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

 

Novelist J.D. Salinger passed away on January 27, 2010. This tale has a few minor similarities to J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. To tell you the truth, Salinger's novel is absolutely terrific, way better than the story I made up. So maybe you might want to read Salinger's book because Holden Caulfield is an extremely funny character. Catch Her was first posted in the summer of 2003.

1

If you really want to know the truth about all the sissy stuff that happened to me last semester, I guess it's kinda difficult to know where to begin, what to include, and who to exclude. I mean, when famous celebrities write all those sensational kiss and tell memoirs, most of their former lovers have already been laid to rest. It's goddam difficult for the dead to speak ill of the living. But, my friends aren't lying tits up just yet and some of them might go ballistic when they find out I've been blabbing on and on about stuff they'd rather not have aired on the net. Consequently, I have had to change some of the details so that I can go on living, although these really aren't The Satanic Verses.

I wouldn't tell you my whole story anyway 'cause I don't feel up to writing a long and boring autobiography. For Chrissake, rich and famous luminaries have to hire ghostwriters to do that. And so far, I haven't even had my 15 minutes of fame.

Where I want to start telling is Halloween at Queen's University. It's this snobby institution in Kingston, Ontario. It's supposed to be the Oxford or Harvard of Canada. Everyone in the dominion has heard of it. They advertise in newspapers, magazines, on the radio, and they always try and make it sound like a degree from Queen's will get you some fabulous career. The other major institution in Kingston is the Penitentiary. Some Queen's grads have been known to work at the Pen, and some have even been guests of that ritzy 5 star establishment.

Anyway, it was the Saturday of the football game with our arch rivals, the McGill Redmen. For Chrissake, This was not just another football game. Reputations and bragging rights were at stake. And if Queen's didn't win, you had to show how much you cared about your school's honor and glory. You were supposed to fall on your sword or do some serious body piercing to yourself. You know, like put a ring through your nipple or something painful like that. McGill is the other snobby school in Canada, at least until Quebec separates.

I was standing in the last row of the Richardson Stadium bleachers, and you could see that the two teams really hated each other. The heavy hitting sent shock waves reverberating through the shaky stands. A running back would plough into the line, be met head on and then you'd see a helmet roll away from the pile of bruised bodies. Almost like clockwork, every 10 minutes or so, the action would be delayed while another carcass was carted away on a stretcher.

The game symbolized, in a way, a wrestling match between two vastly different education systems too. Did you know that all the people who grew up in the province of Ontario were retarded? I swear that's the gods' honest truth. To go to university, you had to graduate from grade 13. Does any other province or state in North America have a grade 13? No. But the government honchos finally figured out they could reduce education spending by phasing it out. Hasta la vista! Sayonara! Bye bye! But, the way I see it, grade 13 just delayed growing up by one year. I don't think mental retardation was such a bad thing after all, 'cause I'm in my first year of university and I still don't know what the hell I want to do when I grow up.

Although the crowd was pretty decent, there were not many girls in attendance that day, it being the end of October and the usual cold breezy weather you can expect at the mistake by the lake. I prefer to be where you can see the odd girl around, whether they're just standing around looking pretty or cheering or blowing the snot out of their noses or something. I spotted old reliable Thelma Montgomery, the dean's daughter. She showed up at the games quite often, but she wasn't exactly a supermodel waiting to be discovered. She was a genuinely nice girl. I sat down beside her one time at a pub night when some hick copycat band came to town. Shania Twin or something. Unfortunately, Thelma suffered from what appeared to be terminal acne and had a unibrow thing going on above her sweet blue eyes. Also, she had this well padded bra on that a lot of girls seemed to wear to enhance their self-esteem. You could see she was unnaturally top heavy even through her thick, colorful, Hudson Bay winter coat. But, you felt somewhat sorry for her plight. The physical blight wasn't entirely her fault. What I liked about her was she didn't give you crap about how cultured she was. So many girls put on phony airs about some play or ballet they saw and how wonderful it all was. They tried to impress you with their vast knowledge of the performing arts. There's not much ballet or theater locally. Kingston isn't the center of the universe like Toronto.

In any case, I had to leave the game early because I had to help my friend Paul Campbell. Everyone called him PC, or Laptop, 'cause he was kind of too small to be a desktop PC and he always carried an old obsolete Dell Inspiron to class that he got as a hand me down from his father, some big time exec with the goddam Royal Bank. He wanted some volunteer help with the decorations and the food and that sort of stuff. The party was going to take place in the cafeteria of our student residence. That was nothing unusual. The celebrations were always held in Leonard Cafeteria. It was the only room large enough and was pretty much damage proof. You didn't have to worry about spilling beer on the carpets or knocking over flower vases or burning cigarette holes in the imitation leather sofa because the cafeteria didn't have any carpeting or flower vases or couches. There were ceramic floor tiles, plain Formica tables and plastic-on-metal chairs. The furnishings didn't create much ambience, but in the dark with some candles and decorations and costumes and music and alcohol and munchies, who was going to notice?

I walked out of Richardson Stadium at half time. Being October, it was cold as a witch's teat. I had on my army surplus parka and Kodiak boots and long underwear and snowmobile mitts; everybody in Canada wears that kind of crap in the chilly weather. Did you know that the number one cause of death in snowmobile accidents was decapitation? I guess that happens when you run into clotheslines or tree branches in the dark at high speeds. And I think the number two way of ending tits up must be falling through the ice on a half-frozen lake. And then, of course, there's the alcohol factor. But I was still shivering in spite of my heavy winter clothing and high powered internal heating system. The wineskin under the parka was standard equipment at all Queen's games. I usually filled it with Rye Whisky.

I absolutely hate cold weather. Some foreigners think all Canadians live in igloos, speak Inuktitut, have a hundred different words to describe snow, that we rub our noses together when we have sex, and that we are genetically acclimatized to sub-zero temperatures. But, I've got a serious problem in coping with frigid air. The warmest, lightest winter clothing is down, as in feathers from geese. Unfortunately, I'm allergic to duck or geese down. I sneeze a lot when I'm around feathers of any type. Consequently, I shiver a lot as I dash from place to place. Rainy days and Mondays and winters always get me down. Did you know that complaining about the weather is Canada's national pastime? We even have a 24-hour weather channel on cable television to feed the devotees of fine meteorological conversation.

Anyway, the brisk damp wind off Lake Ontario could freeze the balls off a brass monkey. So I hurried over the dormant lawns of the sprawling Queen's campus toward the gray flat stone walls of the student residence. Three five-story buildings, built in the late 50s and 60s, consisting of Leonard Hall, Brockington House and Gordon House, were joined together to form one huge complex. As places go, the buildings lacked the ivy and tradition and architectural style of an Oxford or Cambridge University. Alternatively, you kinda hoped that the dorms were like the frat and sorority houses of National Lampoon's Animal House or The Revenge of the Nerds. But that's not a very realistic view of life at Queen's. We have too many serious students who don't want to lose their goddam precious scholarships.

My given name is William, but everyone calls me Hold'em, and for good reason. One night, my buddies and me are playing poker in PC's room. Being 3 in the morning, it's the last hand, so there's a pot as big as a witches' cauldron and just as hot. Anyway, just by coincidence, the old Kenny Rogers song, the Gambler, comes on the radio. I don't know whether to shit or get off the pot. I'm holding a natural full house, but deuces are wild, so it's not necessarily the best hand. With five players in the game, someone is bound to have four of a kind or a straight flush. Anyway, after the first round of 'through the stratosphere' betting, when it comes time to draw cards, I stand pat, hoping to bluff out a few of the contenders and then I raise like crazy. Nobody drops out. Since it's the last hand, the four other players match all the raises and stay in. Just like the song says, 'You've got to know when to hold'em, know when to fold'em...' So I hold with queens over eights...You know what? I had the fifth best hand. Ever since then I've been known as William Hold'em or simply Hold'em.

To compound matters, I've always taken a ribbing about my last name too. Copperfield is such an easy target. I've had a Dickens of a time with jokes about the magician David. I don't want to talk about it.

You remember what I said about helping PC decorate the Leonard Cafeteria? It was a lot of fun if you're an artistic guy and you like that artsy fartsy crap, but I'm not gifted that way. So mostly I tried to follow the directions of the less aesthetically challenged Rembrandts. The easy stuff was placing candles and lanterns around the caf. Also, I helped string up some rolls of the orange and black crepe paper; it being All Hallow's Eve and all. I had to admit it was hard to overcome my usual impression of the Leonard Cafeteria. For one thing, the food there was revolting. Mostly, the cuisine had a 'je ne sais quoi' quality, as in a 'I don't know what I just ate' type of blandness. Like the fish served on Fridays, for example, wasn't halibut or cod or sole or salmon, it was just fish, usually served with no name fries and no name Cole Slaw. On account of that, fine diners invented labels to spice up the menu, like 'Penitentiary' fish or 'Royal Military College' fries or 'Thousand Island' Cole Slaw. There's even Macdonald hamburgers, named in honor of Canada's first Prime Minister. Not to be confused with the burgers from that Scottish bistro McDonald's. And another thing we had to overcome was the furniture and appearance of the dining hall. It had an 'institutional anyplace' functional aspect. So I gave a hand in rolling a large hickory rain barrel down some stairs into the dining hall for the apple-bobbing contest. At least, that's what they told me the barrel was for. If you want to know the inside dope, I suspected that PC was going to take it back to his hometown of St. Catharines near Niagara and go over the Falls in it. Or use it as a diving bell in search of the wreck of the Titanic, even though it's already been discovered. Or for some other dumb death defying stunt like that. Extreme sports are in! Everybody goes white water rafting or skydiving or canyoning in the summer. Thrill seekers want those scrotum- shrinking adventures 'cause it's more fun than staying home and squeezing your zits.

Yeah I know when I tell a story, I tend to ramble on and on. I don't stick to the point like all good writers should. I drive my SUV off the road, but it's because I like digressions. I really do. It's like taking the path less traveled. It hurts my grades on essays and reports, but I can't help it. Precision and dullness are a tough combination to master.

Helping set up the costumed mannequins and all was actually kind of enjoyable. It was easy to get hold of a chainsaw and a goalie's mask, this being Southern Ontario, halfway between Toronto and Montreal, a long way from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and wherever the hell Friday the Thirteenth took place. But, we didn't use real department store dummies. We 'borrowed' some of the scarecrows from the bayonet practice range at the Royal Military College and for the witches' costumes, we used some of the inflatable love dolls some of the guys and girls secretly had in their rooms. It's interesting what you find when you re-enact the Viking raids, you know the ones where they plundered the settlements of medieval England and other northern European countries. At least, that's what the History majors claimed we were doing. We pillaged the dorm rooms for fun, but for some inexplicable reason, stopped short of raping the other guys.

After the crew had put most of the decorations up and consumed about one third of the munchies and drinks, I had to go over to Allison's dorm room. She was Studlater's girlfriend, a real sweetie, a Drama major. If you want to know the truth, I really liked her and if she hadn't been going with my poker-playing friend since the beginning of school, I might have fancied a roll in the hay with her. Yeah, like I would ever get that lucky. I knew she liked me too because she always showed me her best smile and it was one of those toothpaste commercial type smiles for Colgate or Crest or whatever. She must have wore those barb wire braces when she was a kid 'cause every tooth was perfect porcelain, no extra tooth stuck out of the gums like a third eye and she didn't have any of those metallic fillings with that dementia causing mercury crap. And her breath was better than a Binaca blast or which ever breath mint people used. I kinda wondered what her mouth tasted like 'cause I had never gone beyond a sisterly smooch with Allison. Her skin was that real soft glowing complexion that you've seen pictured on a box of Ivory Snow or maybe radiating off some X-rated video cover. For Chrissake, I don't even know how Studlater ever got so lucky, but he was the real jealous type and he kept Allison on a tight leash. She was the last person in the world you'd ever call a dog or a bitch though.

Why was I going to Allison's room? Apparently Allison was going to help me get into a Halloween costume. I'm not called Hold'em for nothing. In another poker game the week before, I lost again. This time we were using chips instead of money, 'cause a lot of the dumb suckers had already been cleaned out of their dough. So the losers were going to have to suffer consequences, but I saw the game as being a chance to really humiliate my so-called poker friends, and revenge can be a thing of beauty. Anyhow, to make a short story shorter, in the climactic hand for all the buffalo chips, I had the third best hand.

PC and Studlater decided on the consequence. They got to pick out my Halloween costume, although they wouldn't tell me what it was. They didn't even want any of the other guys in the male section of the dorm to see my get up until the appropriate time. Since Kingston isn't a very big town, there aren't very many costumes available, even at Halloween. I mean you can go down to the K-Mart, Zeller's or Walmart and pick up a flimsy kiddie's outfit, but there's not much in the way of quality masquerade apparel for adult size children. There's lots of military stuff or convict wear since historic Fort Henry, the Royal Military College and the Kingston Penitentiary are what Kingston is known for. Ottawa, the nation's capital, isn't too far away. But, Jean Chretien masks aren't as popular as even the dead presidents of the United States 'cause nobody wants to talk out of the side of their mouth all evening. I swear to you, many of the people, excluding the students in Political Science, thought Bill Clinton was Canada's President. But, he was a popular guy. On the other hand, no one in Canada has ever mistaken George W. Bush for our leader. For Chrissake, Bush has never been to Canada while he's been President. Not that I blame him.

This university town is also known as the gateway to the world famous Thousand Islands, but I couldn't see Studlater and PC forcing me to come to the party as Thousand Islands Dressing. Nah...lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, croutons and bacon bit condiments would be too messy, not to mention the dressing itself. It would be as innovative as Pizza the Hut in the old film Spaceballs, but not practical enough for even a short appearance at the party.

You know, probably the best part of the torture for Laptop and Studlater was simply keeping me guessing for a whole week about what my costume would be. I mean my imagination could dream up far worse consequences than Studlater or Laptop ever could. Those guys made a thousand suggestions, but they wouldn't tell me which of the thousand guises it would be. It drove me bonkers.

2

Allison Simon was a lovely, sweet dream. When I knocked on her door, she greeted me with a warm hug and kisses on both cheeks.

"Hi Hold'em! Come on in!"

"Allie! You look wonderful tonight!" And she did. She had that fresh beauty without any makeup that every girl would kill for, yet she never let on that she knew she was gorgeous. I had a hard time deciding what exactly was her best feature. Perhaps it was the large, dark brown, almost black eyes. If eyes were the windows to the soul, I yearned to explore the depths of Allie's existence, for the inner person I was certain possessed great tenderness and compassion. As well, her clear milky white skin glowed. It was as if a golden aura surrounded her. But, I suppose these were the perceptions of an infatuated fool. She was dressed casually in blue Gap crap jeans, moccasins and a Queen's Golden Gaels sweatshirt. She was about a half-foot shorter than my six feet. I imagined that if I ever kissed her for real, I'd have to lift her 115 pounds off the ground and hold her in my arms to make out standing up. It's funny how guys can let their imaginations run rampant after innocent incidental contact like a hug and a brother- sister type peck on the cheek.

"It's just you and me kid," she responded when I looked around, half expecting Studlater to emerge from the bathroom at any moment.

Her dorm room was the same size as mine. But she had a large full length mirror on the closet door and some Snoopy and Garfield dolls, photos of family and friends, and souvenirs from her travels as decorations, giving her space a cozy atmosphere that contrasted with the Spartan feel of my hellish room.

"So where's Studlater or Laptop? Aren't they going to join us? Don't they want to orchestrate my humiliation?"

"No. Actually, they both said they'd have plenty of opportunity to enjoy it later. Transforming you is going to take awhile. Besides, knowing them, they probably are scrambling around trying to dig up costumes for themselves."

"So, don't keep me in suspenders. What's my punishment?"

"All I'm going to tell you for now is that you are going to dress up as a girl."

"Oh, is that all? I guess that's not too bad. I think I can survive that."

"Are you sure? We'll see...There's a can of shaving gel and some brand new razors in the bathroom. First, shave off all the body hair and ..."

"What? You can't be serious. You want me to shave my legs? What kind of pervert do you think I am?"

"Just the normal run-of-the-mill kind that you used to see on Jerry Springer every night. Shaving your legs isn't going to damage you like the heartbreak of psoriasis. It will grow back in no time. Who's going to see your bare legs during the winter anyway? Don't make it sound like a big deal...Actually that's probably the least of your concerns."

That sounded ominous. "I suppose it's not as embarrassing as getting a buzz cut like some army stiff at the Royal Military College."

"After you've shaved your legs...you don't have much chest hair, do you?"

"No, not even peach fuzz."

"Once you've done the legs, then you can enjoy a scented bubble bath. It'll give your whole body a nice light fragrance. There are strawberry, raspberry or apple bubble bath flavors available. Take your choice."

"Will you come in and scrub my back?"

"I don't think so, not unless you want Eric to beat you up?"

I never called Studlater by his proper name of Eric Stradlater because he never called me William or Bill. It was always Hold'em, so he was always Studlater.

"Actually, a beating just might be worth the pleasure of your company."

"You are such a flirt...and you'll have plenty of opportunity to use your charms tonight. So many guys, so little time. You'll have to beat them back with a stick."

If I had been in a guy's dressing room, a crass jock would've said, "Stick this!" with a gesture of his favored masturbating hand on his crotch, but I knew Allison was a real lady and didn't care for dirty language. It's one of the reasons I still hoped she might break up with the truly rude and crude Studlater. He could swear like a sailor, but I never saw him do it in front of girls. Eric's romancing technique was kind of a thing of beauty though. I had gone on a double date with him once during Orientation week. We went to see a movie at the Kingston Family Fun Drive In 'cause it was cheaper than a regular Cineplex. He and this pretty girl were in the back seat of my old broken down Toyauto. My date sat in the front with me. At the very beginning of the evening, he snowed his date in this quiet, sincere voice like he wasn't just a handsome stud, but this sensitive millennium kind of guy who really listened and was kind and considerate and not egotistical. I damn near puked, listening to his phony crap. The girl kept saying, 'Don't, please don't.' This would be repeated every few minutes. After a while, there was this long silence in the back seat. Then some smooching and sucking sounds and rhythmic panting and grunting. That damned 'Studlater' was making out with her. I didn't care to witness it. Meanwhile, I felt as useless as a third tit on Jabba the Hut's disgusting carcass 'cause I behaved like a gentleman with my date.

The white tile bathroom was just like mine, except Allison had brushes, cosmetics, Tampax pads, fashion magazines and other girly stuff on the counter around the sink.

I decided to take the green apple bath first, figuring it would help soften the legs before shaving. The warm soft foam was really quite relaxing and sensual, but I sincerely wished Allison would come in and scrub my back. I mean, with all the suds and stuff, she wouldn't even be able to see Mister Wiggly. I hadn't had a bubble bath since I was a little kid. Immersion in foam was kinda boring though without any rubber duckies or toys to play with.

"Hey Allison, come on in here! See! It floats!"

She didn't dignify my crude remark with a response.

After draining the antique original equipment bathtub and drying myself off with the dorm's standard white towels, I spread the shaving gel on my long thin legs. I used to take a ribbing back in high school about having a girl's gams, but that kind of bull crap never bothered me a bit. So I got called 'fag' occasionally. I loved girls; I didn't want to be one. I gave the gel a minute or two to be absorbed by the hair, and then I carefully stroked my limbs with a triple-edged razor. I want you to know I'm really a wimp beneath my gruff pseudo-macho exterior. It took a few minutes, but I managed it without a nick of any kind. I got back into the bathtub and turned on the shower to clear off the gel film. The spray of water felt a little different on my hairless limbs. After toweling down again, I ran my fingers over my legs. I never would have believed my gams could feel so smooth and sensuous. And I hate to admit it, but I actually liked the goddam perverted way they felt.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. I quickly covered up Mr. Wiggly with the towel.

"Yes," I called out.

"Are you decent?" yelled Allison on the other side of the door.

"I'm better than decent. I'm a goddam sex goddess," I replied with my usual bombast as I considered letting the towel drop accidentally if Allison entered. But, I remembered David Niven's famous line at the Oscars when some glory hog streaked across the stage in his birthday suit. And the ever cool Niven, after a dismissive glance, quipped something like, "Why anyone would want to display his shortcomings is beyond me."

When she opened the door, Allison was wearing a Cruella De Ville costume, you know, the one from Disney's 101 Dalmatians. But she didn't have any makeup on yet and her dark hair didn't yet resemble the wild half black-half white coiffure that characterized Cruella. The dark pinstripe suit suggested that villainous dognapping character. It had a very wide 'over the top' lapel and collar with broad shoulder pads. The pinstripe skirt was slit down the sides. Dark nylons and high heels completed the venomous Glenn Close vamp look. Talk about going against type.

"Wow!" Where did you dig up that outfit?"

"In the theatrical arts, wardrobe is a skill. I sewed the pinstripe suit myself. Do you like it?"

"It's perfect! You are quite a talent."

She looked me over and whistled. "Oh, sexy legs!"

I twirled around to give her the full view, although I decided not to drop the white towel skirt just yet.

Allison began singing for some strange reason. I thought it was her way of teasing me.

"Holly came from Miami F.L.A.
Hitchhiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs then he was a she"

I sang the Walk on the Wildside chorus along with Allie.

She says, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side
Said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side
And the colored girls go
Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo..."

It was a real laugh!

It was quite amazing we both knew the words, but for reasons unknown to me, Lou Reed had become a cult figure on the Queen's University campus.

Allie had a crazy creative side to her that I thought was really cute. What else would you expect from a Drama major? And she sounded a lot better than Lou Reed's 'talking in tune' voice, but my 'colored girl' singing voice needed a little work.

"Not bad, Hold'em. When you try to talk like a woman, think about how you sing in a higher register than your normal speaking voice. A woman's voice has a kind of musicality to it. But don't use a falsetto. It's too high. Stay in the vocal range you just used, and you might make a passable woman...However, you still need to shave your face. Your blond peach fuzz would show right through the base makeup," said Allison as she felt my "beard" with her smooth, manicured hand.

With that, she turned around and wiggled her sexy butt back to her bedroom, and let me continue. But shaving my face was something I could do in the dark with a crummy rusty old razor and no shaving cream, although I really wouldn't do that. But, as I stared into the mirror, I kinda wondered what type of goddam woman would I make? Sometimes, when I was much younger, people would comment on my girlish face, even complete strangers. I don't have a big nose, a heavy- set jaw or other butch features, but I am six feet tall, a definite drawback unless you're a supermodel. Would I be pretty, or would I look like Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie?

After I emerged from the bathroom, Allie sat me down on a wooden chair. She didn't want me to look at my face while she worked her makeup magic, so I faced the bed and the curtained windows rather than the full-length mirror on the closet door. I felt rather uncomfortable with my bare skinny body, covered only by boxer shorts, being so exposed while in the charismatic presence of such a wonderful girl, but I just hoped Mr. Wiggly would behave himself.

Being a Drama student, Allie knew so much about makeup application. She took off her Cruella De Ville jacket and put a protective light blue smock over her blouse and skirt before beginning. After hanging up the jacket in her closet, Allie wandered over to her desk and popped the Very Best of the Eagles CD into her Sony mini system. A moment later, the Eagles' soulful song, Desperado, started up. It helped to ease the fears of my threatened male persona. "Desperado, why don't you come to your senses..." I can't remember every makeup item or all the different brand names Allie had in her arsenal, but there were a lot of creams, sponges, brushes, pencils, eyelashes, tweezers, eye shadows, concealors, an eyelash curler, foundation makeup, lip gloss, lipstick, and whatever the hell else was needed. She even pulled out some green contact lenses from her dresser drawer. Wow! It made me feel extra special. Privileged to observe life through the eyes of another; kinda like walking a mile in her shoes so to speak. Some of the brands I can remember seeing were Cover Girl, Maybelline, and Mac.

Allie didn't believe in doing anything in a half-assed kind of way.

"First, I'm going to cover your face with a protective moisturizer," said Allison, as she spread some kind of whisper light cream onto my face. "Then, I'll put a foundation makeup on that will essentially smooth out your complexion, giving us a kind of blank canvas to start with. I'll tweeze a few of your unruly eyebrow hairs and..."

"Stop right there! I'm not going to allow you to tweeze away my damn eyebrows. That's going too far. I don't have to look like Miss Canada."

"Hold'em, you wimp, you don't look tough enough. Didn't a recent Miss Canada get into some barroom brawl with another girl?"

"I think you're right...Weren't charges laid too? I remember seeing some Canucklehead babe on the cover of some men's magazine. She was wearing boxing gloves."

"Hold'em, did you ever box?"

"Yeah, I boxed professionally in the paperweight division when I worked at the A&P." I can be really sarcastic when I want to be.

"Well, macho man, I'll pluck just a few stray hairs. Luckily, you don't have thick eyebrows. And, if I need to, I can use some spirit gum, theatrical putty and a thick makeup to thin the eyebrows."

"Sounds like a lot of work," I mumbled. To tell the truth, I wasn't feeling all that comfortable about this weird sex change crap, although I kinda liked spending time with Allie. But, I mean, when I was a kid, I never really cared for the old ever-ready 'fag' putdown used by all the bullying jocks and rednecks since before Creation.

"You've got nice, high cheekbones Hold'em. We'll bring that out a little more, use some dark makeup to diminish your jaw-line and to give the cheeks that hollow, sunken look favored by fashion models...Then, I can work on your eyes. The green contact lenses will change you dramatically...After that, we'll make your tempting lips irresistible...Add a gorgeous red wig...And we can't forget your fingernails."

Somehow, I began to feel like a Barbie doll being manipulated by a young girl who loved playing house or whatever it was girls did with their goddam Barbie dolls, with their impossibly thin long necks, tiny waists, and physically impossible proportions. Everyone knows Barbie's not anatomically correct. She's the leading cause of the 'living dead' eating disorders in North America, you know, a 'n b, anorexia nervosa and bulimia. Now, I want to tell you that this procedure she described so quickly wasn't gonna be no instantaneous transformation. For example, fake fingernails aren't as simple as they sound. I know I would have been all thumbs trying to file those phony plastic nails to the proper fit and then putting the adhesive and polish on. Hell, it took several minutes to shape each nail using a crummy file, maybe ten minutes or so to apply the polish and seemingly forever or longer for the stinky red gook to dry. Allie wasn't kidding when she said Laptop and Studlater would probably get two hemorrhoids apiece waiting for this transformation to be completed.

Allie picked up the telephone from the night table beside her bed and pushed the speed dial button.

"Hi Eric...Yes, I'm still working on Hold'em, but it's going to be absolutely fabulous! Well worth the wait...No. Let's change the plan a little. Please, do not come over. I want our costumes to be a total surprise to you guys...No, don't tell me what you're going as. Oh, and you can tell PC too...Thanks...I'll find you downstairs...Okay, we'll see you later."

When Allison put down the phone, for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"Allison, how did you get involved in this anyway?"

She looked at me with a mischievous smile. "When Eric told me he needed to find you a really humiliating costume, I volunteered."

"Thanks."

"Hold'em, I also wanted to spend this time to get to know you a little better."

"Well, I'm afraid you're getting to see a side of me that's never been seen before."

She laughed. "I see the potential in you Hold'em. Underneath that tough, wisecracking exterior...I see a real wimp." Then she giggled mirthfully.

"Gee, and I thought we were going to share an intimate Kodak moment there. Instead, Cruella De Ville just whizzed all over me."

"I'm sorry, Hold'em. I couldn't resist. But, you know, if I wasn't going with Eric..."

"Yeah right, but you're a one man woman. Please spare me that Paul Anka sentimental mush. So whose idea was this costume anyway, Allie?"

"Oh, PC and Eric made some suggestions, like Catwoman or Elvira or just some sexy lingerie. They said they'd be happy as long as it would be really embarrassing for you."

I put the thumb, index and middle fingers of my right hand together. I held it up to my forehead, then dropped it down to my stomach, over to my left armpit, across to my right tit, and whispered, "Please forgive her Father for what she is about to do. She will fall victim to the Devil's temptation on All Hallow's Eve. She knows not what the true consequences of her evil actions are."

"Pretty feeble, Hold'em," Allie clucked, as she shook her head. "You're not even Catholic, are you?" But, you'll be thanking me later once you see how good you'll look."

"Uh huh...So, I know Kingston doesn't have a lot of costume shops. Where'd you come up with the masquerade outfit?"

"Well, I went over to the Drama Department's storage room. They had oodles and oodles of costumes to choose from. But, I also had to find something that would fit. The fact that you're so thin helped. Although you are tall for a girl, luckily, most of your height comes from your long legs. So, the key was just finding something that would fit."

"I must admit I've been taking a ribbing about those 'daddy long legs' since I was in kindergarten."

"You've got fabulous, shapely, sexy legs! Although with your size 11 feet, I had to go shopping for the high heels at Boats 'R Us."

"You are such a kidder. But I'm just dying to see the costume."

"I've got it in a garment bag. Just be patient. You can try it on right after your makeup is done...Those guys are going to laugh so hard when they see you all dressed up."

Now I was getting a little apprehensive and frustrated. For Chrissake, I hate not knowing and I hate being put on hold. "You enjoy torturing guys, don't you?"

"Guys? Just you Hold'em. You're such an easy mark," she giggled. "So Hold'em, if you could be a woman, which famous female would you want to look like?"

"I don't know. I never really thought about it." I wondered if I should describe Allie's beautiful features. Hey! A little flattery might get me somewhere. You never know 'cause some people enjoy being flattered. And some are really gullible. But she was a really intelligent girl. She could see right through me. I didn't think I could snow her.

"With your height, long legs and thin frame, maybe we could make you into some kind of supermodel," said Allie encouragingly.

"You mean like Rupaul?"

"No silly. How about Claudia Schiffer? It would be a natural for a guy with the last name of Copperfield."

"Did you know that magician David Copperfield used to pay Claudia Schiffer to make appearances with him?"

"Are you saying Claudia Schiffer is a whore?"

"I don't know, but sometimes escorts call themselves models."

"In the final analysis, I suppose we all sell our services. We prostitute ourselves."

"Wait, I've got it. Make me look like supermodel Linda Evangelista. I wonder if she is still around. Anyway, she's originally from Laptop's hometown of St. Catharines. If you could get me an accordion, I'd serenade PC with a Schmenge Polka tune just the way Linda would."

"Oh Hold'em, you're nuts," Allie said with a playful shove.

"So...what's your point?"

3

When Allison pushed me out her dorm room and told me to go down to the Leonard Cafeteria by myself, I felt like I was going back to my own room and taking all the girl crap off. She said she would join me in a few minutes at the party, after she finished her own makeup. Besides, she said, if we showed up together, Laptop, Studlater and my other card- playing cronies would immediately know who we were. And Allison said, if it weren't for my height, they'd have never recognized me, which kinda intrigued me.

The difficult part of the stroll from Allison's fifth story room down to the basement cafeteria was managing the high heels. The elevator took me to the main floor, but I had to walk down a flight of stairs from the main floor to the basement. Although, I have to admit, it wasn't the first time I'd worn high heels, but that's another story. And I don't feel like going into that. I really don't.

Probably the only thing that kept up my courage to carry on was the fact that Allison provided me with a mid-length black cape that covered up a portion of my rather revealing costume. And you know, after walking down the stairs, that walk through the hallway was a real cinch.

Anyway, when I strutted into the festive dining hall all by myself, I felt so completely naked, like I had been hit with a spotlight and the three hundred or so people in the cafeteria were all staring at me. You never saw so many gawkers in your life. I mean, you'd think at least some of these people had seen a Las Vegas showgirl before, or at least a guy wearing a goddam embarrassing costume.

I must admit, when Allison first allowed me to look at myself in the mirror, I was amazed at my reflection. I mean, if the Miss Canada Pageant would allow it, I might have entered right away. Imagine a skimpy shiny silver bathing suit type of outfit, low cut, without any straps. I mean, when I looked down at my bosom, I kinda got turned on myself. The tape, padding, padded bra and contour makeup gave me magnificent tits where there were none before. Long sensuous legs encased in sheer nylons tottering on black stiletto heels were probably the best of my feminine features. The long legs that I had been teased about all my life seemed to be a better proportional fit on a girl's body than a boy's. Allison had given me some foam padding to enhance my fabulous butt and flaring hips. Underneath the silvery suit, my hanging gardens were all scrunched together under a very tight elasticized thong. I couldn't see any hint of Mr. Wiggly, but I must confess, it did hurt, a kinda omnipresent ache that I just knew would be with me for a few more ultra-sensitive days. Long black velvet evening gloves sensuously hugged my thin, underdeveloped, non-muscular arms. A fake diamond necklace and matching earrings added the glitz and glitter of Vegas!

But, I have to admit Allison's makeup magic was astounding! I had a nice oval shape to my face, a smooth healthy complexion, and high prominent cheekbones. Thin arched eyebrows, mesmerizing large eyes with smoky eye shadow, long seductive eyelashes, and yearning glossy red luscious lips looked back at me in the mirror. I loved the curly ringlets of my fiery auburn tresses, which were topped by a futuristic silvery Vegas headdress/crown that must have stretched me to an intimidating seven feet. I gotta admit, the Vegas showgirl kinda turned me on. Maybe, if there were a contest tonight, I'd have a real shot at best costume!

And when Allison reached up to give me a congratulatory kiss for looking so delectable, it was the first time I ever tasted her tongue as we French kissed. What a reward!

I always called Allison's boyfriend 'Studlater,' but I wished she'd tell him, 'See you later.'

As I glided over to the refreshment stand, one confident body builder type dressed in a Zorro costume approached me.

"Hey there, sexy senorita! Como esta usted?"

It kinda caught me by surprise. I looked around for a moment to see if he might have been talking to someone else. With a shrug, I said in my best, breathy singsong voice, "I am well, Senor Zorro."

"That's an amazing costume! That headdress reminds me of Queen Amidala in The Phantom Menace, only much nicer."

"Thank you. Aren't you a dashing figure? I like your outfit. The boots, whip and sword, they are nice touches."

"And you are absolutely stunning!"

I smiled. "It seems that the last time I saw you, sometime ago now, you were sweeping Catherine Zeta-Jones off her feet."

"Yes, but that was a long, long time ago. And her beauty pales by comparison."

"Aren't you laying it on rather thick?"

"Laying with you would be a dream come true."

"You are rather forward. But I think a lady would prefer to be romanced rather than propositioned."

"I wouldn't call it a proposition. More like a heartfelt dream." He paused for a moment to consider his next move. "Then, would you please share a drink with me?"

"Yes, I think I'd enjoy that."

"What would you like?"

"A Blue Light, please."

"Good. Your wish is my command."

Zorro smiled, then with a flourish of his dark cape, did a dramatic turn and walked over to the drink counter to order refreshments from a pretty 'nurse,' although he'd have to wait, as there were a few others already ahead of him. I'm not sure who Zorro was. I was trying to figure out if he looked more like the Antonio Banderas version or George Hamilton's Zorro: the Gay Blade. With the mask, phony mustache and distinctive hat, all Zorros looked pretty much alike. Unfortunately, in my spiked heels and futuristic headdress/crown, I towered over him.

So far, I didn't think Zorro had any clue that I was a guy. His flattering comments about my appearance were a really big boost to my confidence. Even my voice didn't suck as bad as I thought it would.

I looked around the crowded dance floor. The Cher song Believe was just starting up. It was like a signal for everyone in the whole place to get up and boogie.

Somebody tapped me on the shoulder from behind. When I turned to face the guy, I almost gasped. It was Studlater, dressed in a Dracula outfit. The white makeup, the slicked- back hair, the wax fangs, dark clothing and long cape gave him a passing resemblance to that film Dracula. What was his name? Gary Oldman? Studlater was an impressive vampire. He could look me straight in the eye, being six foot three, and he had these hypnotic eyes. The bloodsucker was a handsome guy and he knew it. But, he could drive me batty with his horsing around all the time. I guess he had come over to torture me.

"A beautiful outfit! You make all the other girls here look less than ordinary!"

Surprised by the compliment, it took me a moment to recover. "Why thank you, Count Dracula." I had some difficulty finding the right vocal intonation.

"Actually, in the daytime, my name is Eric. And yours?"

Could it be he didn't recognize me? "Linda," I said in the best feminine voice I could muster. "Pleased to meet you."

He gracefully caught my hand, bowed and kissed the back of it in the European style, just like the real fictional Dracula would.

"Count Eric at your service...Would you please do me the honor of this dance?" he asked as he gave me the once over from head to toe, pausing momentarily at my gravity defying cleavage.

I glanced over to Zorro who was still waiting in line for the drink. I wanted to tell Studlater to 'bite me.' Instead, I said, "Yes, it would be a pleasure."

Studlater spun me onto the dance floor. The others parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Instead of dancing apart in a free style like most of the costumed celebrants out there, he put his right hand in the small of my back and held up his left hand. Naturally, I responded in kind, although the positioning was the reverse of what I was accustomed to.

Count Dracula was an accomplished dancer. He confidently led me through what can best be described as a disco jive. First, he led me through some simple steps to get me accustomed to the basics. Then, he introduced a variation from the basic moves. His light directive touches with his hands and deft quick movements had me whirling about the dance floor as if I was some kind of goddam ballroom professional. The cuddles, turns, spins, and dips flowed effortlessly. For Chrissake, I had to admire Studlater's skill! It also shocked me that I could follow so easily, given the high heels and the lack of experience as a girl.

As Cher's Believe faded away, Studlater thanked me and drew me into a tight embrace and gave me a deep kiss flush on the mouth. He stuck his tongue through my lips and I could sense the taste of beer.

I broke off the kiss. "Please don't."

"Dancing with you is such a pleasure, Linda."

While jammed close together in his tight embrace, I could feel Studlater's aroused member poke me across the crotch area. Now I was really convinced he didn't recognize me. I gave him a gentle push away from me.

The next song I'd never heard before. It might have been by that Cuban group, the Buena Vista Social Club. Maybe it was Salsa stuff. Anyway, I wanted to sit this one out, but then it struck me. Maybe I could have some fun with this. It was a dirty trick, but maybe I could toy with Studlater a little. So we stayed on the dance floor. I watched the other girls and tried to copy their arm and leg movements as they responded to the rhythm of the flamenco inspired Latin music. Some chicks had those glowing green light sticks and they put on quite a baton show with their tosses, flips and twirls. So I got a little bolder with my movements. When I pirouetted, my black cape swirled in the breeze. It made me feel like some classy chorus dancer on the stage of the Folies Bergere. At other times, I simply raised my arms and used the cape to form airy wings. Studlater smiled approvingly at my antics. He danced smoothly, easily and confidently. Looking to create some other innovative moves, I reached up to my cape and undid the tie. Next, I used the cape like a bullfighter teasing an angry animal into a mad charge. Studlater playfully joined the mock bullfight and charged. Then I gracefully sidestepped the raging bull. I turned, and Studlater lowered his head and charged again. I don't know what the others on the dance floor thought of our 'caper,' but what the heck. It was fun!

When the song ended, I didn't want to give Studlater a chance to embrace me again for Chrissake. I headed off to the refreshment stand in search of Zorro. But when I got over by the drink counter, the lineup had evaporated, and I was disappointed to find that Zorro was no longer there, but I couldn't really blame him, could I?

Studlater, however, had followed me.

"Good idea, getting a drink," he said, trying to minimize my abrupt departure.

However, talking with Studlater was going to be a test of my skills of deception. "What would you like to drink?" I croaked, struggling to find the right pitch.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

I got the bartender's attention. "Hi, could we have two spiked lemonades, please?" I changed the drink selection from my usual preferences just in case it would jog Studlater's memory.

"Coming right up," replied the cheerful nurse.

"A good choice, just what I would have ordered," added Studlater like he really meant it, but I knew he always drank Molson Canadian. "Linda, you're really a cool dancer." Studlater was trying to snow me with his usual sincerity routine.

"You are too. Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

"Oh, I used to take lessons with one of my old girlfriends in high school."

"I had some lessons in Phys. Ed. class at our old high school."

"So where are you from?"

"Ottawa." I'm the world's biggest liar. I really am. I couldn't very well tell him the truth, or he might have figured out who I really was. "And you?" Like I didn't already know.

"Montreal."

I turned back to the pretty blonde nurse for a moment. "Thank you." I reached for a pocket in my cape to pay for the drinks.

But Studlater was already prepared and forked over a twenty. "Keep the change."

"Thanks," replied the 'nurse' with a big smile.

Studlater was a naturally generous guy. He'd give you the coat off his mother's back if you really wanted it. He came from a wealthy family in Montreal's Westmount. But he didn't want to go to McGill University 'cause he wanted to leave the nest and spread his wings. Handsome, smart, and wealthy, he was lucky at cards and love as well. Some guys had it all. The least he could do was buy a girl a drink. Considering Studlater was probably paying the nurse with money he had won from me in poker, for Chrissake, it didn't feel like this was a freebie for me. I earned it by getting into this fabulous costume and all.

I put a straw in my glass and took a sip. I didn't want to smear my lipstick. Allie cautioned me about that. "Thank you for buying the lemonade."

"You're welcome, although I'm accustomed to having drinks with a little more bite. Like a Bloody Caesar or just straight blood...I don't believe I've ever seen you around campus before," remarked Studlater.

I paused to push some of the curly red ringlets of my wig away from my eyes. "Oh, I'm in my first year here."

"So am I."

"Your tie is crooked. Here, Let me adjust it for you." I reached up to straighten his tie with my gloved hands, making sure to caress his chest gently. "There, that's better."

"Thank you," he replied with a smile. "I'm trying to figure out why I've never seen you before."

"Who knows? Perhaps you have."

"No, you I would have remembered." Studlater knew how to make a girl feel special.

"Well, I'm in English, with a Drama minor."

"Ah, that explains it. Business and Commerce for me...Drama eh. Do you by chance happen to know Allison Simon?"

"I've met a girl named Allison, but I'm not sure of her last name. Why? Is she your girlfriend?" I wanted to put him on the spot.

"Oh, I have lots of friends. I just thought you might know her 'cause she's in Drama too."

The slimeball! He sidestepped the question. What a smoothie!

I looked over to the entrance of the cafeteria, straining to spot the familiar Cruella De Ville outfit. Allison should have been here by now. In the dark lantern lit hall, I thought I might have spotted her in the crowd of revelers some distance away on the dance floor. They were all struttin' their stuff to the sounds of Alanis Morissette. But, goddammit, I'll tell you whom I did see out among the dancers. Paul Campbell. He was wearing two gray painted cardboard panels. One of the panels displayed a large keyboard that had been painted on with a shiny acrylic. The other side was an attempt to show a Microsoft Windows image on a flat panel notebook screen. PC Laptop was true to his name. He kills me, he really does.

"There are some really innovative costumes out there," I yelled above the sound of the music.

"Yeah, but I think my vote for best costume would have to go to you. You're sssmoking!"

"Thank you Count Dracula," I said as I gave his hand a squeeze.

"I am possessed by the hunger," roared Studlater, as he playfully showed his wax fangs.

"What is this hunger?" Wasn't there a vampire film with that title?

"An insatiable lust for blood."

"I thought modern vampires just went down to the local blood bank to get topped up."

"There are times when our urges are stirred up and we must have it."

"You mean like a drug addict's craving for a hit."

"Exactly. Haven't you ever had the hunger?"

"Occasionally, but I can't puff on a fag in here." It was hard to yell above the din of the music and maintain a semblance of a feminine tone.

Studlater's face lit up. "Then why don't we go to the smoking area and get some air?"

Count Dracula just wanted to be alone with me so that he could make his move. I knew the scumbag's routine. "I'd love too. Please, lead the way."

We left our half-finished drinks on the counter.

Studlater wrapped his arm around my waist and led me through the throng of party-goers, into the empty, quiet hallway, then down the corridor a short distance toward a staircase.

The hunk of a vampire assisted me up the stairs, with his arm still wrapped around my silvery costume-clad waist. In the stairwell on the main floor we paused.

"You know, Linda, you look really hot tonight. You are as beautiful a girl as I've ever met. You can really fill out a showgirl's outfit. And you have such gorgeous, sparkling green eyes."

Allie's contact lenses worked their magic. "Well, thank you." Studlater was giving me those smooth, flattering lines like he did with all the girls, and I wanted to encourage him. So, I smiled and batted my false eyelashes.

Then Count Dracula gave me a peck on the cheek. When I accepted it without a hint of reluctance, he gathered me in both arms, wrapping me in his cape, and planted his eager lips firmly on mine. It was a deep, passionate kiss! Charged with electricity!

What a turn-on! It took my breath away!

"You know Linda, it's likely to be extremely cold out in the smoking area and really crowded. Why don't we find somewhere else to go?" he said with gentle pressure around my waist.

"What did you have in mind?" I responded by grabbing him around the waist.

"Well, we could go back to my room. As long as we open the windows a crack, it's unlikely we'll get caught smoking. Besides, I know security won't be around now."

"Is your room close by?"

"Just up one more floor, on the right."

"Okay lover." I kissed him lightly on the cheek. This was going to be dangerous fun. I hadn't felt like this since I was twelve years old when I stole a jacket from Eaton's. So nervous and excited! So afraid of getting caught! Studlater was never going to live this down when he found out that he was being turned on by one of his goddam male poker companions.

Up another flight of stairs, down the corridor, past ten or so doors, then Studlater fumbled with the door handle and led me into the room.

He didn't even turn on the light. Studlater just enveloped me in a strong bold embrace and kissed me long and hard and deep. He practically Hoovered me. Then he snaked his tongue in and out of my mouth. His hands groped around my backside, squeezing my ass cheeks like Mr. Whipple squeezing rolls of Charmin. I clung to him, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck and head, playfully mussing up his hair a little. We must have been standing there for several eternities doing the tongue in cheek thing. My hands lowered to his shoulders, then the middle of his back, then I caressed his chest. Pretty soon my hands had migrated further south to his hips and buns. Then he backed me up toward the bed, our tongues still intertwined, and we fell onto the bed together.

Our descent into sin was cushioned by a plump, airy down duvet. Oh no! My allergies! I'd go into sneezing fits when exposed to feathers. So I rolled over on top of Studlater, still maintaining the lip lock. He seemed to like the position reversal. There was a 'stake' sticking out of the vampire that threatened to impale me. Maybe I could tolerate the feather-filled comforter for a few minutes more, or perhaps I could nonchalantly push the duvet off the bed. A sneezing fit could prove to be my undoing 'cause Studlater knew Hold'em Copperfield was allergic to feathers.

Count Dracula began nibbling on my neck. Maybe I shoulda wore a garlic necklace instead of the phony diamonds, but at least the glitzy accessory kept him from giving me a hickey.

I gently caressed his smooth, handsome face with my black velvet gloved hands. As I nuzzled and licked and blew on his ears, I was absolutely convinced he had no idea that I was a girl with something extra.

His wandering hands squeezed my padded breasts. And I'm the one nicknamed Hold'em?

Shit! I was getting real nervous. This was going much too far too fast! I was getting scared! He didn't have a clue! He'd be madder than hell when he found out!

I needed some of that Copperfield magic right now to help me disappear.

"Don't, please don't," I cried.

That had no effect. Studlater wrapped his thick, muscular legs around my sheer nylon clad limbs. He fumbled for the zipper on the back of my sexy silver suit.

Studlater was a stud now!

Maybe if I became the aggressor and gave him a blowjob, he'd never be the wiser?

Studlater peeled the silver suit away while I reached for his belt buckle.

My black bra and thong were now on display.

I unzipped Studlater and pulled his black pants down as Studlater struggled to kick off his boots.

What an erection! His jockey shorts almost ripped under the strain!

I reached down to Studlater's feet and wrenched off one of his boots.

"Ah, ah...achoooo!" Unable to hold it, I sneezed. "Pardon me."

"Bless you."

Would Studlater know I was William?

Then, suddenly, the door opened and the light flicked on, and we were no longer alone in the dark. My eyes squinted involuntarily, trying to adjust to the brightness. Standing at the door was Allison!

"You cheating scumbag!" exclaimed an incensed Cruella De Ville. A look of incredulity! Her hands went up to her cheeks. Horror! A freakin' nightmare! "How could you?" She turned, sobbing with her head in her hands, and ran away, tears already streaming from her mascara smudged eyes.

For Chrissake! It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Studlater pushed me aside, bounced off the bed and ran out the door after her.

"Wait Allison! I can explain! Please Allison..."

4

A half-hour later, I was walking down a corridor, trying to figure things out. What just happened? This embarrassing mess needed to be resolved. I stumbled along in stunned amazement! What had been intended as a big joke, a cruel trick on Studlater, had ended in disaster! The last thing in the world I wanted was to see Allison hurt in any way.

I hobbled down the empty hallway in the elegant high heels. They were beginning to hurt in the toes. Damn it! Why did I have to look like such a sexy fox! A showgirl monster! Created by Allison herself!

She must have recognized me! She must have thought Studlater and I were gay! That's why she must have been upset!

I needed to talk to her. I figured by now, Studlater and Allison had to have cleared the air.

I knocked on her door. I wondered who'd be there. Would it be Allison by herself, or Studlater and Allison together?

I could sense some movement behind the door. Somebody looked through the peephole. Then the door opened.

"Allison! I'm so sorry Allie!"

"Really? It seems that the last time I saw you, 'Linda' was doing the horizontal tango with my boyfriend!"

"Oh Allison, let me explain. I never should have tried to play such a dirty trick, even if it was on Studlater."

There was an awkward pause. Allie had been crying and the mascara had run, giving her the trademark raccoon look. And the Cruella De Ville wig had been removed so she wore that 'bad hair day' do.

"Please let me come in," I said. "I don't want to broadcast this to the whole lousy dorm."

She shrugged. I stepped in and closed the door.

"Look Allie, I was just trying to play a big joke on Studlater."

"Do you mean to say Eric didn't know it was you?"

"I really think I had him fooled. I mean, at no time did he ever let on that he knew it was really me...and I played along. I tried my best to keep up the deception. I really don't think he knew it was me."

"Actually, from where I'm standing, I don't find that too hard to believe," she said as she gave me a long admiring look, "although your makeup could use a touch up."

I struck a classic showgirl pose and batted my false eyelashes.

Allie giggled briefly.

"So what did Studlater have to say?"

"I don't know. I refused to talk to him. As far as I'm concerned, Eric and I are through."

I didn't know what to say next. So I improvised with the truth.

"I'm sorry, Allie. I thought I'd get a measure of revenge on Studlater. For Chrissake, I mean he's been teasing me all week about what embarrassing thing I'd be wearing for Halloween, and when he didn't seem to recognize me, I was really surprised. So we danced and I led him on a little. I was just horsing around with him. He bought me a drink. We chatted. But, as I gained a little more confidence, one thing led to another. Then, Studlater put on his best moves. Things just got a little out of control. In fact, if you hadn't turned on the lights at that moment, I think Studlater was about to get the shock of his life."

A smile came to Allie's face.

"So Eric was going to cheat on me with what he thought was a beautiful girl."

"Yeah, he's called Studlater for good reason."

"And Hold'em, are you gay? Not that I have anything against homosexuals."

"I like girls; I don't really want to be a girl. And except for tonight, I haven't experienced contact of any sort with a guy."

"Have you ever had sex with a girl?"

"Uh...Look, remember when you sent me into the bathroom to shave my legs and take a bubble bath, I asked if you would scrub my back. Well, I really would have enjoyed sharing a bubble bath with you. I think you are a beautiful girl. Not only are you physically magnificent, you are so kind and considerate and smart and fun loving. You've got a compassionate heart. I think you deserve a lot better than that philanderer Studlater."

Allie snuggled up to me. We hugged forgivingly. Before we knew it, Cruella De Ville and a very tall Las Vegas showgirl were wrapped in a hot embrace, kissing like lemmings in heat or whatever the hell those animals are that reproduce faster than rabbits. At first, I had to stoop down to kiss Allison. But, I want to tell you, when we sat down on the bed together, we were a good fit physically. Allie was so sensual, so gentle, so loving, so caring! We were very happy together that night.

But, that's all I can tell you, 'cause I promised Allie I wouldn't go blabbing on and on, especially about affairs of the heart. 'You've got to know when to hold'em, know when to fold'em...Every gambler knows the secret to survive is knowing what to throw away and knowing what to keep.' Goddammit! I have to stop! Allie would kill me, she really would.

THE END

CATCH HER IN DISGUISE

This is a follow-up story to Catch Her. William loses his
job. He discovers that he can make a lot of money at a strip
club, but he has to dress as a waitress in a French maid
outfit. Fortunately, he has the necessary physical
attributes. Or will someone see through the disguise?
Originally posted in the summer of 2003 on Fictionmania.

CATCH HER IN DISGUISE

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

1

As the applause faded, the drop-dead gorgeous dancer picked
up her clothes and slipped away from the runway. Then, the
music started up once more. The intro to Shania Twain's
Man I Feel Like a Woman blared over the loudspeakers.

The smooth-talking announcer introduced the next performer.
"Gentlemen and Ladies, The Hook and Ladder Club is proud to
present tonight's headliner! She's beautiful! She's sexy!
She's got curves where others don't even have places!
Please put your hands together and give an enthusiastic
Kingston welcome to Cherry 'The Bomb' Cola!"

A Friday night crowd of dirty old men and young college
guys clapped and hollered and stomped on the floorboards
enthusiastically!

"Gentlemen, watch out! Look, but don't touch! She's got a
fiery temper! She's explosive! She's dynamite! All the way
from Vancouver, British Columbia, the reigning Miss Nude
Vancouver, heeeerrrrrre's Cherrrry!!!"

A statuesque blond bimbo strutted out from the right wing
of the stage. Wearing a flashy gold lame gown, she
captivated the horny horde with her amazing 44Ds, her
sweet, innocent, angelic face and her electrifying stage
presence! As she sashayed down the catwalk past our table,
I could easily see why she was the headliner. All the other
girls were gorgeous, but Cherry had charisma! She breathed
sex appeal! Every guy in the place wanted to jump up on the
stage and hump her bones!

When she turned to our table and looked us over with a
tempting smile, immediately Studlater reached into his
pocket for a five-dollar bill, stood up, leaned over to the
stage, and held the money out to her.

Cherry ignored the proffered tip and wiggled her gorgeous
buns in her wake as she strutted down the well-worn
catwalk. The stirring Shania Twain song suggested Cherry
was all woman, and man I felt like having a woman tonight.

"I can't believe she ignored me!" Studlater complained. His
6' 3" frame slumped back into the hard wooden chair.

"Offer her more!" suggested Paul.

"Yeah, five's not enough, you wanker!" Damian yelled.

"That's not the problem! She just thinks you're ugly!"
Mike added.

Eric 'Studlater' Stradlater shrugged it all off. "Her
loss!" he said boldly.

If you want to know the truth, Studlater was a good-looking
guy. He was a real babe magnet. Tall, athletic, muscular,
rich, handsome, and a smooth-talking ladies man, Eric
Stradlater was not accustomed to rejection.

As I took another sip of my draft beer, I realized that it
was my turn to buy the next round. The gigantic pitcher of
beer that had been sitting in the middle of our table was
nearly empty. I raised my arm to try to get the attention
of our server, a well-endowed Irish-Canadian lass named
Sinead. She was busy at an old geezer's gathering a few
tables away. In the dark cavernous tavern, with the
flashing lights, clouds of cigarette smoke, and a cacophony
of noise, I'd have to get her attention the next time she
came our way.

"Isn't she amazing?" Damian yelled, as Cherry 'The Bomb'
Cola danced toward us more. "See that? She smiled at me."

If you want to know the truth, Cherry's radiant beam could
melt a titanic iceberg.

"Studlater, here's how you do it!" shouted Paul as he stood
up with a ten-dollar bill in his right hand.

This time Cherry stopped. Sexy Cherry knelt down. She
couldn't get down to Paul's level. He was a short guy, so
she leaned over, showing us her impressive cleavage, up
close in wrap-around cineramascope. Cherry's breasts were
so big, I thought immediately of Pamela Anderson Lee.
Cherry's bounteous boobs were about were about ready to pop
out of her top. Cherry 'The Bomb' Cola reached over to
accept the ten and purred, "Thank you, handsome."

Paul smiled like I had never seen him smile before. His
eyes lit up. His yellowish teeth flashed like a guy in a TV
commercial for Pepsodent! As he stood there transfixed by
Cherry's presence, I noticed there was a tent-pole in his
pants at crotch level. This guy was in love! For Chrissake!
Paul was a dog in heat!

Cherry blew him a kiss, then turned her attention to the
next table of horny hooligans.

"That's how you do it!" bragged Paul, as he looked over at
Studlater.

"Sit down, you wimp!" Studlater growled. "She just wants
you for your money."

"She called him handsome," Damian said. "Face it! She
thinks you're ugly."

"No way!" Studlater replied.

"Yes way," Mike said. "Watch this!"

Cherry wiggled her way down the runway once more.

Mike Duke stood up. Dressed in blue jeans, a plaid shirt
and a dark red Queen's University leather jacket, he looked
like the stereotypical Canadian university student. Mike
was a well-built jock too. He was a forward on the Queen's
Golden Gaels hockey team. "You are beautiful!" Mike yelled
as he waved the blue five-dollar bill in Cherry's
direction.

This time Cherry smoothly snatched the five away from
Mike's hand, a quick "thank you" mouthed over the blare of
the music, and then Cherry continued her sexy dance down
the catwalk.

"See! Money talks!" Studlater yelled. "She almost ignored
you."

"At least she took my money," Mike replied. "Face it! She
thinks you're ugly. That's why she turned you down."

"Yeah, right," Studlater said. "Who do you think you are
- Brad Pitt? Oh yeah, that's only half-right. Aren't you
his half-brother - Arm Pit?"

"Studlater one, Arm Pit zero," Paul added, trying to hold
back a laugh at Mike's expense.

Then ABBA's Dancing Queen started up. Somehow, the music
seemed to bring a smile to the face of everyone in the
audience. The Hook and Ladder Club's spotlight hit a
rotating mirrored Disco Ball, transforming the atmosphere
of the gentlemen's club. The speckled light from the
mirrored surfaces splayed about the beer hall.

Earlier I had thought Cherry 'The Bomb' Cola reminded me of
Pamela Anderson Lee. Now, I dreamed of Cherry as the blond
Nordic goddess Agnetha Faltskog.

Soon, caught up in the good-time vibes of ABBA's cult
classic, I started to sing along and tap my feet in time
with the disco tune. Mama Mia! What would be next? Knowing
Me, Knowing You? Fernando?

Sinead, the well-endowed, scantily clad waitress,
approached our table, interrupting my romantic reverie with
Agnetha and Pamela.

"Enjoying the show, gentlemen?"

"Definitely," I replied. The others nodded in agreement. I
reached into my wallet and extracted a twenty-dollar bill.
"Sinead, could you bring us another pitcher of your best
draft, please? And keep the change."

"Sure thing, laddie," she said with a smile, as she picked
up the empty pitcher and hurried away.

By now, the goddess Cherry had taken off her gold lame
gown, her long white gloves, and her nylons. She did
suggestive things with her undulating hips that caused me
to almost come in my pants. Mr. Wiggly simply would not
behave.

At another front row table, where a banker-type, dressed in
a three-piece blue suit, held out a red fifty-dollar bill,
Cherry took one of her nylon stockings, wrapped it around
his neck, drew him close, and let him nuzzle her on the
cheek, then her neck. Then he licked Cherry below the neck,
a little further down toward her breasts.

I could see Studlater was doing a slow burn, fueled by
self-doubt and the gibes of his friends. The turned-on guys
in the crowd had given Cherry so many tips. The only
gratuity she had turned down was Studlater's.

As Dancing Queen ended and Tina Turner's Private Dancer
started up, it changed the mood. Cherry's dancing became
even more erotic, if that was possible. There was a pole in
the middle of the catwalk that had been used as a prop by
several other previous dancers. First, Cherry grabbed hold
of the pillar, then swung around it. Next, she shimmied up
the pole. With her legs firmly wrapped around the trunk of
the metal pipe, she arched her back. Her hips started
undulating, and Cherry made love to this erection like it
was the appendage of legendary porn star Long Dong Silver.
She slid up and down and around the pole like it had been
greased with cum. Overcome with lust, I had to get up from
my seat and go to the washroom. Had I stayed a moment
longer, I would have cum in my pants.

After relieving myself of the 'rented' beer in an
unbelievably stinky toilet, I momentarily considered
jerking off Mr. Wiggly. Cherry made me so hot. But, common
sense prevailed when I heard someone else enter the Men's
room. After doing up the buttons of my Levis, I returned
to my seat as quickly as I could, hoping to catch the rest
of Cherry's act.

As I approached our table, I could see Studlater standing
up. He held a blue five-dollar bill in his right hand. He
waved it at Cherry, trying to get her attention. The
Private Dancer song was nearing its conclusion. Cherry 'The
Bomb' Cola had divested herself of all articles of her
clothing - except for her G-string. Cherry stood on the
raised platform of the catwalk, and she turned her rear end
toward Studlater. She bent her knees and wiggled her sexy
buns in Studlater's face, so close that Studlater could
almost lick her beautiful ass cheeks. Cherry slid a long
red fingernail under her G-string, and lifted the thong.
Studlater could see her anal orifice; he could almost taste
it.

The music stopped.

Sexy Cherry smiled enticingly at Studlater over her bare
right shoulder - a come hither signal? What a tease! She
tensed her ass cheeks.

"B-b-b-b-h-h-h-p-p-p-p-p!"

Cherry 'The Bomb' Cola farted directly into Studlater's
face…That's right, she passed wind! It was a magnificent,
long, loud, full-bodied, fabulous fart that seemed to last
forever!

The Hook and Ladder Club erupted in laughter! I practically
fell onto the floor, guffawing! Hee-hawing! Bursting!
Splitting a gut! Everybody was yelling and screaming! The
other guys at the table slapped Studlater on the back as he
gasped for air. Pandemonium! Bedlam! I had never seen
anything like it!

The gang at my table started chanting, "Cher-ry! Cher-ry!
Cher-ry! Cher-ry!"

Within seconds, the rest of the people in the crowd took up
the chant! "Cher-ry! Cher-ry! Cher-ry! Cher-ry! Cher-ry…"
They pounded on the tables, bouncing the beer steins up and
down. Jerry Springer would have been proud!

Cherry waved to the crowd as she strutted back down the
runway. Thunderous applause partly drowned out the next
announcement over the loudspeakers!

"Gentlemen, I warned you not to get her angry!" admonished
the voice of the Hook and Ladder Club. "That was Cherry
'The Bomb' Cola!"

More chanting! "Cher-ry! Cher-ry! Cher-ry! Cher-ry…"

As the chorus started to fade, the fetching Sinead, came
back to our table with a huge pitcher of draft beer - and a
present from our favorite exotic dancer.

"Gentlemen, here's your beer," said Sinead, as she set a
tray down on our table.

There was a can of Lysol on the tray. Sinead held up the
can and sprayed it briefly, for comic effect. The audience
broke out in laughter again.

"And for you," said Sinead, as she looked directly at poor,
embarrassed Studlater, "a special souvenir gift to help you
remember your night here."

"Thanks," a stunned Studlater mumbled.

It was a bottle of Cherry Cola, wrapped in a black satin G-
string.

2

Later that evening, back in quiet, laid-back Leonard Hall,
a male-only student residence of Queen's University, all
the guys had gathered in Paul Campbell's closet-sized room.

It was our usual Friday night poker game.

The cigarette smoke was pretty thick, even though it was
against the rules of the residence. I was a social smoker -
and a social drinker. Also, true to our Bob and Doug
McKenzie Canadian stereotype, we were drinking more beer.
That was also against the rules.

Long ago, if you want to know the truth, I figured out that
the most important thing for winning at these poker games
was being able to stay sober. Anyway, tonight, I had to
admit to feeling a tad inebriated. I had had at least five
mugs of draft beer at the Hook and Ladder Club, better
known as the Lad and Hooker Club, plus three bottles of
Molson Canadian, since arriving at Paul's Poker Palace.

Yeah, I know I haven't had the best of luck as a poker
player. I got my nickname of Hold'em because I tended to
stick with pat hands at the absolute worst time. With major
money on the line, I always seemed to end up with the
second best hand. But tonight was going to be different.

Around three o'clock, when we usually called it a night, I
was up about $60. It was the last hand - a game of seven
card stud. The dealer, Damian, dealt two cards down and one
card up. My two down cards were aces. My up card was also
an ace! For Chrissake! This was it! My chance for a big
score!

Since my up-card ace was high, I opened the betting with a
loonie, Canadian-speak for $1 because of a bird, the loon,
on the tail side of the coin. The others sitting around the
game table matched the bet. Inside, I was jumping up and
down with joy! Outwardly, my poker face revealed no
emotion. Damian dealt out the cards. The next up card was a
ten. It didn't help my aces. Mike had a pair of fives up.
Nobody else had anything that matched.

Mike Duke threw a twoonie into the pot. Everybody else
matched the bet.

The next card up for me was a ten! I had a full house!
Three aces and two tens. I was turning mental cartwheels!

Mike was dealt a seven up. My tens up beat Mike's pair of
fives. So I bet a twoonie. Mike called. Time to shit or get
off the pot. At this point,Studlater, Damian and Paul
dropped out.

Mike's smile indicated confidence in his hand.

The last card up for me was a deuce. Mike received an ace.

That was it! I couldn't improve my hand. I had a full house
- aces over tens.

Mike had a pair of fives up. Overall, on the night, Mike
Duke had won the most. He must have been up $200 or so. And
he was looking to deliver the coup de grace. Mike was one
of those cocky jocks who needed to be taken down a notch.
'Cool Hand Duke' was lucky enough to have played Junior
Hockey. Beautiful puck bunnies constantly surrounded him
when he went to the pub nights on campus. The lucky
sonofagun!

On the table, I still had the best hand. So, I bet $5 this
time.

Mike hesitated. "I can't let you win this with a pair of
tens. I'll see your $5 and raise you $5."

"It's your funeral," I replied. "I'll raise you another
$5."

"You're bluffing, Hold'em. I'm in for the other five," Mike
said as he pushed a $5 bill into the substantial pot.

I hated the nickname Hold'em! Staying in the final game
with pat hands had cost me big time in the past. But,
tonight was my night. I could feel it! Besides, I really
could use the money. My part-time job looked like it might
disappear in the near future, so I needed these winnings
for a rainy day.

I was a little worried about Mike's hand. In order for him
to stay in the game, he had to be able to beat the pair of
tens I had showing. That meant he had at least two pair or
three fives. Four of a kind was a possibility. Did he have
four fives? Was that what he meant by 'I'm in for the other
five?'

Damian 'The Omen' Stoddard dealt the last card down.

I pushed a crisp new purple $10 bill into the pot.

"Are you in?" I asked.

"Yes. I'll see your $10 and raise it $10 more."

Now, I was worried. Did Mike have four of a kind?

I tossed another $10 into the pot.

"What have you got?" I demanded.

Mike said "Full house - fives over sevens."

I smiled. "Goddammit! Now, don't you guys ever call me
Hold'em again. Full house! My three aces and a pair of tens
beats your tight!"

Mike pounded the table in frustration!

"Hey! Watch the furniture!" Paul warned.

"Sorry," Mike mumbled.

As I gathered up my winnings with both hands, I said,
"Finally! At long last - vindication! No more Hold'em. The
name is William Copperfield. And you guys aren't going to
get me to wear girls' clothes again!"

As I started to separate the bills from the coins, I
realized I had put my foot in my mouth. Too late!

"Actually Hold'em, we never saw you in girls' clothes on
Halloween night," Damian 'The Omen' Stoddard said.

"Yeah, you said you dressed as Miss Piggy. You told us
Allison got you a Miss Piggy costume, but we never spoke to
a Miss Piggy that night," Paul complained.

"Well then, Paul, how did I know that you were in a Laptop
Computer outfit or that Studlater was dressed as a vampire
if I wasn't there. You guys never said I had to talk to you
at the party. I mean, it's not as if you ever would have
recognized me in that Miss Piggy outfit. And I sure wasn't
about to tell you. Look! Here, in my wallet, is a picture
of me as Miss Piggy." I showed them the familiar image of
Miss Piggy, with the familiar furniture of the Leonard
Cafeteria in the background.

That seemed to shut them up - momentarily.

Paul Campbell stared at the photo and stroked his barcode
mustache pensively. "You're not off the hook yet. For all
we know, this could be Pee Wee Herman in Muppet Land," Paul
said, "putting his hand up the skirt of Miss Piggy!"

Of course, I wasn't about to tell them I had brought this
Polaroid photo from some shlump named Bob Cameron, who had
dressed up as Miss Piggy at the Halloween Party. I wasn't
about to tell anyone, especially Eric 'Studlater'
Stradlater, that my impersonation of a Las Vegas showgirl
was so good that none of them had recognized me. In fact,
Eric had tried to seduce me. I was one hot Las Vegas
showgirl that night! I could have given the stripper Cherry
'The Bomb' Cola competition on Halloween!

What can I say? I can't help it if I'm beautiful!

3

When the music woke me up, I opened my eyes gradually. The
digital clock radio said eleven o'clock. For a moment, I
considered not getting out of bed. The alcohol had taken
its toll on me. I had a pounding headache, and the rest of
my body throbbed too. I imagined that this was how an
elderly person felt every morning. But, I knew I had had
close to eight hours of sleep - a reasonable amount. So, I
rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for my usual
shit, shave, and shower routine.

As with all of the rooms at Brockington House, Gordon House
and Leonard Hall, the flat gray-stone residence quadrangle
built in the late 1950s and 1960s, my humble abode was tiny
and sparsely furnished. However, I was one of the fortunate
ones who didn't have a roommate. For that privilege, of
course, I had to pay extra. Nevertheless, it did allow me
to actually get a lot of schoolwork accomplished in my own
room.

But, I had to get to work. My shift at Ultimate Internet
began at 12 noon. One good thing was my workplace wasn't
far away. Actually, if I looked out my bedroom window to
the east, across the dormant lawns of the Queen's
University campus, I could see, in the distance, a 5-story
office building located right beside the smaller Ultimate
Internet office. Downtown Kingston didn't have many
skyscrapers.

The town of Kingston, in the summer, was known as the
Gateway to the picturesque Thousand islands. But, in the
winter, this university town had a cold, gray atmosphere,
imbued perhaps by the old limestone walls of nearby Fort
Henry, the high austere confines of the Kingston
Penitentiary and the seemingly omnipresent overcast sky.

The Ultimate Internet job was great! I made good money as a
technical support person, helping clients rectify their
problems with their Internet service provider. I needed the
dough to help pay my tuition and living expenses. It gave
me a great deal of satisfaction, although Ultimate Internet
should have hired more technicians. Sometimes, poor slobs
calling on the phone had forty-five minute wait times. But,
I was a little worried about my $30 an hour job. Rumors had
been swirling about that UI was on shaky financial footing.
Monthly payment fees were drying up because of high speed
access services and some free Internet service providers.

When I showed up at the Ultimate Internet office on King
Street in downtown Kingston, there was a sign on the glass
front door, "Closed until further notice."

'Oh no!' I thought. 'What the hell is going on? They can't
just shut down the whole operation, can they? Without any
notification?'

For a moment, I sat down on the wide concrete steps beneath
the front door. I looked back to the modern steel and glass
façade of the building in disbelief. The sign still said,
"Closed until further notice."

It wasn't long before one of my co-workers, Pete Johnstone,
showed up.

"Hey there, William, what's up?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing! Look at the sign, Pete. I
think we just got laid off."

"It can't be," Pete said, incredulity written on his
bearded face. "I need this job."

Pete's tall, thin, gangly frame visibly slumped as he dug
his hands into the pockets of his blue and black polyester
ski jacket.

Within a few minutes, a few more co-workers arrived for
their 12 o'clock shift. I suppose that misery loves
company, but it didn't make me feel any better that other
people were out of a job too.

"I'm outta here," I grumbled. "There's no point in waiting
around."

"I hope they send us our last pay check," Pete called out.

"I wouldn't count on it," I yelled back, as I hurried down
King Street, toward the Queen's University campus. "The
next check we'll get won't be from Ultimate Internet. It
will be UI of a different kind - Unemployment Insurance," I
yelled back to Pete as my parting shot.

Anyway, I had never been on the public dole before. I
wasn't sure I had worked enough hours each week to qualify
for the social assistance pittance given to out-of-work
lazy bums.

Although it was a pleasant warm day for the beginning of
March, with the sun just peeking through the clouds, the
sunshine failed to lift my spirits. Normally, in March, a
cold wind would blow off Lake Ontario, turning the rows of
old two or three-story business buildings in downtown
Kingston into an Arctic tundra wasteland. But today, if you
want to know the truth, Kingston's weather was better than
bearable.

'Goddammit!' I thought to myself. 'I needed the money.
Besides, I was counting on that part-time job also being my
summer job too. Now, what was I going to do?'

As I crossed Johnson Street, I looked up to see the
colorful Hook and Ladder Club neon sign. The doors of the
large Tudor style building were just opening. A handful of
degenerate men walked in through the entrance.

For some reason I stopped. Should I go in? Should I go get
a beer?

I wavered for a moment. I thought back to the incredible
Cherry 'The Bomb' Cola and poor Studlater. What a night!

Then, I paused to look at some of the publicity photos of
the exotic dancers on display near the doorway. Some of
those girls were absolutely gorgeous! Bodies to die for!
The best breast implants money could buy! There were names
like Angel America, Coco Mojo, Britanny Spires, Jesse 'The
Body' Adventure, Wicked Wanda, and other suggestive stage
names. But, there also was a plain sign, in black and white
block lettering: "Help wanted. Apply within."

Hmmm. That intrigued me. In life it seems that when one
door closes, another opens up. Should I go in? What the
heck! I needed a job. Maybe they needed a bartender or
busboy. So, in I went.

As I stepped inside the solid double-doors, my eyes had to
adjust from the bright sunshine to the dimly lit interior
of the tavern.

Immediately, the scent of beer hit me. That, and the odor
of stale cigarette smoke, struck a familiar chord.

"Hi there! Can I get you a drink, laddie?"

I looked over toward the sound of the cheerful Irish lilt.
"Oh hi there, Sinead," I replied. Sinead was the well-
endowed waitress who served us the beer the night before.
"Actually, I'm not here for the entertainment or the beer.
The sign in the window caught my attention. Are you looking
to hire anybody?"

"Oh yes. We're looking for an attractive waitress. The
hourly wage isn't great, but the tips are excellent! One of
our girls is quitting. She's a real beauty! You wouldn't
believe the kind of tips she pulls in…And we're always
looking for new dancers. Know anybody?"

"You wouldn't need a bus boy or a bartender, would you?" I
asked in my Jimmy Stewart ah shucks kind of way, looking
down as I shuffled my feet on the tavern's worn plank
floorboards.

"I don't think so, honey. But, if you like, you can talk to
the manager."

"I need to find a new job. My high tech job just went down
the drain. How much do you people make anyway?"

"Well, Cherry 'The Bomb' Cola, as a headliner, is paid
$2,500 per week. Plus, I would guess she earns that much in
tips."

"Wow! But, how about the waitresses?"

"Suzy, the girl who's leaving, gets a wage of $700 per
week. But, she probably pulls in about $500 in tips."

"Man, I wish I could make that much."

"Should I get the manager? Perhaps he needs a waiter?"

"Maybe later," I replied. "Thanks Sinead."

4

"Relax Hold'em," Allison said soothingly. It's not the end
of the world. All students wind up in debt. Besides, you'll
get another job. You'll see."

Allison gave me a hug…She felt so wonderful. Yes, I felt
blessed. Allison was such a great girl! She had these big
brown almost black eyes, a glowing, flawless complexion,
luxuriant brunette hair and a body to die for. She was soft
and cuddly, like a big teddy bear.

We sank back in the love seat. Allison's cozy room was a
safe port in a storm.

"I suppose you're right. But, I really liked my job…and I
was counting on it for next summer too. I just don't know
what else I can get around here. I mean Kingston isn't
exactly a big town overflowing with job opportunities."

"Well, I intend to become an actress, Hold'em. So, I
imagine I'm going to be working a lot as a waitress."

"Hmmm…a waitress, eh." When I'm depressed, I slip back into
god forsaken Canadian anachronisms.

"Sure, as long as it's at a restaurant where you can earn
some tips. Not McDonald's or Burger King."

"Actually Allison, I know a place that needs a waitress."

"Really? Where?"

"Now, don't laugh. The Hook and Ladder Club."

"You mean that strip club?"

"Yeah. Are you interested?"

"You know I have a good job already. Why would I give up my
acting job with the Kingston Repertory Theater to take that
kind of job?" Allison asked.

"How does $700 a week plus $500 in tips sound?"

"You're joking, right?"

"No, that's what a waitress at the Lad and Hooker earns."

Allison paused for a moment. "Well, I have my future career
to think of too," Allison replied. "I need the acting
experience. But, that's better than I thought a girl could
make as a waitress at a club like that."

Then Allison's beautiful visage took on a completely
different expression. "What were you doing at the Hook and
Ladder Club, or the Lad and Hooker as you call it?"

"Oh, well, uh…" I'd better be careful here. "I was passing
by it on my way home from my workplace on King Street. You
know, after I found out that Ultimate Internet had closed
down. There was a sign in the window of the Hook and
Ladder. So, I went in to inquire."

"Uh huh. So, did you see any dancing girls?"

"I don't recall. But, I did chat with a waitress."

"You walked into a strip club - and you can't recall if you
saw any dancing girls?"

"The place had just opened at noon. So, I don't think
anybody was dancing in there. There were only a handful of
people there."

"Have you ever been to the Hook and Ladder before?"

For Chrissake! I was in a quandary. To tell Allison that I
frequented strip clubs might cause her to regard me as a
degenerate or pervert. I might lose her as my girlfriend.
On the other hand, she might have talked to my friends
about what happened the night before. And she might be
testing me to see if I was worthy of trust.

I got up from the well-padded loveseat and approached the
window. From the fifth floor, the 'penthouse' level of
Gordon House, I could look over the compact campus of
Queen's University. Not far away was the blue water of Lake
Ontario, shimmering in the glow of the afternoon sun. The
courtyard below showed signs of renewal as more bare
patches of earth interrupted the snow covering of winter.
Soon the trees would be showing signs of rebirth too. The
revival of the foliage and the return of the migratory
birds were imminent.

"What a beautiful day," I remarked.

"Hold'em, don't try to change the subject."

If you want to know the truth, honesty is the best policy,
I believe, except when you positively know you can get away
with a lie.

"Going to a strip club with the guys is like a rite of
passage. You know, similar to seeing your first restricted
movie, having your first drink, getting a driver's license,
and losing your virginity." And that was the honest truth.
Okay…I stretched the truth a little bit.

"Mike told me what happened to Studlater last night. That
was hilarious!" Allison enthused. "Did he really inhale
that fart?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "It left him breathless. He
was gasping for air. I couldn't believe it when it actually
happened."

When Allison stopped giggling, she said, "I hear you also
won the poker game, Hold'em."

"Yes. It was a pretty good night all around."

"Mike also wanted to know if you really did dress up as
Miss Piggy for Halloween."

"So, what did you tell him, Allison?" I wasn't out of
trouble yet.

"I told Mike that I had put you into costume and that I had
seen you at the party in drag. I told the truth. Then I
asked Mike if he had seen that picture you carry in your
wallet."

"Good. I wouldn't want those guys, especially Studlater, to
find out what I really looked like that evening."

"We'll have to dress you up like that again, Hold'em."

"Oh no. Never again," I protested.

"C'mon Hold'em, you looked terrific! Don't lie. I know you
enjoyed it."

Allison got up from the love seat and walked over to her
desk. She reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out an
envelope. Then, as she returned to the wicker love seat
with the soft, emerald cushions, she extracted a few
photographs.

"Remember this?" she asked with a devilish smile.

A breathtakingly beautiful Las Vegas showgirl, with long
auburn curls, mesmerizing green eyes, high cheekbones, with
a dazzling smile, voluptuous bountiful breasts, thin waist,
and tantalizing long legs, jumped out of the 7 by 11 color
photograph.

It was a photo of 'Linda.' It was a glamorous photo of me
in disguise as a girl on Halloween night!

"You looked absolutely fabulous! Brilliant! Nobody would
ever guess!"

I paused for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of the
beautiful 'girl' in the photograph. "Do you think I could
get the job at the Hook and Ladder as a waitress?"

Allison laughed heartily. "Oh Hold'em, that would be
hilarious! A cocktail waitress at a strip club? Oh, you'd
look good enough. I know you could…You know, you could pull
it off in all seriousness…Do you want me to help you get in
drag again?"

I looked at the photo of 'Linda' once more. "Yes. I think
I'd enjoy that."

5

In my life, I have always wished that I wasn't so skinny
and that I didn't have such long, girlish legs. Being a
wimp, being rather feminine in body build, being a 'cute'
boy, this was a curse I had endured since early childhood.

But, when I looked into the full-length mirror, I looked
beautiful! Sexy! Gorgeous! Lovely! Radiant!

Allison had helped with the makeup. The close shave of my
light beard and the application of the foundation easily
hid any trace of beard. My male caterpillar eyebrows were
hidden by a combination of spirit gum, theatrical putty
and powder. Contour shading and blush enhanced my naturally
high cheekbones. The mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow and
green contact lenses redefined my normally unremarkable
eyes. Liner, lipstick and gloss made my mouth enticingly
kissable. My normally flat chest, with the help of moleskin
tape and a water-pad enhanced push-up bra, gave me bouncing
boobs that would have been quite suitable for the Sports
Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. The crowning glory was a
long, curly auburn wig with glorious tresses that spilled
over my shoulders. It was kinda like the hairdo favored by
actress Debra Messing of Will & Grace fame.

A sexy, low cut, 'little black dress,' which showed a lot
of leg, and revealed my enhanced contours to best
advantage, looked back at me in the mirror. I turned to the
side, then to the back. My sheer nylons on shapely lithe
legs and spike heels looked fabulous! A 37-26-37 figure on
a 6-foot tall 153-pound frame gave me near model
proportions.

I think I could have fallen in love with this image of
feminine pulchritude. Maybe all transvestites fall in love
with their own reflection.

I was such a goddam phony.

When I stood in front of Allison, I think she had fallen in
love with her creation. Just call me Pygmalion or My Fair
Lady.

"You look exquisite!" Allison gushed. "Why, any guy would
be lucky to have a girlfriend as beautiful as you."

"Thank you. You are a true magician, even though I'm the
one named Copperfield."

"Come on, Linda. You have an appointment with the manager
in twenty minutes. I think you'll find it will take a
little longer to walk over to the Hook and Ladder Club in
those heels."

"Oh no. I had forgotten all about that agony. After
Halloween, my toes ached for days."

6

Harry Thomas, the tough looking manager of the Hook and
Ladder, inspected me carefully. His pockmarked face,
scarred by acne during an angst-ridden adolescence, 'broke'
into a barely perceptible smile.

I felt like I was a slab of meat and he was grading me. Was
I prime grade A steak or just fat and gristle? Or was I a
guy in a dress?

He asked me to turn around.

"Yes. You'll do fine. You have the necessary physical
attributes," said lecherous Harry Thomas, in a gravelly
voice tinged with salivating admiration.

"Thank you," I replied softly.

"Do you have any experience as a waitress?"

"Yes," I said. "Well, I worked at a McDonald's, so I guess
it wasn't exactly the same type of job. I never served
drinks before, but I am good at communicating with people,"
I said, as I pushed out my chest a little for extra
emphasis. I tried to smile sweetly and hoped he would like
the Chanel perfume.

He looked at my cantilevered cleavage - a stacked rack.
"Well yes. People skills are very important in this
business," Harry Thomas said.

"Yes sir. I'll do my best to please the customers."

"I'm sure you will," he agreed as he looked up to my face.

In heels, I stood 6' 3" and I towered over the wee manager,
who stood about 5' 8" and 180 pounds.

I hugged him, squeezing his face up against my padded push-
up bra.

Being a sexy girl was such a turn-on.

"Thank you, Mr. Thomas. Thank you. You won't regret this."

"Okay. Could you start today?"

I was a little surprised by this request. But, I could work
all day today, since it was a Sunday. Not wanting to
displease him, I said, "Certainly, I can start anytime you
want."

"Good. I want you to get your feet wet. Come with me. I'll
introduce you to the head waitress, Sinead O'Hara. She'll
take good care of you. I'm sure you'll like Sinead. She
gets along well with everyone."

Half an hour later, I wore a scandalous, low cut serving
uniform. Imagine a scanty, black, French maid outfit with
white, puffy frills. The Hook and Ladder Club knew how to
feed the fantasies of its perverted clientele.

Within an hour, I understood the whole serving routine.

Sinead showed me how to take the orders from the customers.
She introduced me to the bartenders, other waitresses and
busboys - and the bouncers. Then, she assigned me to a
specific area of the tavern. This section was to be my
responsibility. The orders would be written down on the
order pad. The bartender would fill the order. I would
serve the drinks and collect the payments. I would give the
customer the change and accept tips. Then, I would take the
cash over to the cashier. The tips were placed in a
separate 'goldfish' bowl to be shared among all the serving
staff.

My first customers were some regular, middle-aged patrons.
They knew immediately that I was new on staff. I was a
little nervous. But, after they had scrutinized the
merchandise, I think I met their approval. At least, I
think that's what the pinch in the rear end meant. When I
turned around to see who had squeezed my ass cheek, two
guys pointed to each other and laughed. Oh well, I guess it
was something I would have to get used to. Or, I would have
to be careful not to turn my back on these horny assholes
again!

Some of the more polite guys complimented me. One said I
was 'a sight for sore eyes.' Another dubbed me 'beautiful.'
One more called me 'Sweet Cheeks' the whole evening. And
the tips just kept rolling in.

These compliments really stroked my ego, although I'm sure
those horny guys wanted me to stroke more than their egos.
As a young fella, I had never been praised for rugged
handsome good looks. A few girls thought I was 'cute.' If
you want to know the honest truth, I was a skinny beanpole
of a kid. Some of the juvenile delinquents at elementary
school made fun of me. They'd call me 'daddy long legs'
because of my unusually long limbs and small torso. Or,
because I was so skinny, they called me 'xylophone bones'
because they could count every rib of my underdeveloped
upper body. A few had even suggested I was girlish. As a
result, I got into a few fights trying to retain my self-
respect. In fact, after a few schoolyard altercations, I
joined a karate club to learn the art of self-defense.
Fortunately, I learned the lessons well, achieving a red
belt by the age of 12. That did a lot for my self-
confidence.

When my first shift ended at eleven o'clock, I was bushed.
I thanked the boss Mr. Thomas again, thanked Sinead and all
the others, said my good-byes, picked up my coat and then
headed out the door, back to the student dormitory.

The tips that I had shared with the others was a welcome,
instantaneous payoff. My share for that evening was $120.
Now, that was a good start!

The cold evening air was a healthy change from the smoke-
filled atmosphere of the Hook and Ladder Club. Breathing in
the fresh oxygen was a relief, offset somewhat by the low
temperature. A chill went up my pantyhose covered legs,
invading the area beneath my skirt. That was a little
disconcerting! Next time, I'd bring some jeans to change
into so that I wouldn't have to freeze my buns off.

My stroll through downtown was eerie. Hardly anybody was
walking about at 2:20 a.m. Most of the buildings were dark
since all the businesses were closed. There was amber-pink
illumination from the lights perched 30 feet above the
pavement on elegant arms, like Mickey Mouse ears, extending
from the metal lampposts. In the calm of night, all sounds
seemed magnified. A cat meowed in a nearby alleyway. A
piece of cardboard was whipped about by the wind. I could
hear a squeal of a car's tires several blocks away. But
mostly, I could hear the click-click-click-click sound of
my high heels contacting the concrete sidewalks and then
their faint echo in the deserted street corridors.

Also, the high-heeled shoes were something else I had to
adjust to in my new role as a sex-goddess. The high-heels
changed my 'normal' gait. I had sort of developed a strut
to my walk. As I placed one foot directly in front of the
other with my hips thrust slightly forward and my back
straight, this gave my rear end a natural sensual wiggle as
I moved. I felt like a model gliding down a catwalk at a
Paris fashion show.

Then, as I approached the City Park, I could see a young
couple headed in my direction. I could see their breath
condense into cigarette-like puffs as they exhaled into the
cold night air. The passers-by gave me friendly admiring
looks. I tried to avert my eyes - never looking directly at
the peepers of the guy when I was approaching the pair. My
whole psychology of being had changed. During the stroll
home, I felt vulnerable. I felt as if any guy I passed on
the street was a person to be avoided, lest he misinterpret
a glance from me as a sign of interest. However, there were
very few encounters so late at night.

When I got to the familiar confines of Gordon House, I made
my way over to Allison's room. Since her residence was co-
ed, my dual identity wasn't going to be a problem.

I had Allie's spare key. Nevertheless, I knocked first.
There was no answer. So, I let myself in.

Within minutes, I had stripped off my little black dress,
the nylons, and the wig. Then, I worked the cold cream into
my facial makeup. The moleskin tape used to create the
cleavage had to be doused with spirit gum remover. That was
going to be a chore if I had to do this frequently. After a
few minutes, I was able to wipe off the cold cream from my
face. The foundation makeup and blush disappeared. Some
white pads were placed over the eyes for a half-minute or
so. The eye makeup came off with no trouble. But, I was a
little concerned about removing the moleskin tape used to
hold up my breasts. Amazingly, the spirit gum remover
worked fairly well. The liquid soaked through the fabric of
the moleskin tape, and, much to my relief, the stretchy
fabric was not too painful to peel off.

Just as I was taking off my gaff, I heard a key being
inserted into the door lock. I scurried into the bathroom,
not knowing if it was Allison by herself or with her
friends too.

I peered out from behind the bathroom door.

"Hi Allison," I called out.

Allie jumped up in fright.

"Oh darn! You scared me!"

"Sorry. I was just changing. So, where have you been?"

"Oh, I went out to see a movie with Tracy. And then we went
for a snack at Chez Louis," Allison said, as she hung up
her red leather Queen's jacket on the coat rack. "After
that, we just hung out in Tracy's dorm room, listening to
music and chatting."

"Which film did you see?"

"The Hurricane. We went to the Bijou where they re-run
interesting movies at reasonable prices."

"Any good?"

"Yes. Denzel Washington was amazing! He should have won an
Oscar for that!"

"Agreed. Kevin Spacey was overrated that year."

"Yes, but the Academy did make amends later on."

"Well, let me put some clothes on and I'll join you in a
moment."

Quickly I slipped on my underpants, a shirt and then my
pants. A minute later, I opened the bathroom door.

Allison sat in front of the dresser, brushing her hair.

"So Hold'em, how did it go?"

"Fine, just fine. I learned how to serve the drinks. I took
care of some enthusiastic customers, got my ass pinched
five times, and my breasts squeezed twice, dropped one beer
stein and collected $120 in tips. How's that for the first
day on the job?"

"Great! So, did anyone ever suspect that you were not what
you appeared to be?"

"You know, Allie, you did such a great job with the makeup
and my body shaping, I didn't even think about it. I was so
busy taking all the orders and all the men were so horny, I
think any passable female impersonator could have carried
it off."

"Yes, men respond so much to visual stimuli. Guys tend to
think with their gonads rather than their brains."

"Allie, you wouldn't believe what I heard! Sinead told me
an interesting story. I hardly got a chance to fully
appreciate the exotic dancers who work there. Obviously, I
need to pay attention to the men in the audience because
they're the ones who give us the tips. Anyway, did you ever
hear of a song by The Kinks called 'Lola'?"

"Yes, Lola. The name rhymes with Coca Cola…Kind of an
offbeat, obscure song."

"You've got it. In the song, the lyrics go something like:

Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls,
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world,
Except for Lola, la la la la Lola."

"No, Hold'em. Wasn't Lola, in the song, really a guy?"

"Yes."

It didn't take long for Allison to put the clues together.

"Are you saying Cherry 'The Bomb' Cola is really a guy?"

"Was a guy. She's a transsexual. A very beautiful
transsexual!"

"Don't ever tell Studlater," Allison murmured.

"The poor guy," I said.

"At Halloween, he tried to hook up with you when you were
in drag, and now this."

"Well, since that led to his split up with you, I'm not
complaining."

"To be honest, Hold'em, when I put you into the makeup,
wig, and the sexy dress today, I must admit you looked
gorgeous."

"Thanks Allie," I said as I embraced her. "But, there's
only one beautiful girl here now. And that's you."

We kissed passionately. Allison had a heavenly body. I
wrapped my arms around her sensual back, waist, and buns
and then I slipped my hands up and undid her bra. Then I
massaged her bountiful bosom. Her luscious lips and
tantalizing tongue ignited my passion. It was a prelude to
a long night of lovemaking. I was so horny from looking at
all those sexy strippers all day.

If you want to know the truth, I felt really lucky. Allison
was the greatest girlfriend a guy could ever have!

7

The work schedule was pretty intense. I was given a six-
hour late shift at the club from Thursday to Sunday. Monday
and Wednesday were my nights off. Tuesday I worked only a
four-hour shift. Although the workers frequently traded
shifts to suit their needs. The good news was that the job
didn't conflict with my university classes. The bad news
was that I really needed to get more sleep. Plus, the
makeup routine added at least an hour of time to the job.

Luckily, in the latter half of March, I didn't have any
major assignments due. While I still managed to attend most
of my classes, I started to ask my friends to take good
notes if I happened to miss a class. I must admit, I did
sleep in a few mornings and missed some 9 o'clock classes.
But, it was a hard schedule to keep up with. On the other
hand, the money from the job was just great! I had made
about $2,400 in two weeks. Even if I had to dress as a
girl, it was worth it. Besides, I kinda liked all the
compliments I was getting from the old geezers and college
kids at the Hook and Ladder. I was getting to be quite
adept at my skills in passing as a gorgeous female.

I knew that I owed a lot to Allison. She had provided me
with a wardrobe. Allison supplied the wig and the makeup.
The shoes and the undergarments - all of that stuff. I
think some of the items were her own, some from the Queen's
University Drama Department, and other items might have
come from the Kingston Repertory Theater.

On the down side, I had to stop playing in the regular
Friday night poker game. I did miss the camaraderie of the
guys. Even at lunch, if I wasn't hanging around with Allie,
I was busy studying in the library. So, I hadn't seen much
of the guys in the last few weeks. The only fun I got was
on the job.

Working as a phony girl at the Lad and Hooker Club was kind
of surreal. After university classes, supper and homework,
I'd dash over to Allison's room. In about an hour, I'd
transform myself from a blond-haired, blue-eyed male skinny
geek to a sexy, beautiful, auburn-haired, green-eyed female
with a voluptuous figure. Then, I'd hurry over to the club.
I'd serve drinks to sex-starved voyeurs for six hours,
buttering them up with smiles, compliments, and a playful
touch here and there, anything to encourage larger and
larger tips. Then, at quitting time, I'd trek back to
Gordon House, and return to Allison's room. There I would
take off the girl's clothing, makeup, padding, and tape.
Then, I'd go back to my own room in Brockington House and
crawl into bed. Up at eight, then to classes by nine. Lunch
at 12 o'clock. More classes until four. After a quick
supper in the cafeteria, then I'd repeat the homework and
work routine all over again. Monday was a night off to do
things like library research and more homework. Here I'd
meet with Studlater sometimes because we had a course in
common - a computer programming course. We'd work on
problem sets together before it was due at our Tuesday
morning class. The only light days were Saturday and Sunday
because I didn't have classes. But, there was laundry to do
and more homework too. Plus, my work hours on Saturday were
being expanded. I was burning the candle at both ends.

Prior to dressing up at Halloween, I had never had any
second thoughts about my sexual orientation. I was
attracted to pretty girls. Even though some guys at my old
high school had put me down, calling me a fag sometimes
because I wasn't the most macho guy, I never really took
that too seriously. Yes, I did confess to liking Broadway
musicals, but I also liked sports too. Besides, I had a
girlfriend in high school. That had given me a lot of self-
confidence. Even after a rough break up in grade 12, I
still knew that I liked girls.

But, now that I was dressing up as a girl almost every day,
I was being exposed to aggressive girl-hungry men all the
time. From the very first day on the job, I felt flattered.
I truly enjoyed the attention and the compliments and the
generous tips! On the other hand, most men were pigs,
especially given that I worked in a strip club - and the
men thought that all the girls who worked there were
immoral. But, I could handle the Neanderthal characters
since I knew where they were coming from. However, on one
occasion, a handsome gentleman was really nice to me. He
gave me lots of compliments and generous tips. And he was
quick witted and cute. All night he lavished attention on
me. His name was Richard. Physically, he reminded me of
that actor Dean Cain. You know - the one who played
Superman in the TV series Lois and Clark. Plus, he was
well-dressed. Not at all like the usual college kids and
bar bums the Hook and Ladder attracted. Then, I was struck
by a very unusual feeling - of physical attraction to him.
He had asked me for my phone number. Although I was
tempted, I didn't give him my number. There was still a
part of my male self that insisted I was a straight
heterosexual. If I had been dressed as my normal self, I am
sure William Copperfield would not have had these unusual
feelings. This mind-bending incident had caused me to have
some serious doubts about my sexual orientation while
dressed as a female. Was I turning bisexual?

Something had to give. But, then something I hadn't
anticipated was about to occur.

8

After my last class of the day at Dunning Hall, a less than
exciting lecture in Introductory Economics from Professor
'Sominex' Samuelson, I headed over to the Leonard Cafeteria
to meet with Allison. Being a Monday, I had the rest of the
evening free from my job at the Hook and Ladder Club. All
day, I had been looking forward to spending some 'quality'
time with my girlfriend 'cause the quantity sure had been
severely limited lately.

When I reached the dining hall nestled in the lowest level
of Leonard Hall, I looked around the large, two thirds
empty eatery. Allie wasn't in her usual spot by the corner
window, so I headed over to the serving area to pick up a
cup of tea. I didn't want any food yet. It was a little
earlier than my scheduled Monday suppertime with Allison
and I didn't want to spoil my appetite. Eating dinner with
my girlfriend was one of the few pleasures that my busy
schedule allowed.

While I waited for Allie, I picked up a copy of a
newspaper, the Ottawa Sun, that somebody had left behind on
one of the Formica topped tables. Over the cafeteria
loudspeakers, there was some pop music playing gently. "Her
name was Lola, she was a showgirl…At the Copa, Copacabana,
the hottest spot north of Havana." As I danced over to my
usual corner table, carrying my cup of tea, to the beat of
Barry Manilow's Copacabana, I hoped my impromptu jig would
lift me out of my Sominex class lethargy. I looked around
the dining hall one more time for Allison's familiar
figure, but was disappointed once more, although there were
a couple of cute babes two tables over. With relief, I
slipped off the straps of my heavy-duty backpack and
lowered the bag onto the floor. As soon as I was
comfortably ensconced in my usual blue plastic chair,
although every chair in the place was made of blue plastic,
I immediately opened up the paper to page 3 for a look at
Today's Sunshine Girl. A blond bikini-clad bubble-headed
bimbo beamed back at me. Her name was Laura. She was a
Virgo, with sunlight in her hair and her boobs stuck out to
there. "At the Copa, Copacabana…"

I looked around the cafeteria once more. There was no sign
of Allison yet. Then I looked back at the Sunshine Girl
photo again. The last two lines of the caption below the
photograph read, "Laura has an interest in hockey players.
She enjoys walking hand-in-hand barefoot on the sands of a
tropical beach." Obviously Laura was an Ottawa girl who
liked contrasts and also needed a reality check. 'You live
in Ottawa, Laura, not Havana, for goodness sake! Ottawa has
no tropical beaches! Just a lot of hot air emanating from
the politicians in our nation's capital.'

Suddenly I found a pair of soft hands covering my eyes from
behind.

"Don't look!" Allie said. I knew it was her even before she
had spoken. A mere touch from her always seemed to send
tingles up and down my spine. Her presence always energized
and excited me.

"Let me guess," I said. "My prayers have been answered.
It's the Sunshine Girl! Your name is Laura, right?"

Allie removed her hands and gave me a playful slap on the
shoulder.

I cowered in mock fright, raising my arms to protect myself
from the 'violent' onslaught.

Allie gave me a warm hug and a kiss instead.

"Sorry I'm late."

"That's okay. I just got here too. I only had time to go
get something to drink," I said as I glanced over to the
cup of tea. "I'm still trying to revive myself from that
last lecture. Hey, do you think it's possible to fall
asleep with your eyes wide open? That would be a great
skill to master in the Economics class."

"I don't know about your Nytol Economics class. But, I wish
I had fallen asleep when I saw the film Eyes Wide Shut."

Allie had been to the Bijou Cinema again. She was a real
film buff.

I didn't dare mention to Allison that I couldn't take my
eyes off Nicole Kidman. Hell, she could read the phonebook
to me and I'd still find her entertaining.

And now that she had won an Oscar and Tom Cruise was no
longer in the picture…

I got up from my chair to help Allie remove her green
canvas backpack and then I set it down on the gray ceramic
tile floor. Even though Allie was dressed in Gap jeans and
a cotton sweater over a white blouse, typical student wear,
she was still the most alluring girl on the Queen's
University campus. Her wavy brunette hair framed drop-dead
gorgeous features. She radiated love. Her inner beauty
could not be contained.

"Hey! I've got some exciting news." Allie's flawless
features broke into a perfect smile, as we both took our
seats.

"What's up?"

"The Kingston Repertory Theater is going to be performing a
musical next. I just can't wait!"

Her deep brown eyes mesmerized me.

"Which one?"

Allie savored the thought for a moment, building up the
anticipation. "Chicago!"

"Wow! I like it!"

"Yes, it's great. I'd love the chance to sing and dance and
act! I loved the movie! Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-
Jones were terrific!"

"Yes. They were both fantastic! And the movie won several
Academy Awards, including Best Supporting Actress for
Catherine Zeta-Jones and, of course, Best Picture."

"Oh, I hope I can land the Zeta-Jones part of Velma Kelly."

"Are you nasty enough and sleazy enough to be an
entertainer, murderer and convict in 1920s Chicago?"

"Well, I'm friends with a gender bending 'girl' who works
in a sleazy bar. And I live in Kingston, home of the most
famous penitentiary in Canada. And, if that's not enough, I
think I'm quite capable of faking it," commented Allie with
a smile. "You know, Hold'em, maybe there's even a part in
it for you."

"I doubt that I have the time, but I think you'd make a
great Velma Kelly. I know you have a great singing voice.
When we went to that karaoke club, the audience loved you.
And, as for the dancing, the Bob Fosse style choreography,
you could handle that with no trouble at all. You move
well."

"Thanks Hold'em. You sound like you know a bit about the
theater."

"Yes, I enjoy Broadway musicals. Let's just say it was part
of a well-rounded education. My parents took me to see
plays, the ballet and the symphony occasionally on visits
to Toronto when I was younger. I'm really into appreciating
the performing arts scene. I especially admire talented
young actresses."

Allison demurely averted her eyes at the compliment. "So,
you think you might want to come to the audition?"

"Sure. I'd like to see how you do."

"And will you audition too?"

"No…I don't think so. I can't afford the time off. Between
school and the Lad and Hooker Club, I just can't handle
anything else. And I really do need the money from the job
to help pay for next year's tuition and everything else."

"Well, how about helping me rehearse my part? I've got a
copy of the script. I need to learn the lines and the songs
too."

"I'd love too, as long as I can take the role of Billy
Flynn, the lawyer. You know, the part Richard Gere played."

"And I will be Velma Kelly."

"Now, you know what I thought the film Chicago lacked?"

"What?"

"An X-rated love scene."

Allie slugged me on the arm. "Well then, go down to the
Perverted Adults Only Video place. I'm sure they'll have a
porno version of Chicago by now."

Jesus H. Christ! How come I hadn't thought of that?

9

Friday night at the Hook and Ladder was invariably an
exciting time. The place was always hopping! We regularly
brought in some of the top strippers from the United States
and Canada. Kingston, and our club in particular, had a
good reputation on the strip club circuit. The up-front pay
for the featured performers was good, the crowds relatively
well behaved, the working conditions reasonable, and most
importantly - the patrons were generous with their applause
and their money.

When I began changing into my black French maid outfit, I
took a long look in the full-length mirror of the modest
dressing room. Damn! I looked like a fine female specimen.
Over the three weeks I had been working, I think I had lost
an inch or two around the waist from doing three hundred
stomach crunches every morning and wearing a corset to bed.
Also, my breasts appeared to be larger. I had read a
Reader's Digest article that some herbs and foods had
unusual effects on the body. For example, licorice helped
ease bowel movements. But, it also had a feminizing effect;
there was some kind of female hormone in licorice. So,
maybe it was the daily stick of licorice that I had been
eating, or perhaps the use of tape to push up my chest
flesh every day had had its effect. Curious to see if there
had been a change, I pulled out a measuring tape from one
of the club's wardrobe closets. My perception was dead on.
My waist had shrunk to 25 inches. My chest was now 38 and
my hips remained at 37 inches. Even after slipping on the
black thong and bra, there was no evidence of a man beneath
these minimal coverings. It was all gorgeous woman! Next,
the black low cut top had a puffy white lace sleeve that
covered the upper arm. The skirt was short to show my legs
to their best advantage. Also, tonight, I wore a new wig.
It was 100% human hair. The auburn tresses were full of
bounce. I loved the way it held its body when I shook my
head. The facial makeup was flawless. The bone structure,
nose and eyes reminded me a little of my namesake -
supermodel Linda Evangelista. It really turned me on. My
penis struggled to free itself from the confines of my
tight gaff. I turned to the side and then to the rear. I
flicked up the skirt of my French maid outfit! Nice buns!
Plus, the long shapely legs perched on top of stiletto
heels were as sexy as any supermodels limbs. Fabulous! My
arms were long, smooth and thin, with little evidence of
musculature. My neck was long and thin without any hint of
an Adam's Apple. Yes! I was the full package! What could I
say! I couldn't help it if I was goddam beautiful!
Narcissism was alive and well - thriving in Linda/William!

The dressing room door opened.

"Hi Linda!"

"Oh hi there, Sinead." Even my voice was getting to be
quite convincing. Initially, I had tried to talk in a high
pitch. But, a falsetto sounded so phony. I discovered that
my best female voice evolved out of my tenor singing voice.
The higher ranges of my natural singing voice made for a
goddam sexy, throaty feminine tone.

"Are you all set to go?"

"Yes Sinead," I replied as I stashed my belongings into my
locker. "Am I assigned my usual area?"

"You certainly are, Linda. The boys are anxious tonight. We
have a new girl on stage this evening. Harry Thomas brought
her in from Montreal. Her name is Chantal Dion. She looks
like an angel, but swears like a sailor. Sacre bleu!" joked
Sinead. "In any case, she looks beautiful - almost as
beautiful as you."

"Thank you for the compliment," I replied as I kissed
Sinead on both cheeks. We had grown closer over the three
weeks. I liked her a lot. "You are god's gift to Kingston,"
I added.

"I love your hair," Sinead said. "There's something
different about it. It's fuller, it has more body. I know.
You got a new wig."

That stopped me in my tracks.

"You knew I wore a wig?"

"Linda, I can spot a wig very easily - even human hair
ones. There are lots of girls working here who alter their
appearance dramatically by changing wigs or dyeing their
hair or getting larger implants."

With trepidation, I asked, "Do you know my other secret?"

Sinead put her arms around me and gave me a firm hug. Her
face was buried in my bosom due to the difference in our
heights. Then, as she looked up, she whispered, "We all
have secrets in this business. Don't worry. Your identity
will remain a mystery."

With that, she gave me a pat on the fanny and I scooted out
of the dressing room into the main hall of the club.

Right off the bat, the pace was brisk. I was extremely
busy. A large group of handsome young students, from the
Royal Military College, had dropped by. If these were the
officers of tomorrow, I hoped they could learn some self-
control. Their wandering eyes and hands were going to be a
problem. They hadn't been in the club long enough to be
drunk. Yet, I already had a sore rear from being pinched
about ten times. I was about to accidentally spill some
beer on one of the rowdier ones to cool them down.

Then, I heard a voice call out, "Hey beautiful!"

I turned to look around. Holy shit! Oh no! For Chrissake!
All my poker friends, Studlater, Paul, Damian and Mike,
were sitting at a front row table beside the runway!

Goddammit! Studlater was sure to recognize me! Studlater
had had an up close and personal experience with me at the
Halloween party. But Studlater had never seen 'me' since
that night in my Linda guise.

Well, to paraphrase the Music Man, 'Ya got trouble, folks,
right here in Rideau River City, with a capital T.'

"Good evening gentlemen. Are you ready to order or would
you like more time to consider your choices?" I asked with
a cheery voice and a sexy smile.

"We're ready to order," Paul announced.

"Beer, beer and more beer," Damian added, pounding on the
black tabletop three times for emphasis.

"A pitcher of Labatt draft please," said Mike 'Cool Hand'
Duke.

Studlater looked up at me in amazement. "Is your name
Linda?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied with feigned surprise. "How did you know?
You've been here before I take it."

"I met you at the Halloween party at Queen's University,"
he said.

The other guys looked at me, then Studlater, in amazement.

For a moment, I pretended not to recognize him. "Oh…" I
paused and looked him over from head to toe. "You were
dressed as Dracula, weren't you?"

"That's right. If I recall correctly, you said you were in
the Theater Arts Department - a Drama student."

"That's right. I was an English major with a Drama minor."

"You were?"

"Yes, I dropped out at Christmas." I had to try to minimize
any further contact with Studlater.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Studlater said. He paused before
making any further comment. "What happened? Why did you
drop out?"

"Well, I got pregnant." I'm the world's biggest liar, I
really am. "But, don't worry. It's not yours…Besides, I had
an abortion."

All the guys at the table looked at me thunderstruck! Their
eyebrows rose in shock! Then they looked at Studlater, then
back at me. They all must have thought this angelic lady's
looks were deceiving. What a skank! She had to be pure
white trailer park trash! At least, that's what I hoped
they were thinking.

"Also, I couldn't afford to fall further and further into
debt. So, I took this job…It pays the bills. And, the
manager, Mr. Thomas, might give me a chance at dancing in
the near future." I hoped that would discourage Studlater
from having any interest in me. "And you fellas? Why are
you here tonight?"

"We're here to celebrate," Damian said. "Paul just got
notice that he's been hired by Dell Computers this summer."

"Now you really are a Laptop, PC," Studlater added, giving
the diminutive Paul Campbell the gears about his nickname.

"Inspiron to the rest of you," quipped Paul.

The other guys laughed. Paul's inspiring/Inspiron pun did
not go unnoticed. Dell's Laptop model was called the
Inspiron. Then, my poker buddies focused their attention
back on me.

"That's not the reason I'm here," Mike said boldly. "You're
a sexy woman, and I'm a hungry man."

All eyes at the table looked at me, anticipating a
rejoinder.

"I am not a cave-woman and you, Mr. Neanderthal, are not
even in the same league as Fred Flintstone," I said with
disdain. Linda could be a very snotty female dog if it
suited her. "Please stand up for a moment, sonny."

Mike pushed back his wooden chair and stood up, with an
impish grin on his boyish face. He was about 5' 10" in
height. At 6' 4" in my stiletto heels, I towered over him.

"Yes, I may be a sexy woman, but you're only half a man," I
said in a breathy sexy voice, as I leaned over and kissed
him on the forehead.

I could be flirtatious too. I earned more money in tips
when I led on the customers a little.

Studlater slapped Mike on the back. The others laughed,
although Paul Campbell's laugh was quieter than the others
because Paul stood 5' 6" on his tiptoes.

Then, I hurried away to get the pitcher of beer and the
glasses.

I tried to time my return visit to the friends' table so
that their attention would be directed to the stripper on
stage. Some old Alice Cooper tune was blaring over the
loudspeaker. "School's out for summer!" Alice sang.
Meanwhile, the exotic dancer slithered sensuously down the
catwalk. She flicked her long triangular tongue out from
beneath her long brunette tresses. Tricia Delight was the
name of the cute girl with the fluid movements and the pet
boa constrictor. The fellas didn't dare take their eyes off
Tricia while her pet wrapped itself around her arms and
waist. I served my friends as quickly and efficiently as I
could. They hardly noticed I was there.

It turned out to be Mike's round to pay. I got a $2 tip
from the cheapskate. I guess I shouldn't have put him down
with the 'half a man' comment. But, what the hell! I did
kiss him on the forehead!

But, the way Studlater eyed me made me feel uneasy. He
couldn't have recognized me as William Hold'em Copperfield,
could he? I mean, my hair color was different. My eyes were
green. With these high heels, I was three or four inches
taller. The tape and push up bra gave Linda cleavage that
flat-chested William could never have. Linda's eyebrows
were much thinner than William's 'caterpillar' brows due to
the skillful application of theatrical putty and makeup.
Besides, 'Linda' was a babe! Hold'em was a wimp.

A new stripper named Carmen Sin Diego bumped and grinded
her way down the runway. She was putting the 'la vida loca'
in Ricky Martin's She Bangs. Or was it the bang in La Vida
Loca? Or was it Carmen's in Diego?

Through the rest of this Friday evening, I was constantly
busy. I didn't have much time for half-whitted banter with
the customers. Although my friends ordered three more rounds
of beer, they never really had a chance to talk to me again.
Some of the other customers were very demanding. In fact, I
had to call over the bouncer to escort one of the Royal
Military College boys out the door. He was falling down
drunk, but he wanted to keep drinking. I hated it when some
immature pseudo soldier got so drunk he puked his guts out.
If you want to know the truth, we tried our best to look
after our customers. We even called a cab for him and his
comrades in arms to take back to their residence.

Before I knew it, my shift was over and I could breathe a
sigh of relief.

10

By the time the club had closed and I had changed out of
the frilly French maid outfit back into my 'Linda' street
clothes, it must have been 2:20 a.m. I figured my poker-
playing buddies were still at it, dealing cards, smoking
cigarettes or Cuban cigars and drinking beer in Paul
Campbell's room.

Although it was early April, nights in Kingston were still
pretty cold. My 'fashionable' long coat, which I had picked
up at a bargain price from Goodwill, and a pantsuit would
suffice. I no longer wore high heels to and from the
residence. Flats were much easier for me, especially after
a long shift in stiletto heels.

I hadn't walked very far, when someone calling my name
surprised me.

"Linda! Linda!"

From across the street, I could see a tall figure bounding
toward me. He wore a red Queen's leather jacket and blue
jeans. It was Studlater.

"Hello," I replied. 'Oh no,' I thought to myself. 'I hope
he's not going to try and make a pass at me here.' I had
had this kind of thing happen several times before -
overzealous customers who wanted to date me. The previous
times, I had returned to the club and had Phil, the club
bouncer, take care of the problem.

"Linda, I need to talk to you for a moment. Please, I just
need to speak to you for two minutes," Studlater begged.

"All right. I can spare two minutes."

"Ever since Halloween night, I wondered what happened to
you. Halloween night, you looked absolutely gorgeous in
that Las Vegas showgirl outfit, but I could never find you
on campus. And, believe me, I looked everywhere. I hung out
around the Theatrical Arts Department, I attended plays,
and I looked for you in the Arts cafeteria. You simply
disappeared. I never thought I'd see you again."

I did my best to give him a disdainful sneer.

"Let's see. When I last saw you, your girlfriend had just
discovered me in your room. We were about to have sex.
Then, you got up, proclaimed your love for her, and left me
behind…I was not impressed." Wow! Could I act or what?

"Yes. That's all true. But, tonight, when I saw you again,
I believe I saw things in a different light."

"And what did you see in a different light?"

"You were not the person I thought you were."

"Meaning?"

"I didn't expect to find you working in a strip club."

"And I didn't expect you to be patron of a strip club."

Studlater gave me a sheepish grin. He was such a phony.

"Fair enough. But, I have deeply regretted cheating on my
former girlfriend Allison."

"Good for you," I replied, without any softening of my hard
line.

"Now, I realize that loyalty to friends is important. Trust
among friends is essential. Forgiveness, though difficult
to offer, is a characteristic of a truly great person."

"Well, I hope your former girlfriend will forgive you."
With that, I turned away and started walking. I felt like a
real shmuck for having deceived Studlater. Here he was
pouring, his guts out, begging for another chance. But, I
couldn't let Studlater or my other friends find out about
my secret. Otherwise, I'd be the laughing stock of the
whole university.

"Wait a second, Linda. Or should I say William? Can I offer
you a lift home?"

I froze in my tracks. Then, I turned around.

"I was right, wasn't I?" claimed Studlater triumphantly.

"How did you know?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I kept telling myself it was impossible." Studlater looked
at me with a beguiling smile on his face. "You do look so
amazing. It is so hard to believe."

"What gave me away?"

"Actually, there wasn't any one thing. There were some
little, insignificant things. Now, please, can we get into
my car? It's freezing out here."

After pausing a moment to consider his invitation, I simply
said, "All right, Eric."

Studlater, ever the gentleman, opened the door on the
passenger side of his brand new Ford Mustang for me, and
gently closed it behind me. The car was a gift from his
ultra-wealthy parents for his recent birthday. Then,
Studlater ran around to the driver's side and climbed in.

"So Eric, how did you find out?" I asked anxiously, still
in my Linda voice.

"There were a lot of things that didn't add up. For
instance, Halloween night. I never saw William dressed up
as a girl. And I didn't believe it was you in the Miss
Piggy outfit. None of us believed Allison would dress you
in a Miss Piggy outfit. The idea was to dress you as a girl
- to humiliate you. Secondly, I could never find 'Linda'
again. A girl as beautiful as 'Linda' would be pretty easy
to find on a small campus like Queen's. Then, when I
considered that 'Linda' might have been William in drag, I
didn't want to believe it. I mean, even when I look at you
now, I still find it hard to believe. You not only look
like a girl, hell, you could be a supermodel!"

"Thanks." I felt immense pleasure from that compliment -
especially from a good friend like Studlater. "What about
tonight? What finally gave me away?"

"When I saw you tonight, I was shocked. I tried to connect
my view of William with this gorgeous vision of Linda.
Okay, the flowing, fiery red hair could be a wig. The eyes
had me puzzled for a long time. Linda's eyes seemed bigger
and they were green. Plus, the eyebrows were much thinner.
What an incredible job of makeup that would take! But,
Allison knows how to do theatrical makeup. So, it was
entirely possible you could have learned how to do it…But,
what a body! Your breasts! Hold'em, I don't know where you
got those tits! It's amazing!"

I laughed at the praise. I felt some pride in the
successful deception.

"You've got a thin waist, hot buns and gorgeous gams too!
You could model for the Victoria Secrets Catalogue!"
praised Studlater.

"Thanks for the compliment, Eric." Without thinking, I
kissed him on the cheek.

"And you behave like a woman too. And that sexy voice! I
don't know how you did it! You're not on female hormones,
are you?" Studlater asked in a suspicious voice.

"No," I said with a laugh.

"That abortion story really unnerved me, you sly devil."

"Well, considering what we were doing the last time Linda
saw you…" I shrugged.

"Your story about dropping out seemed to fit. You are a
truly convincing actress. I wasn't sure you really were
William, so I asked that other waitress, Sinead I think is
her name, at the Hook and Ladder. I asked her your last
name. She said she didn't give out personal information,
that I would have to ask you. But, she looked worried when
she replied, like she was hiding a secret. Then, somehow I
knew it had to be you. It would explain why you haven't
been around much lately. Why you haven't been in the poker
games. Besides, Linda is very tall for a girl. Also, I've
noticed on William lately, the scent of perfume. Even after
a shower, the scent of perfume can linger."

"I see…So, what are you going to do?"

"Don't worry." Studlater placed his hand on my arm. "You
are an incredibly beautiful cocktail waitress. Absolutely
unbelievable! I would not reveal your secret without your
permission. Besides, I have just as much to lose as you do.
I mean, I tried to make love to a beautiful woman, who
turned out to be a male friend in drag."

He was so sweet. "Thanks Eric, for keeping the secret," I
said softly, as I kissed him again, this time on the mouth.

For a moment, Studlater, I mean Eric, paused. Then, as if
saying to himself, what the hell, he returned my kiss with
some feeling. He opened his mouth, pressed harder on me,
and this time I could feel the electricity. There was fire
and desire here!

"Hot damn!" Studlater whispered. Then, he practically
attacked me!

I didn't resist. Hell no! We thrashed about, caught in the
throes of animal attraction! Eric really was a dominant
male! And he made me feel like a real woman! It was pure
lust! Pure Passion!

After we came up for air, Eric quickly fished two condoms
out of the glove compartment, and we adjusted my bucket
seat into the reclining position. Studlater reached below
the car seat, depressed a lever, and then pushed the seat
as far back as it could go. It wasn't exactly roomy or
comfortable, but after a few minutes of heated foreplay,
the windows of the Mustang fogged up in the cold night air.
Studlater was a great kisser, although his tongue tasted of
beer - Labatt Draft.

I turned over to expose my backside to Studlater, lowering
my pantsuit and panties, and releasing my black satin gaff.
But Studlater knew what he wanted to do. He turned my body
around so that I was facing him again. He looked briefly at
my bra covered chest and then briefly at my genitals. Then
he undid his belt, top button and zipper. With his pants
down, he unsheathed his 'weapon.' It was humoungous! If my
penis was nicknamed Mr. Wiggly, Studlater's tool was a Scud
Missile! Then he covered the warhead with a Sheik. A
lubricated condom was placed over my erection too. Next, he
lifted my legs up with his hands so that my legs were
positioned up around his shoulders, exposing my 'vagina' to
his huge penis. As Studlater slowly inserted his
projectile, I felt some pain as my orifice tried to adjust
to the girth of his shaft. I must admit to feeling some
discomfort. I'm not a Cirque du Soleil contortionist nor
had I ever been penetrated before. Studlater gently pushed
his organ in as far as it would go. Then, he drew back,
then forward again. The car started to move imperceptibly.
Slowly at first, it began to rock back and forth. The
Mustang bucked, slightly faster, and then faster! For some
reason, I imagined the strains of Ravel's Bolero playing
over the car stereo, picking up tempo. Linda was Bo Derek
in that old movie '10.' Eric was Studly Dudley Moore, only
much bigger! As Eric thrust harder and faster, it hurt
terribly. But I felt a combination of both pain and bliss!
Back and forth, faster and faster, driven by passion. As
the music in my head accelerated to its penultimate climax,
the Scud Stud exploded! Eric came! Rapture! Then I came
too! Orgasm! Ecstasy! My whole body shook! It was a moment
I will cherish forever!

Then, after the fireworks, we lay exhausted. Studlater was
fully spent. He withdrew his love muscle. He allowed me to
lower my legs into a more comfortable position, wrapped
around his muscular thighs. As we cuddled, basking in the
glow of our lovemaking, I looked into his eyes, and I had a
moment of self-doubt. Did I love him? Did Eric love me? Or
was I just another one of Studlater's many sexual
conquests? Another notch on the side of the Scud Stud's
Missile Launcher?

The incongruity of the situation and circumstances kind of
made me wonder. I had just had sex with an attractive male
friend, while I was in drag, sprawled out on the reclining
seat of Studlater's Shaggin' Wagon in downtown Kingston.

Studlater wrapped me in his strong arms once again. We
kissed sensuously, for what seemed an eternity.

Jubilation! Exhilaration!

It was heavenly bliss!

But, how could I, a normal heterosexual guy, have enjoyed
this gay sexual encounter? 'Oh, what the hell!' I thought
to myself. 'Carpe diem. Seize the day. Live the moment. I
couldn't worry about Studlater, lust, true love, long term
relationships or the meaning of life.'

As Woody Allen once said, "Sex without love is a
meaningless act. But, as meaningless acts go, it's one of
the best."

One of the very best!

THE END

How I Learned to Love Drag

by Laurie S.

Young Sean is an up and coming comedian. He lands a regular spot on a hit comedy television show. Ecstasy has an all male cast. Guess who has to play the female roles?

The story, inspired by the Kids in the Hall, was written in 2002.

1

"How about doing a sports interview?" I suggested. "We could have hockey's dirtiest player doing a tell-all about how to inflict pain without taking a penalty."

"Yeah," Ted agreed. "The bad guy could demonstrate all his dirty moves on the interviewer. Like an elbow to the face."

"The slew foot move to knock a guy off his skates," Mark added.

"The ever popular crosscheck the guy into the goalpost maneuver," chipped in Dave.

"What about the can opener?" Mark offered. "You put your stick between the legs and catapult the guy into the boards — or over the boards into the players' bench."

"How about the old hook the stick between the legs and jerk up trick," I added. "We could call that the contraceptive cuff."

"Why not the crotch kiss?" Dave asked. "Or the ball buster."

"Those names are great," Ted said, "but crotch kiss sounds cute."

"Yes, there are a lot of dirty hockey plays," Scott said. "I wonder why they
don't teach these moves on Coaches Corner?"

"Well Coach Don Cherry might go for it, but the host, Ron McLean, wouldn't," Mark said.

"Oh Hockey Night in Canada can't do intermission clinics on dirty tricks, there's enough violence in kids hockey as it is," Aaron said.

There was a brief pause.

I asked, "How about a fight between the interviewer and the player?"

"Ron McLean's a part time referee," Mark added. "He's all for eliminating fighting. That would be perfect."

"Yeah, plus our Canadian audience would eat it up," Ted said.

I guess I was a little apprehensive my first day on the job, but at the same time delighted and excited to be joining a successful show. In fact, as opportunities go, it was one of the best!

ECSTASY was a smash! It was a ratings hit and well liked by the critics too!

So why was I concerned? Well, for one, I had big shoes to fill. Steve Perry, the comedian I was replacing, had left for greener pastures in the US. MAD TV wanted him - and he jumped at the chance for even bigger exposure. After all, when one compares Canada's Comedy Network to America's Fox Network, you're talking about ten times the audience. Not to mention a whopping increase in salary.

My day had begun with my arrival at the Comedy Network's studio, located in an industrial area of Burnaby, a suburb of Vancouver. A place of perpetual rain in the winter, Noah saw less precipitation when it rained for forty days and forty nights.

An architectural eyesore, the television studio fit right in with the other 1960s vintage warehouses because that's what the studio was before it was converted a few years ago - a car parts warehouse.

So when I walked through the side entrance on a bright sunny July morning, I almost had the feeling I was in the wrong place.

But the Comedy Network office actually looked decent. It looked like a real place of business - high tech communications equipment, track lighting, solid oak furniture, and hardwood flooring. And thankfully, it was air-conditioned.

An attractive receptionist welcomed me. After exchanging greetings, she buzzed the producer on the intercom and then she led me down the hall to his office.

"Ah, Sean Davidson, good to see you."

"Hello Ted," I replied as we shook hands.

Ted Walters, fortyish, short, bespectacled, casually dressed, friendly and fatherly, kind of reminded me of Rick Moranis in Honey I Shrunk the Kids.

"You're looking good," he said. "You're looking fit and trim. And that big grin on your face tells me you can't wait to get started."

"Thank you. I am really looking forward to this."

"Well, let me introduce you to the other guys," Ted said as he looked at his watch. "We've got a bull session scheduled to start in a few minutes."

"A bull session?"

"Brainstorming meeting. We dream up skit ideas for the next show."

Ted took me into another part of the cavernous building.

***
In a large, well-appointed meeting room were the other core people. Director Aaron Spacek - they called him the Space Cadet. He was a thirty-something irreverent free spirit. He looked like Pee Wee Herman on steroids.

There was long, tall, dark, rugged looking, boy-next-door Mark Mitchell. Next to him was Dave Poole. He was a baby-faced blond, six feet tall, with a slender build. Then there was Scott Calvin: dark curly hair, kind of pudgy, a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a perpetual smile. All of the guys were in their twenties. And from what I'd seen of their first year of ECSTASY, they were bloody comic geniuses!

Kicking around ideas for the skits followed simple brainstorming rules. Create. Innovate. Contribute. Build. Don't reject anything.

I could see why Ted called this a bull session.

So far we had dreamed up a reality show parody, an Attack of the Clones doppelganger, a hockey player interview, and now we were exploring a teenage girl's sleepover party.

"The pajama party gets us to explore our feminine side," Scott proclaimed. "You know the women want men to be more sensitive."

"Besides the viewers want to see us in drag," Mark added.

"Well, we'll have to discuss boys," Dave said.

"You always do," Scott teased.

"What of it," Dave shot back.

"I love a forceful man," Scott squealed. "Especially real bruisers."

"Teenage girls talk about the four Ms - makeup, music, movies and men," Ted offered, trying to get the discussion back on track.

"Shopping too," I added.

With the look of a battle-hardened parent, Ted announced, "And they complain about the restraints put on them by their age, by parents, teachers, a limited allowance, and boys."

"Yeah like why shouldn't I be able to communicate on the Internet with my girlfriend and talk to her on the phone at the same time?" Aaron whined.

"That's perfectly reasonable since we don't have video phones yet," Ted said. "Girls have the right to hear and see their friends — even if it ties up two phone lines."

"Yes. The rights of the child should supersede those of the oppressive adults," Dave agreed.

"Maybe we could have the girls play with their Barbie dolls while they strive for the same rights as adults," Scott suggested. "A good juxtaposition."

I finally saw my chance to speak. "That would be the new anatomically correct Barbie - and Ken too. The girls could play with the dolls and we could show the dolls copulating and the girls masturbating."

That brought a smile to their faces.

"Could we make the dolls bend properly?" Ted asked.

"It's too bad we couldn't have animation to perform that trick for us," Aaron complained.

"Claymation Barbie," Dave suggested.

"Did you know that some Canadian schools have senior students take care of baby dolls as part of their curriculum?" Ted asked. "It's to teach parenting. You know, the usual situation is if the student leaves the baby unattended, it starts to cry."

"That's got some possibilities," I interjected. "A frustrated male student can't get the doll to stop crying, so he sticks it in his locker."

"Yeah. And he gets a failing mark because the doll dies," Dave said.

"How does the doll die?" Scott asked.

"It's a computerized doll," Ted said. "You know that Japanese technology. If you don't give the doll attention, and feed it some formula, it dies. The doll's computer chip senses movement and water."

"So if the doll doesn't stop crying, we could have the doll shaken to death by the frustrated student," Dave said.

"Or the doll could be kidnapped," Mark suggested.

"Wait a minute. Are we talking about the pajama party now, or are we talking about a whole other skit?" I asked.

"We can decide that later," Ted said. "We're still brainstorming."

"If we have the pajama party, I think we could get some adorable costumes," Scott suggested. "The cuteness quotient could be pretty high."

Mark spoke up. "Yeah, the girls could be painting each other's toenails."

"And tattoos," I suggested. "And maybe on the television, they could be watching videos of their favorite wrestlers."

"Yes, watching wrestling while painting on henna tattoos while they smoke crack cocaine," Mark said.

"While they have lesbian sex," Scott added. "That could be our big finish."

"Oh no, do I have to kiss Scott again?" Dave deadpanned.

"You wish," Scott retorted.

"Now girls, stop making those catty remarks," Aaron reminded. "Please kiss and make up."

Scott stood up and embraced Dave. Scott planted a big wet one right on Dave's lips.

"You guys kill me," I said with a shake of my head.

"Hmm, pajama parties just aren't the innocent sleepovers they used to be," Ted observed. "Parents used to get upset when their kids had a pillow fight."

2

Coming from standup comedy, I was used to performing on stage in front of a live audience. ECSTASY didn't for a number of reasons. We could tape at various locations. We could do as many takes as needed. There was less time pressure. Costume and
makeup changes with a small cast became manageable.

Actually all the performers would have preferred a live audience's reaction. But the producer and director didn't need the extra pressure.

The outfits and sets or locations for the first show were pretty easy - a hockey rink, a girl's bedroom, a national park for the Survivor parody, and a school. The Attack of the Clones idea was put on hold. Due to budgetary considerations, the girl's bedroom was the
only set constructed. The other skits were shot on location.

But the costumes and makeup were something I was not accustomed to as a stand up comedian.

For the pajama party, all the guys had to get into drag. I didn't know what to expect.

Daniel Roberts was the head makeup artist. Of medium height, slim, effeminate in demeanor, he was almost your stereotypical gay makeup artist. His long dirty blond hair was tied into a ponytail. He wore a light blue smock over faded khaki pants.

After shaking hands and the usual first meeting greetings, he directed me to what appeared to be a barber's chair.

"Honey," Daniel said, "the makeup for your character will be pretty light. We're going for the look of a young teenage girl. So we want a natural look. Lip-gloss maybe, longer lashes, a bit of contouring to give you a more girlish look, a medium length wig. With your skin coloring, we might as well go with your natural blonde hair color."

Daniel stood back for a moment. "Your eyebrows need to be thinned."

"Wait a minute," I interjected. "You're not really going to pluck my eyebrows, are you?"

"Oh no, heaven forbid! I'm just going to use a little glue and covering makeup to give the eyebrows a thin girlish arch. No plucking or waxing," said Daniel as he gave me a reassuring touch on the forearm.

"Hi Daniel, who's this?"

I turned to my side in the direction of the voice. An absolutely gorgeous young Asian girl walked toward us.

"Hi May," Daniel said cheerily. "This is our new cast member, Sean Davidson."

I stood up to meet her.

She surprised me by embracing me, giving me a nice warm hug. Wow! It was like a jolt of electricity! I tingled all over! Then she gave me those show business kisses on each cheek. I did my best to reciprocate.

She smelled nice — the clean fresh scent of Ivory Snow. And she looked terrific! Lightly made up, with just lipstick and a touch of mascara, her skin was flawless. A gorgeous smile with a Colgate ad gleam. She had that look of perfection that made you think of
angelic beauty.

May stood about five foot seven. I'd guess her weight to be at perhaps 120 pounds. She was model thin, but she radiated vitality. May wore dark slacks, a pinstripe black shirt and a leather vest. I noted, like many Asian girls, she was not endowed with much of a bust.

"May Cheung is our wardrobe magician," Daniel said.

"From what I saw of the show last season, you two did great work."

"Thank you," May said. "You are most gracious, Sean."

"In fact, didn't you guys win Genie Awards for makeup and costume?"

"Yes, you're right," Daniel said proudly.

"I'm impressed," May said. "You really did your homework."

I smiled. Actually Ted Walters, our producer, had mentioned that fact when we were chatting earlier in the day. I thought it best if I kept my mouth shut at the moment.

May pulled out a tailor's tape and measured my neck, chest, waist, hips, sleeve length, and pant inseam. Again, there was her scent of Ivory Snow.

"So you have a 14 1/2 inch neck and a 33 inch sleeve length. You probably take pants with a 30 inch waist and a 32 inch inseam."

"That's right." I nodded in agreement.

"You've got a pretty good figure for a girl too," May remarked.

"Come again?"

"You're 35-28-36. That's pretty good for doing the roles in drag. We'd hardly need corsets. And the padding for your boobs would round you out quite nicely," May said with an admiring look.

'Oh no,' I thought. 'I don't want to be teased about my girlish looks again.'

"That will be a great asset for this show because you'll probably be in drag every week. You've got real potential."

"And I can make her face look beautiful," Daniel said. "She's a natural."

My face must have expressed doubt.

"You'll see," Daniel assured, as he sat me back in the barber's chair. "When we're done, your parents will think they have a pretty teenaged daughter."

My parents - what would they think?

They'd probably disapprove.

After high school, instead of going to university like most of my classmates, I tried the tough world of stand up comedy.

I started hanging around The Laugh Resort on Portage in downtown Winnipeg when I was in my senior year.

After seeing some good comics, many middlin' to average, and some absolutely dreadful performers, I got up the courage to give it a shot. I worked hard at writing a monologue, gathering the best jokes I'd heard during my lifetime, rehearsed and memorized the
whole routine. On a Monday open mike night, I took my shot.

Though really nervous, as skittish as a cute teen boy in a penitentiary, I told my well rehearsed opening lines.

Surprise! Surprise!

I got some laughs.

I remember one of my old jokes was, "We live in dangerous times. Why some people even fear you can catch AIDS from a mosquito. Those people are really sick. Who in their right mind would even think of having sex with a mosquito?"

"Did you know that the bear featured in Winnie the Pooh, the A.A. Milne children's book, was named after Winnipeg? That's not so great for promoting tourism. Hear the name Winnipeg and immediately bear poo pops into your head…and under your foot."

And one of my old jokes was used by Mike Myers in Goldmember. "What's long and hard and full of semen?" Pause. "A submarine."

"The difference between mononucleosis and herpes is all a matter of approach. You get mono from snatching kisses . . . and herpes from kissing snatches."

In retrospect, I know they sounded juvenile, but it was my first time. And as an 18-year-old, potty humor and sex jokes held my attention.

Gaining some confidence from an encouraging start, I seemed to hit my stride about midway through the monologue. Then I got a little too cocky. I tried a little interaction with the audience. When that fell flat, I got heckled. But, when I stuck to the planned routine, I recovered. And when I finished, I got a little better than polite applause.

Nevertheless, I was hooked! The adrenaline rush of performing — it was addictive!

Two weeks later, with a revamped monologue, I tried again. The second time was much better! It was a true success! Intuitively I knew what to do! It was so good that the club manager offered to pay me to make my third appearance!

Within three months, I was a regular comedian on the Southern Manitoba comedy circuit.

My parents were dead set against it, thinking I was a totally unrealistic dreamer. A career in show business?

To my parents, becoming a comedian was insane. Too risky! So few people became big stars in show business. On the other hand, getting a university education, getting into a profession such as law, medicine, engineering, or even teaching, was a real career - a
guarantee of a comfortable lifestyle.

But they didn't understand my passion for comedy. The rush I felt when the audience loved me! How I fed on the applause!

Being a comedian was what I needed to do. It's what I lived for! I didn't have a choice. The pull was an overwhelming force!

When I announced I wasn't going to university, my parents thought I was Anakin Skywalker crossing over to the Dark Side. I became Darth Vader. My mother and father kicked me out of the house.

So, having little choice, I joined the evil Empire.

I spent five years on the fringes of the universe, traveling to the far-flung outposts of the Canadian comedy club circuit. Honing my craft, building a reputation, hoping for a break.

ECSTASY was my shot at stardom. And redemption.

3

Shooting the pajama party skit was incredible fun!

The pink nightie, the fake boobs, the painted fingernails and toes, the blonde wig and makeup put me into the character.

And Daniel was right. If my parents had seen me, they wouldn't have recognized me. They'd have thought I was a sweet teenage girl.

Aaron 'the Space Cadet' Spacek, our director, gave the guys room to innovate and create. There were key lines we had to do, but the other guys were masters of improvisation. When they went off on an unscripted tangent, you just had to go with the flow.

So if the script direction said 'feel yourself up' as you watch the wrestling video, what the hell would you do?

I let my comedic instincts guide me. I began by looking down toward my breasts. Then I reached up with my right hand and began to massage my breasts through the pink soft cotton nightie. The camera could see the tops of my fake boobs revealed by the medium neckline. Then I moaned lightly. With my left hand I reached down to my crotch and touched my faux girly parts. Actually, thankfully, I was wearing a tight gaff that would not
allow my male member to spring to life.

Then I said, "Isn't the Rock a real hard body?"

"Yeah, he's the bomb! Wasn't he great in The Scorpion King?" Dave/Darla asked.

"It would be great to shoot a love scene with him," I added as I massaged myself more vigorously.

"Who cares if he takes steroids to get those incredible muscles?" Scott/Sue asked. "He looks perfect! What a hunk!" Even though the makeup, wig and pajamas gave Scott the look of a sweet angelic teenage girl, her spirit was possessed by a sex-obsessed devil.

"I wonder if steroids make you sterile?" I asked.

"Isn't that why they're called steroids?" Dave/Darla asked.

"You silly girl, they're not called steroids for that reason," Scott/Sue remarked.

"Then why are they called steroids?" Darla asked.

"I don't know," Scott/Sue said. "They just are."

"I wonder . . . Do they shrink the testicles?" Mark/Marlene asked.

"Ooohhh, gross!" Sue squealed.

"What a shame! What a sham!" Darla screamed! "Not the Rock."

"Is that what those commercials mean by erectile difficulties?" I asked. "It turns a guy to mush."

"A guy goes flaccid," Darla whispered.

"Oohhh, gross!" Marlene squealed.

"I wonder what it's like to hold a guy's erection in your hands?" Sue added.

"I think it would be like holding a Popsicle, only it wouldn't be as cold," Darla whispered.

"Yeah, you'd lick and lick and lick," Sue interjected. "And eventually it would wear down."

"But I hear that Viagra makes you go all night!" I enthused.

"You mean a guy can keep erect all night?" Sue wondered.

"Like the CN Tower," Darla giggled. "The biggest erection in the world."

"Imagine stickin' that up your notch!" Sue cried.

We all laughed and giggled.

"I wonder, how big can a guy's piece get?" I asked.

"There's a guy, Jim, at school. I heard he has a big one," Sue said matter of factly.

"How do you know that?" Marlene asked.

"His nickname is Stud 'cause he's built like a two-by-four," Sue whispered.

"A two four?" I asked. "I don't get it. Isn't that a case of twenty-four beer bottles?"

"You know a two by four, like one of those thick wooden beams used in construction," Sue said.

"Oh."

"That's true. He's big. I slow danced with him once. And I could feel it. He was so big! I felt like a vampire impaled on his wooden stake!" Darla squealed.

The other girls squealed too.

"No really, without the fake Buffy the Vampire stuff, how did it feel?" I asked.

"Like really dreamy!" Darla paused for a second. "Steamy!! Creamy!!! It seemed to fit perfectly like a round peg in a round hole."

All the girls screamed! I rolled over on the bed in laughter. 'A round peg in a round hole. Well duh!' I thought.

"Maybe he just stuck a cucumber down his shorts!" Marlene suggested.

"Guys don't do that!" Sue said. "Do they?"

"The guys on football teams do," I said. "They wear big shoulder pads and, in their pants, they wear plastic jocks."

"That's just so their little Jimmy's don't get hurt," Darla assured. "But there's no way Jim stuck anything in his pants!"

"How do you know?" Marlene asked.

"I know 'cause I felt it. It was hard, but it wasn't a fake hard. Not like a dildo."

All the girls shrieked!

There was something surreal about the whole experience. Never had I had a conversation like this in my whole life. Here we were trying to top each other with outrageous comment after outrageous comment.

"Excuse me," I said. I ran in the direction of the bathroom. "I gotta go pee pee."

"Poor Sean, she must have got too excited," Sue said. "She must be all wet!"

Then they all laughed at my departing butt.

Then Aaron yelled cut.

We reassembled. And we tried to improv another take.

Later the best cuts would be aired.

4

It had been a long day of working.

From a morning script writing session for our version of the Survivor reality show to the afternoon in makeup and then shooting the pajama party skit, I had certainly earned my keep.

As I sat in the dressing room, May Cheung came over to give me a hand. Dressed in that amorphous blue smock, a long tan skirt and leather sandals, she looked absolutely delectable. It wasn't the clothes - it was her face. The kind of gorgeous visage you see on
the cover of fashion magazines.

It wasn't hard for her to sense my interest in her.

"My oh my, don't you look scrumptious," May said in a breathy voice, as she gave me a gentle hug.

Again that exciting tingle shot through my body in response to her gentle touch.

When she stepped back, I examined the reflection in the mirror. Looking back at me was a pretty teenager. Framed by a pageboy 'do, my face had a fresh innocent angelic quality. The pink cotton nightie wasn't like Victoria's Secret lingerie, but it revealed enough of the shapely bust, slim waist, bubble butt and long shapely legs to look sexy. "Hey, I really do look convincing, don't I?"

"You do. But you'd better stop admiring yourself or you'll end up with an unladylike bulge in your nightie," she giggled.

"That would be embarrassing," I said, "although I could always claim that it was you who turned me on."

"Thank you . . . but you know, you really do have potential as a sexy female impersonator. Why I bet if we went to a lesbian nightclub, the girls would find you irresistible."

I laughed at that comment. "Yeah, until they found out my little secret. Or should I say big secret?"

"Oh you guys," May said as she gave me a gentle slap on the upper arm. "You always claim to be well equipped. But remember, I'm the one who provided you with the gaff for this costume. You got the S/P size - for small/petit."

"Would you believe S/P for stupendous pecker?"

May giggled. "Dream on . . . Okay, enough macho posturing. C'mon, we have to get you out of this costume . . . Let's get the wig off first."

She reached up to my head, felt for the elasticized band under the hair, and lifted up. Then she disappeared into a storage room off my dressing room and placed the blonde wig on a long white Styrofoam wig stand.

I removed the nylon wig cap. It freed my trampled down blond hair and let it breathe. Objectively speaking, I'd say it looked like I was having the ultimate bad hair day.

"Okay, lift your arms high above your head. Let's get the nightie off."

I complied with her instructions, and then I remembered that I had nothing on but my flesh colored Jane belt and my false boobs.

As May patted my slender waist, she said, "With a little dieting and some exercise, we could really make you one of those Ab Tronic infomercial models," she joked.

"Fortunately I have one of those fast metabolisms. I can eat at buffet restaurants all week and not gain a pound."

"Well, you know if we give you a training corset and we exercise your gut, we could probably get you down to a twenty-four inch waist."

"Are you serious?"

"Sure. Why not? You'll be getting into drag all season . . . We might as well get you to look your best. And Daniel's not the only one who thinks you've got great potential. You're a natural. I think drag works best when the audience sees an absolutely stunning, sexy, drop dead gorgeous girl who they can't believe is really a guy."

"Thanks for the compliment." Wow! I looked at my reflection again. Could I be that kind of girl?

Even without a long blonde wig, I still looked attractively girlish. Of course, the big boobies helped alter my self-image.

"You know Dave, Scott and Mark got into drag frequently last season. But I think you could always tell they were guys in dresses. Typically the guys' faces are a little too square, or their jaws are too strong, or their noses are too big. Their shoulders are broad and their legs are too muscular. But you don't have those flaws. You look real. Not just real. With the proper wig, makeup and clothing, you look stunning."

I angled my head and tried to strike a sexy pose. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," I purred.

May laughed. "Another week and you'll have diva attitude too."

Turning away from me for a moment, May quickly hooked the pink cotton nightie on a hanger and hooked it on a clothes rack.

"You've given me something to work toward . . . But I'll have to talk about those slimming plans later. Right now I've got one concern. How do I get these damn things off?" I asked May as I looked down at my impressive bosom.

"Just grab them and rip." May smiled. Then, with a playful pat on the arm she said, "I'm kidding. You're going to need an adhesive remover."

May opened a drawer beneath the makeup counter. Then she held up a plastic bottle that held a clear chemical solution.

"I hope you're not allergic to liquid crystal Kryptonite, Supergirl."

That comment out of left field caught me by surprise.

May took a few puffy cotton balls from a plastic bag on the top of the counter. After removing the cap to the adhesive remover, she soaked the cotton balls in the clear chemical solution. It didn't have a harsh or unpleasant scent. May squeezed the damp cotton balls around the edges of the false boobs.

"It will take a few minutes. Once the edges are saturated with the adhesive remover, we can peel back the edges of these false breasts. Then, as we gradually expose more and more of the backside of the boob to the chemical, we can pull a little more off a little at a time."

Again there was the scent of Ivory Snow. And her touch set off that tingling sensation again up and down my whole body. I'd have to reread those Laws of Thermodynamics from my high school Physics book to figure out what the hell was happening to me. Or
Great Caesar's Ghost! Maybe I really was Linda Lee and maybe it was crystal Kryptonite!

"Please let me do that," I said as I tried to pull the false boobs off. The breast flesh below looked red and very sensitive. "I hope I'm not allergic to these chemicals."

"The redness is normal. Your skin hasn't been exposed to air for several hours. So far we haven't encountered any strong allergic reactions to these particular chemicals. But everyone is different. The redness should disappear by morning."

As we waited for a few moments before I could peel off the final vestiges of the adhesive, May disappeared for a minute.

When she reappeared, she had a corset in her hands.

"Oh, oh. I've got a bad feeling about this," I mumbled to myself.

"Here Sean," May said in a cheerful voice. "I want you to put this on right now. And, even when you go to bed tonight, I want you to keep this on."

"Besides causing me great discomfort, what good will this corset do?"

"Like we discussed before, the corset will train your waist. If you want to do some really incredible impersonations of those beautiful singers and actresses, this will help give you that to-die-for fabulous figure."

"Well, I guess you're the expert."

We hugged each other. She was so damned sexy. Her body seemed to fit my contours perfectly.

"You know May, I was just wondering." 'Ah, what the hell,' I thought to myself. 'Just go for it.' "How'd you like to go out on a date with me sometime? I mean, I know it's strange of me to ask right now, dressed as I am, but I think you're really sexy."

She answered with a sensual open-mouthed kiss!

Wow!

5

"How is it you get the glamorous drag role?" May asked.

"Well, Ted Walters said he hired me based on my performance at the Montreal Comedy Festival. There I was doing some impressions. Vocal impressions. A little Jim Carrey, Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump, Austin Powers, and some musical impressions like Bruce Springsteen, Britney Spears, Shakira, and, since I was in Quebec, Celine Dion."

"So that's why you're doing Britney Spears."

"Yeah. But I never got into drag before. In a one-man comedy routine, you don't have time to switch costumes - never mind the makeup. At most, you can slip on a wig or a hat quickly to change characters . . . How about it? Can you and Daniel transform me into Britney?"

"Yes, certainly. The clothing shouldn't be a big problem. The makeup - you'll have to ask Daniel. I know he's the best damn makeup artist in the business. He'll get it to work. But how well can you do Britney Spears' voice?"

"It's not my best impersonation. But it's not bad."

"Which song will you do?" May asked. "I need to know so I can get the right costume together."

"I think we'll be doing Baby One More Time."

"Let's see. If I recall correctly, you'll need a gray sweater, a dark skirt, a white blouse that will be tied together to show some bare midriff, a dark red bra, knee sox, and tennis shoes. The hairdo should be pretty simple - blonde pigtails, pink ribbons and those puffy feathery light pink what-you-ma'call-its."

"Yes. You've got a pretty good recollection of the video. I'm impressed."

"Wardrobe's my vocation. I pay attention to costumes."

***

While the discussion with May went well, the script writing session didn't go quite as smoothly.

Back in the spacious meeting room, Ted Walters handed out copies of Baby One More Time. The lyrics had been downloaded from the Internet. Also, he gave us a copy of a script from the TV series Alias.

First, everyone looked over the words to Britney's song.

There was a boom box in the room. Aaron opened a plastic CD case, then inserted the Baby One More Time disc into the compartment and pressed the Play button.

We all listened to the song intently.

I jotted down some ideas onto the lyrics page as the music played.

Dave tapped along with the beat while I hummed the melody.

"Hey!" Scott said. "This could be pretty funny. What do you think of this concept? The song is about child abuse. 'Hit me baby one more time.' "

"Perhaps," Ted said. "If we change the lyrics a little, it's got potential."

"Instead of child abuse, maybe we could have Britney addicted to gambling," Dave suggested. "She'd be asking the dealer to hit her hand with another card." He paused for a moment. "Nah. Forget I said that."

"How about Britney in a football helmet?" Mark smiled. "It could be the new theme song for the WNFL."

I spoke up. "How about Britney with an abusive boyfriend?"

"That's probably the most obvious slant," Ted agreed.

"There are probably a lot of people out there who are a little sick of Britney's popularity and would like to smack her," Scott said.

"It's not that it's deserved," Dave said.

"It's deserved," Scott countered. "Her sexy outfits belie her virgin status. She's the ultimate cockteaser."

"Any immensely popular singer always goes through that kind of backlash," Dave maintained.

"Let's get back on track, guys," Ted said. "I think we should go with the abusive boyfriend angle. Who besides Sean wants to work on the lyrics?"

"I'll do it," Dave said, "since I actually listen to her music."

"You've got no ear for music," Scott taunted, "since all of Britney's songs sound the same."

"I'm not the only one who listens to her music," Dave said.

"Yeah all the young teen girls and preteen brainless 'droids do too."

"I'm in good company then. Children aren't as pretentious as some adults I know."

"You know Britney is the ultimate phony. At her concerts, she lip synchs the songs for heaven's sake."

"It's only because she does those energetic dance routines," Dave claimed.

"Okay, enough," Ted said. "Let's split up the other work. How about the Alias parody? Are you up for it Scott and Mark?"

"Sure. I'd be glad to work on it," Mark said.

Scott nodded his assent.

Dave and I got up and walked down the hallway to go work in Ted Walters' office. Unlike the classroom-sized meeting room, Ted's office was a quarter that size, but at least there was a window, even it was a skylight. Sunlight just seemed to help re-energize me.

Being under a tight time constraint, we didn't waste any time. We agreed on the abusive boyfriend concept. So we set about altering the lyrics to create a bad dude boyfriend.

We looked at the first verse and the chorus.

BABY ONE MORE TIME

Oh baby, baby
How was I supposed to know
That something wasn't right here
Oh baby, baby
I shouldn't have let you go
And now you're outta sight, yeah
Show me how you want it to be
Tell me baby 'cause I need to know now, oh because

Chorus:
My loneliness is killing me
I must confess I still believe
When I'm not with you I lose my mind
Give me a sign
Hit me baby one more time

We chipped away at the lyrics and came up with our own sick version.

Oh baby, baby
How was I supposed to know
That something wasn't right here
O baby, maybe
You shouldn't have called me a ho
And now I don't wanna fight, yeah
Know now I don't want you to be
The death of me 'cause I bleed tears of woe, oh because

Your beatings are killing me
I must confess I don't believe
How could I be so out of my mind
Deaf dumb and blind
Hit me baby one more time

I popped the karaoke version of the song into the CD drive of the stereo system in Ted's office. Then I tried out the phrasing in my best Britney singing voice.

As Dave listened with an expression of amusement on his face, I wondered about the incongruity of the whole situation.

It must have looked really strange to hear such a high voice coming out of a guy.

After singing the revised lyrics of the song, I thought it wasn't half bad.

But Dave came up with another idea. "How about we take Britney in her school girl uniform and have her dance with Michael Jackson!"

"In his Thriller leather," I suggested. "Michael Jackson could be Britney's bad dude boyfriend."

"Or maybe instead of Thriller we could use that Michael Jackson song I'm Bad. We could change it to I'm Sad, I'm Sad." Dave sang the 'I'm Sad' part to illustrate the switch. "Now wouldn't that be an odd couple — Michael and Britney . . . Although both have done Pepsi commercials."

"Right. They both could sing 'We're the Pepsi degeneration.'"

"This pairing has a few possibilities."

"Gee, you know Dave, you were right about how every megastar singer goes through a period of backlash . . . You don't want to get into the child abuse theme with Britney's song, do you?" I asked.

"It's tempting. But I don't think we should kick Michael Jackson when he's down. Besides, we don't want fantasy to mirror real life too closely. We want to go for some laughs — not lawsuits."

"Too controversial, eh?"

"I think so - even by our show's standards."

I kind of liked Dave's sense of right and wrong.

6

May lived in one of those high-rise apartments in Vancouver's West End.

When I drove up in my new silver Toyota Celica, she was waiting at the front door.

She wore a summery brilliant white cotton dress and sandals. It was appropriate for the hot humid weather.

As was our usual custom, we hugged and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. That little gesture put me in a confident mood. Was it just me or did all guys read a lot into an innocent little embrace or a kiss on the cheek?

I opened the car door for May and walked briskly around to the driver's side.

"I like your car." May smiled. "Is it new?"

"Yes. When I got the new gig with ECSTASY, I celebrated with a little shopping spree."

"So do you like fast sports cars?"

"It's no Ferrari, but this will do. She's got a 1.8 liter 4 cylinder engine putting out 180 horses, with a 6 speed manual transmission. And is it ever smooth!"

"Boys and their toys."

I thought about peeling out of the driveway, but somehow I sensed that May wouldn't have been impressed.

Spotting my CD storage case, May asked, "What kind of music do you like?"

"Well, right now I've been listening to Britney Spears and Michael Jackson because of that skit we just did. But Shakira and Shaggy and J Lo or whoever's popular or whatever comes on the radio. Anything that rocks."

"I love Shakira. When I hear Whenever, Wherever, I feel like getting up and dancing!"

"Me too."

"Her music video is absolutely incredible! And she's got a great look."

"I like the fact that she writes her own songs too. She is so talented."

May looked at me for a moment. "Have you ever thought of impersonating her?"

"Hmmm, I wonder if I could. I think I can do her voice pretty well."

"Don't worry about the look. Daniel can do wonders with the makeup and wigs."

Thinking about two amazing transformations, I said, "I know. He's the best."

A few minutes later, we were approaching Stanley Park from the Georgia Street entrance. To my right, across the calm waters of Coal Harbour, near Deadman's Island, we could catch a glimpse of totem poles of the First Nations. Then I could see hundreds of yachts moored at the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club.

Stanley Park, named after a former Governor General of Canada, claimed to be one of the largest urban parks in North America. An evergreen oasis, over a thousand acres in size, it was the crown jewel of Vancouver.

As it was about a quarter to five on a Sunday, some of the families that had spent an afternoon at the park had left. Finding a parking spot wasn't mission impossible.

I had chosen the Prospect Point Café on the recommendation of Dave. Located on a high promontory, it had an outdoor patio, with lots of shade trees. Straight ahead of us, dominating the vista, was the elegant Lion's Gate Suspension Bridge, spanning the entrance to Burrard Inlet. Beyond that was scenic West Vancouver and Grouse Mountain. Below us was a bicycle/roller blade and pedestrian path. A magnificent stand of huge fir, cedar, and hemlock, stretching to the heavens, stood behind us. To the west was English Bay or the Georgia Strait, separating the mainland from Vancouver Island. The skyline of downtown Vancouver lay to the east, and in the distance, through the haze, were mountains such as snow-capped Mount Baker. The Pacific Ocean and the hot humid weather created an idyllic summer atmosphere.

We both ordered long tall ice teas. May opted for the Mandarin chicken salad. I tried the garden salad and a club sandwich.

"I loved that Britney Spears/Michael Jackson skit," May said. "You guys put so much energy into the dancing!"

"Thanks. But your costumes and Daniel's amazing makeup really made it come alive!"

"What a concept! Michael Jackson and Britney Spears together."

"I'm so glad that Ted Walters called in that choreographer, Julien Allard, to help with the dance steps."

"It was funny. Right behind the camera Julien's doing those dance steps. And while the audience believes you're looking at the camera, you're copying Julien's movements, step for step."

"I hope it will look like I knew what I was doing, although I think Dave had the harder dance routine to learn. Michael Jackson probably set the standard for music video choreography."

"And finishing with Michael Jackson wrecking that Pepsi vending machine. That was so funny!"

"I don't know how the set crew came up with that mock up so quickly. The work that everyone associated with the show does is just incredible. You guys really do earn your Genie Awards."

"Thanks . . . How did you guys ever come up with the idea? Was it because of the Pepsi commercials?"

"Sometimes I'm not really sure where the ideas spring from," I admitted. "I mean, I can't speak for Dave, but when an idea pops into my head, it's intuitive. It can come from anywhere. It's like a snippet from a music video, a scene from a commercial, a byte
from an interview or a magazine article - there are all these different sources. It's like the ingredients to a cake. You combine many different elements. On their own they may be tasteless. But when the cake comes out of the oven all done, it tastes great! And it's like magic because the dough, the flour and the yeast and the baking soda don't taste good on their own, but when you combine them with nuts and cherries and chocolate, the whole thing is transformed. It's like alchemy. Lead gets turned into gold."

"And that rich chocolate cake gets turned into fat — for most people. Except you."

"Oh, I've been trying to lose that weight to get my waist down."

"Have you been using the corset?" she whispered, aware that the people sitting nearby might think it odd.

"Yes. Every night I wear it to bed, faithfully. And I do those stomach toning exercises you showed me."

"You'd better if you want to do some of those other amazing girls."

"Yes. I've noticed that the female singers, like Christina Aguilera or Shakira, if they're going to be megastars these days, they have to look gorgeous. They have to have a to-die-for body, they need to produce a slick, energized music video with lots of eye candy, and they require a pure voice that can soar above the heavens. Oh, and it helps if the songs have a pounding beat, a great melody, and memorable lyrics."

"A piece of cake."

"Exactly."

***

After dinner, we wandered down to the sea wall.

May suggested we wait for the Stanley Park Shuttle, a tram to transport visitors around this remarkable verdant ecosystem.

Fortunately, our timing was perfect. Within a minute, we boarded the public people mover and headed east and then south along the seawall.

The curious thing about the water on any side of Stanley Park, in spite of the heat and the humidity, was that the Pacific Ocean stayed relatively cold at this latitude.

Nevertheless some beach adventurers braved the waters.

The seawall pathway stretched for almost nine kilometers around the peninsula that was Stanley Park, although we were not going to ride or walk along the entire trail. After hugging the seawall along Burrard Inlet for a stretch, the shuttle dropped us near
Lumberman's Arch.

I held May's hand as we strolled down a trail away from Burrard Inlet, Vancouver's Harbour. We passed by a wonderful, picturesque, miniature railway. I had had a fascination with railways when I was a kid growing up in Winnipeg, as our city was
known as the Gateway to the West. I made a mental note to try this ride on the next visit.

Vancouver Aquarium, the home, until a few years ago, of Killer Whales, intrigued me. "Free Willie!" I joked as we passed the tank that once held these magnificent feeding machines. Beluga Whales were now the star attraction. All the present tenants of the
aquarium were species native to the area.

As we strolled through the grounds, May and I talked about many things: our families, where we grew up, what we studied in school, what we enjoyed doing, and, incredible as it may seem, our philosophies on life. Yeah, spiritual stuff. Like Monty Python's The Meaning of Life plus Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. We avoided any more talk about work.

When we switched course and headed west across the heart of the park, we encountered the peaceful Lost Lagoon and its bird sanctuary. Later we passed by a pitch and putt par three golf facility, surrounded by a lush rhododendron garden. Some roller bladers played hockey in one of the parking lots. We drank in the summer fun atmosphere.

Clearly we both appreciated nature. And May, a Vancouver native, served as my guide.

A large expanse of sand surrounded a natural pool on English Bay. There were young athletic guys and girls playing beach volleyball in the white sand. We paused for a moment or two to admire some of these amazing specimens. They looked so fit and healthy and beautiful.

It's almost impossible for two people to cover a regulation volleyball court. You have to dive into the sand repeatedly to dig out the ball. Whoever made up the rules to this torturous game was a real sadomasochist.

There was a welcome cooling salt air breeze wafting off the Strait of Georgia, between the mainland and huge, distant Vancouver Island.

As the sun set below the horizon, it brought us closer together. It was a magnificent orange ball that sank slowly, almost imperceptibly, below sea level. We both sensed a need for intimacy.

All along the beachfront there was this seawall that had been built to hold back the sea during stormy weather — to protect the shoreline and the pathway from erosion damage. For a moment, we sat on the edge of the seawall, but it didn't give us the privacy away from the occasional pedestrian or cyclist or inline skater. Perhaps if we could find a large rock to hide behind we could get a little bolder.

I helped May hop down to the bottom of the four-foot high seawall.

At the base of the seawall, we did manage to find a flat and dry stone face to sit down on. At least our fannies wouldn't get wet. We could hear the lap of the waves against the sand and rocks not more than twenty yards away.

The sun was below the horizon, but we could still sense light reflecting off some clouds above. In the fast fading twilight, we looked out onto the water. It was so calm and serene, nary a ship in sight.

I looked into her eyes. I put my arm around her shoulder. May put her hand on my upper thigh for a moment.

It was all the encouragement I needed. With a tap on my lap, I invited her to sit sidesaddle on top of me. She wrapped one arm around my neck and the other around my waist. We hugged. Then I held her tight as we kissed. I parted my lips slightly. She reciprocated. And I could taste a hint of the lemon ice tea we'd both had hours earlier.

We were joined as one.

7

The first two shows seemed to be unqualified successes. We had many solid skits that I thought were hilarious.

But an Attack of the Clones parody had been scrapped. It would take a lot of work to either find a suitable location or to create a futuristic set. And the costuming costs might put a strain on the show's weekly budget.

In the comedy clubs I had performed in, surprises were a regular happening. So getting accustomed to this bizarre cast and crew was something that didn't take long.

One thing I learned was that this group worked quickly. They were very pragmatic. And they weren't prima donnas. They didn't let their egos get in the way. For example, they gave me the role of the dirty player in the hockey skit. And I hope I didn't disappoint.

For the week three bull session, I found I could draw upon a few ideas I had come across in the comedy clubs.

I created a list of the top ten reasons why a woman should marry a beautiful, wealthy transvestite:

10. He'll fly you to Paris for lunch.

9. He'll enjoy shopping with you because SHE was born to shop!

8. He'll understand why you maxed out his credit card to buy new clothes.

7. You won't have to wear the same gown ever again. SHE will wear your hand-me-
downs.

6. He knows a facial and a massage are an essential part of a healthy regimen.

5. You'll have a different color limousine for every day of the week.

4. You can go to dance clubs and pick up sexy guys together.

3. He'll always smell nice.

2. You can enjoy lesbian sex with your husband.

1. If you ever want a divorce, you can extort a generous settlement.

Perhaps we could make a Letterman parody out of it.

Eventually we settled on four ideas for the show. One was the security searches endured by passengers boarding planes at the airport. Another skit centered on kids learning finger painting in an art class. The third was about a family going to a pet store to buy a
puppy for the children. And the fourth was a parody of the film When Harry Met Sally - the memorable scene where Sally fakes an orgasm in a restaurant.

This famous scene was a no-brainer as far as I was concerned. That is, until I was somehow ordained to play the Meg Ryan part.

This caused some self-doubt. Meg Ryan was quite beautiful. Could I be made up to resemble her?

The second fear was less worrisome. Could I fake orgasm in much the same manner as Meg Ryan? That would be a real challenge to my comedic acting skills. But I realized this was comedy. In a parody, exact replication of a scene wasn't necessary. In fact, it might be funnier if I couldn't fool anybody with my fake orgasm.

I'd have to do some homework. I'd have to get hold of Nora Ephron's script and watch the film sequence over and over again. Then I'd have to practice that faked orgasm over and over again to get it just right.

***

Early Friday morning, when I finally sat down in the makeup chair in front of Daniel Roberts, I relaxed a little. I realized that Daniel was one of the best in the business.

"Don't worry honey," Daniel confided, "when I'm through with you, Meg Ryan will wish she looked as good as you."

And then I remembered that Meg and Billy were much younger when they did When Harry Met Sally.

Daniel began by giving me a very close shave with a straight edged razor. I must admit to being a little afraid when the razor was placed on my neck and scraped over the delicate skin. For a moment I had visions of some Halloween horror film - with Daniel slitting my throat from ear to ear.

I was so nervous I began to sweat!

As Daniel drew the razor over the sensitive skin, I tried to think of something else. I tried to think of anything else, but the harder I tried, the more I thought about Daniel accidentally cutting my throat. Or purposely cutting my throat!

I was sure Daniel was a homicidal maniac!

But when the last of the shaving foam disappeared, the crisis passed, I relaxed a little and let Daniel do his magic.

To start, Daniel covered my thick hair under an elasticized wig cap. Next he spread moisturizing cream on my face to protect my skin from damage caused by makeup. Because of my natural blond hair and fair skin and very light beard growth, Daniel deftly
applied a normal cake foundation makeup with a small triangular-shaped sponge, creating a blank palette for his artistic impression of Meg Ryan. He used a narrow glue-stick tube to flatten my eyebrows. Then he used a tattoo cover makeup to blot out the unwanted eyebrow areas. Next Daniel used a light brown, almost blond, eyebrow pencil to create tapered feminine arches for my eyebrows.

Daniel stood back for a moment, comparing my visage to Meg Ryan's photo.

Then he began using a darker foundation along the jaw line to emulate Meg Ryan's oval shaped face. A little rose blush was brushed onto the cheekbones to bring them out a little. Then a little more shading was applied below the cheekbones.

A tube of concealer was next. Daniel dabbed two white Nike swooshes below my eyes to cover the divots.

Daniel paused once more and compared my face to Meg's photo. "It's looking good, even if I say so myself."

He carefully painted on the brown eyeliner, then applied a little lash lengthening mascara in light brown-blond, and a dash of eye shadow - more for shaping purposes rather than for color.

Next he outlined my lips and carefully brushed on some rose lipstick and then a dab of a lighter shade of lip-gloss.

I pressed my upper lip over my bottom lip as I had seen girls do.

Now I had those pouty Meg Ryan lips.

Daniel stepped over to the counter for a moment, and then turned toward me. In his hands was an orangey-blonde wig.

As I leaned forward, he placed the tousled blonde shoulder length curls on my head. He adjusted it slightly to frame my face properly. A brush appeared in his hands, and he fluffed up the thick mane, then he combed it gently.

He stood back for a moment.

"Yes. That's it . . . Stand up. Have a look at yourself in the mirror."

I stood up. I took a few steps over to a full-length mirror. Looking at my reflection, I was very pleasantly surprised.

A young Meg Ryan looked back at me.

Even though she wore beige cotton pants and a blue smock, it was Meg Ryan. I couldn't believe it! It was magic!

"What do you think? Are you Meg Ryan or are you Meg Ryan?"

"That's unbelievable. I'm that Sally Albright girl," I said.

I hugged Daniel and kissed him on both cheeks.

I couldn't believe I just did that. Show biz behavior was contagious.

At the doorway, as if on cue, May appeared.

"Wow! To quote Billy Crystal, 'You look mmm-mahvellous!'" May gushed. "And with the right clothes, you'll look exactly like Meg's identical twin."

To describe the way I felt would be rather difficult. To look like a beautiful movie star made me tingle all over. I felt reborn. It was a revelation! I kept looking at my reflection in the mirror. That couldn't be me. It just couldn't.

***

The camera panned across a busy diner.

Portraying Sally, dressed in a comfy blue sweater, a white blouse and a long dark blue skirt, I was talking with Harry, played by Dave Poole.

"What do you do with these women, you just get up out of bed and leave?" I asked in my best Meg Ryan effervescent tone.

"Sure," Harry/Dave said, attired in blue jeans and a checkered blue, black and white sweater.

The makeup crew really did a superb job with the dark beard and the early forties receding hair/male pattern baldness effect. Dave was Billy Crystal or, at least, a reasonable facsimile.

"Well explain to me how you do it. What do you say?" I asked.

An elderly 'bus boy' cleared away some of our dishes.

"You'd say you have an early meeting, early haircut or a squash game." Dave's rat-a-tat-tat delivery was Billy Crystal personified.

"You don't play squash."

"They don't know that. They just met me."

"That's disgusting."

"I know. I feel terrible."

'What a smart ass!' I thought. "You know I'm so glad I never got involved with you," I said angrily, as I tore apart my sandwich and removed the limp lettuce. "I just would've ended up being some woman you had to get up out of bed and leave at three o'clock in the morning and clean your andirons, and you don't even have a fireplace," I said with emphasis as I plastered the turkey slices together one layer after another. "Not that I would know this."

"Why are you getting so upset? This is not about you."

"Yes it is. You are a human affront to all women and I am a woman!" I exclaimed with disgust.

"Hey I don't feel great about this but I don't hear anyone complaining."

"Of course not. You're out of the door too fast," I countered as I munched on the sandwich.

"I think they have an OK time."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean how do I know? I know," Harry/Billy/Dave said quickly and confidently.

"Because they…" I said gesturing with a roll of my hands.

"Yes because they…" Harry said mimicking the gesture with the hands.

"And how do you know that they really…"

"What are you saying, that they fake orgasm?" Harry asked, signing like he was communicating with a deaf person.

"It's possible." I tossed my hands up to indicate doubt.

"Get outta here."

"Why? Most women at one time or another have faked it."

"Well they haven't faked it with me," Harry said emphatically as he chewed his kosher corned beef on rye.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know."

"Oh, right, that's right," I said as I wiped my fingers with a paper napkin. "I forgot. You're a man."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just that all men are sure it never happened to them and that most women at one time or another have done it, so you do the math."

"You don't think that I could tell the difference?"

"No." I said shaking my head.

"Get outta here."

I tilted my head as I considered his reply for a moment. Then an impish smile crept into my expression.

"Mmm…mmm," I closed my eyes and pouted for a moment. "Oh…Oh," I moaned.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked quietly.

I reached up and primped my thick blonde hair, then brought my hand down over my B cup breasts. "Oh…oh god…Ooo Oh god," I moaned.

Louder and faster I grunted, "Oh…Oh…Oh…Oh god," as I thrust my head back.

The camera cut to other people sitting near us. They turned their attention to our table as I built toward orgasm.

"Oh yeah right there…Oh! Oh!" I panted faster and faster.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" I screamed as I started banging on the tabletop in time to my screams of unbridled joy. "Yes! Yes! Yes…Oh…Oh!" I cried out, pounding on the table to emulate the sound of the headboard rocking up against the bedroom wall!

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" I screamed as I banged the table to climax!

"Oh… Oh…Oh…Oh God!" came the throes of ecstasy!

"Oh…Oh…Ah," whimpered the post orgasm denouement.

The quivering and mewing over, I smiled at Harry like the cat that had just swallowed the canary.

I picked up a long spoon and plopped a dollop of cherry ice cream into my mouth. Mmmm good!

Harry, awestruck, looked a little uneasy.

The camera panned to another table where a waiter was taking an order from a middle-aged woman, Scott Calvin in drag. "I'll have what she's having."

There was a momentary pause.

"Cut!" director Aaron Spacek yelled. "That was great! Just perfect! It was exactly like the movie. Meg Ryan, you were wonderful! A real spunky sexy broad! And Billy Crystal, you were the ultimate male chauvinist pig!"

That felt so good - to be praised like that.

"Now, when the set crew gets the food set up again, I want you guys to do another take. This time I want you guys to make it funny. Do it your way instead of Meg's way," Aaron urged. "You know what I mean? For instance, at the climax, instead of banging your hand on the table the way Meg Ryan did, reach over and grab Dave with both hands. Then bang his head on the table! Over and over again! Until blood gushes out of his ears!"

8

When we stopped shooting to break for lunch, I hurried off to visit the men's room. Or rather, the washroom in my dressing room.

Walking into the spacious dressing room area, I could see that Daniel and May were still hard at work. Daniel, with brush in hand, was styling an auburn wig. It was long and curly and looked like it needed taming. May was busy altering a dress. Very few of the off the rack dresses fit the guys in the show properly.

"Hey Sean, how did it go?" Daniel asked.

"Didn't you see it?"

"Sorry, but no. May and I were getting things together for tomorrow's shoot."

"It went very well. But you know Aaron, he still wants to do a few more takes this afternoon. He's such a perfectionist."

"Yes." Daniel nodded in agreement. "Retake after retake."

"Hey Sean, would you like to join us for lunch?" May asked.

"I'd love to, May, but as you can see, I'm not dressed for it," I said. The blue sweater, white blouse, long dark skirt and leather boots were definitely out of season.

"Oh come on," Daniel urged. "You're wearing exactly what Meg Ryan wore in the restaurant."

I laughed. "Good point, but I really don't think I should go out in drag."

"Why not?" Daniel insisted. "You've got to eat sometime. And Dave will be joining us. He'll still be in his Billy Crystal hair, makeup and clothing. Why don't you come along?"

I paused for a moment. I was wearing girl's clothing and I looked exactly like Meg Ryan. Were they nuts? Probably. But I needed to get to know my co-workers a little better. May Cheung in particular. It would have been bad manners to turn down May's invitation since we had had our first date five days ago.

My daring nature got the better of me. "Okay. You convinced me. But we have to be back in one hour."

"No problem," Daniel said.

***

We took Dave's Mercedes to a nearby restaurant, about 5 minutes from our suburban Burnaby studio.

Being lunch hour, the White Spot was pretty busy.

Even while inside the restaurant, Dave wore a baseball hat and sunglasses to hide his resemblance to Billy Crystal. Dave was a little concerned that some of the patrons might recognize "Billy."

I kept on the large white sunhat May had given me. And May's Serengeti's fit pretty well.

Nevertheless, I had to admit, there seemed to be a lot of people staring at us while we stood in line. Sporting sunglasses indoors didn't exactly make a person inconspicuous. And since Dave and I were both wearing sweaters on a hot summer day, what was wrong
with this picture?

In contrast, May looked lovely in a mint green sundress and Roots sandals. Daniel wore a white polo shirt and khaki pants; very summery.

We tried to look nonchalant. I kept my mouth shut, nodded my head once in awhile, and let May, Dave and Daniel carry the conversation.

After a short wait, we were escorted to a table at the back. It was kind of in the open, surrounded by other tables, a row away from the windows.

The natural wood décor of the restaurant reflected British Columbia's resource heritage.

"You guys come here often?" I asked in my best Meg Ryan voice.

"Occasionally," Daniel said as he looked at the colorful plastic laminated menu.

"I guess you aren't familiar with the White Spot chain," May wondered.

"There aren't any in Winnipeg, my home town," I replied nervously. "But I've been to Vancouver before. This kind of reminds me of that Denny's chain, except it's got a classier
atmosphere, more of a Canadian feel to it."

"Less truck stop diner," Dave/Billy suggested.

"Yes."

"Winnipeg, eh. Not too many famous Canadian have come out of Winnipeg," Dave said.

"Not many . . . David Steinberg was a comedian."

"Oh yes, I remember him well. Bugga, bugga!" Dave imitated Steinberg's hand gestures. "You tend to remember guys with the same name as you."

"Of course I should mention The Guess Who and Bachman-Turner Overdrive."

"American Woman. Right?" May asked.

"Yes, and many more . . . But more recently, did you see Nia Vardalos in My Big Fat Greek Wedding?"

"Who?" asked Daniel.

"Nia Vardalos."

"I saw the movie. I loved it!" May said. "She had the lead role. And didn't she write the screenplay as well?"

"That's right," I said. "She came out of Second City, I think in both Chicago and Toronto."

"It was one of those small films that developed a word of mouth following," May added. "A sleeper hit."

Dave and Daniel looked at each other. "A chick flick!" they said in unison.

"No, it wasn't a chick flick!" May said adamantly.

A waiter interrupted us to take our orders.

"Hello everybody, my name is John. I will be serving you today. Are you ready to order? Or should I come back later?"

The slightly overweight, college age fellow spoke confidently. He wore Coke bottle see-more glasses, plus a cap, a tan shirt, a tie and Indian-Red pants - the uniform of all of the White Spot employees.

I seemed to pass the waiter's initial scrutiny without much notice, other than what I thought might have been a look of admiration.

The others seemed to know what they wanted. They went with the special of the day. Being a Friday, it was Dover Sole with a garden salad.

"I'll have what they're having," I said.

Dave stifled a laugh.

When the attendant hurried off to the kitchen, Dave snickered, "That's a line from our scene."

"You're right. I forgot about that."

"Hey, this is perfect," May said. "You guys could do the When Harry Met Sally scene right here, right now."

"Yes," Daniel agreed. "We missed it. We'd love to see you guys do it."

"Maybe later," Dave said. "Although my head is still smarting from the pounding it received." He lifted his ball cap for a moment and rubbed his forehead gingerly.

I smiled, but then a look of dread crept into in my facial expression. "Please give us a break," I pleaded. "Not here, please."

May shrugged as if to say 'okay.' Daniel didn't seem inclined to push the matter further.

I breathed a sigh of temporary relief, but I had a bad feeling about this whole thing. Were all of them conspiring to set me up for the ultimate embarrassment? Faking orgasm in a public place?

"Sean, I remember seeing you on TV occasionally," Daniel said. "Some talk shows. You'd come on and do a stand up routine."

"Yes. I made a few appearances," I replied, trying to keep my voice soft and feminine. "But I'm really happy to have the chance to join ECSTASY. This show really gets a lot of respect with the viewing public."

"Thanks," Dave said. "We were happy with our work last year, although I think there's still room for improvement."

"How so?" I asked.

"A bigger budget would help," Dave said.

"Yes," May said. "We sure do put in a lot of hours. Better pay is long overdue."

"It would be nicer if there were a few more writers, cast members and crew," Dave said.

"Well, maybe if the show gets great ratings, you'll see some growth," I said hopefully.

"I wish occasionally we'd do a few political things too," Dave added.

"Isn't that a bit difficult?" I commented. "Being a Canadian show that's seen in the United States, Britain and maybe Australia, political issues don't necessarily cross borders easily."

"Some don't," Dave said. "Some do. Obviously you can't make fun of the Prime Minister. Americans wouldn't get it and the Brits wouldn't care either.

"But some social issues are international in scope," said Daniel.

"Such as . . . "

"Racial discrimination, terrorism, women's rights, gay rights."

"But ECSTASY is a comedy show," I said. "We're not making public television documentaries are we? We're trying to make people laugh."

"We can still poke fun at the major issues of the day," Dave said. "You've done stand up. You use current events as material for your jokes."

"Yes, but I think ECSTASY does some of that too," I said. "At least that's my impression."

"Not enough," Dave said. "The 'suits' like Ted Walters make decisions as to the overall direction of the show. And he wants to avoid political or topical stuff."

"I can understand it from his point of view though," I said. "It's not just international sales that are of concern. Once the series is all over, for example, the show could be syndicated and it could be shown in reruns for a long period of time. And if it's rerun in the United States ten years from now, nobody will understand a reference to Prime Minister Jean Chretien."

"Even if it ran now," Dave said.

The waiter returned with our orders. He served up the drinks, salads, and fish. Then he moved on quickly to a table behind me where another group was being seated by the hostess.

"But the show always does light stuff," Daniel asserted. "Why can't you guys tackle something like gay rights. For example, gay marriages. I feel strongly about this issue. And I don't think we should avoid the topic simply because it's political."

"I agree," Dave said. "Now there's a topic we could handle in a skit."

"That does have comic possibilities," May said. "You must admit that."

"It does," I nodded. "And you don't think Ted would go for it?"

"He might," Dave said.

"I must admit that when I first heard about the idea of gay marriages I was absolutely against it," I said. "Particularly for child adoption."

"And now?" May asked.

"I can understand the arguments for both sides, although I doubt my parents will ever accept gay marriages."

"Well, we're in favor of it," Daniel said as he linked hands with May and Dave and drew them toward him.

"What brought it about, I think in large part, was AIDS," Dave said.

"How so?" I asked.

"When a gay man got AIDS, if he had a partner, that person supported him — emotionally and financially. And if the person with AIDS died, his partner was not entitled to collect any benefits that a married person would have been able to confer on his or her surviving spouse."

"Like what?"

"A pension for one."

"And the government acts like a vulture on the dead person's estate," Daniel added.

"Also," Dave began, "I think gay people would enjoy a ceremony to formalize a union of two people. It would bring satisfaction to them to legitimize their relationship."

"I know when I fill in my income tax return," May said, "I don't get the same tax breaks as married people, especially those with dependents."

"All good points," I said.

"Besides," May said, "no government should deprive gay men the ecstasy of Bridal Registry."

I had to laugh at that one. It sounded like a line from Margaret Cho in her film Notorious. I liked that comedy concert movie.

"And I could make a lovely bride," Daniel said in a falsetto voice as he held Dave's hand in plain view on the tabletop.

They both laughed aloud.

May asked, "So how does it feel to be a girl today?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little nervous," I said in a quiet, soft voice. "I feel like some police officer is going to come by our table and arrest me."

"For what?" Dave asked.

"Impersonation. Fraud. Soliciting. I don't know," I said as I tried some of the salad. "Isn't it illegal for a guy to dress like this?"

"Not that I know of," Dave said.

"Maybe years ago," Daniel said.

Four ladies at the table by the window got up to leave. I wasn't sure if they heard what we were talking about.

"You look exactly like Meg Ryan," May said. "It's not like anybody is going to believe you're a guy!"

The breaded sole, with some lemon juice, tasted pretty good.

"Please keep your voice down. It's easy for you guys to be relaxed. You aren't the one in drag!" I hissed.

"You aren't the only one playing a role," reminded Dave from behind his shades.

"Well we're both wearing hats and sunglasses. I don't think either of us wants attention."

I shouldn't have said that.

Immediately Dave discarded his baseball hat and sunglasses. He wasn't afraid of challenges.

That was the signal. May and Daniel stood up, gathered their plates, cups and cutlery, and shifted over to the recently vacated table by the window.

Reluctantly I passed my borrowed hat and Serengeti's over to May.

"What do you do with these women, you just get up out of bed and leave?" I asked.

"Sure," Dave replied.

"Well explain to me how you do it. What do you say?" I asked, trying to get up some enthusiasm for this incredibly dumb stunt!

"You'd say you have an early hockey game, tough commute, or early meeting."

Dave had altered the words a little.

"You don't play hockey," I noted.

"They don't know that. They just met me," Dave said in the distinctive, loud, quick paced voice of Billy Crystal.

"That's disgusting."

"I know. I feel terrible. What can I say?"

"You are so superficial! Harry, you're so shallow if you dove into a swimming pool you'd break your neck! You know I'm so glad I never got involved with you," I said angrily, as I stuck a fork in my Dover Sole. "I just would've ended up being some woman you had to get up out of bed and leave at three o'clock in the morning and clean your irons, and you don't even play golf." I noticed that not only were May and Daniel paying attention, but some people at another table were pointing at us. "Not that I would know this."

"Why are you getting so upset? This is not about you. I would never be dishonest with you . . . Well except for maybe a little white lie or two."

"Yes it is about me. You are a human affront to all women and I am a woman!" I exclaimed with exaggerated disgust.

"Hey I don't feel great about this but I don't hear anyone complaining."

"Of course not. You're out of the door too fast," I countered as I picked up a piece of lettuce from my Garden Salad and chucked it at him.

Dave feigned pain as he chewed on his Sole. "I think they have an OK time."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean how do I know? I know. I'm god's gift to women."

"Yeah right. You are so arrogant. Women bow down to you. They rejoice at having sex with you!" I screamed!

Now everyone in the back half of the White Spot fixated on this battle of the sexes.

"Yes because they yell and scream like banshees in bed. I'm good in bed. What can I say?" Dave/Billy's voice tailed off in mock modesty.

"And how do you know that you really rock their socks off?"

"What are you saying, that they fake orgasm?" Dave asked, signing like I was absolutely nuts!

"It's possible," I said, tossing my hands up in disbelief.

"Get outta here, Sally. I know what's real."

"Why? Most women at one time or another have faked it."

"Well they haven't faked it with me. My dick is enormous. I'm Mr. Big. Why, for god's sake, they named a candy bar after me!"

"You braggart! You liar! You are so full of shit! How do you know women are satisfied?"

"Because I know."

"Oh, right, that's right," I said as I chucked a slice of tomato at him. "I forgot. You're a man."

"What is that supposed to mean? You'd prefer sex with another woman?"

May threw a tomato slice at Billy/Dave too.

I smiled. We were in this together.

"No. It's just that all men are sure it never happened to them and that most women at one time or another have faked it, so you do the math."

"You don't think that I could tell the difference?"

"No. You're too much in love with yourself, I doubt that you ever know what a woman is thinking or feeling."

"Get outta here."

Now both May and Daniel were tossing salad bits at Dave.

I tilted my head slyly, but I was aware of the buzz all around us. Now everyone in the restaurant was watching. People from the front had even come to the back to see what was going on. I think they believed we were the new lunchtime entertainment.

"Mmm…mmm," I closed my eyes and tried to show pleasure in my expression. "Oh…Oh," I moaned.

"Are you okay?" Dave asked in a quiet voice.

I reached up and fluffed up my thick mane of blonde hair. Then I brought my hand down over my bosom and massaged my falsies. "Oh…oh god…Ooo Oh god," I moaned.

Then I grunted a little louder and a little faster, "Oh…Oh…Oh…Oh god," as I thrust my head back.

Then I reached down with both hands and lifted my 'Sally' sweater over my head.

"Oh yeah right there…Oh! Oh!" I panted faster and faster.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" I screamed. Then I began pounding on the tabletop. "Yes! Yes! Yes…Oh…Oh!" I cried out.

I ripped open my white blouse to massage my breasts through the bra cups.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd!

Dave could take it no more.

He stood up. He grabbed the tablecloth! He swept the dishes, glasses and cutlery off the table with a huge crash and clatter!

Oblivious to the sounds of smashing china, in the throes of orgasm, I continued to moan and groan, panting faster and faster, screaming louder and louder. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Dave grabbed me with both arms, lifted me out of the chair and placed my backside onto the table.

"Oh god! Yes! Yes! Yes! Right there! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Dave savaged me with kisses and grunts and thrusts. He ground his crotch into me over and over and over again!

Was he insane?

He grabbed my upper body and proceeded to 'assault' me with uncontrolled fervor! He pounded my head into the table over and over again!

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

As my bewigged head bounced off the tabletop, I realized that Dave had taken advantage of the situation. He was exacting his revenge for this morning - when the tables had been reversed!

Suddenly a large piece of hamburger struck me in the mouth!

I looked to the other tables. It was then that I realized a full-fledged food fight had broken out!

Hell! It was a war! A battle of the sexes!

Women flung their grenades at the guys! The men hurled their bombs at the gals!

Absolute bedlam! Insanity!

I had to get into it! I tried to push Dave off me.

He didn't resist. He was too busy putting his arms up to shield himself from the incoming missiles!

I ducked under the table as quickly as I could. Partially protected by the table, I located the remnants of my spilled salad plate and its contents on the food-strewn floor.

Now I had ammunition!

I popped up, with cucumber slices in hand, and winged them at Daniel!

Bull's eye!

Then I got pinged by some French fries!

Who threw that!

I turned and pitched a handful of croutons and tomatoes blindly in the direction of the French fry fire!

Direct hit!

Taking cover beneath table level, I looked for my half-eaten Sole.

Food bits were flying about like shrapnel. I took a stinging zucchini slice to the face.

"Stop! Stop!" the waiter yelled.

I sprang up and I chucked the fish chunk at the waiter!

"Ha! Ha!" I taunted after the fish exploded against his chest!

When I ducked down under the table, Dave grabbed my hand.

"Sean, we have to get out of here! There'll be hell to pay! Literally hell to pay!"

With a quick look at the chaos all around us, I nodded, "Good point! Let's bail!"

One last gasp! I grabbed a hamburger patty that had deflected off the tabletop. I stood up and Frisbeed the patty two rows away at some big schlep sporting a Canucks cap and a big beer belly!

Gotcha! Bounced it off his friggin' noggin!

A chicken wing flew past my head! Hitting Dave instead!

Phew!

Ducking down again, I shuffled over to the next table, and I grabbed May by the hand. "Let's go!"

Hunched over with arms up to protect our heads, we ran the gauntlet of fire toward the nearest exit! Laughing all the way!

9

Standing in front of a full-length mirror in my private cubicle, I was almost ecstatic!

Looking back at me was a buff, naked Sharon Stone.

The blonde hair was pulled back neatly into a bun. She had that beautiful sultry smile, those perfect teeth, full lips, dark immaculate eyebrows, smoky smoldering eyes, that perfect iridescent skin; and yet, beneath the sexy sculpted exterior, was the hint of danger.

Even if my figure was shapely, my breasts didn't look realistic. The glued-on breasts were obviously false. No attempt had been made to blend the edge of the boobs with my real flesh.

Then there was what hung between my legs. That wouldn't do.

The decision as to what I else I should wear had been left up to me. Should I wear a false vagina? Or a gaff?

The false V string vagina was very tempting. The latex lips looked quite inviting. Although the prosthesis didn't look totally real, it certainly would pass the television camera's scrutiny of anything but a close up crotch shot. On the other hand, the gaff was a safe
choice and it was as easy to put on as a bikini bottom.

"Stop admiring yourself," May urged from the other side of the cubicle. "They're waiting for you on the set. There's no time to dilly dally."

Quickly I made my selection.

Then May handed me a white dress over top of a shuttered door. Hurriedly I slipped the dress over my head. When I stepped out of my change cubicle, May helped zip up the back of the outfit.

The turtleneck dress was sleeveless and short - it showed a lot of leg. The white satin felt smooth and sexy against my skin. May offered the soft white jacket to me. I slipped my left arm in, and then the other.

I slipped on the proffered footwear. They were open-toed, white high heels with a sling-back strap.

Sharon Stone's captivating image looked back at me from the full-length mirror.

The transformation had come at the cost of the complete removal of my body hair. And my whole body felt so different. My skin felt so silky smooth! It felt so feminine! And sexy! And did I mention sexy!

"Don't forget the earrings," May reminded as she held up the faux diamond studs. "This will take a minute. I have to glue them on since you still haven't pierced your ears."

I sat down in a chair as May glued the backs of the fake diamonds. Then she stuck them onto my ears. Using her thumbs and forefingers, she clamped onto my earlobes for thirty seconds or so to ensure that the diamonds would stick.

For the past few days, I had been immersed in the Joe Esterhas script. I had studied one particular Sharon Stone scene until I knew her every gesture, expression, nuance and inflection by heart. Nevertheless I still had the butterflies.

"Okay Sean. Go get 'em tiger," May encouraged. We kissed.

Then I dashed down the hallway to the studio set as fast as I could manage in my high heels.

It was a police interrogation room. Lights from the baseboards and from fluorescent lights above illuminated the light gray brick walls. It created a stark, antiseptic, menacing atmosphere.

"Sorry for the delay," I said to the others.

"Women. Always have to fix their hair and makeup - and they never have anything to wear," Scott Calvin complained.

"You're looking beautiful, babe," Mark Mitchell said admiringly. "I don't know how you do it."

"Thanks Mark," I replied in my best Sharon Stone voice.

Then somebody's arm wrapped around me from behind.

"Well, if it isn't Michael Douglas," I teased as he gave me a hug.

"Very sexy," Dave said slyly.

Dave wore a wig resembling the distinctive sweptback hairstyle of Michael Douglas, in the part of Detective Nick Duggan.

All of the actors on the set were dressed in suits.

But there were two fellas I didn't recognize.

"Hi," a new character said. "I'm Terry Edwards."

We hugged and I gave him kisses on both cheeks.

With a look of delight, he said, "I'm supposed to be Lieutenant Walker in this scene. And I'm supposed to be your body-double at some time in the future."

"Ah, Ted told me he'd be hiring someone to double for me," I said with a friendly smile. "Please turn around for a moment."

There was a momentary look of surprise. Then he did as I asked.

"So that's what I look like from the back," I said with a giggle.

"Yeah," Terry said with a laugh. "I guess that's why they hired me."

"Hey, if you handle your lines well, who knows what that might lead to."

"I hope I get more work."

I gave him an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

Then I approached the other new guy who was talking to producer Ted Walters.

Hi," I said, "I just wanted to introduce myself."

"Please allow me to do the honors," Ted said. "Although he looks like Sharon Stone right now, this is really Sean Davidson."

"And he's Darryl Logan," Ted said.

We hugged.

"Pleased to meet you," I said.

"Incredible. This is like The Crying Game," Darryl joked. "You're not related to Jaye Davidson, are you?"

"Only by inclination," I replied.

Darryl was a middle-aged portly fellow with a crew cut. He looked like one of the cops on NYPD.

"All right, time's a wasting," Aaron said. "Let's take our positions. Since Sean was in makeup when we rehearsed, let's stick to the way it's scripted. We can improvise in subsequent takes. Okay?"

In the film Basic Instinct, Sharon Stone played the role of seductive Catherine Tramell, a mystery writer. Michael Douglas was Nick Duggan a police detective. The Sharon Stone character was a prime suspect in a series of vicious sex murders.

The interrogation scene was memorable for two reasons. First, Sharon Stone, as a femme fatale murderer, toyed with the five police detectives who grilled her and tried to pressure her into admitting she was the killer. Second, during the interrogation, Sharon Stone flashed her bald beaver at the detectives, making memorable cinematic history.

There were three cameras set up to record the action.

I walked in with Nick/Dave and Gus/Darryl. In the room were prosecutor John Correlli/Scott, Lt. Walker/Terry, and Captain Talcott/Mark.

As soon as I stepped into the interrogation room, Scott/Correli approached me briskly.

"I'm John Correli, Miss Tramell, assistant district attorney. I have to inform you this session is being taped. This is Captain Talcott."

"My pleasure," Captain Talcott said as we shook hands.

"And Lieutenant Walker," Correli continued.

"Hi," Lt. Walker said with a firm squeeze of the hand.

Captain Talcott asked, "Can we get you anything? A cup of coffee?"

"No thank you," I replied, hoping that I sounded like Sharon Stone.

Correli asked, "Are your attorneys going to join us?"

Nick Duggan stepped forward. "Ms. Tramell has waived her rights to an attorney."

Correli and Talcott looked at Nick knowingly.

I spotted the look. "Did I miss something?" I asked with an innocent smile.

"I told them that you wouldn't want an attorney present," Nick said.

"Why have you waived your right to an attorney?" Captain Talcott asked.

Looking at Nick, I asked, "Why did you think I wouldn't want one?"

Nick said, "I told them you wouldn't want to hide."

"I have nothing to hide." I stared at Nick for a moment. If they only knew the truth.

I walked forward to the solitary black armchair chair set up for me. I sat down, with my legs crossed, giving the detectives an in-your-face look at my shapely limbs. I smiled for the camera, hoping that I was showing the inner confidence of a beautiful woman.

The police detectives sat down at two separate tables. Gus and Nick sat at a table to my left. Correli, Captain Talcott and Lt. Walker sat at a table to my right.

I reached into my jacket pocket. I extracted a cigarette and lighter.

I tried to stay poised. Cool, calm, in complete command of my emotions.

Correli said, "There's no smoking in this building Miss Tramell."

"What are you going to do? Charge me with smoking?"

I slowly and deliberately lit my cigarette and casually blew the smoke out. If they had sat nearer, I would have blown it in their faces.

Correli began. "Would you tell us the nature of your business with Mr. Boz?"

"I had sex with him for about a year and a half. I liked having sex with him." I felt very self-assured. As I continued speaking, I made eye contact first with Nick, then Gus, and then each of the other guys. "He wasn't afraid of experimenting . . . I like men like that . . . Men who give me pleasure . . . He gave me a lot of pleasure."

Corelli asked, "Did you ever, uh, engage in any sadomasochistic activity?"

I leaned forward and smiled. "Exactly what did you have in mind, Mr. Correli?"

Looking a little flustered, Correli asked, "Did you ever tie him up?"

"No."

"You never tied him up?" Nick asked.

"No. John A. liked to use his hands too much. I like hands with fingers . . . although fisting can be very pleasurable too."

They stared at me.

"You described a white silk scarf in your book," Lt. Walker stated.

As I took off my white jacket, I replied, "I've always had a fondness for white silk scarves. They're good for all occasions, even for tying men's limbs up to bedposts."

Nick noted, "But you said you like men to use their hands. Didn't you?"

"No I said I liked John A. to use his hands." I smiled. "I don't make any rules, Nick. I go with the flow." I eyed Nick as the camera zoomed in on me.

"Did you kill Mr. Boz, Miss Tramell?" Correli asked.

"I'd have to be pretty stupid to write a book about killing and then kill somebody the way I described it in my book. I'd be announcing myself as the killer. I'm not stupid."

Captain Talcott commented, "We know you're not stupid Miss Tramell."

Lt. Walker said, "Maybe that's what you're counting on to get you off the hook."

Nick said, "Writing the book gives you an alibi."

"Yes it does, doesn't it." I held Nick's eyes for a moment. "The answer is no. I didn't kill him."

Nick got up from his table to get a cup of coffee.

Gus asked, "Do you use drugs Miss Tramell?"

"Sometimes."

"Did you ever use drugs with Mr. Boz?" Lt. Walker asked.

"Sure."

"What kind of drugs?" Gus asked.

I looked directly at Nick.

"Cocaine . . . Have you ever fucked on cocaine Nick?"

Nick looked up. At that moment, he was standing almost directly in front of me. He held up his cup of coffee and took a sip.

With a teasing smile, I slowly, revealingly uncrossed my legs, flashing my panty-less crotch at the detectives. Correli, in particular, had a hungry sex-starved look.

But Nick lifted his coffee cup up at precisely the time I flashed my crotch to the detectives. The cup had blocked my genitalia from camera view.

There were looks of shock from all five!

"Fucking on cocaine," I reminded them, "it's nice."

And then I crossed my legs in the opposite direction, bringing my leg up a little higher than usual, to tantalize and tease.

"Why Miss Tramell!" Correli exclaimed. "You're a man!"

"Well duh! I just flashed my stiff dick at you! And I wrote a book entitled The Psycho Urban Legend! The main character is named Lorena Bates, and it turns out she's a pre-op transsexual."

None of this was in the prepared script. We were improvising now.

"I guess we should have clued in," Lt. Walker admitted. "Particularly since Mr. Boz was killed exactly as described in the book. His limbs were tied to the bedposts. His mouth was taped to muffle the screaming. Then the killer took out a common garden tool and did the dirty deed."

"In my book, the victim was Dwayne Bobblehead. His lover, Lorena, used a common garden tool as you described. She used a Weed Whacker to whack off…"

"We don't need to go into the dirty details, Miss Tramell!" Correli interrupted. "We know 'All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put the erector set together again.'"

Nick insinuated, "You like playing mind-bending games, don't you?"

"I have a degree in Psychology." I casually flicked my Bic on and off. "It goes with the turf. Games are fun."

I stared at Nick and he stared back at me.

"What about dressing up in drag? That's a game. Is that fun too?"

Captain Talcott interrupted, "I don't think that's relevant to this inquiry."

"Dressing was fun 'til Manny died."

Nick asked, "How'd you feel when he died?"

"I loved him. It hurt."

Nick eyed me. "How'd you feel when I told you Johnny Boz had died?"

"I felt like somebody had read my book and was playing a game."

"But it didn't hurt?"

"No."

"Because you didn't love him."

"That's right."

Nick's eyes bore into me. "Even though you were fucking him."

"Up the wazoo. You still get the pleasure. Didn't you ever fuck anybody else when you were married, Nick?"

Lt. Walker asked, "How'd you know he was married?"

"Maybe I was just guessing. What difference does it make?" I was mocking and taunting him. "Would you like a cigarette Nick?" I asked as I pulled out my cigarette case. "Or would you like to suck my dick?"

"Screw you! I'd like to punch your lights out, you sick pervert!"

"Can you say lawsuit Nick?" I asked, pointing to the video camera. "After all, this is San Francisco. Or are you into pain? Are you a sadomasochist too?"

Nick's eyes burned through me. But he backed off.

I lit another cigarette, hoping it would annoy Nick. Ex-smokers craved the nicotine fix.

Lt. Walker asked, "Do you two know each other?"

"No," Nick said.

"No, but I did kiss him. And I do like him . . . A lot."

Dick squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of our greeting kiss.

"How did you meet Mr. Boz? Lt. Walker asked.

"I wanted to write a book about the murder of a retired rock 'n roll star. I went down to his club, I picked 'Scags' up, that was my nickname for him, and I had sex with him."

Lt. Walker said, "You didn't feel anything for 'Scags' Boz. You just had sex with him for your book."

"In the beginning." I glanced at Nick. "Then I got to like what he did for me. And he loved having a chick with a dick."

Gus commented, "That's pretty cold ain't it Miss Tramell, or should I say Mister Tranny?"

I eyed Nick tauntingly. "Either will do . . . I'm a writer. I use people for what I write. I like seducing men. Let the world beware. I'm a shemale slut . . . Do you want me to take a lie detector test?"

There was a long pause.

"Cut!" Aaron Spacek yelled. "That was great! As good as it gets! I could really feel the tension. Especially the sexual heat! Sean, you were wonderful as that Catherine bitch. A psychotic temptress! If Sharon Stone doesn't want to do the sequel to Basic Instinct, you
should audition. We'll send in this tape. You're one sexy, dangerous killer!"

"Thank you Aaron! I love ya!"

As the other actors approached me, giving each other high fives, I got up from my chair.

"Amazing," Dave said. "You exuded sex! And when you uncrossed your legs, I didn't know what to expect."

I laughed. Then I hugged him.

"Did I surprise you?"

"Up 'til the crossover, it was the exact replay of Basic Instinct," Dave said. "But then I think there was genuine shock! Going au naturel. Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to point?"

Scott Calvin gave me a playful slap on the back. "Great take, Sean! And what a nasty surprise!"

"Terrific!" Mark Mitchell added. "It's like you were born to play the temptress. Or tempter I guess."

"That was bold!" Terry Edwards said with an impish grin. "But I don't think I can be your body double anymore."

I must have had a puzzled look on my face.

"I'm not circumcised," Terry said with mock despair. "And I'm not about to have the surgery."

"Very cute. Maybe you'll get more lines next time."

We hugged . . . If you had sex with your body double, would it be like masturbation?

"Thanks everybody! All you guys were great!"

I had a group hug with all of the guys.

Maybe it was the stimulating feel of the fabric. Perhaps it was the cool breeze between my smooth hairless legs or maybe it was just being in close proximity to five sexcited guys. My huge boner formed a wigwam in the front of the dress's white satin fabric. Thankfully all the guys pretended not to notice. And I pretended not to notice their totem poles either.

"All right! Let's set up again!" Aaron Spacek yelled. "Let's try to make it funnier this time! Less sexy. And we must eliminate the F word. Screw works for me. After all, we do have some kids that watch the show."

Even though our first take had failed the taste test, that afternoon marked a turning point in the way I felt about the show. Being the new member of the cast, I was worried that I was being too conservative! Too timid! Too hesitant! I think I had overcome that fear. Now I felt much more at home. And accepted. The other demon that I had been struggling with was simply that of dressing as a woman. I lacked confidence portraying a female. This scene was the first time I truly experienced the power of being an alluring sexy lady - or shemale. I really believed I could have tempted any man to do my bidding with just an encouraging smile or a come hither look.

Maybe even after they discovered Catherine/Sean was a man.

10

As I stood on the first tee of the Royal Vancouver Golf Club, I must admit that Lotus Land sure had a lot going for it. On one side of me was a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. In front of me was one of North America's finest golf courses. And in the distance was the snow-capped peak of majestic Mount Baker.

"Ladies first," I said to May.

"Thanks."

I watched as she lined up the ball. She took a practice swing, then with a little waggle of the club, she went into her swing motion again.

"Whoook!"

I followed the flight of the ball. It must have sailed two hundred yards down the middle of the fairway.

"Good shot!" I said.

"Thanks."

"I hope I won't embarrass myself."

"You said you played before."

"Uh huh, but watching your gorgeous form might just throw off my concentration a little."

She smiled.

May was dressed in an eye pleasing turquoise golf dress that showed off her shapely legs. I couldn't help myself. I was a leg man from way back.

Then I went into my hockey swing. "Whoook!" Adam Sandler didn't invent that in Happy Gilmore.

My ball was in trouble from the start. It sliced right, finding the deep rough on the first bounce, about a hundred fifty yards down the fairway. Perhaps it may have even rolled into the Douglas Fir forest.

"Damn balls," I complained. "These balls aren't supposed to slice or hook. They're guaranteed to go straight."

"I hope you kept the receipt. But I don't think the ball is the problem. Ultimately, no matter how you slice it, a golf ball is still a golf ball."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I merely said I had played the game before. I didn't say my name was Tiger."

"So why are you wearing dark pants, a red shirt and a black Nike cap?"

"Would you believe the intimidation factor?"

"Good try. I'm trembling," she said with a smile. "But right now, Woods might be appropriate."

"How's that?"

"I think your ball may have trickled into the trees."

After searching through the long rough and then the dense rainforest for a few minutes, I found the ball. And I do mean rainforest. A boy from Manitoba never saw Douglas Firs and Red Cedars higher than grain silos.

My Titleist had settled up against a tree root. I had to settle for chipping the ball back onto the fairway.

Then my next shot wasn't bad. It hit the green, but continued to roll and eventually ended up in the rough beyond the immaculately kept greens of this beautiful Royal Vancouver course. I had never mastered the art of backspin.

May's second shot was flag high, about 15 feet to the right of the pin.

I settled for a quadruple bogey eight. I should have stuck to mini golf. They stopped counting after seven shots.

Would you believe May holed her putt for birdie?

She created quite a first impression.

At the second tee, May shrugged and lamented my, "Bad luck."

"No," I replied in my best John Houseman voice, "I earned it."

"You have the honor this time."

I looked down the narrow fairway nestled in this heavily forested rugged ravine. Looking precariously close, a massive granite rock face jutted out on the right.

"Bit of a daunting hole, this next one. Dogleg right, three hundred ninety yards. It's a par four," I said in my best Sean Connery brogue.

I took a practice swing with my 1-Wood.

When I looked at a distant spot to target down the fairway, somehow I was reminded of a Tennyson poem.

Sand traps to the right of us,
Sand traps to the left of us,
Sand traps in front of us
My driver volleyed and thundered.

"Whoook!"

Into the Jaws of Death,
Into the Mouth of Hell,
Carried the ball at least two hundred.

The little white blur flew long and high, avoiding the sand hazards, but started hooking left. Unfortunately it was a dogleg right.

"At least I'm not in the woods," I remarked.

"Good distance, Tiger."

May took a practice swing. Then she went into that distinctive waggle. "Whoook!" It was like a replay of her shot at the first tee. Two hundred yards, slightly right, well placed for her second shot on the dogleg.

If this was any indication of how the afternoon was going to play out, I'd say I was going to be 'in tough.'

I never could stand getting beat at any sport by a girl.

For the rest of the round, I fared no better. It was like a Star Trek adventure. If there was a water hazard, a sand trap, deep rough, scenic cave, or alien vegetation, I went where no man had gone before.

As for May, she kept striking the ball with robotic precision. She had a sweet golf swing! But she didn't have the strength to really blast the ball.

Occasionally I hit the ball longer than May. However, I was very inconsistent.

At the Nineteenth Hole Restaurant, we sat down to have a cool beverage. On the outdoor patio, against the backdrop of a Tudor style clubhouse, we took refuge from the late afternoon sun beneath a rainbow colored sun umbrella.

"Let me see, with that double bogey on the eighteenth, that gave me eighteen bogeys for the round," I said as I placed my sweaty Nike cap on the green plastic dining table. "A pretty consistent streak, if I say so myself."

"Well, I had ten bogeys, two double bogeys," May said as she looked at her scorecard, "four pars and two birdies. I was ten over par."

"You only beat me by thirty-one strokes," I grumbled. "Is 113 an unlucky number?"

"No. However, if you're superstitious, round it up to 114. And we won't disqualify you for an incorrect score card."

"You are hard. But, I must admit, you thrashed me fair and square."

"Well, I had an advantage," she said. "You've never played the course before."

"Yes, you're right. That's the reason."

"But I really did enjoy whipping your ass."

"Uh huh." I hoped she wasn't a sadomasochist.

"And, by the way, my ex-boyfriend? He's the golf pro here."

"That's way more information than I wanted to know." Was she still involved with him?

"Oh come on. You've been in relationships before."

"Yes, but I never had a boyfriend who was a golf pro."

"No, I could tell . . . C'mon, tell me about your ex-girlfriends."

"Okay, okay, if you insist. I had a girlfriend when I was in high school. She was really smart, she had a good sense of humor, and a kind heart."

"And what was her name?"

"Beverly," I said. "She was a red head. And I thought she was pretty hot stuff."

"So what happened to her?"

"Her family moved to the United States."

"Did you keep in touch?"

"Yes, for a while."

"And?"

"We wrote each other on birthdays and at Christmas, but eventually it petered out."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"Just once. She came back for a visit about a year after she moved. But, distance was a big barrier."

"I see."

"What about you? Anything serious?"

"Yes. I am still friends with the golf pro, Gary, but it just wasn't in the stars."

"Why not?"

"He didn't want to settle down. Gary has dreams of joining the pro tour."

"How about your career? How did you get into the wardrobe department at ECSTASY?"

May looked at me for a moment with her clear brown sparkling eyes.

"I didn't plan on this when I was in school. Things just sort of happened."

I raised my eyebrows in mild surprise.

"There was a fashion designer I knew when I was in high school," continued May. "Here in Vancouver, there's a big charity event in support of AIDS. He asked me if I'd come out for the show and model for him . . . I was quite flattered so I took him up on the offer."

"I can see why him he made the offer," I said admiringly.

"Thank you," she said as she patted my arm affectionately. "Modeling was really fun that first time. I seemed to have a flair for it. Then I got some modeling gigs for the runway. After that, it seemed to snowball. I got some more work for store catalogues and for newspaper ads. Before I knew it, I had a pretty good portfolio. I moved to Toronto for a while. I got jobs there."

"How about New York?"

"Yes. I worked in New York a lot. Also I went to L.A. and overseas to London, Paris and Milan."

"Wow! Impressive!"

"It was pretty exciting for about six years or so."

"So what happened?"

"Although I enjoyed it, it was pretty hectic . . . and pretty volatile."

"What do you mean?"

"It had so many ups and downs. You seem to go through cycles. Sometimes you're hot, sometimes you're cold. And you know it's not going to last forever."

"How did this wardrobe stuff come about?"

"Well, as a model, the clothes are always being altered to fit you. I got to be pretty good at it. I didn't have the stereotypical model's height and build. And I didn't want to get implants. Plus, in my spare time, I took some fashion courses at community colleges in
Toronto, just out of interest. When I moved back home to Vancouver, I had a contact in the movie industry here. Initially I worked on a few films, then a few television shows. Before I knew it, it became a regular job. And then along came ECSTASY."

11

At the bull session to begin the week, we kicked around a lot of different skit ideas.

Dave brought up the topic of gay marriages. We ran with that concept for awhile.

Then we took a stab at the film Spiderman. The possibilities were enormous, though potentially expensive.

I suggested we do a music video parody. I loved Shakira and she was one of my best impressions. But Ted Walters had an idea. He suggested doing Shakira with a live audience.

Ted told the group that he might be able to arrange for me to appear on a talk show. That sounded intriguing. I relished the opportunity.

Then Mark came up with a brilliant idea. Sex and the City was dying for a send up. We all agreed instantly!

We divided up the script writing. Dave was paired with Scott on the gay marriage skit. I worked with Mark on Sex and the City.

***

The setting was a restaurant in Greenwich Village, New York City, at lunchtime on a Saturday. Four very attractive ladies in their thirties were discussing their favorite topic: Sex.

Scott Calvin was Sarah Jessica Parker's character, Carrie Bradshaw. Mark Mitchell was Charlotte York, who normally was portrayed by Kristin Davis. Dave Poole played Miranda Hobbes, who was brought to life by Cynthia Nixon. And I was Samantha Jones or Kim Cattrall.

Based on the book by Candace Bushnell, Sex and the City was a smash hit on American cable television.

Scott, as Carrie Bradshaw, did the introductory voice over as the camera took the viewer from the busy street exterior into the trendy up-scale restaurant setting.

"Some advertisers claimed that a person's car made a statement about the owner. A BMW Z3 represented power, confidence and daring. A Chrysler Neon represented youth, economy and optimism. But what about a person's pets? If a man owned a dog, was he likely to be as good in bed as a cat owner?"

"So I was coming down the elevator this morning," Charlotte began, "when this cocker spaniel began to sniff my right leg. Then it had the audacity to sniff my crotch. So the owner, a handsome guy, apologized for his dog's indiscretion."

"As long as the dog didn't lift his leg and pee on you, you shouldn't complain," Carrie said.

"Dogs are pretty direct," Miranda noted. "When they meet other dogs in the park, they immediately sniff each others genitalia. If one of the dogs is old and no longer sexually active, the other dog loses interest immediately. If both dogs are young and sexually
active, the owners have to pull them apart."

"So what did the owner look like?" I asked. "Was he sexy?"

"Oh yes. He looked like a shorter version of Tom Hanks," Charlotte announced.

"No kidding? And was this Tom Hanks Mini-me as aggressive as the dog?" Carrie asked.

"By the time we reached the front door of the lobby, he asked me out for a coffee," Charlotte said.

"Did you accept?" Miranda asked.

"Of course."

"And?" Miranda prodded.

"He was a really interesting guy. It turned out he was an architect who had just transferred here from Chicago. Apparently he was beginning preliminary work on a new office complex in mid-Manhattan."

"So did the dog try to hump you?" Carrie snickered.

"He was well behaved while we had coffee."

"No, I meant did this Tom Hanks look-alike try to hump you?" Carrie asked.

"I knew you were going there. Tonight we are seeing a movie together. I'll keep you posted."

"I think my new next door neighbor has a cat," I said, "judging from the kitty litter boxes I saw in the hallway when the movers were doing their thing."

"I think dog owners are different from cat owners," Charlotte said.

"Dogs and cats have different personalities," Carrie said. "Dogs are more dependent than cats. Dogs need more attention. When you come home, dogs wag their tales to greet you. Cats don't display their affection as readily."

"I think I'm a dog person," Charlotte said.

"I like a tiger in my bed," I said.

Since it was our third take for this scene, Aaron Spacek called it a wrap.

I suggested calling this Sex and the City parody Crouching Tiger, Hidden Drag Queen, but it didn't fly.

***

We went back to the makeup and wardrobe section. Dave and Scott needed to get out of their female makeup and outfits. Mark and I were going to stay as sexy ladies, but we needed to change our outfits.

May helped me into a body-accentuating power suit in bright yellow, a cream blouse and a pearl necklace. The matching yellow shoes had spike heels.

Then Dave and I played a brief scene. It was set in the hallway of my apartment building.

I was taking my kitchen garbage over to the disposal chute, when I encountered Dave moving some boxes out of the elevator.

He introduced himself. Dave was delighted to meet a beautiful lady like Samantha Jones. He was my new neighbor - the one with the cat. So I invited him over to my place later for coffee, after he had finished with his unpacking and furniture arranging.

For the other storyline, Scott played the role of a Tom Hanks look-alike - the dog owner. In truth, Scott bore only a slight resemblance to Tom. But our parody of Sex and the City was much like the real series. It was all about sex! Scott Calvin, as a regular heterosexual
guy, played a bedroom scene with Mark in the role of Charlotte.

The show Sex and the City revolved around fucking. Although due to censorship, we weren't allowed to use the F word for ECSTASY. Our show appealed to kids as well as adults.

While Scott and Mark did their scene, I was back in wardrobe again with May and Daniel.

I had stripped down to nothing.

Daniel eyed me critically. "The boobs look good. I don't think they need a touch up. But," said Daniel as he examined my face, "we need to fix your makeup."

Unlike my previous transformation into Sharon Stone, the edges of my false breasts and a false vagina were blended into my own flesh. The seams looked pretty smooth due to the application of liquid latex and foundation makeup. It was hard to tell the latex from the real skin because Daniel used acetone to thin the synthetic 'skin.' Such was the quality of Daniel's work, I think I could have found work as a stripper at a gentlemen's club.

I donned that amorphous blue smock again, and sat in the "barber chair" once more.

Daniel reached under the blonde, gently curled shoulder length wig with his deft touch and lifted up. A tight nylon stocking wig cap was revealed below.

"The tape has come loose. The elastic is no longer holding the shape we want," Daniel said as he placed the hair on a tall Styrofoam wig stand.

"I see." In the mirror I noted that the right side of my face around
the eyes seemed to sag a little when compared to the left.

Daniel removed the Scotch tape from clips that were attached to elastics. The pull of the elastics lifted my eyebrows and altered the shape of the eye slightly, giving me a stronger resemblance to actress Kim Cattrall's facial features. Contour makeup and the blonde wig helped the transformation succeed. Daniel also used theatrical putty to replicate Cattrall's mole on the left side beneath her lower lip.

The transparent tape was reapplied. The gentle curls of the blonde wig hid the tape effectively.

My face was a reasonable facsimile of beautiful Kim Cattrall.

May was ready for my costume change. Draped over her left forearm were a black lace bra, a black lace bikini bottom and a see-through chemise.

First I stepped into the lace bikini bottom, snuggling it into place. It covered the flesh-colored false vagina that I had contemplated using for my Sharon Stone impersonation. Next I slipped on the bra. May helped do up the catch on the back. An almost
transparent fine mesh chemise completed the seductive ensemble.

The alluring outfit felt amazingly sexy on my smooth as silk skin. I had no trace of body hair at all. The mirror image of Kim Cattrall enthralled me.

If it hadn't been for the tight phony vagina and my taped up genitalia beneath the lace bikini bottom, I might have developed a hard-on right then and there, in front of Daniel and May.

"Very sexy!"

May's compliment perked me up.

"If I was heterosexual, my hands would be all over you, honey!" Daniel claimed.

May handed me a large white terrycloth robe. "You don't want the set and stage crew to get too excited, do you?"

I wrapped myself up in the soft fabric. There again was the scent of Ivory Snow. It reminded me of May's warm, sensual body.

"Come here May, I need a hug."

We embraced for a long time. I wanted to hump her right then and there. I was so horny!

***

There were some concerns running through my mind as we took our positions on the set. Most of them concerned dressing in drag. Well not just dressing in drag, but acting a love scene in drag. I feared that from now on, everybody would believe I was a gay transvestite. It could completely alter my social life. That was my worry.

An idea popped into my head. As preparation for the skit, I had watched some episodes of Sex and the City. I remembered a scene where the four ladies went for a lesson in lovemaking. The teacher was a spiritualist who knew about energy chakras. She showed
them a 'love chakra' - a sensitive spot that elicited a vigorous sexual response. I wondered if I could use that tidbit of knowledge now. Perhaps I could spring a surprise on Dave.

Aaron Spacek, as was his custom, was using three cameras again: one to capture the big picture - the whole scene; the second for an overhead view; and the third for close-ups.

For the bedroom scene with Dave, I took off the robe and handed it to May. I could feel all eyes on the set follow me. For some reason, the set crew, the technicians and even some of the Comedy Network office staff were there.

I took my position on the bed. I rolled back the bedspread and sheets. Then I propped up the pillow against the white oak headboard and slipped my legs and lower body under the covers. Dave, wearing white cotton Fruit of the Loom underpants, took his position beside me.

It began with an establishing shot. Both of us were sitting up on the cozy, well-appointed king-size bed, our backs resting against soft fluffy pillows.

I was smoking a marijuana cigarette.

"It's Hawaiian Gold. Would you like a hit?" I asked as I tried to convey a dreamy, enjoyable state of consciousness for the viewers.

"Sure."

I handed Dave the phony joint. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, drawing out the pleasure.

He passed the joint back to me. I took one more hit, then I exhaled slowly. I was totally self-absorbed, lost in Never Never Land. Then I placed the marijuana cigarette on the ashtray resting on the end table.

"Come and get me, Tiger."

We kissed. It was gentle at first. Then Dave parted his lips. Our tongues intertwined. I squirmed a little in reaction to this.

'It's a role,' I told myself. 'We're acting. Just keep going.'

I moved my hands over his bare chest. He wrapped his arms around me. Then we rolled over on the bed as I kicked back the bedcovers to allow freer movement and to give the camera a better view.

Frantically, he was using his hands to lift off my almost transparent chemise.

I tried to shirk off the soft mesh material as quickly as I could.

We broke the kiss.

Dave looked down at my awesome breasts and smiled. He used both hands to massage both boobs at the same time. Wax on, wax off.

I reached down to his underpants and pulled the elasticized band down slowly, revealing his ass cheeks. I squeezed them suggestively.

He grinned lasciviously. We kissed again. The bed bucked for a moment as he thrust his crotch toward me.

I could feel his hard member against mine. His dick was huge!

Holy shit! This was supposed to be acting!

In the animalistic rage of passion, he scrambled to undo my bra top.

Reaching with my feet, I was able to draw up the satin bed covers.

We rolled over, with Dave on top as he threw my lace bra up into the air wildly!

I reached down to grab the bed coverings with my right hand, and pulled them up higher.

We kissed again madly! We were cats in heat! Dave was a Tiger!

Our French kiss seemed to last 'til I was blue in the face! Dave knew how to draw out the moment of fervor! His octopus arms squirmed over my hair, my back, my bum, my navel, my neck, my arms, my pits and my tits!

I could feel animal magnetism! I could sense his hunger! His ardent lust!

Rolling around under the bedspread and sheets, never breaking our lip lock, Dave ended up on top of me.

We came up for air! I gasped, and then, as he rose up, I rubbed his chest with one hand and reached behind his neck with the other.

Dave teased my right nipple with a massaging motion.

He leaned forward and kissed me on the neck, licked his tongue up close to my ear, nibbled on my diamond-studded earlobe for a moment, and then inserted his tongue into my ear.

I laughed at the tickle and then I kissed him on the cheek.

He rose up again, his manhood placed directly over its intended target. In the missionary position, we simulated the thrusts of fucking, slowly at first, then building in tempo, faster and faster.

When Aaron yelled cut, I had to catch my breath.

We wanted to continue - to complete our lovemaking.

I never had the chance to press Dave's love chakra - the perineum.

The whole gathering broke out in wild applause! The rest of the cast, the technical crew, the set dressers, the construction crew and even the office staff loved us!

We both smiled sheepishly.

I looked at Dave. A tender look came to his face as he gave me a reassuring squeeze on my leg under the covers, as if to say, 'that was good!'

Holy shit!

It was my first love scene as an actor.

Were all love scenes this real?

12

Sometimes when you hear a song on the radio, you like it immediately. You turn up the volume to full blast! The melody, the lyrics, and the beat just make you feel like dancing!

Whenever, Wherever is such a song.

I played the CD whenever I had the chance and wherever I could.

Moreover Shakira is an absolutely gorgeous girl. And so talented! She wrote the music with a guy named Tim Mitchell. Called Suerte in Spanish, Shakira wrote the lyrics. But for the English language version, she co-wrote the lyrics with Gloria M. Estefan.

I was so looking forward to impersonating Shakira!

Producer Ted Walters pulled a few strings. He contacted the producers of the Mike Howard Show, a popular talk show on the Comedy Network.

It was the right time for promoting ECSTASY. The fall schedule was just beginning. Our debut show would begin airing in a few days.

As far as Canadian viewers were concerned, I was an unknown comic.

If I did well in my appearance on the Mike Howard Show, I might create a buzz that could attract new viewers to tune in to ECSTASY. And maybe our old fans would forget I was replacing Steve Perry, the star who had left for greater glory in the United States.

The plan was for me to appear near the beginning of the show as Shakira. I'd do my singing impression, change, take off the makeup and reappear later as myself.

I liked the idea.

Appearing in front of a live audience was the one thing I had missed since I began working at ECSTASY. I loved the applause! I loved the instantaneous feedback! I loved the interaction!

Taped in Vancouver, the studio for the Mike Howard Show was located near False Creek, on the site of the old Expo 86. Vancouver had hosted the World's Fair back in 1986.

I had to get up early in the morning. The Mike Howard Show began taping at noon, but I had to begin getting into the makeup and costume long before that.

At my normal work studio in suburban Burnaby, I sat in the usual "barber chair" for my transformation.

I relaxed and closed my eyes as Daniel applied the false boobs to my chest. He lined up the nipples of the falsies a little off center of my own nipples, then pressed the latex breasts onto my chest. He held them there for about thirty seconds, giving the adhesive time to set.

Then I donned the usual protective smock.

As I relaxed half asleep in the red padded chair, Daniel went through that close shave routine with a straight razor. No problemo.

Next, he put a tight nylon wig cap on my head to keep my hair from spilling out. I needed a haircut soon. I hadn't cut it for three months.

Stifling a few yawns as Daniel smoothed on some moisturizing cream, I tried to think of Shakira. As he applied the slightly darker than usual cake foundation makeup, I closed my eyes and let him work with the sponges and brushes.

Daniel kept looking at the color photo of Shakira and then at my face.

"There are these golden tones to her complexion in the photograph. It's quite glamorous," Daniel noted. "Fortunately she has a kind of round face with a firm jaw. We won't have to do much contour shading."

'Whatever,' I thought. I didn't pay much attention to Daniel's comments. I was still trying to continue that beautiful dream I was having when the clock radio went off an hour earlier.

"Sorry honey," Daniel interrupted, "but I need you to open your eyes for a moment."

"Uh huh."

"I should have done this earlier. We need to insert contact lenses. Shakira appears, at least in this photo, to have black eyes. That's such a rarity. But we're trying to match this photo."

Having used color contacts for some of the previous transformations, I knew the routine well. I managed the subtle dip and dab procedure as quickly as I could.

I closed my eyes. Then I blinked a few times and looked at myself in the mirror.

Wow! The black contacts really enlarged my eyes! It looked as if I didn't have irises. Just large dark pupils.

It was quite a dramatic change. I looked at the color photo of Shakira. Was that one of the secrets of her exotic beauty?

Lost in thought, I sat back in the comfy chair. Then I closed my eyes again and relaxed and tried to dream of what it would be like to be Shakira!

I could feel Daniel using a glue stick to tame my eyebrows. He went through the usual application of a covering makeup to hide my male eyebrows.

He used a brown pencil to shape the eyebrow and then added some golden tones with another eyebrow pencil on top of that.

Next he set to work on applying the eyeliner, mascara, false eyelashes and then the eye shadow.

Lip liner was next. He brushed on the coral lipstick carefully. One might have suspected I had collagen injections after Daniel applied the lip gloss. It had the scent and taste of strawberries.

He applied blush to the cheeks. With a large soft brush, he blended the color subtly like an artist painting a sunset on canvas.

Daniel looked carefully at the photo of Shakira and then back at me.

He extracted a darker foundation makeup from his "tackle box" and applied it high on the forehead with a deft touch of a small triangular sponge.

"Like you, Shakira has a large forehead. She uses a dark foundation to make it appear smaller."

Daniel applied some of the dark foundation along my jaw line to diminish its size.

I heard May's voice.

I opened my eyes.

"Looking fabulous!" May enthused. "As usual."

She hugged me.

We didn't kiss though. It would have upset Daniel if he had to fix the lipstick.

Now Daniel held a long curly blonde wig in his hands.

I got up from the chair. I bowed my head as Daniel placed the crowning glory on my head.

The blonde curls reached past the middle of my back. I tossed my head back and finger brushed the hair away from my face.

Then I looked in the mirror.

"Fabulous, Daniel! Simply gorgeous!" I exclaimed. "I love it! This is the best yet!"

"I think he's got it! By Jove, I think she's got it!" Daniel jawed in his best Professor Henry Higgins impression.

And I felt exactly like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady! I had been transformed by skilled professionals! I was now ready for my debut!

***
Even though the Mike Howard Show staff was very accommodating, I was extremely nervous while I waited offstage.

The butterflies were giving me acid indigestion.

This was an important opportunity for me and the whole ECSTASY Show. This was my big shot on national television!

I kept reassuring myself that I was well prepared. And that was all I could ask for. If things went well, my appearance could jumpstart our whole television season.

May's handiwork in assembling the costume was absolutely perfect!

I wore a very revealing silvery lace camisole, the style with the straps tied behind my neck. My 'Shakira' boobs were shown to great effect! The patterns in the lace were well placed to cover the large dark nipples of my false breasts. My narrow waist, down to 24 inches, was slim and trim, thanks to that training corset, the rabbit diet, and the relentless stomach exercises. Black leather pants, laced up in the front, with a large silver belt and silver buckle completed the ensemble. And May had inserted extra padding to round out my posterior.

There was a golden glow to the skin, courtesy of Daniel's bronzing tan makeup.

As always, the Mike Howard Show began with the host going through his opening monologue. He usually did some audience interaction shtick too. The crowd seemed to be warming up nicely. The opening segment was supposed to last five minutes.

Through the wing curtains, I could see Mike's desk, his comfy chair, an armchair for his guest on the hot-seat, and a couch. The furniture was not located in the center of the stage. It was offset to allow for guest performances.

Nervously, I kept running through the song and the dance routine in my mind. The choreography had been worked out with Julien Allard again. But this time I wouldn't be able to follow his lead and mimic every move. I'd be on my own. Totally on my own.

Before I knew it, Mike Howard was announcing who would be appearing on 'tonight's' show.

There was a commercial break. Ninety seconds to show time.

The assistant handed me a microphone. It was one of those large cordless mikes.

Then, on my silver stilettos, I entered the backstage area. Near the center, I had to pull aside and then restore a canvas flap that served as the entranceway to a large tent-like structure. Since we had had a run through earlier, I knew exactly what to do.

I moved to my mark behind a huge dark drop screen. There was a special apparatus within the tent envelope that required the build up of air pressure to produce its visual effect.

It was very cool and isolated as I stood waiting patiently and quietly, in the middle of a brewing storm.

"Welcome back," Mike Howard said. "Ladies and gentleman, last season ECSTASY was a big hit here on the Comedy Channel. This season they are back bigger and better than ever! Tonight we have a new performer here from the ECSTASY show. This performer does fabulous impersonations! Please welcome Sean Davidson as Shakira!"

In the entire auditorium, the lights suddenly went down. Then two converging spotlights burst onto center stage as the main curtains parted and the giant 'fly' screen rose dramatically. A cool mist billowed out from beneath the restraining confines.

The audience started applauding. As I strode forward amidst the blinding beams, swirling clouds of dry ice, and flashing laser effects, the three hundred or so spectators went wild! They started cheering like I was the real Shakira!

Then the crowd quieted as a lone musician, illuminated by a tight spotlight, strummed his charango.

I started humming.

The sound of congas, drums, a bass, a mandolin, guitars, maracas and a Quena flute all joined the party.

Imitating the music video choreography, I wind milled my arms about and then set my hands on my hips, arms akimbo. My leather-encased bubble butt quivered to the rhythm of the pulsing percussion. I felt sexy and free!

"Awoo!" I howled Shakira-like. "Awoo!"

Swinging the microphone from my left hand to my right, I sang,

"Lucky you were born that far away so
We could both make fun of distance
Lucky that I love a foreign land for
The lucky fact of your existence"

The faces looked captivated as Shakira jiggled and gyrated! I reached skyward and my voice soared!

"Baby I would climb the Andes solely
To count the freckles on your body
Never could imagine there were only
Ten million ways to love somebody"

The band rocked the house and people stood up to dance. Front and center, hands joined together, a gaggle of gals swayed back and forth to the beat.

"Le do lo le lo le,
Le do lo le lo le
Can't you see
I'm at your feet."

A row of young guys raised their arms up, leaned forward from the waist and did the "I'm not worthy" bow.

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear"

As I pivoted to display my Shakira form, swiveling hips, undulating stomach, swinging arms, and quivering tits, I looked toward Mike Howard. There was a huge grin on his face!

He followed the audience's lead. He jumped up and began dancing!

"Thereover, hereunder
You'll never have to wonder
We can always play by ear
But that's the deal my dear"

The whole crowd frolicked frantic ecstatic in the aisles! It was a Shakira dance party!
With arms high above their heads, the front row gals bumped buns sweet and tarty.

Then Mike Howard joined me center stage, and we began to boogie. Grasping my hand above his head, we did a series of in synch steps, cuddles and spin moves! His impromptu star turn drove the celebration into a higher and higher groove!

"Lucky that my lips not only mumble
They spill kisses like a fountain
Lucky that my breasts are small and humble
So you don't confuse them with mountains
Lucky that I have strong legs like my mother
To run for cover when I need it
And these two eyes that for no other
The day you leave will cry a river"

Caught up in the pandemonium, I sang and danced like a spirit possessed. Me sentia como la encarnacion de Shakira.

"Le do lo le lo le,
Le do lo le lo le
At your feet
I'm at your feet"

Descending stairs from the stage with trim lights aglow, I boogied briefly with students in the first row.

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear"

Then in time with the pulsing beat, I climbed the aisle way into the seats.

"Thereover, hereunder
You'll never have to wonder
We can always play by ear
And that's the deal my dear"

I danced in the stands, reaching out, touching hands, touching hearts, thrilling fans!

"Le do lo le do le
Le do lo le do le
Think out loud
Say it again"

As Shakira crossed the back of the theatre, the last row reached out hopeful to greet her.

"Le do lo le lo le lo le"

"Tell me one more time
That you'll live
Lost in my eyes"

Descending the stairs, I mixed and mingled with crazed couples and singles!

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear"

Ascending the stage, into the final phase.

"Thereover, hereunder
You've got me head over heels
There's nothing left to fear
If you really feel the way I feel"

Swinging my arms about, shaking my booty, singing my heart out, turned on by beauty!

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear
You'll never have to wonder
And that's the deal my dear"

The music transformed me! I felt so sexy and free! Sacudari mis pechos y caderas como maracas para todos los muchachos y muchachas.

"They're over, you're under
You've got me head over heels
There's nothing left to fear
If you really feel the way I feel"

As the music slowed and the lights dimmed, I pirouetted with my arms fully outstretched. Spinning a second time, I brought my arms in tight to the body and then wound downward on the third turn. When the music of the Quena flute slowed to a halt, I curled into a little ball, enveloped in the swirling mists of a fresh blast of 'smoke.' The spotlights faded to black!

The audience burst into thunderous applause!

Bedlam! Madness! Hysteria!

Then as I rose, gracefully whirling my arms outward and skyward as the lights came back up, I finally lifted my arms up high in triumph!

Jubilation! Exhiliration!

Then I bowed deeply!

I waved to the crowd! I blew kisses to the cheering throng! "Gracias!" I mouthed to the wildly appreciative crowd.

I felt like the embodiment of Shakira!

To thank the outstanding band, I extended my left arm toward the five musicians, presenting them to the audience. That was greeted by additional hoots and hollers!

The proud band members bowed humbly.

I blew more kisses, one final bow, a last wave! Then I was offstage.

The people yelled and screamed for more! As the house lights came up, the fans went crazy! Yelling and screaming "Shakira! Shakira!" The crowd stamped their feet and chanted "Shakira! Shakira! Shakira!"

"She'll be back later, ladies and gentlemen!" Mike Howard exclaimed. "We have to take a break.

I was on cloud nine! I swear my feet weren't touching the ground anymore! I was flying!

It couldn't have been any better! It was ECSTASY!

In the wings, Daniel and May showered me with hugs and kisses.

"That was fabulous!" May exclaimed.

"What a great performance, Shakira!" Daniel hugged me.

"You were born to play the part!" May added with another kiss. "They loved you!"

"Thanks," I said as I held both May and Daniel in my arms. "I couldn't have done it without your help."

Then there was a fourth set of hands that joined the group hug!

"Brilliant! Absolutely wonderful!"

"Dave!"

I turned to face him.

Dave held me in his arms. He squeezed me tight. We kissed!

The kiss took my breath away! I melted in his embrace.

It wasn't one of those show business style pecks on both cheeks.

It was a lover's kiss! The Sex and the City kind!

13

Coming back from a commercial break, Mike Howard had to reintroduce me.

"Earlier in the show, we had a guest appearance from that fabulous singing sensation Shakira! But, as you know, it really wasn't Shakira. It was the newest member of that hit comedy show ECSTASY. Here once again is Sean Davidson."

The audience started applauding wildly until I stepped out onto the stage.

Then they quieted down suddenly. They sat in stunned silence.

Without the wig, makeup, camisole and leather pants, I was plain old Sean Davidson.

The lively house band struck up a few chords of Boy George's The Crying Game. There was an ominous tone about that song.

Mike Howard greeted me with a two-handed handshake, and nodded to me to sit in the big armchair closest to his desk.

Mike was a large man, built like a linebacker. He had a blond-gray crew cut, a square jaw, a few wrinkles showing his 45 years of life on planet Earth, and an ever-present impish smile on his face. Attired in a handsome Hugo Boss suit, he looked very fit and healthy.

Standing next to him, in a blue turtleneck, dark jacket and black pants, I looked rather thin and tiny.

The Crying Game theme stopped abruptly.

"I think our audience must be in shock. I think they were expecting someone else," Mike said, trying to make light of the subdued reaction.

"Apparently so," I mumbled meekly as I settled into the very soft, cream-colored leather seat.

"Sean, let's have a look at a replay of your earlier appearance as Shakira."

The studio audience looked to the large monitors placed at the sides of the stage.

When the technical crew pressed a button, the freeze frame of Shakira suddenly leapt into action. The Whenever, Wherever chorus rocked the house! The crowd danced up a storm as sexy Shakira sang like a seraph! Her angelic voice soared to the heavens! Shakira shook her chakras like maracas! Her divine dance lifted the spirit and stirred the soul!

It was fascinating! And spooky! I really did look and sound like Shakira!

The video confirmed it! Without doubt, it was my best performance ever!

When the tape faded to black, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause again.

"That was great!"

"Thank you," I said. "And your band was terrific! They were Hot! Hot! Hot!!"

Mike extended his arm in the direction of the band. "Let's have a big hand for the Wayne Jackson Five!"

The audience cheered and applauded once again.

As the crowd quieted, Mike remarked, "You looked exactly like Shakira. It was amazing! How do you do that?"

"My makeup artist, Daniel Roberts, tells me I've got one of those symmetrical faces. Or, in easier to understand terms, I've got a rubber face that can look like a lot of different people."

"If the audience would look at the video screens for a moment, you'll see some of his other disguises."

Photos of me as Britney Spears, Meg Ryan, Sharon Stone and Kim Cattrall flashed up on the monitors. The audience responded with oohs and ahs. Then there was some boisterous applause and cheering.

"I must say you look like a sexy, beautiful woman," Mike said sincerely. "There were many in the audience who were unaware that Sean Davidson, the Shakira impersonator, wasn't a real female."

"Thank you. When you reintroduced me, the crowd was so deadly quiet, I thought they were about to throw bricks at me."

The audience responded with a brief laugh.

"So tell us, because I'm sure a lot of people are curious, what happens when say, you are shooting a scene for the ECSTASY Show, you're on location, and you're dressed as a girl, and some guy hits on you. Let's say he asks you for a date."

"Hmmm . . . it hasn't happened yet. We've only shot five weeks for the new fall schedule."

"Well, what do you think you'll do when it does happen?"

"If he really doesn't know I'm a guy, wouldn't it be fun to string him along as a gag, and set him up for a really embarrassing moment of discovery?" I suggested with a devilish smile. "Surprise! Surprise!"

"With his pants down, I wonder, will he want to hit you or kiss you?"

The audience burst out in laughter.

"'A dangerous game, Mike!"

"It's the Crying Game!"

The ever-alert band suddenly struck up a few bars of the Boy George song.

The audience applauded wildly! Giddily!

"Well, I'm dating someone now, so I'd probably just be honest and let the person know right away that this gorgeous girl is just an illusion . . . But you never know."

"ECSTASY has an all male cast," Mike said. "Why doesn't ECSTASY just hire some real girls?"

"It wouldn't be as funny maybe. Besides, if the producer, Ted Walters, did that, I wouldn't be here on stage with you tonight."

"I hear the amazing thing is, until you began working at the ECSTASY show a month ago, you had never worked in drag before," Mike said.

"That's right. I did vocal impressions of famous stars in scenes from films like Austin Powers, Forrest Gump or Ace Ventura. Or I did singers like Elvis, Bruce Springsteen and some girls like Britney Spears, Celine Dion and Shakira. But impressions were not the main part of my act. I come from a stand up comedy background . . . I know you used to do that too."

"Yes, for many years. More years than I care to remember. In fact, I felt like I'd been buried deeper than King Tut - dead, mummified, entombed and buried by the shifting desert sands."

"I guess another reason ECSTASY didn't hire a female comedian is that there are very few female comics on the circuit. If ten comics appear at a comedy club, one or maybe two of them at most, are women."

"Why is that?"

"They don't have the balls?" The crowd went silent, like I had said something extremely offensive. "I can't believe I said that on national television. I just offended at least half the audience and my mother."

"You expect me to step in and rescue you, don't you?"

"What I mean is that life on the road as a stand up comedian can drive away all but the very desperate."

"Yes. I know what you mean." Mike nodded.

"You'll be playing some mining town in Northern Ontario where the word 'roughneck' is what they use to describe elementary school kids. The guys up there are rough and tough. No place for a lady. One trip up there and the women don't want to do the comedy
club circuit anymore."

"I played a lot of those tough towns. It's where you're likely to get a beer bottle thrown at you if they don't like your jokes."

"Also, you have to look at the comedy club environment too. If you're a female, you might follow five male comics. They've established the tone for the evening. Male stand up comics are high-energy guys. They're very rude. They swear a hell of a lot! They tell dirty disgusting jokes. Many of the jokes are at the toilet humor level, about basic body dysfunctions. They say shocking things that you wouldn't want your mother to hear. Racial humor is common. They hurl insults at every minority group! Every taboo
topic of society is laid bare. They rant and rave just like I'm doing now! It's not a normal conversational environment!"

"No comedy club is a normal environment," Mike added. "It attracts the lunatic fringe."

I looked up at the audience. They seemed to be with me. "Then on comes this female comedian, and her voice is quieter. She is a reminder of the normal double standards of society outside of the comedy club. Some of the guys in the audience start to feel guilty and uneasy. Her humor is subtle. Her appeal might be intellectual. But the guys in the club have been drinking, and in an alcoholic fog, their intellect button is turned off. So if the comedienne's first jokes flop, it's hard to win back the beer-guzzling crowd."

"So you have developed some sympathy for female comics now that, literally," Mike noted, "you've walked miles in their high-heeled shoes."

"Yes," I replied with a laugh. "As a matter of fact, every time we dream up a new skit for ECSTASY, I always seem to end up playing a girl's role."

"That's because you look so damned beautiful!"

The audience applauded and cheered his compliment, hooting and hollering and whistling to show their approval.

"Thank you."

And as our conversation continued, I identified more and more with the newly discovered female aspect of my personality. I realized that I had enjoyed performing as a gal much more than I ever had as a guy.

As a male comedian, I could never get enough laughs. My appetite for crowd approval was insatiable. But as a female, admiration for my beauty gave me tremendous satisfaction. It was so weird!

From the moment I first dawned high heels, the choices I made seemed to work out right. Intuitively I knew what to do.

Maybe I had finally found my niche in the wide world of entertainment. Sean Davidson - female impersonator!

14

I am standing in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom.

The blonde curls cascade over a lovely visage. My clear blue eyes are my best feature. My high cheekbones, flawless complexion and inviting, kissable lips are a narcissist's dream.

I am wearing a 'little black dress.' With a plunging neckline, it reveals full sexy melon shaped breasts. My tiny waist, wide womanly hips, long, shapely to-die-for legs, and 5-inch stiletto heels complete the package.

Around my thin, elegant neck, I attach a gold 'name necklace' that says 'Sean,' a gift from May. I struggle momentarily with the clasp because of my long smooth false fingernails.

The gold necklace matches the golden studs in my freshly pierced earlobes.

My flawless complexion glows golden in the soft light of the bedroom.

The gorgeous girl in the mirror is really me! Sean Davidson.

I must confess dressing in drag is such a turn-on. I love the feel of the whisper thin silky nylons on my smooth sensuous legs. And my shapely calves are shown to great advantage by the stilettos. Also I adore the way my short dress reveals my sexy thighs and hints at a treasure trove of heavenly delight beneath my black lace panties. Rubbing my legs together almost stimulates my stick shift into overdrive. The temptation to lower my panties and the flesh colored gaff is so intense! I want to relieve myself of the ache in
my loins!

Should I or shouldn't I?

The bosom looks so real! The soft flesh that peeks out from the illusionary Wonder Bra and low cut neckline of the 'little black dress' is almost enough to persuade me to spring into action.

There is a knock at the door of my apartment.

No time to dither. I must hurry. One last touch, I spray Obsession into the air. Then I walk through the fine mist. The scent is heavenly!

I grab my purse as I hurry to answer the door.

There is another knock. A sign of impatience?

There, in the entry vestibule, I pause to take one last look in the full-length mirror panels of the hallway closet.

Delicious! Delectable! And undetectable!

When I open the door, there is a look of surprise and delight on Dave's face.

I open my arms. He gathers me up in his arms. We hug and he squeezes the air out of me.

He looks at me tenderly.

We kiss.

It is a union of two people drawn together by lust.

There is this feeling of déjá  vu. I am crossing over to the Dark Side.

In a half-hour, we will be in downtown Vancouver. We'll be at Tatooine, a trendy new club, dancing the night away.

This is my first date with Dave. I don't know how it will go. But I know we have some unfinished business to attend to.

I am certain that he adores me. His eyes tell me so. And I think the world of him.

But what about May? Doesn't she deserve better?

Well, it was her idea. She said I had to give the female side of my personality a chance to blossom.

Besides, I'm looking forward to going out with May next weekend. We still have to check out that lesbian dance club.

And who knows? There just might be a ménage a trois in our future.

Que sera sera.

The End

Author's notes:

How I Learned to Love Drag was inspired by the comedy troupe the Kids in the Hall. The comedy group consisted of Dave Foley, Kevin McDonald, Scott Thompson, Mark McKinney and Bruce McCulloch. There are many sketches on YouTube. Here's one:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcb_rx_V_cQ&feature=related

Coaches Corner features former Boston Bruin coach Don Cherry and host Ron MacLean.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEX4cNxCTp4

The interrogation scene from Basic Instinct starred Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6J1f1pxT2_E

Here is the fake orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally starring Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-bsf2x-aeE

Sex and the City starred Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Kristin Davis and Cynthia Nixon. This brief scene featured Kim Cattrall and a boy toy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jR1_jNEDqKI

Shakira's music video for Whenever, Wherever can be found at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weRHyjj34ZE

"I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it." -- Marilyn Monroe