomes less noticeable.

"Let's tighten it some more."

'Are you insane?' I think to myself.

I brace myself for the pain.

After a momentary respite while Jamie unties the laces, he pulls the waist cincher even tighter than before. There is additional pain! I don't know how I'm going to breathe. Thoughts of my own mortality flash through my mind. 'Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned . . . '
"Remember, don't breathe from the diaphragm."

"I couldn't if I tried." And that's the truth.

Jamie looks at my bare chest for a moment.

"How'd you like to have some big tits?"

"Up 'til now, I've always used a B cup bra. It's more believable for an Asian girl . . . but let's go for it."

Jamie smiles. "Bigger is better. With your thin waist, it'll accentuate your curves. And we'll give you additional hip padding too."

I try to breathe, but it is painful.

He reaches over to the counter beside his stool and finds a set of silicone 'boobs.' Then he holds them up to my chest. They are massive flesh-colored orbs with big, perfect aureoles. As I look at my reflection in the mirror, I feel like a Dolly Parton clone. Only I'm not blonde or white or female.

Sheepishly I ask, "Do you think they're a bit too much?"

"The camera will like them," replies Jamie.

"What about the line at the joint between the falsies and my real skin?"

"We can use the long hair to partially cover your breasts. Also, the camera resolution will hide much of the difference. Besides, with digital photography, you can always blend the skin tones quite easily."

"Oh yes, I know the fashion models get their minor flaws brushed out for the magazine ads."

"Now, when I do this fitting, you'll have to be perfectly still. I am going to use a medical adhesive that will ensure that the breasts won't come off easily, so I have to get it right the first time." He dabs the adhesive tube over the underside of the breast form and then spreads the gooey substance along the edges of the soft spongy silicone material.

"How about removal later on?" I ask, thinking about the Crystal Sprite story I Can't Go Home Like This (In the ICGHLT serial, young teenager Cary dons breast forms for a theatrical play and discovers that the adhesive used cannot be taken off for weeks).

"The adhesive does wear off. I'll be careful not to rip off the breast forms . . . It's like removing a Band-Aid. You lift from the skin very slowly."

Not a comforting thought. It's like anticipating the pain, without Novocaine, of a visit to the dentist. But, 'Four out of five dentists recommend Chest forms to prevent body cavities.'

The lack of oxygen seems to affect my thought processes too.

In any case, I'm like a kid in a Disney TV Fantasy Land.

Jamie lines up the boob like a bombardier in a Norden bombsight. He aligns the form, using previously determined body parameters. "A common mistake guys make is to put the falsies too close together . . . Brace yourself."

Bombs away.

The boob plops firmly onto my chest. Jamie holds it there, applying steady pressure. "It needs time to adhere."

"Will we become bosom buddies this afternoon?" I ask.

Is that a wince I detect?

"Yes, we're going to get up close and personal . . . But I do leave the fitting of the gaff up to you."

"I already have it on."

"Good. I won't have to ask you to cough then."

I laugh. Jamie has a ruptured sense of humor . . . Rapturous sense of humor?

We repeat the boob placement procedure for the other side. But, at this point, I realize that we really will be in very close contact for the next few hours.

Jamie hands me a set of oval-shaped sponge forms. I place these under my tights. I smooth down the forms, adjusting the right one as it is hanging a little lower on the hip than the left pad. I check it over in the mirror located behind Jamie.

"Okay, we're ready to begin the makeup," announces Jamie.

He reaches into his magic toolbox of cosmetics to his left. He hands me a tube. "Here's a moisturizer. Please spread it thinly all over your face."

The moisturizer helps protect the skin from the makeup. It forms a protective layer.

Using a digital camera, Jamie clicks a 'before' picture to save for posterity.

Next Jamie applies a blue tinged cream over the bottom half of my face. The blue color helps to hide traces of the male beard.

Another photo click.

Then, using a sponge, he spreads a foundation onto the skin to provide a blank canvas with which to work.

Click.

Dark makeup is used to diminish prominent features along the jaw line, below the tip of the nose and on the side of the nose.

Click.

Jamie applies a concealer, in powder form, below the eyes. Adrien Arpel "Signature Club A" glow powder hides the 'sleepless night' bags and laugh lines. Extra glow powder is applied. Thus, if mascara bleeds onto the area below the eyes, the extra powder can be brushed off easily.

The Austin magic begins to take shape. But the eyes are what really make the difference. Two things that Jamie does that I don't do provide the fine difference between ordinary and extraordinary. Jamie has this eyelash curler that is very hot. It is like a miniature curling iron. But, blink at your peril. He clamps my upper eyelashes in these hot tongs. I count to thirty. My eyes begin to tear up. At thirty seconds he releases the hot iron, and I blink furiously. Now I have heightened fears that I will be blinded by the bite of the iron. Then the other eye is put into the hot tongs. Deja vu all over again. Thirty seconds from here is an eternity. But, I will survive. Blink. Blink. Then the second extra thing Jamie does is the lining of the lower eyelid. He puts eyeliner on the inner part of the eyelid. He has a very fine touch. Don't do this at home! Let skilled professionals do their job.

Click.

Normally I find it difficult to get the false eyelashes on properly. But Jamie advises that if the eyelashes are curled and mascara is applied liberally, it will provide a firm base for the false eyelashes to rest on.

Eye shadow, skillfully blended, adds depth and heightens the visual appeal.

Click.

The lip liner is drawn not only to outline the lips in dramatic fashion, but also to enlarge my normally thin male lips. Jamie boldly goes where no man has gone before, doubling the kissing surface. Skillfully brushing on the sensual wet pink lipstick, he camouflages the natural skin tone and makes bountiful beautiful believable kissable lips. And then he adds lip-gloss to whet the erotic appetite. Jamie says that women's lips take on a natural glow during sex, and makeup companies try to replicate that 'fellatio' glow with their iridescent lip-gloss.

Click.

Then the blush is brushed onto the cheekbones. It is blended into the foundation and the glow powder around the eyes.

Click.

Finally, the makeup looks all set.

A wig cap is placed on my head.

Jamie suggests the black 'Hump me now' dress that he says is irresistible.

Eagerly I pull it over my head, searching for the armholes of the black see-through material. Eventually, I find the right holes and then pull the dress into place. Then I look in the mirror. I notice there is a flesh colored make up smear just at the bosom level on the front of the dress. I try to brush it off, but it is persistent, so I have to try again.

Then, I retrieve the first of my three wigs from a plastic bag. As I put my fingers on the under webbing of the wig, I place it on my head. Using the mirror, I tug it into the proper position, creating a more or less natural looking hairline.

Jamie combs out the hair, brushing the bangs out of my eyes.

I slip into black high heel pumps.

Now I am ready for the photographs.

And yet, although everything is put together properly, there doesn't seem to be any magic.

Click goes the camera.

I strike a pose, following Jamie's direction. I keep my head stretched slightly forward to hide any hint of a double chin. I am smiling, using grin muscles that are extended beyond the limits of a normal happy face.

I am standing tall, with my left leg slightly in front of my right. My hands are on my hips, displaying the fingernails to full advantage. My chest is thrust forward, my shoulders are held back.

Click.

Click.

"Turn your head slightly to the side. Smile."

Click.

After about five shots, Jamie tells me to come over and have a look at the shots on the camera's small color screen.

Together we look at the photos. Although they are nice, I am disappointed. I don't think I look beautiful and sexy. Instead I look a bit tired in the pictures. Maybe older than I thought I'd look.

Even the dress that we thought would look tempting looks ordinary. There's no pizzazz!

"Hmmm. I think we need to change something here," says Jamie, "for you to look your very best."

"And what do you have in mind?" I ask.

"It's a little something I put together. It involves the use of tape, paper clips and bungee cords."

"Oh right. Kiana talked about that . . . But, will it hurt?"

"No."

"Will it damage my skin? Will stretching the skin cause any problems?"

"No, not unless you sleep in it. The only one that may cause a problem is the one placed under your ears, behind the jaw line. If you leave it on too long, it will be red the next day or two. It will look like you have a hickey."

I consider the choice for a moment. "Well, I'm willing to give it a try."

Jamie takes out a few small white packets from his toolbox. He rips the top of one of the packets.

"This is an alcohol based cleansing pad. I'm going to clean off a bit of the makeup."

Jamie dabs the pad just below my ears, then below the sideburns. He takes another pad of its packet and then clears away the makeup from the area near the outer edges of my eyebrows. Also he clears spots on the forehead near the hairline above the outer corners of my eyes.

Elastic cords, tied at each end to paper clips, are then joined to pieces of clear Scotch tape. Jamie tapes the elastic cords into position at these eight critical points. Jamie winds the four bungee cords together and then winds tighter and tighter. Then they are secured into position by being wrapping them into a knot of the stretchy black nylon wig cap. Although the elastic apparatus sounds complex, it is very light and it doesn't take very long to apply.

"This will give you an instantaneous face lift," Jamie says.

"I've never seen anything like it. Where did you get the idea for this?"

"I did a lot of reading about makeup and makeup artists. The old time movie queens in Hollywood had makeup artists that were quite ingenious. They sometimes used elastics to lift the faces of the older stars. Since I have an engineering background, and I like to tinker around, it wasn't difficult for me to come up with this system."

"It's ingenious."

"Thank you."

"You ought to patent it," I suggest.

"Actually someone who came here for a makeover already borrowed the idea. I've seen this elastic cord facelift kit advertised on somebody else's website."

I look into the mirror. No plastic surgeon can work this fast. Jamie Austin is a magician!
Re-energized, and full of eager anticipation, I slip into the dazzling red-sequined 'dragon' dress.

I have to ask Jamie for help with the zipper and the snaps at the back.

Then I put on a different wig over the elaborate elastic 'lift' system.

But, I struggle to shuck off the shoes and put on a set of sensational, sexy gold high heels. With long fingernails, I find it difficult to do up the thin straps on my dazzling gold shoes.

"Jamie, would you be a darling and please help me put on these shoes?"

"Women. They act so helpless sometimes."

"Men. Can't live with them. Can't live without them."

"We put you in a dress, and then you act like you're helpless."

"Jamie, it's just that these fingernails make it almost impossible for me to do anything."

"Okay, come over to Uncle Jamie, and I'll give you a helping hand. Please put your foot up here." Jamie pats the top of the wooden stool.

I try to bring my leg up to alight on the top padding, but the tight long red-sequined gown restricts my movement. So I hike up the dress. Then I kick up my leg, balancing precariously as my foot comes to rest in Jamie's capable hands.

"The games girls play. You're just playing the role of an utterly helpless beautiful gal."

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," I mimic, angling my head like Kelly Le Brock."

But then I need more help to do up the snap on a gold watch. And the gold earrings too. Gold bracelet! Bling! Bling! I feel so completely helpless. Like Shaquille O'Neal at the free throw line.

Getting in the fashion model mood, I sing, "A little bit of Erica in my stars . . . " But I can't remember the words to that darn song.

Jamie looks at me like I've gone bonkers.

"I never realized how difficult dressing up could be," I complain. "Thank you Jamie."

I give Jamie a gentle squeeze of the hand. I wonder if he thinks I'm sexy.

"Do you ever find the 'girls' you transform to be attractive?" I ask.

He looks at me with mild surprise in his expression.

"That lady, Danielle, is absolutely beautiful. Not only does she look like a gorgeous, sexy woman, but her voice is just right too. You'd never believe for a moment that she was a man. Of course, cosmetic surgery and hormones can do that for you. So yes, I'd say that I do find them attractive. Who wouldn't? It's kind of a gender bending mind f#$%. She looks beautiful, sounds beautiful, is beautiful. She must be a beautiful woman. You know that expression, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck."

"How about your other clients? Have you had others who might be able to turn you on?"

"There have been some hot ladies here. One came from Europe recently. You wouldn't believe how beautiful looking she was. As a guy, pretty ordinary looking. But, as a girl, she was as beautiful as anybody I've ever seen. Sensual. Erotic. Stimulating. But, she won't allow me to post her pictures on my website. She's afraid she might be discovered. Outed. But, I tell you, there is absolutely no chance anybody will recognize her. Hell, even I wouldn't be able to recognize her."

"Hmm. I wonder if anybody who knew me would be able to see through my disguise."

"You look beautiful! I don't see how anybody would be able to recognize this gorgeous creature standing in front of me as the guy who came in here two hours ago."

"Thank you for the compliment. But I'm not so sure I wouldn't be recognized."

"Okay, it's time for a second opinion. Come on, let's take you out front. Let's show you to the people in the store and see what they think."

Jamie leads me out of the back area, past a few small storage areas, the bathroom, a closet size computer cell, and then into the main store.

"Hey John," he asks, "What do you think of Laurie's dress?"

John Warrener, the owner, looks me over from head to toe. A smile of delight breaks out.

"Wow! That gown is really something! It must have cost a fortune. That deep red color really suits your coloring! And the gold jewelry, and the shoes, go well with that golden dragon! And the lady looks very enticing!"

"Thank you." A thousand-kilowatt smile beams forth.

There is a male customer, in his mid-twenties, looking at ladies boots.

"Very nice!" he enthuses, as he puts the boots down for a moment.

"Thank you," I reply.

"I wish I could look as good."

"Oh you can. Jamie Austin is a magician," I reply. "The Wizard of Aus."

"Thanks. But how old do you think Laurie is?"

The slim, dark, handsome guy looks me over carefully for a moment. "Oh, I'd say about twenty-eight."

"Oh thank you!" I gush, as a big smile comes to my face. "That just made my day."

"See, I told you. Now, do you think anybody would be able to recognize you?"

I shake my head.

Jamie steps outside for some fresh air.

I am afraid to step outside in this dazzling evening gown.

So I strike up a conversation with Kiana for a moment or two.

She compliments me on my appearance.

I ask her if she is ready to go out tonight to a dance club.

She says she forgot to bring her shoes.

So I suggest that she can borrow my shoes. After all, I have brought four pairs with me.

We discover that she has size 9 feet, the same size as me.

Then we talk about where to go.

She says Tommy, another girl who works at Glamour Boutique, is coming in later on. We can get directions from her.

Kiana decides to phone Tommy to ask Tommy if he/she is willing to come along with us.

A few minutes later and it's all arranged. Tommy will arrive near closing time. He'll drive us down to Providence, Rhode Island, to a club called Gerardo's.

I can hardly wait.

Chapter Four

When we resume the photo session, I feel much more confident.

Jamie puts me through a series of contortions that he calls poses.

I am not what you call 'a natural' in front of the camera. I have never liked posing for pictures.

Nevertheless, Jamie Austin directs me like I'm a Gumby in an animation studio, being nudged, twisted and contorted one joint and one limb at a time. "Do not fold, spindle or mutilate Claymation Laurie," I protest to no avail.

We switch outfits. We change the shoes. We change the jewelry. Jamie clamps on a clip-on earring to my left ear. I yelp out in pain! There is blood! I shouldn't have moved.

A false fingernail falls off. I can't find it. Jamie reaches into his makeup supplies and pulls out some Crazy Glue and a replacement nail.

After I change into another outfit, I try to check my image in the mirror.
Jamie blocks my view.

I lean the other way to look at my reflection.

Jamie moves again, blocking my view.

"You're in love with yourself," he says.

I laugh. "I guess I am. But I think all TGs are narcissists."

"You know it is interesting to watch the change in behavior. From the time a guy walks in here, there are three different phases my clients go through. The first is kind of a discovery phase. They're a little tentative, a little unsure of themselves. They're seeking approval, a sense of self-affirmation."

"Uh huh, I think I just went through that."

"Then, they start to gain confidence. They become more flamboyant. They fall in love with themselves. They can't get enough of that beautiful reflection in the mirror. Their voices rise to a girlish vocal tone. They move more like a real woman. But then vanity sometimes raises its ugly head. In fact, one 'girl' got so excited by her mirror image, she came in her panties."

I nod in dumfounded agreement.

"The third phase is the slut phase. The girls become coquettish, seductive bitches and their movements take on a sensual flair. They demand attention! They develop an arrogant air. They think they're hot . . . and sometimes they are."

It is something to think about. Will I be in slut mode soon? Or am I there already?
Jamie asks me to lean forward to clear the lipstick and lip gloss from my teeth. I momentarily put my hands on his thighs to steady myself as he uses a makeup sponge to erase the pink stain.

Am I a sly slut or what?

I change to color contact lenses. Click. We switch to a different style and color of wig. Click. We change backgrounds. Click. We use a red boa. Click. A topless shot. Click. A whip. Click, click. We do a close-up. Click. A full-length shot. Click. Jamie repairs the makeup. Click. He alters the eye shadow. Click. I must try to keep the lipstick/lip gloss off my teeth. I mustn't touch my face or I might smear the makeup. And always, we alter the poses. I sit on a stool. Click. I lean on a stool. Click. I kneel down. Click. I spread my long legs. I angle my head. I turn to the side and on and on and on.

The hours fly by.

Two hundred or more shots later, we are almost done.

Then the gorgeous Tiffany arrives!

She pokes her head in the door to say hi.

Her male name is Tommy, but Tiffany has stunning long legs perched on top of 'I'm a slut' silver stiletto heels. Her low-cut red-sequined dress reveals a bountiful bosom that draws hungry male eyes like bears to honey or daytraders to money.

Her long curly auburn hair frames an expertly made-up sensual visage. Her oval face has luscious wet lips, mesmerizing model-type cheekbones and sparkling gemstones for eyes. She is drop dead gorgeous!

And legs! Tiffany's legs are world class. They remind me of a great UK female impersonator named Danny La Rue–so named because his legs were long, lean and lovely, like a French street.

My eyes are green with envy!

We talk briefly while Jamie takes some more shots.

I can see why Tiffany attracts so much attention when she goes to dance clubs.

Jamie estimates that we will finish in about half an hour.

There is a big change that must still be done. I have to take off the glued-on breast forms and the twenty-two inch waist cincher that belong to Jamie.

The waist cincher is no problem at all. But, the breast forms are another story. Jamie said it would be like taking off a Band-Aid. The only thing is that these sticky buns are the size of pillows!

Jamie slowly peels as I stifle a scream of agony! While there is agony, I do not feel any ecstasy or relief when they finally are detached from my ultra-sensitive skin. But, the impressionable breasts are in for a little more painful manipulation. They must be taped to create a breast illusion.

I lean over and push my breast flesh forward. Starting from my back, Jamie wraps some wide, transparent wrapping tape around my chest, holding the pushed-up flesh in an unnatural position, to create the mirage of female breasts.

Then, my smaller silicone breasts forms are taped onto this layer of transparent tape. Jamie applies a dark makeup to create the sense of depth between the breasts.

Then I don a skimpy two-piece exotic dancer's outfit. It is black and silver and sexy all over. And I wish I were twenty pounds lighter.

"Wow! That's a hot outfit you are almost wearing!" remarks Jamie.

"A little risque, huh?"

"Where'd you pick that up?"

"A little shop in Montreal . . . called Sluts 'R Us," I joke.

Jamie smiles. "I'd like to pick up something like that for my clientele . . . If you don't mind my asking, how much did it cost?"

"Oh, about $150 Canadian . . . or $100 American."

"What would you like for it?" Jamie asks.

I consider it for a moment. "Actually, I doubt that I'll ever wear this again. I bought it strictly for this makeover and photo shoot . . . You can have it once were through."

"Thanks. That'd be nice."

"You're very much welcome." There are two other dresses I still want to try on.

One is a slimming black number that reveals my sexy legs to their best advantage. With silver stiletto heels, dazzling jewelry, a flattering red wig, and Jamie Austin's magic touch, I love it!

This time I put on my own waist cincher — one that I will wear to the dance club tonight. It will allow me to actually inhale oxygen.

The other wisp of material is a dark red, velvet, low-cut knockout. It shows my newly fashioned breasts to their best advantage. My eyes almost pop out when I see how realistic my bosom looks. The only problem is that the red dress has a low back as well and the transparent tape Jamie wrapped around me will show up. Jamie offers to lend me a red velvet jacket that will cover up the tape problem while still showing my bosom to sensual advantage.

We begin to pack up. Jamie starts to put away the dresses back on the racks and place mine in a garment bag. Then there are wigs, shoes, jewelry and various other items I need to put away.

Jamie needs to transfer the digital photo information from the camera onto a blank CD for me. Later Jamie promises he will email me some edited photos too.

All through my makeover session with Jamie, I am wondering how he got into this transformation service, because he isn't an ex-professional female impersonator or drag performer like I thought he might be. So I figure I better ask or I'll never know.

"You know Jamie, you are in a very unusual business. You told me you have an engineering background and yet here you are doing makeovers. How'd you become a makeup artist?"

"I dated a girl who was a model . . . In her casual clothes, she was pretty, although not 'Miss America' gorgeous. But, sometimes we'd go out to a restaurant, and she would dress up. Then, all eyes in this restaurant would be on her. You know, when she wanted to get all dolled up, she knew how to do the makeup and select the right clothes and how to walk and hold herself in public."

"So that explains how you know so much about posing."

"Yes. Anyway, I was fascinated by her use of makeup, because when she didn't put on the glamorous look, she was pretty but she didn't have the charisma of a movie star. And yet, when she wanted to, she knew how to make herself beautiful. It was absolutely fascinating!"

"Uh huh, I guess models know all the makeup and hairstyling tricks."

"She suggested that with the right makeup, a plain girl could be changed into a knockout."

"But how did you get into the makeover business?"

"Well, I was between jobs. I had earned my MBA degree. I was tired of commuting to Boston. I didn't want to get into that rat race all over again. So I did a lot of reading about makeup, I took a course; I learned all I could from all sorts of sources, like Kevyn Aucoin's books. He's one of the very best."

"Yes, I've seen some of his photo books. He can change ordinary people into celebrity look-alikes. Or celebrities into other celebrities."

"Right. He does absolutely amazing work. So, I learned some tips from my model friend . . . Then I started experimenting with the makeup. I tried it out on myself. One day I saw a female face looking back at me. Then I put my face on AOL. I got some feedback from that. Then I got some interest from some people who thought they'd like to try a makeover service. In that way I lined up some clients. Also, I bought a good digital camera, a full set of makeup accoutrements, and then I made arrangements on the net."

"What about Glamour Boutique? Isn't it a long way from where you live? An hour and a half?"

"Well, Glamour Boutique offered the space for free. We have a symbiotic relationship. I perform the makeover service and Glamour Boutique can supply my clients with a lot of products my clients need."

"I guess I'm an example. I bought a waist cincher and false eyelashes. If I come back for another makeover, who knows what I'll buy next? Maybe a wig or shoes or nylons."

"Exactly. So we both benefit."

"Do you do makeup for people other than your TG clients?"

"Yes. I have some female clients. I showed you some shots of a real girl who works as a stripper. She wanted to create a new portfolio. And she was really pleased with the results. Also, I got a request recently from someone who wants to look like a Star Trek alien — a Klingon. I'd really like to take a shot at that. I haven't done prosthetic makeup before. I think that would be a lot of fun!"

While the computer completes the copying process, I talk to Tiffany and Kiana.

Kiana is trying to get herself ready. Adding extensions to her hair, putting on makeup, and changing from her jeans and blouse into a short black leather miniskirt and sparkly red top.

It's already ten o'clock. This has been a marathon makeover session.

Tiffany and Kiana are all set to go.

Tiffany offers to drive us in her car. All she asks for is some gas money for this favor. I reach into my wallet and hand her some cash.

At the same time, I go back to see Jamie. I hand him the rest of the money I owe him for the makeover. I throw in a generous tip. Then he gives me the newly 'burned' CD.

We say our good-byes and promise to keep in touch.

Tiffany, Kiana and I head out the front door. It's off to Gerardo's, a wild gay/lesbian dance club in Providence, Rhode Island.

Chapter Five

Gerardo's, the alternative dance club, is a 45-minute drive from the Glamour Boutique.
Tiffany drives her big SUV along the two-lane highways that seem like a labyrinth of New England back roads.

In the darkness of the cool evening, we have a chance to get to know each other and discuss our common or uncommon backgrounds. I guess the big mystery is "Why do we dress up as girls?"

Sitting in the front seat beside Tiffany, I am struck by the incongruity of the situation. Tiffany has great legs! And I must confess to having an appreciation for long slim sexy legs. As well, she appears to have breathtaking boobs. And, like most guys, I will often sneak a peak at a beautiful girl's knockers. Her red sequined gown is glamorous. Tiffany also has the face of an angel, with inviting, pouting, kissable lips. Sweet Tiffany has a low whispery voice. After chatting with her for even a short time, another attractive feature that emerges is her kind, gentle disposition. And yet I know that below the facade of this sexy gorgeous form is a guy.

In the back, sits Kiana. In her short black leather miniskirt and dazzling red top, she has a supermodel type body. Her legs are long and thin. One can practically encircle her tiny waist with one's hands.

Some transgender people give off vibes that are male, some that are female, and others that are a mixture of both. Kiana's essence is female.

Kiana tells us that she enjoys working at the Glamour Boutique. It gives her an opportunity to dress as a female — an opportunity that is lacking at home.

Her parents do not know that she wants to live as a female full-time, although she has confided in her brother.

Kiana is still a college student. She discusses the possibility of transitioning to a female after she graduates. She realizes that it will be expensive. The cost of hormone therapy, breast implants, a "nose job" and other cosmetic surgeries could be prohibitively expensive.

Kiana talks of her unhappiness in living as a boy and how she can't wait to live her life as a girl. The only problem is that she doesn't think her mother or father will approve. They are very traditional. Her brother, on the other hand, understands her situation, and is very supportive.

Tommy describes Tiffany's origins. Five years ago, she and her friends went out to a nightclub on Halloween. With a dancehall girl costume, complete with fishnet tights and a feather boa, an auburn wig and makeup, she had a great time! Her friends thought she looked amazing!

In fact, she looked so good that first time out, she entered the costume competition. The DJ put on some upbeat music as the contestants paraded in front of the dance club crowd. Tiffany, this beautiful Uptown Girl, did an impromptu hip shaking, sexy, seductive dance routine and the audience went wild! She won first prize in the costume competition!

Amazingly, that night, she looked so beautiful that some guys came up and asked her to dance — even though they knew she was a boy.

Tiffany assures us that she is heterosexual. In fact, her girlfriend, Donna, was among the group of friends that were with her on Halloween night!

This belle of the ball was hooked! Every Halloween for the past five years, Tiffany has competed for the top prize! She claimed top prize on three occasions and was runner up the other two years.

Not only that, but all of her friends know that Tommy can become Tiffany. And she hasn't lost any friends because of it. And most importantly, Tommy still has his girlfriend Donna.

Donna and Tommy go out together, but so do Donna and Tiffany.

Unfortunately, there is a downside. Donna's family is not all that keen about Tommy's dual identity. While Donna is supportive, her brother and parents are not enamoured with Tommy/Tiffany.

As for Tommy's parents, they are no longer alive, unfortunately.

My situation is different. I dress up as Laurie very rarely — two or three times a year. Halloween is one of those occasions. Perhaps I limit Laurie's appearances because of a fear of discovery.

However, Laurie comes alive as an Internet author, posting stories at Big Closet, Fictionmania and Crystal's Story Site.

As we approach the state of Rhode Island, the three of us discuss why we like to dress up as girls.

Tiffany likes the attention, the admiration and the warm compliments. On the other hand, Kiana feels that she needs to be a woman. Whereas I think I can look passable as a pretty girl, so I do it. The challenge comes from acting convincingly as a female. The three of us seem to represent different aspects of the TG continuum.

There are many different ideas we toss around as to why we do it. What do we agree upon? All of us simply feel an irresistible urge to dress up as girls!

Chapter Six

Gerardo's is located on the waterfront in an industrial area of Providence, Rhode Island.
Although I try to figure out where I am, just in case I need to find my way home on my own, I feel totally dependent on Tiffany.

It is about 11 o'clock. Fortunately, there is still plenty of room in the large parking lot. While in drag, one has to be careful in unfamiliar situations. It can be potentially dangerous, especially since we are dressed rather provocatively.

As my high heels tock-tock-tock on the uneven pot-holed pavement of the parking lot, I am thankful that I am wearing the more comfortable shoes. These have only three-inch heels and thin black straps do not bite into my flesh! I can wear the glitzy silver stilettos, but I want to dance the night away!

Gerardo's is housed in what is likely a former industrial workshop, perhaps of 1920 vintage. But it is difficult for me to tell anything about this sprawling two-story building, given my lack of familiarity with the area.

As we walk through the front door, I reach into my purse for my ID and some money. Tiffany says admission is $5. I get out a $20 and offer to pay for everyone. After all, the outing is my idea.

A young lady gives me the change, but declines to check ID.

Immediately, I feel better, less apprehensive. My driver's license photo looks nothing like Laurie.

Tiffany and Kiana lead me forward. Straight-ahead is the dance floor. It is jammed with people, mostly casually dressed young ladies. The music blares out from the club's amazing sound system. There is the smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol, sweat and lust.

Tiffany moves to the right, toward the bar quadrangle.

"Let's get something to drink," Tiffany suggests.

Since there are two vacant seats at the back bar counter, we quickly occupy the wooden chairs, although Kiana must stand. We can alternate.

"What would you like?" I ask both of them. I struggle to find the right vocal tone. In the extremely noisy dance club atmosphere, speaking loud is necessary. It does not lend itself to a feminine voice.

Tiffany says, "I'd like a Coke."

"A daiquiri, please," Kiana replies.

Carefully extracting some more money from my purse, I check the bills carefully. American money, unlike Canadian currency, is all the same color — green.

I have to wait a moment or two before I can get the bartender's attention.

"Hi," I yell above the din of the music. "Two Cokes and a daiquiri, please." I practically sing out the order. The vocal pitch sounds right.

"Hi Ray," Tiffany yells. "Ray, this is Laurie and my other friend here is Kiana."

"Nice to meet you," Ray says as we shake hands. Kiana is greeted in a similar fashion.
We exchange pleasantries, but Ray is kept very busy on this Saturday night.

Tiffany says, "You know, Ray is the current Miss Rhode Island."

"Really?" I take another look at Ray as he prepares our drinks. "I never would have guessed it."

Ray appears to be in his mid to late thirties. There is a hint of white in his dirty blond hair. I try to imagine how he might look in drag. But try as I might, I cannot imagine him in a string bikini.

But, then again, Tiffany, Kiana and I look quite different from our male selves.

"Tiffany!" a gal yells. She is a smiling, delightful middle-aged brunette, as she extends her arms out wide and gives Tiffany a warm embrace.

"Mary! I'm happy to see you."

Mary, dressed in a clingy black top and black pants, keeps her arm around Tiffany's waist as they uncoil. "Who are your friends?"

"Mary, I'd like you to meet Kiana. She works with me at the Glamour Boutique."

They shake hands.

"Yes, I remember you came here once before."

Kiana nods.

"And this is Laurie. She's from Canada."

"Glad to meet you. All the way from Canada?"

"Yes. I came here for a makeover at the Glamour Boutique."

"Well, you all look gorgeous tonight!" Mary says with delight. "I'll have to introduce all of you to my husband."

Mary goes off in search of her husband.

"You seem to know a few people here, Tiffany."

"Yes, I come here quite often."

"Mary seems very friendly."

"Yes, I've even been to her place. She and her husband have a really nice house in the suburbs. It's got a fabulous hot tub! And the Jacuzzi is amazing!"

Is Tiffany up to some hanky panky with Ken and Mary?

A few moments later, Mary is back, with her husband in tow.

"Hey everyone. This is my husband Ken."

"Hi! I'm Laurie," I yell out.

"Kiana."

"And of course you already know Tiffany."

Ken throws an arm around Tiffany's waist. "A pleasure."

Ken, is slightly taller than me, but he is built like a weightlifter. And that he is.

The look of lust is in his eyes. And in Mary's eyes too.

"Laurie is from Canada," Mary says.

We spend the next few minutes discussing their backgrounds. And information about Gerardo's and Providence.

Then Mary does something I do not expect. "How do you like these?" she asks as she cups her prominent breasts in her hands. "I just had a boob job . . . Oh, let me explain. I always had large boobs; it's just that, as I got older, they started to sag a little bit. So, I just got them tightened up a bit."

"They look delightful. Lara Croft would be proud."

"They're as good as ever." Mary beams with pride.

A tall handsome young man approaches Kiana. I cannot hear what he says. But, a moment later, he puts his hand in Kiana's and leads her away to the dance floor.

There is a look of delight in Kiana's vivacious visage.

In the next few minutes, while Ken converses with Tiffany, Mary tells me her husband enjoys sex with trannies.

My name is not Dorothy and I'm certainly not in Kansas, am I?

But Jamie Austin might be the Wizard of Oz because . . . because I do not recall getting such an immediate and direct proposition before in my whole life!

Isn't life grand?

I am not sure what to say.

"Mary, I like girls."

Mary gives me a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"We can do a three-way tryst if you like."

"But I didn't come in my own car . . . I came in Tiffany's SUV with Kiana too."

"That's okay. Tiffany's been to our place before. She'll tell you it's all right."

"Let me think about it, please," I say with a smile.

But I think back to a comment from Jamie Austin. The previous time Kiana had been to Gerardo's, she seemed to get drunk awfully quickly. Kiana claimed she only had three drinks. Jamie Austin suggested that a date rape drug might have been slipped into her drink.

A young man approaches. He gives me an admiring look, a friendly smile and asks, "Would you like to dance?"

"Yes, I'd be delighted." I smile.

"Please think about it," Mary yells, as my new companion leads me away to the dance floor.

I Love the Nightlife is playing. I like this song. 'I like the nightlife. I like to boogie. On the disco, uh huh!'

In fact, a lot of people get up to dance!

I find that these comfortable heels allow me the freedom to move pain free.

I shake my hips and boobs with abandon. I shake my booty `a la KC and the Sunshine band. I'm back in the disco seventies.

And there are a lot of people watching me!

Especially the guy dancing with me! He seems to have a breast fixation!

Is it the water bra, the silicone pads and the tape — or is it my own pecs? Or is it the hot velvet red dress? In any case, when I look down, I must admit they do look real! And the short dress shows off one of my better features — my sexy legs, as well as my well-padded derriere.

Kiana is still out there on the dance floor.

She's such a babe!

I compare dance partners. Hers is tall, dark and handsome. Mine is short, plump and . . . But he has great timing!

Soon Tiffany is on the dance floor. And she's dancing with a girl.

I'm envious. Because the girl she is with is so beautiful.

After a few songs, I return to the bar.

And when Tiffany and Kiana come back, Tiffany suggests we go for a little walk about the place.

Located close to the back of Gerardo's is a pool table. There are some guys banging balls around with apparent abandon.

As the three of us saunter by, they pause to admire us.

It feels absolutely wonderful!

A little further on, Tiffany leads us away, through a couple of doorways, to the outdoor patio.

Immediately, the cool night air hits us, although refreshingly, there is no cigarette smoke.

In spite of the cool breeze, there are three women and three men sitting around one of the large white patio tables.

One of the buxom ladies is pulling up her blue tank top. She displays her bare breasts with pride.

"What do you think? How do these rate?" she asks with a laugh.

"A ten! They are perfect!" yells the guy whose lap she is sitting on. He nuzzles the breasts with his nose and mouth.

Although the brunette is perhaps in her early to mid-forties, she still has a nice body!

The bespectacled gentleman has gray hair, especially noticeable in his beard. He has a potbelly, but a warm, energetic demeanor. He wraps the lady in a bear hug.

"Hi!" the exhibitionist yells to us. "What do you think?" she asks as she points her tits in our direction.

"A ten! They're fabulous!" I yell back. "And ten for artistic merit too!"

She beams . . . her headlights too.

A beautiful young blond, not to be outdone, stands up. She lifts up her slinky white dress, taking it off.

"What about these?" she asks as she shakes her goddess Athena form at us . . . She isn't quite nude. Her baby blue panties are all she has on. Oh, and shoes too . . . And she's wearing a lovely smile!

"I'm in love!" I reply.

She looks to Kiana and Tiffany. They nod their approval.

The blonde saunters over to us, with her white dress in hand.

"You ladies look fabulous tonight!" she says enthusiastically.

"Thank you," Tiffany replies.

"But not as good as the real thing!" I add. "You are gorgeous."

And she is.

Lynne, as it turns out, stands about 5' 6''. She probably weighs 120 pounds. I estimate 36-23-36. C cup. She looks to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She has long golden blonde hair that is elaborately styled. She has stunning blue eyes and enough self-confidence to get her anything she wants.

The brunette's name is Bethany.

The ladies compliment us on our makeup, our boobs, our wigs, our dresses and our fabulous legs. The lecherous lustful guys also agree that we have great gams!

We joke about hidden surprises, scenes from Jerry Springer, and TG movies like Tootsie.

After a few minutes, due to the cold temperatures, both ladies' tits are standing at attention. Both put their clothes back on. But it is not due to modesty.
Lynne and I take a few steps away from the others in the group to chat one on one.

It turns out that Lynne can be very direct too.

"So do you like girls or guys?" asks Lynne.

"Isn't it obvious, I like you," I reply as I give her a hug.

Her pillowy breasts feel every bit as good as I thought they might.

Lynne gives me a playful kiss. "I like both girls or guys…and I find you very intriguing."

Is this my lucky night?

"Well, tonight I am a combination of both . . . Like the gum commercial. 'Double your pleasure. Double your fun . . . Double good, double good . . . doubles sins in one.'"

Lynne bursts out in laughter. "That was cute."

"Thanks . . . Now I should hold up two condom packs and bang them together. 'Two sins in one!'" I mix my gum and breath mint metaphors.

She grabs my arm for support. She's bent over laughing.

Visions of Doublemint twins dance through my head. Only this time, fraternal twins instead of identical twins. 'Great!' I think to myself. 'How do I follow this up?'

"You should be on television."

"Well, I am a TV." 'That was lame,' I think to myself. "And I can change from XY to XX . . . or simply to X rated."

She laughs again.

And I like it when a girl laughs easily — when she has a sense of humor.

"Yes, we should both be on television," I suggest. "We should be on the TV series Friends. You can be David Schwimmer's new girlfriend. And you and David or Ross have an affair . . . He buys you an engagement ring."

"Right. And just before we're about to get married, I elope with you — a crossdresser."

"Exactly!"

"And Ross is all alone again."

"Naturally."

"Broken-hearted."

"In the lurch . . . Sadder than when he was paired with a monkey . . . or a lesbian wife."

Lynne laughs again and grabs my arm affectionately. "So, do you think they'd go for it?"

"They might. After all, Chandler's dad was played by Kathleen Turner last year."

"Yes! She was supposed to be a transsexual!"

"Although I thought Kathleen Turner was a little too butch for the role . . . I mean her voice was far too low."

We spend the next few minutes chatting — trying to get to know each other. And being from another country always makes it easier to meet someone new.

When she finds out I am down here for a makeover by a professional makeup artist, there are all sorts of questions.

But the others in the group are feeling the chill of the night air.

They suggest moving back indoors.

"You'll have to save a dance for me later," Lynne says.

"Certainly. I look forward to it."

"But, right now, I should get back to the guy I came with," she whispers into my ear.

'Oops! I must remember to think of these things before I get carried away — in pieces.

As everybody moves back into the warm confines of Gerardo's, there is a bottleneck that develops at the entrance. Inside the passageway, there are a few people who are stopped at the door leading to the dance floor. Tiffany takes the alternate route — the door leading in the direction of the pool table. Kiana and I follow.

To our mild surprise, the guys who were there earlier have finished. Finding the pool table available, Tiffany can't resist picking up a pool cue. She quickly lines up the cue ball and calls her shot.

Seemingly, from out of nowhere, a guy steps up to the table and challenges Tiffany to a game . . . Now why does this not surprise me?

I excuse myself to take a washroom break.

It turns out the restrooms are on the other side of the club. So, I stroll by the intoxicated throng at the bar, smiling at the admiring glances I receive. I weave across the crowded dance floor, pausing to appreciate some of the sexy, sensuous movers and shakers, and I wander past a room that houses two additional pool tables, before spotting the lavatory signs.

While in women's clothing, choosing a washroom can be a problem. Which loo do I use? The men's or the ladies'?

Normally, I hate using public washrooms. Quite often, they are disgusting! But, while in drag, the problems are compounded. Do I take a chance on the women's?

I try the ladies side. I decide to hold the pee. So I am just there to touch up my makeup and fix my hair.

When I enter, nobody is by the mirror. So I can relax.

I check over my reflection. Fortunately, the makeup still looks great! But I finger comb a few stray strands of hair away from my mouth. I still cannot believe how good the transformation looks! Jamie Austin is a magician!

I hear the flush of a toilet behind me.

A moment or two later, a short, slightly overweight young lady opens her stall door and steps forward to the mirror. She smiles at first, but then realizes I am not what I appear to be. There is a frown on her face. She leaves quickly, without even washing her hands.

'You can't please everybody, so you have to please yourself.' Isn't that what Rick Nelson's Garden Party song says?

Chapter Seven

Behind the bar quadrangle at Gerardo's, on a one-step higher level, are some comfortable couches and armchairs.

Feeling the fatigue of my late night out at Jacques Cabaret, I decide to relax for a few minutes. Fortunately, I am able to find a comfortable chesterfield all to myself. In this isolated part of Gerardo's, it is rather dark and a little quieter. I sit down and close my eyes for a second or two.

"Hi!"

I hear a macho male voice. As I sense somebody sitting down beside me, I open my eyes.
"How are you doing tonight?" he asks.

In the darkness, I cannot make out his features.

"Hi there. Is it Ken?" I ask. Whoever he is, he has a wide-body like that weightlifter Ken, but this one seems to be not quite as fit.

"No, my name is Dave."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can't really see you too well here in this light."

"That's okay. You passed by me a minute ago. I was sitting at the bar with my wife."

"Really?"

"Yes. You look so beautiful, I just had to come over and say hi."

"Thank you." 'What's going on here?' I think to myself. "You were with your wife?"

"Yes. We were both admiring you . . . and then she tells me to keep my penis in my pants, because that beautiful lady is really a man."

I laugh. "And what was your response?"

"Well, I made her a bet. I said anybody that good looking couldn't possibly be a guy!"

"Well, now that you've met me, what do you think?"

"You're a girl."

I'm bursting with laughter. "What makes you think that I'm a real girl?"

"You've got really sexy legs . . . you walk like a real girl . . . your hips sway. That red dress is really hot! You've got a cute butt . . . and you've got a stacked rack, as they say."

"Oh, you're a breast man! You know, I could be wearing falsies. Silicone cheaters instead of real hooters."

"They look real to me . . . real good to me," he says with a laugh.

"You can't tell in the dark . . . Here," I say as I decide to be daring. I grab his hand. "Feel this." I move his Neanderthal paws onto the soft part of the flesh above my low-cut red velvet dress. "Do they feel real?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh come on, you know I'm a guy," I say as I let my right hand drop onto his upper thigh. I give him a playful squeeze . . . Can I make him . . . squirm?

"Honestly, when I saw you walk by us at close range, I . . . I really wasn't sure."

"Why thank you . . . But you must have kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland."

"Actually, I am of Irish descent. But, it's not BS. I mean it. I really thought you were a girl. A beautiful girl!"

I lean over and give him a thank you kiss on the cheek. "Now go back to your wife before we get carried away here."

Jamie Austin is right. Beauty is a narcotic. I am in stage three of the transformation process — in slut mode.

Taking a rest doesn't seem to work. So I decide to search for Tiffany and Kiana.

The DJ seems to be in love with the seventies Disco Fever because he's playing Night Fever by the Bee Gees from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack.

Back on the dance floor, I spot Tiffany. Actually, everybody in the dance club is watching Tiffany — and her friends.

Five beautiful girls and Tiffany are dancing together. And I do mean together. Tiffany presses her body up behind Bethany. It looks like she is trying to rub her crotch into Bethany's derriere. Lynne is behind Tiffany. And she is doing the same grinding routine to Tiffany's padded bum. Then there are three other gorgeous girls in front of Bethany, including Mary. This is a line dance? A conga bonga line? Or a lewd lesbian love liturgy? I want in on it!

I cross over to Tiffany's end of the dance floor. I wave to Tiffany and the others. Beautiful blonde Lynne spots me. She grabs me by the hand and pulls me up behind her. She shakes her derriere as she extends her arms behind her. She grabs my buns and grinds her butt into my crotch, massaging my penis.

Over the loudspeakers, the Bee Gees sing 'Night fever, night fever, I really want to show it.'

I cannot believe it! Saturday Night Fever was never this wild!

As if sensing that we do not want this line dance fever to end, the DJ puts on Staying Alive next. We reverse our positions and keep chugging along!

I look around. Everyone on the dance floor and everyone within sight of us are watching the spectacle! In disbelief!

What a night!

Yeah! I think back to earlier in the evening. 'I love the nightlife! I love to boogie! On the disco uh huh!'

When Staying Alive ends, we break up our line dance reluctantly.

I thank Lynne for including me!

The brunette Bethany, the uninhibited one with the lovely breasts, comes over and asks me to dance.

I am delighted.

An eighties tune by Laura Brannigan comes on. So I lead Bethany into a disco jive. We establish the basic step. Bethany follows my lead with ease.

I'm no John Travolta, but Bethany's face lights up as we do a cuddle step and then I spin her into the reverse position, then back to the basic step.

I cannot remember ever having so much fun in one day. From start to finish, it is pure hedonistic pleasure! I have lost all sense of self-control.

Beautiful ladies, beautiful crossdressers, beautiful people! Oh! And guys too!

When the song is over, Bethany gives me a warm hug. I thank her for the dance.

I walk over to Tiffany. She is chatting with Mary. Then Ken moves in to talk to us as well.

Ken says some complimentary words about our rude, lewd, lascivious line dance. He rests an arm around my waist . . . He has hungry eyes.

He is not completely devoid of charm. Ken is far from ugly. He has a neatly trimmed mustache, although he is losing a little hair at the temples from male pattern baldness. And his suit is well tailored to fit his Arnold Schwarzenegger frame.

But, I prefer Mary . . . Or Bethany . . . Or Lynne — especially Lynne.

Inevitably, Mary moves me away from Tiffany and asks again if I'd like to go home with her. And Ken.

I try to stall. I try to explain again that I do not have my car with me. Also, I have to get up at about 9:30 a.m. to make sure I will be out of my hotel before checkout time. I have to return to Canada. I have to work on Monday.

Mary looks disappointed.

All the while, Ken is chatting with Tiffany, but he's looking at me with lust in his eyes.

A big chubby guy comes up to me to say hello. He says he liked our line dance. He has his eyes on me. So Mary moves over to talk with Ken and Tiffany.

"I'm Norm," he says as I lean my head a little closer to him. "Norm!"

"Normal?" I yell above the din of the music.

"No, Norm!"

"You look straight to me."

"I might look straight, but I'm bent just like everybody else here," he says as he sneaks a peak at my breasts. "I love your dress . . . I wish all the girls here tonight would wear something that sexy!"

"Thank you . . .What about you? Have you ever worn a sexy dress?"

"No," he shakes his head with a look of surprise. "I don't have the right figure for it."

"Well, if you lost weight, would you consider it?"

"That's doubtful . . . Maybe on Halloween."

"Well, that's how I got my start."

"Honestly? I guess that's possible . . . Your first time, did you look like a real girl?"

"Not as good as I do tonight, but that's because I just had a makeover with a professional makeup artist."

He looks me over. "Really?"

"Yes, I don't do this very often . . . I might dress up two or three times a year. And one time will be at Halloween."

"I thought you might live full-time as a woman because you're so good looking," Norm says as he peaks at my boobs again. "In fact, I'm so horny right now . . ."

"Thanks, but if you saw me out of makeup, without a wig or the dress and heels, I don't think you'd get too excited. By the way, when I'm dressed like this, my name is Laurie."

"Glad to meet you Laurie."

"And should I call you horny Normy?"

He laughs. "Well, right now I'm so turned on, I'd settle for a Lewinsky special delivered by Bubba Bill."

Am I a slut or what? Finally Norm picks up on the body language cues and figures out that I want to dance. Perhaps it's my not too subtle shimmying and shaking and spinning to the Disco Inferno sounds. Actually, I just want to get away from Mary and Ken because I really don't feel comfortable with the idea of going home with them.

Norm gets out on the dance floor and fakes it just like the rest of us.

While in drag, I have not yet had a dance partner who can actually lead me in a 'real' recognizable dance. Terpsichorean skill? What's that?

I spot foxy Kiana out on the dance floor. The guy she is with is not the same one she was with earlier. But this other guy still is a better catch than my dance partner, Norm. And he moves well too, unlike minimalist 'move your fingers' Norm.

Oh well, at least Norm has excellent timing.

"Is that gorgeous babe your friend?" horny Normy asks as he nods his head in Kiana's direction.

"Yes," I reply.

"Is she a real girl?"

"What do you think?"

"She looks like a real girl to me."

"You're right. She's real."

After the song ends, I grab Norm by the hand and lead him to the other side of the club — far away from Mary and Ken. Close to the more private dark area where the couches are.

Maybe I can pretend to be fascinated by Norm.

I feel so manipulative.

Actually, it turns out, Norm is pretty funny — and perceptive. We talk about differences between Canadians and Americans. We discuss politics, lifestyles, vacation destinations, the economy, names in the news and the meaning of life.

But, to my immense delight, luscious Lynne spots us and comes over to say hello. With her beautiful white dress and her 'sunshine makes me happy' smile, I think Lynne must be my soul mate — at least for this evening.

"How are you doing?" she asks. She gives me a warm hug. Her breasts rub up against my bosom — smoldering flesh to silicone. This hot babe can melt my heart and turn the silicone to vapor.

Norm's eyes light up. I can't blame him . . . I want Lynne to be the mother of my child.

"Who's your friend?" she asks.

"Oh Lynne, this is Norm."

"Hi."

Lynne extends her hand, while still maintaining contact with me. Then Lynne moves her hands down behind me and grabs me by the buns. She jams us tightly together, crotch to crotch. Then she moves her right hand in between us and rubs her hand over my sensitive parts.

I'm in heaven! A beautiful girl is trying to seduce me!

I try to reciprocate. My left hand explores her rear cheeks and I move my right hand up to her chest. I slowly, sensually massage her breasts. Yes, definitely a C cup. I'm in C cup heaven!

All this time Norm has not been standing by idly. He is feeling up Lynne's delicious derriere. And when I move my hand under Lynne's dress, I cannot believe it! Norm has his hand inserted into Lynne's cunt! The bastard!

Some people walk by us. Too close for comfort! We separate.

"I'll talk to you later," Lynne says. She moves away from us, toward a guy who appears to be her date for this evening.

It is surprising because he is not what I might deem to be a physically attractive guy. Not a handsome hunk — he is middle-aged, overweight, bespectacled and dressed with the elan of a lumberjack.

Maybe Lynne is one of those rare birds who looks beneath the surface and tries to find the hidden beauty within? In the world of the dance club, beauty is the ultimate aphrodisiac. And ugliness is the ultimate sin.

"Wow! Isn't she gorgeous!"

"You can say that again," Norm says.

"Wow!" Then I turn to Norm. "You are a horny bastard!" I say in mock anger.

"It seems to me that I wasn't the only one trying to insert a hand up the Muppet strumpet."

Norm has a quick wit.

"You are so rude! And so horny! And so exasperating!"

"I'm just joking around," he assures me.

"Yeah right! Remember that crack about a blow job?"

"Oh . . . the Monica Lewinsky reference."

"Yes. You suggested you wanted a blow job from me."

"Well, not exactly. I mean . . . I didn't actually say blow job."

"And the president didn't actually have sex with Miss Lewinsky . . . You Americans! The United States of America has got to be the home of the world's wealthiest lawyers . . . You're not a lawyer by chance are you?"

"No, but I wish I had that kind of money."

"Laurie!" a voice calls out.

I turn toward the sound. An auburn haired goddess approaches.

"Hi Tiffany!"

"Have you seen Kiana?"

"I saw her on the dance floor about 15 minutes ago."

"Well, it's getting late. We'll have to be going soon. So don't wander away."

Tiffany goes off in search of Kiana.

I turn back to Norm. "Hey, it's been nice talking to you, Stormin' Norman." I decide to head him off at the pass. "But you're going to have to seek relief somewhere else. I have to get a ride back with Tiffany."

Norm gives me a hug. It lasts several seconds. He creates quite an impression on me — at crotch level. And I put a double dent in his chest.

"Don't push your luck," I whisper into his ear.

"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying."

"I know. I've struck out a few times too."

Norm laughs. "Have a safe ride back to Canada. Bye bye, Laurie."

"Goodbye, Norm."

I move over toward the bar. But, Mary spots me. We chat briefly. She is persistent. Again she suggests a three-way tryst.

I tell her that the offer is tempting because she is so beautiful, but the circumstances just aren't right I say. And this isn't a lie because I know that my timelines are tight. Besides, it is never a good idea to drive a long distance when one is really tired. On the other hand . . .

Also, it isn't fair to Tiffany and Kiana. I want to go back to Auburn Massachusetts with them . . . And I have to find both of them. Where are they? I look around the club.

Luscious Lynne spots me and comes over to speak to me.

"Hi again, Lynne!"

"Laurie, you're beautiful."

We embrace.

"So are you," I murmur. "You are the very best."

Lynne kisses me on the mouth. It's a slow, sensual tongue embrace — a French kiss. And Lynne has a pleasing taste of wine.

She moves her hand down to my private parts.

"Don't I excite you?" she whispers.

"Oh yes," I say. "But I'm tightly wrapped up down there."

She laughs. "Well, I'd like to unwrap you with my teeth," she says as we kiss again.

Lynne moves her hand over my sensitive love appendage.

My eager hand moves under her dress. Her underbelly is smooth to the touch. There are no panties on now. Her skin is smooth and sensual. She has no pubic hair. She is clean-shaven. I insert my right index finger between her wet cunt lips and the channel is wonderfully moist and inviting. And I am at the gates of heaven.

I want Lynne to be the mother of my children.

"I won't soon forget you, Lynne. I wish I lived in Providence."

"Well it's not paradise, but they say you can see it from here."

Lovely Lynne is indeed a gift from Providence.

If I had chutzpah, I'd claim Laurie is a virgin and ask Lynne for a mercy fuck. Like Wayne and Garth, I should get down on my knees, bow with my arms extended, touch my forehead to the ground and whimper, "I am not worthy." Will she take pity on me?

However, I didn't bring my own car. I've never been in Providence before. I can't very well stay behind on my own…Oh well, my life is a series of missed opportunities.

A few minutes later, Tiffany and Kiana and I are strolling through the parking lot. Our high heels are tock-tock-tocking on the pot-holed pavement.

There is a smile on my face that. It's a night I will not ever forget–the best time I've ever had at a dance club!

A longhaired guy, dressed casually in blue jeans and a sweat top, is walking arm in arm with his pretty girlfriend.

"Hi there!" he exclaims as he approaches. "You three look gorgeous! Why, you 'girls' are as beautiful as any of the real girls at the club tonight. Why I wish they would all dress up in those really sexy dresses the way you do."

"Thank you!" we all chime back.

"You know, if I wasn't with my girlfriend tonight, I'd really be tempted. You three look absolutely gorgeous!"

Isn't lust strange?

What a night!

THE END

Author's note: Angels in Providence was originally posted on the Internet in January 2002.

Makeup artist Jamie Austin's website address is http://www.myspace.com/jamieaustinsangels