Synopsis: a young male college student, working as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, faces some difficult choices for the future. 

Author's foreword: The first part of this trilogy, Catch Her, was posted in September 1999. Another episode, Catch Her in Disguise, was added in July 2000. Although I have tried to write a third episode several times since then, I was unable come up with a suitable story that was true to the earlier works. My apologies for the long delay. Anyway, before anyone gets real snotty about it, I must warn sensitive readers that there is a lot of foul language in this third episode. Oh, and descriptions of sexual acts too. So continue reading at your peril.

 

Caught Between

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

  

1

When Eric's Mustang pulled up in front of Gordon House, Eric leaned over and planted a big wet one, right on my eager lips. As our tongues intertwined, he wrapped me in his powerful arms.

Could Eric Stradlater ever kiss! My legs and toes stretched full out, as I responded to the hunger and desire in his goodnight bliss! If I hadn't been wearing pantyhose, Eric would've knocked my socks off!

Fearing that if I didn't get up right away and leave, we might resume our maniacal, frantic love-making, I gently pushed Eric's six foot three inch frame aside and I opened the car door. I swung my long legs out and lifted myself up from the bucket seat as gracefully as I could manage.

Pausing before shutting the door, I leaned in and announced, "You sure do live up to your name, Studlater."

He laughed. "Linda, you certainly surprised me tonight. I am in awe of you."

"My pleasure." I smiled as I shut the door. Eric Stradlater always was a smoothie. He always could say any compliment or bullshit so sincerely and sweetly, he could melt any girl's heart.

Studlater's babemobile slowly gathered momentum, and I paused to wave goodnight to the departing triple taillights of the silver Mustang as they faded into the distance.

Climbing up the front steps of Gordon House, I couldn't help but wonder how all this had happened. Certainly none of the sexual shenanigans had been planned.

Smiling as I walked past the security guard, I thought suddenly of Allison. I did not deserve Allison - not after the way I had behaved. To cheat on her was despicable. But how could something so wrong have felt so fucking right!

Entering the elevator, I ruminated on the F word for a moment. Fuck was one of the few words in the English language that could be used as an adjective, a noun, a transitive verb, an intransitive verb, a phrasal verb, an adverb, an interjection, and as a subjective fucking completion. On second thought, I wasn't sure about the subjective completion.

Anyway, I had to learn about swearing back in grade 9 because my English teacher gave me a detention for using the F word in class. I couldn't help it. I was angry. I swore at one of my friends who had just jabbed me in the back with his pen. So I was given a stupid detention assignment. I had to write one page on why I shouldn't use swear words in class. I'm not making this up. Have you ever had to write a full-page apology about swearing? Consequently, I did some research about the mysterious taboo word that people used in such a diverse number of ways.

What did I discover? Perplexed foreigners must learn to conjugate the verb to fuck. I fuck, you fuck, he fucks, she fucks, they fuck…All of the forms of fuck described sex in all its fucking amazing forms. But I doubted that foreigners would ever understand all the different meanings of the F word. I know, I'm offending some people by discussing cussing, but I can't help it if I digress occasionally. The F word was everywhere - on cable TV, in PG rated Disney films, on every street corner in North America. For Chrissake, there was even a clothing company named Fuct. Plus another one called FCUK. And fuck had kind of lost its power as an expletive deleted - as a vulgar, slang obscenity - as a swear word. English-Canadians might as well be using the innocuous French-Canadian swear word Tabernac for all the impact the F word had. But I didn't want to talk about the origins of Tabernac. Some people probably believed fuck was an acronym that meant For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, like the title of the Van Halen album. However, it did appear in The Oxford English Dictionary around 1500. There was a Latin form (fuccant) of the word. It existed in the Dutch (fokken), Swedish (focka) and Norwegian (fukka) languages, but was probably derived from the Indo-European root peuk - to prick. The word certainly got around.

I wasn't sure that fuck should've ever been a swear word. When a young kid heard the word for the first time, immediately he or she wanted to know what it meant. So how many young kids first learned about the birds and the bees in sex education classes? Or from their parents? If they were like me, I learned about sex when an older kid in the neighborhood told me what fuck meant. Of course, I didn't believe him. I mean, how could my parents have ever done something so absolutely disgusting? How could I have ever resulted from my parents doing the horizontal tango?

So the F word wasn't anything worth getting upset about. Vanquish the anguish. Forget about it.

Now what was that figure of speech where there was repetition of the same word or root in different grammatical functions or forms? Polyptoton? Antanaclasis? I'd have to look it up. Epizeuxis?

The elevator doors opened at floor five. I turned to my right.

There were other filthy words or swear words that I could never say in a classroom. Comedian George Carlin once narrowed it down to seven things you can't say on TV. But that list of forbidden words has probably changed. I kinda think, in this age of political correctness, independent TV stations and networks made up their own policy, depending on their target audience.

I reached into my denim handbag for the keys to Allison's room. Hoping she'd be asleep by this time, I inserted the key and turned the lock as quietly as I could.

Allie's breathing was steady. She was in sleep mode.

Then I remembered it - it was polyptoton. The F word was a polyptoton. It sounded like something that grew in your nasal passage.

Quickly I slipped off my stylish leather shoes. I deposited my coat on a chair near the doorway. Pausing for a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I headed to the washroom.

I fumbled for the light switch and then I closed the door behind me. There, brightly illuminated in the bathroom mirror, Linda's striking visage greeted me. The cascade of auburn tresses, the mesmerizing green eyes, the plastic surgery perfect nose, the high cheekbones, the flawless porcelain skin, indeed all of the individual features morphed together did kind of resemble those of my namesake - supermodel Linda Evangelista. Although the lipstick had been badly smudged from sucking face with Studlater, there'd be no point in retouching it now.

Besides, I needed to pee badly.

I loosened the button and lowered the zipper of my pants and, if you really want to know the truth, goddammit, I also passed wind. You know something; it really was not true that passing wind while wearing pantyhose creates fart balloons. Pantyhose were not impermeable membranes.

As I sat on the toilet seat, I realized that I rarely peed standing up anymore. Spending my working life as Linda was taking its toll on me. Anyway, sharing the bathroom with Allison had taught me that girls hated it when guys left the toilet seat up. I suddenly had visions of girls falling fanny first into the toilet bowl, swallowed whole by the menacing toilet vortex. The whirlpool sucking the girls' rear-ends down, down, down into the deep abyss of the municipal sewage system. A ridiculous thought, eh (Canadian for huh.) Then, annoyingly I noted that, out of habit, I even wiped myself with toilet paper after peeing too. Could it be that I really was transforming into a girl?

I hoped that the sound of the toilet flushing wouldn't wake Allison up.

It was time to peel off my girly clothes. I quickly removed the pantsuit bottom, the matching top, the bra, panties pantyhose and my precious black satin gaff. I thought of all the sexy strippers at the Hook and Ladder and how they turned the divestiture of clothing into an art form of lust and debauchery. Standing nude in front of the countertop mirror, I critically analyzed my reflection. Objectively speaking, my body was pretty good for a girl. I thought that my long slender curvaceous legs were downright outstanding. I stood up on my tiptoes for a moment. Even better. High heels would improve the look. I considered my bubble butt and flaring hips for a moment. I turned my back to the mirror, leaned over and pushed my rear end into the mirror's view. My fabulous fanny belonged in a doggone petting zoo. I even had a few small bruises to prove it, courtesy of the Lad and Hooker's butt pinching patrons. At my waist, the abs of steel seemed more like abs of Teflon. No love handles on those 25 smooth, tight inches. But, admittedly, my breasts were a bust - or rather the pecs were underdeveloped. My wimpy 98 pound weakling, estrogen challenged physique was on display. There was definitely room for improvement, but quite amazing for a female impersonator.

I felt some dismay that the beautiful Linda illusion fell apart the instant I removed the glorious auburn wig. I was simply a below average boy pretending to be a gorgeous goddess of a girl.

And being a girl wasn't all fun. There was some tedium too. Removing makeup was a routine I could do without. First, I carefully removed the false eyelashes. I placed these delicate millipede-like enhancers into a plastic case. Next came the green contact lenses. An all-in-one cleanser and hydrating solution soaked and revived the filmy green deceivers. Then, on the countertop, I reached for The Body Shop's Soy & Calendula gentle cleanser. After dabbing it onto my palms, I smoothed the thick vanilla colored liquid over my face, gently massaging the mixture into every facial contour. I repeated the application and removal procedure several times to make sure not one iota of paint or powder or tint was left.

About fifteen minutes later, when I peeled away the eye makeup remover pads and threw them into the garbage container, it was all done.

Finally, the freshly scrubbed countenance of one William Hold'em Copperfield looked back at me in the mirror. I positively glowed! I think it's what fantastic fucking did for one's health. It stirred up the hormones, the endorphins, what the Chinese called the chi, and did the body good. Kind of like the good that milk was supposed to do for you, only, I must confess, milk actually tasted better than sperm or saliva or vaginal secretions.

Not a trace of makeup was left but I still wasn't completely clean.

I turned to the bathtub, fiddled with the temperature control knob and then stepped under the shower nozzle.

Warm water rained down on me. The steady cascade was a welcome relief. Zillions of water droplets worked their magic in reviving and renewing me. And I had some things to mull over as the soothing spray washed over me.

There were pangs of guilt over what I had done with Studlater. Was I turning gay? Was Studlater gay? Or bi? And what about Allison? How could I have been unfaithful? For Chrissake, Allison didn't deserve this. I had cheated. There would be consequences.

Suddenly I felt a cool breeze as the shower curtain flapped briefly in response to what I think was the opening of the bathroom door.

For a moment, I had dark visions of Janet Leigh in the Psycho shower scene. Shades of Anthony Perkins! In drag yet.

"Hold'em," called out Allie's voice.

I cringed at the thought of a huge knife plunging again and again into my defenseless body and blood dripping and swirling into the drain below.

Next thing I knew she had pulled back the vinyl curtain and stood beside me on the white ceramic of the bathtub.

Allison's beautiful nude body was revealed to me in all of its magnificence! She embraced me warmly. Her slippery supple body merged with mine as she reached her arms around the back of my head and we kissed lovingly.

With one hand I explored her melon sized breasts as my other hand caressed her butt. Not content with the touch of her soft pillow-like bosom, my tongue and lips searched for her tits - the taste of her hard nipples to be exact. 'Breast feed me momma.' I must confess to having an oral fixation. I'd like to suck Allie's breasts every day of my life.

Allison wrapped her legs around mine. Um um good.

I had never fucked anyone standing up before, but the bathtub was not large enough to lie down in, so it was time to compromise, improvise and exercise.

Allie's hands slid down around my groin area. Needless to say, there stood the world's tallest freestanding structure. An erection the likes of which I had not seen before...Okay I exaggerated slightly. But it was huge! Bigger than I had ever been before.

The splish-splash of the water somehow intensified the experience. It was like an ordinary dance had been turned into the extraordinary number Gene Kelly did in 'Singing in the Rain.' It was a mix of the ardor of fire and the flow of life giving rain.

We kissed passionately. As my hands slithered around her backside, frantically searching for something to hold onto, Allie grabbed onto the back of my head. My hands settled on the beautiful buns of her bum.

My engorged cock stood at the Gates of the Promised Land...and then it crossed the threshold. We were one with each other - a perfect harmony of yin and yang.

The F word once again raised its beautiful head. I fucked. She fucked. We fucked. Allison came and came and came. It was an endless stream of quivers, shivers and screams.

And then when we got out of the shower stall, we threw each other onto the bed and we fucked some more. Orgasm after orgasm!

The earth shook with a force not seen since the eruption of Krakatoa East of Java.

All in all, it was pretty fucking amazing, considering I had been fucked by Studlater a short time earlier in the bucket seat of his Mustang. Who knew I had that kind of stamina?

And by the time the light of the early dawn arrived, I was plumb tuckered out, fully spent and off to the dream land of Nirvana.

 

2

By the time I awoke, Allison was already up and gone.

Immediately I looked over to the clock radio. It was 11:55 a.m.

As I threw off the covers, I noted an abnormal ache in my groin...and an even more abnormal pain up my butt crack...but I thought the pain was well worth the pleasure of the previous evening.

My head dropped back onto the pillow for a moment. I was never one who was instantly wide awake. I tried to gather my wits about me.

Today was Saturday. That's right, Allison had a rehearsal for Chicago this morning.

Thinking of Allison...what a night! The sex was terrific! The best I had ever experienced! What a magnificent body she had!

And Allison was always full of surprises. She was a screamer too! That's what made loving so much uninhibited fun!

However, when I thought about what had transpired with Studlater, I was in turmoil. How could I have had sex with him? That was my first gay sex experience ever...if I didn't count what almost happened on Halloween night. Dressing as a girl was changing me. It must have. As my male persona, William, I'd never have considered having sex with a guy.

But as Linda? She was the devil. A slut? Maybe...no, not really, but she did have the hots for Eric 'Studlater' Stradlater.

The clock radio suddenly blared into sonic boom mode! 

"I like you the way you are
When you're drivin' in your car
and you're talking to me one on one but you've become
Somebody else round everyone else..."

It was that darn Avril Lavigne song Complicated.

Allison, I thought, must have reset the alarm for noon to make sure I wouldn't oversleep.

"And you fall and you crawl
and you break and you take
what you get and you turn it into honesty..."

Without opening my eyes, I reached over to the radio and ripped the cord from the wall.

Serenity at last.

Where was I?

Uh huh...but more importantly, I had cheated on my girlfriend Allison. What was even worse, Allison originally had broken up with Studlater because she thought he had not been faithful to her. And the "girl" Studlater had tried to bed was really me on that Halloween night many months ago. Consequently, I had ended up in a great relationship with Allison. We had been boyfriend and girlfriend ever since. Or girlfriend and girlfriend. Talk about a moral and ethical dilemma. And to top it all off, last night, after fucking with Studlater in the car, I had fucked with Allison in her place immediately afterward. One fucking mixed-up love triangle where the square root of the hypotenuse did not equal the sum of the square of the other two sides. Or some such Pythagorean square root rubbish. Then it struck me! The relationship wasn't a right-angle triangle. In spite of doing it in the shower standing up, I wasn't being a stand-up kind of guy. Or stand-up kind of girl.

Why did you have to go and make things so fucking complicated?

Chill out. Lay back. Think.

'Chillax' as my younger sister, Karen, used to say. A contraction for chill and relax. But I couldn't tell you if she said that anymore. The expression was so last week. Or last year...or last century.

Think. Problem solve. Brainstorm. What was the name of that Russell Crowe movie? The one where he played a brilliant student?

A Beautiful Mind! That was it!

Perhaps I could apply John Nash's Law of Governing Dynamics to this love triangle. Maybe? Maybe not?

No, game theory wasn't applicable here...or was it? If both guys went for the blonde, in this case a brunette named Allison with beautiful big brown eyes...but I already had Allison and was in danger of losing her. Was Studlater blocking me from her? Or was Linda's libido blocking me from Allison? 'The maximum benefit to a group can be realized if each individual works for his own benefit and the group's.'

Goddammit! How did I get myself into such a big messed up schmozzle?

Where was Russell Crowe when you needed him? In real life, he was a player too, wasn't he?

As I recall, Professor John Nash was awarded a Nobel Prize for helping to develop game theory. Perhaps I should get the Noble Prize if I just confessed the whole story to Allison. If I told her the truth, the whole truth and nothing but...

But was telling Allison the truth a viable option?

I made a mental note to go rent the video A Beautiful Mind once more. And, in addition, I would check out game theory and the Law of Governing Dynamics on the Internet.

The ache in my groin was omnipresent. I decided to open my eyes and get up. Even though I needed to pee, there was no morning wood today.

I stumbled out of bed and made my way slowly to the bathroom.

I couldn't resist checking myself out in the mirror. My face, I noted, looked a lot better than I felt.

Then I plopped onto the toilet seat. With a sigh of relief, there was a trickle of yellow. My urinary tract was still intact and functioning. But my dick felt numb, limp and lifeless.

Knowing in a few hours I'd have to jam my testicles into a body cavity most guys didn't know existed and shove Mister Wiggly into a 'fuck myself' position, all within the extremely tight confines of a dancer's gaff, the omnipresent groin pain would only get worse.

How I suffered for my art.

Oh the joys of being a male cocktail waitress!

'Dressed up like you're somethin' else.' This Avril Lavigne Complicated tune was still rollin' around in my head.

While sitting on the toilet seat, I contracted my lower abdomen and tried to produce a bowel movement.

Being a girl, I had to admit, was changing me. From peeing sitting down to subtle modifications in my body build to differences in my outlook, I was changing. For better or worse, I couldn't say. But the change was undeniable. As an example, I definitely was becoming more sensitive to the views of others.

My language, for instance. As a rough and gruff guy, I would always cuss like a sailor. But Linda, even though she worked in a strip club, hardly ever swore. Well, okay, she or I used the word fuck quite often in the telling of the third episode of the story - 57 times to this point, even though I hadn't used it in episode one or episode two. So fuck is kinda like Heinz Ketchup; there are 57 varieties of fuck. But I never felt totally comfortable about using the F word. If you want to know the truth, use of the F word made me worry a lot because I never ever wanted to be regarded as a phony. So as of this moment forward, I'm going to stop using the F word. From now on...except when I get really upset, when I really can't help myself.

From here on I'll use screw.

No, that won't work. Eschew screw.

Boink.

That's better! Boink. Boink is used to describe the act of sexual intercourse. Although boink is not like Heinz Ketchup because boink does not have the flexibility of the all-encompassing F word. Boink cannot be used as an adjective, adverb, noun, subjective completion or expletive deleted. It's a term strictly used for the sexual act. Boink is a real word in the Canadian vernacular. It's not like that American term I'm trying to remember - fripsy or frapsy? I can't recall which was which exactly, although I saw it used on some American internet site, so it must be an American idiom.

"Uh," I grunted.

Plop.

Oh, and while I'm at it, I'll refrain from using goddammmit or for Chrissake. Religion has no place in this kind of sacrilegious story.

"Ah."

Poop.

And by the way, George Carlin's seven sinful words you couldn't say on television were "shit, piss, ****, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits." How did tits ever make the list?

"Ah uh"

Plop.

Since I'm on a roll, there is another thing I need to get off my chest. These bloody tense changes when writing a story. I'll try to stop doing that. I'll stick with the past tense from now on.

Poop.

Onomatopoeia overkill?

Overall, these inhibitions made me feel ashamed of myself. The inhibitions were bad for my self-esteem. It felt like the grammar Nazis were going to club me over the head...sorta like baseball player Randall Simon on that Milwaukee Brewers' Italian sausage mascot.

Getting an education would give anyone all sorts of inhibitions.

But, speaking of changes, not all of my latest personality alterations were of the goody-goody type.

While still deep in emotional doo-doo, I reached for the toilet paper and unspooled a four-panel wad of white Cottonelle.

Now where was I?

Uh huh...Working in a strip club had to have an impact on my views of male-female relationships.

To illustrate my point, when I was a kid, I had a pet dog. His name was Digby. One of the conditions of my parents allowing me to have a mongrel was that I was responsible for taking him on walks every day. Morning and evening. We lived right beside a park. Every day I took Digby to the park for his walk. Now I loved Digby very much. He was a very good dog. But every day Dig would encounter other dogs in the park. There'd be this ritual all dogs did when they'd encounter other dogs. Whenever they got close together, they'd immediately sniff each other's genitalia. If they liked the scent of each other, they'd immediately have consensual sex, provided the owners didn't pull them apart. And that's pretty much how things seemed to be in the strip club. Horny guys would eye beautiful sexy girls. If a guy liked the looks of a girl, he'd arrange for the girl to come over his table and do a table dance. Usually on his lap. The stripper's toes would be right on top of the guy's thighs or genitalia. Sometimes it would go even further than that - provided the guy had enough money.

If you want to know the truth, it was pretty disgusting. I didn't care to witness it.

But over the months, my views had changed. The first time I saw it, I was embarrassed. But, having seen it happen so often, night after night, it no longer struck me as disgusting. It was just being honest. It was being true to your instincts, just like dogs in the park.

So men were dogs and so were women. Life was like that. It was a dog meet dog world.

At that very moment in time, I made my decision. I was going to quit my job as a cocktail waitress at the Hook and Ladder. Working in a strip club was taking away any semblance of innocence I had. Plus, it was making me perpetually horny. Also, since exams were just around the corner, I had to quit anyway. After all, I was at Queen's University to get an education. It was still my number one priority.

As I stood up, I depressed the lever on Thomas Crapper's incredible creation.

 

3

The weekend had been a whirl of activity. Balancing a job at the strip club and the commitments of a student at crunch time was really difficult. The stress was unbelievable.

There was all sorts of laundry to do. My room was an absolute mess. I had a major essay due later in the week. Final exams were just around the corner.

But add the stress of my sexual encounter with Studlater into the mix and I was ready for a mental health day. Actually a long-term visit to the loony bin was probably long overdue.

Especially bothersome was the worry about what would happen if Studlater blabbed the secret of Linda's existence to all our friends. I'd be the laughing stock of the entire university. My life would be finished.

The worrying was getting depressing. I wondered if I needed to see some shrink to help me outta my dilemma. This dual identity stuff was starting to cause me some problems.

Should I run and hide? Should I stick my head in the ground like some scared ostrich and hope things would go away?

But I was never one to run away from consequences. If worst came to worst, I'd take the consequences like a man. 'Right up the ass,' I thought cynically.

I always finished what I started - hence the nickname Hold'em - I never knew when to fold my cards. Perhaps a change in strategy would have been the more prudent move.

So after attending all my classes during the day, I went to my regular Monday evening rendezvous with Studlater in the library. We had a computer programming assignment due for the Tuesday morning class.

As I walked toward the Gothic, cathedral-like gray stone building of the Douglas Library for Engineering and Science, I was a little apprehensive. After being lovers, could Studlater and I go back to being just friends?

The weather had improved considerably. After a typically unpredictable Canadian winter, spring had more or less arrived, although a late snowstorm in April was within the realm of possibility.

The walk up University Avenue had been quite pleasant. The Queen's University campus wasn't as ugly as it was in mid-winter. The lush grass was a deep green. There were small leaves on the trees. Flowers were getting ready to break out in their spring glory. And another thing, the ducks and all the other migratory birds were back. Did anyone really know where the ducks went in the winter time? Actually there was a strange thing about some birds - some Canada Geese never left. A growing number of them seemed to be getting lazier and lazier. So when the snow melted in the spring, you had to watch your step. Otherwise you could be ambushed by the green goose shit that was all over the grassy knolls.

Entering the Douglas Library building, on the main floor, I proceeded directly to the computer lab. I was able to find a computer terminal in my usual spot within the rows upon rows of monitors and keyboards.

After logging in, I loaded the CD-R.

The parameters of this programming project were pretty straightforward. The students had to design a website for Queen's University. It had to be interactive, informative and easy to use.

I had set up a pretty good flash introduction. It was short but splashy. Economy was important 'cause not everyone had high-speed access to the internet.

As well as including shots of the campus, sports and cultural activities, and classes, I included some photos of my friends. I managed to slip in candid shots of Allison and my poker-playing cronies.

I sensed some movement behind me.

"Hey there, Hold'em."

I turned away from the screen for a moment, "Hi Studlater."

He looked at me for a moment. Was that a sheepish grin? Then there was an awkward pause.

Grasping for a straw, Studlater looked at the computer screen. "Hey, that's looking good."

Studlater's photo was up there on the monitor momentarily. "You are so vain," I chided with a snicker. "Before you ask, I'm not obsessing over you, there are photos of lots of our friends here. Let me run that flash intro again."

I moved the mouse to the replay icon.

Studlater leaned over me and focused on the photos. There was also some hokey, elevator music accompaniment. That was one of the things I needed to change.

"A good montage," complimented Studlater as the Queen's campus images flashed by. "How long did it take you to put that together?"

"Forever...what about your project? How is it coming?"

"It still needs work."

"Well, let's see what you've got."

Studlater took a seat beside me.

He pulled a CD-R case out of his backpack and quickly loaded his program into the computer.

It was the usual Studlater story. Studlater had been busy with other things, and still had a long way to go to project completion. Whereas I was going to be adding some cosmetic touches to the website design, Studlater needed some help if he was going to get the assignment in on time.

But Studlater was no dummy. He was quick on the uptake. He took advantage of the trailblazing work I had put into my website design and he added some ideas of his own. Picking my brain to overcome some technical bumps in the road, he got a lot accomplished over the course of the next three hours.

On the other hand, I finished my work after 45 minutes. I replaced the music in the flash intro with the Pachelbel Canon - a touch of class - a virtuoso blend of violin and violoncello brilliance! However, I stayed to help out Studlater, after all, that's what friends are for…Ooh, that was so Dionne Warwick.

Eventually, after overcoming a particularly taxing problem, we decided to take a break. The hard grunt work was all done. There was still a lot more to do, but we had enough time to finish it. No problem.

The Douglas Library had a decent food refectory. The serving staff was no longer around at this late hour, but the vending machines offered enough junk food sustenance to get us through the night.

I opted for cranberry juice. Studlater went for the Diet Coke and Nachos.

We found a spot away from the three other workaholics in the dining lounge and sat down.

Although there wasn't much noise from the other people, there was an omnipresent buzz from the vending machines. It was annoying.

But, I thought we could have a private conversation, unless the other people in the caf could read lips.

So far, all interaction between Studlater and I had been as if Friday night's sexual encounter had never happened. But, it had, and I knew we had to face up to it.

Studlater started it off.

"How's Allison doing?"

"She's been good, but really busy. You know, rehearsing for Chicago. But, she's got to lighten that load a bit with exams coming up and some term papers due."

"Yeah, we're all really busy now..."

"Studlater." "Hold'em." We both began.

"You first," I said.

"No, no, it's okay. You first."

I paused and looked straight into Studlater's dreamy eyes. He definitely had matinee idol looks. For one thing, he had those dreamboat eyes. I was a sucker for those mesmerizing windows to the soul. And he had those perfect teeth like...white picket fences.

"Okay," relented Studlater. "I've been thinking about what we did on Friday night, or early Saturday morning I guess, and it's been bothering me."

"Me too."

"I don't know if it's possible, but I think we should just try and forget about it," said Studlater earnestly.

"Yeah, pretend it never happened." Although it had happened and I'd always treasure that memory of pure adulterated lust!

"My feelings exactly."

We both laughed.

It was the laughter of relief.

"But I gotta say, Hold'em, you looked drop dead gorgeous!" Studlater gushed in hushed tones. "Linda is a fox, a babe! I don't know how you do it, but when I look at you now and compare it to how you looked in my car, I can't believe you are Linda. The great legs, your boobs, the hair, the makeup - it was such a delicious package. You could be a supermodel! "

"Well, thanks for the compliment, but can we just keep this our little secret?" Studlater knew all the right things to say to build up a girl's self-esteem.

Studlater grasped my hands across the table. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "You know, you owe me big time. I should be really pissed off at you. You stole my girlfriend. I lost Allison all because of you."

"Yeah, I feel terrible about that." And I did. "But, I don't know how we can rectify things. I mean, I think we're good friends, Studlater. After all, I'm helping you out with this project. And we've been good buds all year, even though Allison urged me to avoid you."

"Yeah, but if you, or 'Linda' rather, hadn't tempted me on Halloween night, Allison never would've had cause to be angry at me."

"But Studlater, wouldn't you have cheated on Allison. If it hadn't been me, wouldn't you have cheated on Allison some other time?"

Studlater pulled back.

"C'mon," I insisted, "be straight with me here."

A smile crept slowly into his expression. "Yeah...I guess so. As a matter of fact, I've always had that problem. So many beautiful girls..."

That made me feel a little better. I could let myself off the hook now.

"But I'm not the only one with wandering eyes," reminded Studlater. "It seems to me Allison's current boyfriend, or should I say girlfriend, cheated too."

I had no way out of this one. "Of course, you're right, Studlater. But, I've never had sex with another girl other than Allison."

Studlater looked astonished. "You were a virgin before you met Allison?"

I had trouble getting any words out of my throat at that moment, so I just managed to nod my head in agreement. It was a hard thing to admit to a guy who had more notches on his bedpost than the Sundance Kid had on his gun.

"Did you ever make it with a guy before?" asked Studlater in whispered tones as he looked nervously around the nearly empty refectory.

"No," I replied loudly. "Holy shit, what do you think I am?"

Studlater shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Hold'em, when I think of Linda working at the Hook and Ladder for a long time, you must have had your share of admirers."

I was incredulous. "You can't be serious. I'd never have even thought of having sex with any of those perverts." That was almost true.

"And what about all those beautiful strippers? You must have found them tempting."

I nodded my agreement. "No kidding...I went through hell every night. You don't know what it's like having a hard-on when your penis and balls are tightly taped up in a tiny little gaff. The pain is excruciating."

Studlater laughed heartily.

We thrashed out a lot of things that night. We both got rid of some emotional baggage. Eric was, after all, a stand up kinda guy. I liked him and he liked me. Even after being lovers for one brief encounter, I thought we could go back to just being friends. Just as long as Linda didn't see Studlater again, things would be all right.

 

4

Wednesday night at the Hook and Ladder was Ladies Night.

I had never worked Ladies Night before, but one of the waitresses had taken sick. So I got the call.

In the staff dressing room, I was busy changing out of my regular 'Linda' casual wear and donning the French maid costume when Sinead walked in.

"Hi Linda," greeted Sinead.

"Sinead!"

We hugged. She was a real babe. And the outfit she was wearing set my heart on fire. If I hadn't been going with Allison, I think I would've asked her out for a date. Sinead had such a big heart. She was always fun and upbeat. She was just great!

Actually I think Sinead was involved with a boyfriend anyway. She had told me he was a cop, although we had met only once, and that was a brief encounter.

"What are you doing, changing into the French mademoiselle's garb?"

"What do you mean? Isn't that what we're supposed to wear?"

"No, no. Not for tonight."

"Well, then what you're wearing?"

I looked at Sinead's long sexy vinyl boots. The PVC top and mini-skirt showed off Sinead's athletic figure. She had amazing abdominal muscles. Her opera length gloves with the open hand and triangular covering over the back of the hand gave me the odd feeling I had seen this bondage wear on some Halloween night.

"That's right, lassie, it's fantasy time."

She wasn't kidding me.

"I'm taking Annie's place," I said. "Is there an outfit I can use?"

"I'll see what I can dig up for you," replied Sinead with a look of concern.

I took out my handbag and went into the washroom. I checked out my makeup in the mirror. Not bad. Then I got out my brush and drew it through the gently curled strands of my auburn wig.

Sinead had searched through Annie's locker and found an outfit similar to the one she was sporting.

I stripped down to my bra and gaff. Then I held up the various vinyl pieces for a moment or two. They looked big enough.

My suspicions were correct. The vinyl top fit like a glove over my black underwire bra - the bra with the hidden silicone bust enhancers.

Then I pulled the mini-skirt up over my nylon covered legs. No problem. A good fit!

Next came the long gloves. There was a little finger loop that was supposed to fit on the middle finger. The gloves were very sexy! There were tight and elegant. I loved them. Decadent delight!

The last part was the boots.

I compared the size of my feet to Annie's vinyl boots. It wasn't gonna work. I put the boots back in Annie's locker.

It was kinda interesting to have a look at someone else's stuff. Her locker was a lot like mine. Kinda reminiscent of the ones we had in high school. Except Annie had some Tampax packages, photos of some male movie stars taped up to the back metal panel, and a large stuffed animal in hers. A large Garfield doll! What's up with that? Allie, my girlfriend, had this thing for Garfield too.

There was a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around and saw Sinead, she was holding these vinyl stocking-like leg coverings.

"Here, try these Linda."

These vinyl leg coverings were more like thick tights than boots. Long and flexible, covering to just a few inches below my crotch, they were meant to be worn with black patent leather high heels. Fortunately, they were a good fit with the regular heels I usually wore with the French Maid's outfit.

Stepping out in front of the full-length mirror, I was hot, hot, hot! Absolutely sizzling! All I needed was a whip and I'd be a bondage freak's wet dream!

There was a pain in my gaff as my penis tried to spring to life.

Sinead stood beside me and put her arm around my bare waist.

We looked at our reflections in the mirror.

"Luscious Linda, you look tasty enough to lick!" teased Sinead with tongue extended. "The lesbians in the crowd won't be able to keep their hands off you."

"Thanks Sinead."

We hugged. Again my penis tried to stiffen. The pain shot up like a hot knife through butter!

I struggled to control my sexual urges. I thought of ice, cold weather, frozen Arctic tundra and icicles...but it didn't work. The agony continued for a moment or two. I let go of Sinead reluctantly.

On Saturday night when I told Harry Thomas, the manager, that I was giving notice of my intention to quit, the one thing that I thought I'd miss about this place was working with Sinead.

When the house lights darkened, the audience took the cue to quiet down. Nancy Sinatra's These Boots Are Made for Walking suddenly blared to life over the loudspeakers.

The crowd seemed to get into the music from this 1960s tune.

Strutting around in my sexy vinyl outfit, I was busy trying to get all of my orders filled.

A stunning lady with long, straight platinum blonde hair stepped out from the curtains onto the stage.

"Good evening ladies!"

The exuberant packed house cheered and applauded as the hostess made her way to center stage. Nancy's voice kept "walking" as the MC wiggled her butt in time to the beat. And the buxom blonde MC sure could strut her stuff! Dressed in a studded black leather bikini, thigh high leather boots and long black leather gloves, she wielded a long black leather whip, dangerously snapping the weapon out in the direction of the audience. The crowd cheered wildly!

"Well, these boots
Are made for walking,
And that's just what they'll do,
One of these days
These boots are gonna
Walk all over you."

The blonde babe snapped the leather cord again, whipping the crowd into a frenzy!

You know I never realized before that the old Nancy Sinatra song was about a girl walking away from her cheating boyfriend. The ladies loved it!

"My name is Nell Fenwick and I'm your mistress of ceremonies this evening." Her breathy sexy voice demanded attention. Her bountiful breasts bounced as she turned this way and that to address her audience. "We've got a great show for you. We've brought the best male dancers to Kingston. You will not believe the bodies of these hunks. They'll make you forget all about your husbands and boyfriends."

There were loud cheers to that pronouncement.

"These handsome studs have muscles in places where your guys don't even have places, if you know what I mean ladies." These were a few titters of laughter.

"One of our dancers, Scott Longhorn, used to be in porn movies. But, he had to quit the porno business. The actresses complained his tool was too big to fit into their tool boxes." More wild cheers and whoops! "As we all know ladies, size definitely matters."

I busied myself frantically trying to fill all the drink orders in my section and collect the money before the first dancer was introduced. I knew that the house would be rockin' for the first dancer.

"These gentlemen work out at the gym. They're all body builders. Now some of your boyfriends or husbands might think that's a waste of time, but when you have a look at these heavenly bodies on display, you'll know it's time well spent."

More exuberant applause. "So sit back ladies and feast your eyes on our Men of the Wild West! Here for your entertainment pleasure are the dynamic duo - Dudley Do Right and Snidely Whiplash!"

Onto the stage, wearing a flowing black cape and top-hat, a mustachioed man menacingly strode, smiling evilly. Spotting the MC Nell Fenwick, he bounded after her, grabbing her just before she could disappear behind the curtains.

Nell screamed!

"I've got you!" exclaimed Snidely Whiplash. Then he tried to kiss Nell. She resisted as best she could. But Snidely overpowered her. Eventually their lips met. But Nell struggled and pushed him away.

The old Devo song Whip It leapt to life. Frustrated by Nell's steadfast resistance, Snidely Whiplash dragged helpless Nell Fenwick over to the imaginary train tracks, all in time to the Whip It beat. Then, he snapped the whip and Nell cowered in fright. Snidely forced Nell to lie down on the train tracks. Then, using Nell's whip, Snidely lashed Nell's nubile body to the tracks.

The ladies in the audience hissed and booed good-naturedly.

"Whip it good," urged Devo.

While Nell despaired at her hopeless plight, Snidely strutted offstage, much to the disgust of the audience.

The sound of a choo-choo train could be heard faintly in the distance.

"Help! Help!" cried Nell.

Then a tall, handsome, blonde Adonis, dressed in a Boy Scout hat and the distinctive red tunic of the Royal Canadian Mounties, came galloping up the main aisle of the Hook and Ladder club as the sound of an approaching choo-choo train grew louder and louder. Between his legs, Dudley grasped a long broomstick with a horse's head on it. He stopped momentarily, and reversed the broomstick, so that the horse's head was now at the upper end. The crowd burst out in laughter.

The warning whistle blew and blew!

Dudley Do Right leapt up to the catwalk astride Horse, put down the broomstick, and ran over to the damsel in distress. When he reached her prone body, lashed steadfastly to the train tracks, Dudley pulled out his imaginary knife and cut the bonds around his beloved, beautiful Nell Fenwick.

Dudley revived her sufficiently to raise her body to a standing position. Then they kissed in a long, loving embrace to the cheers and delight of the enthusiastic crowd.

But the cheering was short-lived.

Snidely Whiplash reappeared at stage left. "Curses, it's that damned Do Right!" complained Snidely.

Suddenly Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting came to life on the loudspeakers.

Dudley dropped precious Nell like a sack of potatoes and took a karate stance to defend himself against the evil Snidely Whiplash.

The Carl Douglas tune, "oh-oh-oh-oh," demanded "jerks as fast as lightning." Snidely and Dudley proceeded to kung fu and chop and trip their way around the stage in a well-choreographed Matrix-like routine. A roundhouse kick here, a straight short punch there, a judo throw into an amazing reverse body slam; the action was fast and furious! There were times when Snidely and Dudley wrestled and grabbed each other and ripped off each other's Velcro attached clothing, much to the squeals of delight of the frantic female fans.

By the time Kung Fu Fighting finished, both studly Dudley and sniveling Snidely were down to their leather jock straps.

What physiques! Their muscles rippled with every little movement. Their chests were abnormally huge, their stomachs hard and tiny, and their biceps bulged like Popeye on spinach. Their buff bodies turned on all the girls!

Unlike a male audience, the ladies were completely uninhibited! They yelled and shrieked and screamed! They threw their underwear at the dancers. They shoved five and ten dollar bills into the tight confines of the guys' bulging jock straps.

After dumb Dudley fortuitously disposed of the evil Snidely with an accidental body slam, Dudley lifted Nell from the stage. They kissed lovingly once more. Entwined bikini bottom to leather tether together, the raunchy duo left little to the imagination as their hands explored each other's perfect bodies.

The two lovers progressed to French kissing each other. But it was the depth and motion of the tongue action that shocked the audience! In and out. Tongue to glottis. Was it possible to deep throat your partner with just your tongue?

Then, unbelievably, Nell and Dudley launched into that old Rose Marie movie song, Indian Love Call. All the Mounties in Canada knew that song. It was part of their heritage. Just like the motto "We always get our man."

The audience went bananas. I laughed and laughed as Nell and Dudley lip-synched the Jeanette MacDonald-Nelson Eddy aria.

"When I'm calling you - oo - oo - oo...
Will you answer too - oo - oo – oo..."

Hysteria!

This was a lot better than watching the female strippers perform to mangy male miscreants. The ladies had fun! They were enthusiastic! And the macho male dancers must have felt like gods! Hell! They looked like gods! Holy Hades! They even stirred up sexual urges in me!

 

At the intermission, I was really busy serving beers and wines and cocktails to the ladies. The tips were pretty good. Usually, when I got a big tip from a guy, I was a little afraid that it came with a proposition attached. So big tips were a mixed blessing most nights, but I did receive a few big bills. And there was the familiar look of lust in the eyes of some of the girls too. I doubt that they knew my little secret.

But, I also noted a good thing. With a female audience, I didn't get pinched in the rear end nearly as much.

When I went over to the bar to pick up another tray of drinks, I spotted the MC, Nell Fenwick, taking a sip from a bottle of water. I had noticed her mingling with the patrons earlier.

"Great show," I said. "You're really funny and the guys are amazing."

"Thank you."

Nell was quite beautiful. She was wearing a blue sequined off-the-shoulder evening gown that went well with her curly long platinum blonde hair and her sparkling blue eyes. She looked to be in her early thirties. Amazing proportions. Tits the size of Timbuktu. Then it suddenly struck me.

"You know, I thought this was supposed to be an all-male revue."

"It is, honey."

She looked at me knowingly. Then she did something really outrageous. She grabbed my right hand. Then she guided it over to her crotch. "See. All male."

I laughed. Then, with delight, I returned the favor. I guided her hand to my crotch. She felt my gaff through the vinyl black mini-skirt. Then she probed a little deeper.

There was look of shock on her face. "Wow! You're good, honey. I never would have guessed. I mean I've seen a lot of drag queens in my life. You are amazing." She looked me over from head to toe.

"Please keep this to yourself," I said to her sincerely. "Not very many people around here know my secret."

"No problem, I understand."

"This is the first time I've seen this kind of show. The ladies in the audience sure are enthusiastic. You must love performing for them."

"Yes. They are great! They are so uninhibited. They show their emotions so readily. It's fabulous!"

"So you guys come in from Montreal?"

"Yes...it's a long way. We were in Cornwall last night, we're in Ottawa tomorrow, then back to Montreal. We do a little circuit. Sometimes we do shows in Quebec City or Sherbrooke too, wherever there's an unfilled demand."

"How about female impersonator shows? Do you perform in those too?"

"Of course, don't you?"

"No, not yet."

"You should. Performers get paid more than the waitresses...Besides, you're a natural."

"I'm a student here at Queen's," I said in a strong voice, trying to be heard above the noise of the crowded tavern. "I hope that my education will get me a job someday down the road."

"But the school year will end pretty soon. You're free in May, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Hey," said Nell, "wait here for a moment."

Nell walked quickly over to the dressing room door, then disappeared into the private sanctum for a few moments.

I had to consider my near future. Now that I was quitting my position at the Lad and Hooker, what was I going to do for a summer job? I guess I could go back to being a counselor like I had the previous summer at Camp Algonquin. Although the pay was bad, it was a helluva lot of fun!

Nell's walkabout gave me a chance to get all my drink orders together. A pitcher of draft beer, two margaritas, two Blues...

When I looked up, there was Nell. She held out a business card.

I looked at it for a moment. "You go by Nell Fenwick and the Full Mounty Revue?"

"That's right. So the next time I come to the Hook and Ladder, if you're working here, or you're in the audience, we can talk again. I'm going to be putting together a female impersonator revue to tour around this summer. There's always room for a young girl as beautiful as you."

"Thanks. I'll give it some thought."

We hugged each other. We kissed each other on both cheeks.

While Nell went back to the dressing room, I went back to serving cocktails.

 

5

Professor Sominex Samuelson was wrapping up his lecture on the effects of economic globalization pertaining to the loss of sovereignty.

With five minutes to go in the scheduled hour, I resisted the urge to pack up my notes and books.

Actually today's lecture had been pretty interesting. It concerned the effect the rulings of the World Trade Organization were having on things such as environmental protection laws, European attempts to exclude American genetically modified food products from European markets, and hostile takeover attempts by huge multinational conglomerates.

Overall, the trends were pretty disturbing.

Professor Samuelson concluded with a list of recommended readings on the topic.

Then a student asked a question about the upcoming exam. Was there any recommended preparation for the exam?

Samuelson responded with a hint about knowing the theoretical basis of economic systems. He suggested the essay question on the exam would not simply require a straightforward regurgitation of definitions or terms. Instead it would require that we be able to argue a position. We should be able to argue a particular point of view on an issue. Of course knowledge of relevant facts would be necessary.

At this point, I started to tune him out. Samuelson wouldn't tell us the specific essay question. We had heard the same hints in the previous lecture.

It was 3:00 o'clock. I was supposed to meet Allison before her Chicago rehearsal later tonight. They were practicing with the full band. According to Allie, the dance numbers were looking a little better.

In any case, I was heading to the library to study. Then I was going to meet up with Allie at around 5:30.

At any time during the school day, the computer lab at the university had a lot of students. There were a gaggle of geeks that seemed to hang out there all day. So getting a seat wasn't necessarily easy.

Luckily, just as I arrived, I saw two guys in the far corner of the room get up to leave.

Quickly I staked my claim. For what I was about to do, I didn't want any prying eyes, so I put my knapsack on the chair beside me. Since I sat at the terminal closest to the wall, I had a little bit of privacy, just as long as someone wasn't looking over my shoulder.

I quickly logged in. Then I checked my email.

There was an email from my dad.

He was asking about my plans for coming home when the exams finished.

Mentally I put that aside. I'd get back to him later 'cause I wasn't sure what I was going to do in the next month. It depended on my summer job.

I could go back home and work at a summer camp as a counselor. Or I could stay in Kingston. There was a security job opening at the student dorm. Some of the students that held those positions during the school year were going home. Or I could start applying for other jobs anywhere I could find one. At this point, I still had no clue what to do.

My parents lived in Wawa, a little town located on the Trans-Canada Highway north of Superior. That's as in Lake Superior, the world's largest lake.

Whenever I met people for the first time and told them I was from Wawa, I often got a look of sympathy from them. Like it was too bad I had an unfortunate speech impediment.

Sometimes they'd ask me to repeat the name. But Wawa still sounded like Wawa.

A few people would twig to the name. "Ah, right. I remember passing through Wawa. It's that little town on the Trans-Canada Highway. The one with the big statue of the Canada Goose."

Bingo! That was Wawa's claim to fame.

In fact, I remembered when I was a kid, my parents had taken the whole family on a trip to New York City and Washington, D.C. We were passing through New Jersey. When we were looking for a grocery store to find some snacks, I remembered being totally amazed that we stopped at a place called Wawa Stores, or something like that. But it had a Canada Goose in its logo. I figured that the owner of this chain had once lived in Wawa, got tired of the cold Canadian winters, and moved to greener pastures.

The only other American connection Wawa had, other than the thousands of American tourists that passed through it during camping season, had to do with a comedienne named Gilda Radner. Unfortunately she passed away a while back. Apparently she used to do skits on the TV show Saturday Night Live. Perhaps her most memorable skit character was Baba Wawa. So now you know the rest of the Barbara Walters speech impediment story.

A lot of junk mail! Like I really want to grow my penis a few extra inches...Well...it was probably a scam.

After deleting the crap email, I checked out some For My Eyes Only clandestine internet sites.

Since I had gotten into dressing up as a girl, I had been checking the Internet for information. One of the sites had photos of masked "girls." These people used latex masks, breast forms, and other false body parts. Some of them looked about as convincing as those inflatable dolls you'd find in those adult video places or those lingerie shops that catered to kinky sex tastes. But there were a few masked marvels that actually looked quite amazing. Some even had those video clips where the "girls" would move and talk and give you some kinda sexy message. Good stuff!

In addition, there were these online TG boutiques that sold wigs, clothes, makeup and prosthetic devices.

And that's why I wanted the privacy. Looking around the room for a moment, I checked to see if anybody was looking at my monitor from behind me. I had been thinking about this for a while. I was ready to take an experimental step in the evolution of Linda. Today I was going to order a set of incredible false breasts and a false vagina. There, on the screen, was a T Girl with huge fake breasts. Another ad on a different site had the same kinda thing. These photos looked pretty amazing on the Internet, but I was a little leery of what they might look like when they arrived at my door.

I checked through the descriptions of the products. One of these sets of prosthetic breasts was supposed to have really thin edges that could be blended with the skin. Almost see through thin. From the photo, I couldn't tell where the model's fake skin ended and her real skin began, but a little click of a mouse could have eliminated the line in the photo. Retouched digital photos were reality.

Anyway, I ordered the most expensive bust that I could find because I needed the best I could get a hold of - $249 for the breasts and $69 for the vagina. Then there was the matter of the special spray adhesive and the adhesive remover. That was an additional $49. And that was in American dollars, plus I'd have to pay for additional shipping and handling costs to Canada. Knowing the Canadian government, by the time the sex change prosthetics arrived there'd be some damn duty to pay. Free trade my ass crap!

But I had the extra money I had earned from my job at the Hook and Ladder. So I typed in my name, credit card number and postal address. The ad said there was discrete packaging, so I wouldn't get all embarrassed when the tits and clit arrived. Then I had to select the size. What the hell! I selected D cup. I figured that if I was going to buy breasts, I might as well fulfill my fantasies. Then I pushed the send button on the hotmail screen and hoped for the best.

But, figuring I might need some help with making the fake breasts look realistic, I located that female masking site again. Then I fired off a message to Julie. She was the one who looked the most realistic. She was a sexy, gorgeous blonde with thick lips that looked like they could suck and suck and suck all the day long. I thought maybe I could ask her for some advice. She had a nice face, even if it was a mask.

The cafeteria at Leonard Hall was located in the bottom floor of the student residence. It had become the usual hangout for me and Allie.

When I walked into the half-filled caf, I immediately spotted Allie in her familiar corner. She had her head buried in a book.

As I approached her table, she somehow sensed I was coming. She looked up, smiled, and then stood up.

We embraced. We kissed.

Allie was so beautiful. While normally her hair was long and thick and lustrous, her hair had been styled to resemble the pageboy hairdo of Catherine Zeta-Jones in the movie Chicago. Allie had these mesmerizing dark brown eyes that just captivated me every time I saw her. In fact, every time I saw her, I fell in love all over again. She had that effect on me, she really did.

Today she wore blue denim pants and a form hugging black knit sweater.

I was kinda similar in color. My light blue cotton shirt and black Levi's were like a comfortable uniform.

We went over to the serving area and picked out our meals for this evening. Allie chose a garden salad, vegetarian lasagna and a cup of coffee. I went for the Greek salad, barbecue chicken, and orange juice. I had to watch my weight…Okay, so the chicken skin was fattening. I hated those feelings of guilt! Just for enjoying the taste of barbecue chicken!

Couldn't some drug company genetically engineer a freaking diet pill?

Through the floor to ceiling windows of the cafeteria, we could see the greening lawns spread before the U-shape formation of the various student residences. In the distance was the wind whipped surface of Lake Ontario beneath a partly cloudy sky.

As we sat down on blue plastic chairs, Allie and I continued chatting about what we did in our classes. It was kinda brief 'cause nothing exciting or really memorable seemed to happen in the classes. Unless you were taking the same course and missed a lecture...well no, even then there wouldn't be very much to talk about.

For a brief nanosecond, I thought about discussing my act of infidelity with Studlater. But that would really put my relationship with Allie in jeopardy. Although cheating on Allie nagged at my conscience, I didn't think a confession to Allie would do me any good. Suddenly I felt jealous of Roman Catholics who could go to confession and receive absolution.

No. If Studlater never mentioned it to anybody, I wasn't going to mention to anyone either.

"So what about your rehearsal tonight?" I asked. "How's it going?"

"Oh, it's been kind of slow," replied Allie.

"Why's that?"

"At least three kind of interconnected things...One is a matter of casting," continued Allie. "Another is a matter of combining aspects of the film version of Chicago with the earlier stage version. And the third is the specialization of talent."

Allie was like that. She had an analytical mind that could sort through a jumble of thoughts and reorganize them.

"Hmm...you lost me after the word 'One.' Could you run through those again for me? I'm kinda slow."

"You saw the film Chicago, Hold'em."

"Yes." I guess she really thought I was slow on the uptake.

"Do you remember the role of Mary Sunshine?"

"As I recall, she was a reporter."

"That's right."

"Christine Baranski was Mary Sunshine, wasn't she?"

"That's correct. You ought to go on Jeopardy."

"Yeah, right. I remember her 'cause I really liked her in that TV series with Cybill Shepherd." It was one of my faves when I was little.

"Well, we're having trouble finding a suitable Mary Sunshine. So we might adjust the script a little or we might make our production more like the film rather than the original Broadway musical."

"So that's what you meant by combining aspects of the film and the stage version?"

"That's part of it," agreed Allie. "But, some things they did in the film were just so well done that to go back to the way it was done before might disappoint the audience. That plus a lot of people have seen the film and have expectations that the stage version will be very similar."

Apparently there were some differences between the Broadway musical and the film version of Chicago. But I wouldn't want to tell you much more than that 'cause I really hated it when some airhead spoiled the ending for someone who had never seen the production.

That kinda thing has driven me bonkers on more than one occasion. I knew a girl back in high school, Erin 'Spaz' Spasevski. She was so annoying. We'd be discussing movies. I'd be talking about being interested in seeing some movie, then she'd tell me about the film and the characters and a little bit about the plot. Then Erin would make me absolutely irate when she revealed the ending. It was enough to make you wish the government would legalize retroactive abortion!

"I don't mean to put any pressure on you, but don't you have big shoes to fill? I mean, after all, Velma Kelly was played by Catherine Zeta-Jones. There will be very high expectations."

"You're right, but Roxie Hart, played by Renee Zellweger, is the starring role. So it's not like I'm the only one on the hot seat."

"True. In any case, I know you'll be terrific. I have a lot of confidence in you."

"Thanks, Hold'em."

We held hands across the table briefly.

"What was the third point?" I asked.

"Specialization of talent?"

"Uh huh. Sounds kind of cryptic. Did you know, in a previous life, I was a code breaker for the Allies in World War II?"

Allie laughed. "Okay, here's what I mean. It's a problem that companies face when they try to economize."

"Do you mean theatrical companies?" I asked.

"Yes, but I suppose it applies to any business."

"Well, I studied Economics this year. Maybe I'll be able to offer a different perspective."

"I doubt that there's a good way around this problem," admitted Allie. "It simply boils down to this. Most musical productions have dancers on stage and a pit band below. But, for this production, our Chicago dancers also are our musicians. You see, if they can be both dancers and musicians, it's like doubling our cast. And in a small company like ours, it's almost a necessity."

"I see. That must be pretty demanding."

"Yes. I think in this production we've discovered that dancers, who usually have spent many years training to be dancers, usually are not talented musicians because the dancers specialized in dance."

"That makes sense," I agreed.

"And musicians, who usually have spent years and years practicing on their instruments lack a dance background."

"Not surprising." That would sort of describe my situation. I had some music background, but I certainly was no Baryshnikov when it came to dancing.

"So figuring that it would be easier to train a musician to dance rather than a dancer to master a musical instrument, we are finding our musician-dancers are taking a long time to learn the dance routines."

"Oh, I see. So the production might sound alright, but the dancing might suck."

"And the winner is…Hold'em Copperfield for Chicago. That's it exactly." Allie had this fixation about the Academy Awards. It was kind of an in-joke between the two of us.

"Well, why don't you mix in a few more real dancers into the production?"

"That would be a good solution, except for one big problem."

"And that is..."

"Money, money, money." Allie continued, "The whole point behind turning the band into dancers was to reduce costs. The Kingston Repertory Theater doesn't draw big audiences the way a Broadway production would. We cannot afford to have a big cast."

"Well, what about an amateur cast. People who perform for the love of theater."

"I don't know. I mean all of the cast regard performing as a part-time job, something to supplement their income. But if some people are being paid and the others aren't, I think that would cause problems."

"It is a dilemma."

"What about you? Have you ever had any dance training?" asked Allie.

"Not the kind you're talking about. But I wish I had."

Allie looked at me for a moment. She was expecting some elaboration.

"At the Hook and Ladder on Tuesday night, I saw a male dance review."

"You've got to be kidding, Hold'em."

"I was working that night. One of the waitresses was ill."

"Oh, don't tell me you want to be a male stripper? Or do you want to be a female stripper?" giggled Allie.

I snickered too at the possibilities. "I think it would be neither. But the MC of the male dance revue was a drop dead gorgeous female impersonator."

"So you want to become a female impersonator? That's not much of a stretch, Hold'em. I've got news for you, Mr. Copperfield. You already are one."

"Yes, but the MC gave me her card."

I fished into my pocket and extracted my wallet. A moment later, I produced the business card and handed it to Allison.

"Nell Fenwick and the Full Mounty Revue," read Allison.

"That's right."

"What kind of name is Nell, anyway? It sounds like a horse's name."

"Did you ever see that Dudley Do Right movie?"

"The one with Brendan Fraser?"

I nodded.

"I remember now," continued Allison. "Isn't Nell the name of Dudley Do Right's horse?"

"No, the horse's name is Horse. Nell Fenwick is Dudley's girlfriend. But what I'm getting to is that Nell asked if I'd be interested in performing as a female impersonator."

"Oh great, Hold'em! I think you could do that without any problem."

"You think so?"

"I know so. You can't hold down a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club without being totally convincing."

I paused for a moment. That was undeniable. "But there's got to be more involved than just looking like a girl."

"I know you can sing Hold'em, from that time we tried karaoke."

"Yeah, that was a lot of fun," I remembered. That had been around Christmas time when we were just getting to know each other really well. "I guess I can hold my own, but I don't know if I could sound like a girl. And more importantly, I doubt that I could imitate the voices of the stars. I mean, that must take a really unique talent to have that kind of vocal flexibility."

"But if you can't sound exactly like a star, I don't think it's that hard to lip synch. However, regarding your earlier point about learning to dance, before we got off on these other tangents, you'd have to put together a well-choreographed act. You probably would have to study music videos to learn how to imitate some diva like Celine Dion or Cher or Madonna or..."

"Catherine Zeta-Jones."

Allison burst out in laughter. "Or Catherine Zeta-Jones singing All That Jazz."

"Do you think you could give me some help, Allie?"

"Of course, I'd love too."

"Great...So who do you think I could resemble?"

"Britney Spears."

"Really?"

"Your facial features would suit her."

"I'm not a big fan of hers though."

"That shouldn't matter. I think it works best when an imitator actually resembles the star."

I smiled. "I agree. Any other ideas?"

"Maybe you could resemble Avril Lavigne too, the Complicated girl."

"You think so?"

"It's hard to say until you play around with the wigs and makeup...But, is there a good upside to being a female impersonator? I mean, other than Rupaul or Dame Edna, I can't think of too many performers that have become big stars."

"Good point...and what would my parents and friends think?" Just because I could do it didn't mean I should do it.

"Hold'em, have you ever thought of acting?"

"I suppose everybody has."

"Well, I've got an agent. You could audition, especially for parts that involve androgynous identities."

"There aren't too many roles like that, are there?"

"Well, the Broadway musical Hairspray has a drag character in the lead role."

"Really?"

"I'm not kidding," replied Allison.

"Who's the actor?"

"Harvey Fierstein."

"Oh right."

"Perhaps we should get Linda to come by the rehearsal today and find out what she can do?"

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. "I don't see why not. Perhaps it might be interesting." I had seen the film and I already was familiar with the play. Earlier on, I had helped Allie learn some of her lines. Although I had thought briefly about auditioning before, it had been impossible because of my job at the Hook and Ladder.

"I think there might be a role in it for you," said Allie with a facial expression like the cat that had just swallowed the canary.

Sometimes Allison had a sneaky way of maneuvering people into doing things for her. Was she subtly manipulating me now?

In any case, I was going into this with my eyes wide open. The legitimate theater sounded a helluva lot more appetizing than strip joints or gay bars.

 

6

Saturday night, my final shift at the Hook and Ladder.

I looked around the bar, wondering if I'd miss this place. As strip clubs go, it was pretty good. The Hook and Ladder had a certain sordid charm about it. Maybe it was the Tudor exterior, the oak decor of the well-stocked bar, the old worn plank floors, the pole in the middle of the catwalk, or the solid wood chairs and tables. Then again, maybe not. More likely it was the people - the sexy strippers, the considerate serving staff or perhaps the raucous sex-starved patrons. But, if you want to know the truth, I think it was the sense that there was nothing pretentious about the Lad and Hooker. It was what it was. A titillating entertainment venue where one could see beautiful girls (or guys) take off their clothes. A tavern in which to enjoy a drink or two and it was an excellent people-watching place, with some very different and unexpectedly delightful characters. Where one could experience life close to the edge. And I thought it was life on the thin razor's edge that I thought I'd miss the most.

The Lad and Hooker was a place where the veneer of civilization was stripped away. It was a place where man and woman interacted like dogs in the park. Man saw woman. Man liked woman. If woman liked man, then man boinked woman. Dogs in the park.

But, ultimately, I didn't think I really fit in here. Not because of my sexual instincts. No, not at all. I was just as much a horny dog as the next guy. Quite obviously it was because I was an ordinary guy pretending to be a sexy beautiful girl. That was why I couldn't stay here. The longer I stayed, the longer I pushed the odds.

I was the Great Pretender.

When I donned the French Maid outfit for the last time, I had Sinead take a photo of me. Then I had another of the cocktail waitresses take a photo of me and Sinead together.

I guess it was a feeble attempt to capture that moment forever in time.

But I was certain that I'd keep in touch with Sinead O'Hara. She was a real gem. A wonderful person!

Maybe I was getting all emotional. Maybe I was just getting in touch with my feminine side.

Later on, when I was taking the drink orders, circulating among the crowd, I had a completely different attitude from my usual level, reserved outlook. So when I got pinched on the rear end for the umpteenth time that night, I took it as a compliment. Or when someone praised my beauty, I relished it. Also, I accepted the generous tips gleefully. Because it wouldn't happen again. So I appreciated it all the more.

There were some familiar dancers on stage. One of them, a statuesque blond, named Cameron Daze was a carbon copy of actress Cameron Diaz. Except younger looking and better endowed.

But, if you want to know the truth, a lot of the strippers have had breast implants. They used to use silicone, but that caused some problems. Sometimes the silicone hardened the breasts into unnatural lumps. Sometimes the plastic bag containing the silicone broke and the silicone migrated all over the place. It was one big mess. Immune system problems and all. I saw it on Jenny Jones. So, instead, Cameron received those plastic baggies containing saline solution.

I remembered that because the first time I saw Cameron Daze, she went by the name of Patricia Passion, she was almost as flat-chested as William. In fact, some of the guys in the audience nicknamed her Flatty Patty. And she had brown hair. But the next time Linda saw her, she must have had a D cup bosom, which was larger than probably 98% of the female population. And, with blonde hair, Patricia became Cameron.

I gotta admit Cameron Daze earned a lot more tips than Flatty Patty.

In fact, Cameron was so happy about the boob procedure, she offered to let me feel her new breasts. I guess she figured I might want to go through the breast implant operation myself.

All flat-chested strippers were caught in the tendrils of the Booby Trap. I mean even non-entertainers considered getting boob jobs.

So, in the interests of science, I gave her new tits a squeeze. I gotta admit they didn't feel like Allison's real breasts. Beneath the outer layer of skin and fat and mammary tissue, it felt like I was squeezing these water-filled plastic bags. Kinda like a water bed, you could almost hear the liquid brine sloshing around. The big boobs kinda reminded me of the water balloons I used to throw at my friends when I was a young kid. But that's another story. And I don't want to talk about that. I really don't.

Oh, and if you want to know the truth, neither Cameron Daze nor Patricia Passion were her real name. It was Gladys Aldershot.

Old Gladys/Patricia/Cameron was kinda sweet and vulnerable. She said she had a real difficult time getting into stripping. If it wasn't for her sister Stormy, she might've never made it. In fact, Cameron said doing the breast implant operation was nothing. Cameron had experienced far worse troubles. In fact, during her first week as a stripper, Cameron had suffered a serious accident. While walking down the catwalk, tottering on her extremely high heels, she had fallen face forward onto the floor below. She had put her arms out to cushion the fall. Immediately she was in tremendous pain! Her arms and wrists and hands felt like they were on fire!

When she went to the hospital, Cameron/Gladys underwent X-rays. When the doctor finally got around to giving her the news, it couldn't have been much worse.

In the words of the doctor, he said, "Gladys, the results of the X-rays showed compound fractures of both wrists. Also, the pinky finger on your right hand is broken too…But the really bad news concerns what happens after you get casts put on both arms…When you do your daily bowel movement, with both arms encased in plaster, I don't know how you're going to wipe your butt."

She killed me. She really did.

The old Gladys Aldershot apparently didn't have a lot of self-confidence. But Cameron Daze was becoming more confident each day. I really liked her.

At the Hook and Ladder, the strippers just kept on coming.

There were a million stories in the Naked City.

Then my pleasant evening suddenly got very unpleasant! Holy shit! Just when I thought my last night was gonna be a great one, my worst fears came to life. I saw Studlater sitting there in the front row beside the catwalk. And my other poker buddies were there too - Damian 'the Omen' Stoddard, Mike 'Cool Hand' Duke and Paul 'PC Laptop' Campbell.

And wouldn't you know it? They were in my assigned area. I was supposed to be their server.

That bastard Studlater! How could he do this to me on my last night?

Anyway, I went over to where they were sitting, just as Cameron Daze went into her next phase of divestiture to the tune of Hot Boyz by Missy Elliot.

"Hiya fellas," I said sweetly. "How are you guys doing tonight?"

"Hey there," replied Paul Campbell, greeting me on behalf of the whole gang 'cause he was closest to where I was standing 'cause of the arrangement of chairs. "I remember you from last time."

I nodded.

"You're Studlater's friend, aren't you?"

"That's right," agreed Studlater with a sheepish look. "She's Linda. You guys remember Linda? She got us our drinks the last time we were here."

All the guys looked at me admiringly.

"Studlater," interjected Mike, "you filthy dog. You certainly know a lot of beautiful women."

Paul Campbell added, "Don't you remember? Studlater met Linda at the Halloween party."

"Oh yeah, I remember," said Mike. "You dropped out of Queen's, didn't you?"

"My oh my, you guys have excellent memories." I smiled. "So what can I get you fellas this evening?"

"Hey Damian," yelled out Paul Campbell, "Isn't it your turn to buy?"

"Are you crazy, PC? You took all my money in our last poker game. You were the big winner, PC. It's time for the rich to give to the poor."

"You know what, guys," said Mike, "I sure wish Hold'em Copperfield had kept on playing in our card games. I sure do miss the easy money."

"Yeah," agreed Damian, "You're not the only one, Mike. Then you guys would stop robbing me."

"Hold'em is a helluva guy - and the world's biggest loser," added Mike derisively.

"Hell!" interjected Paul. "We should send a limousine to pick him up. I made enough from Hold'em's donations to pay my tuition."

As a cocktail waitress, one thing I had learned was how to keep smiling no matter what happened.

Studlater gave me a sympathetic look. "We'll have two pitchers of your best draft beer."

"I'll be back," I warned them, a la Arnold Schwarzenegger, as I quickly turned away. I was absolutely incensed at Paul and Mike!

Straight back to the bar I went. I was so intent on revenge. The bartender, Jack, a really nice guy, was busy, but I was so impatient that I filled the pitchers with the Labatt draft myself.

Well, there were lots of good things about working your last shift ever. No fear! That was one of them!

Revenge could be a thing of beauty.

I picked up one of the used glasses that one of the bus boys had cleared away. Next, I walked a few steps over to the employees change room for a moment and then into the washroom. Behind the door of a toilet stall, I reached under my skirt and pulled down my panties, my pantyhose and then my gaff. Freeing up my fully tucked penis, oh the relief, I placed the glass just below my four-inch cock and did my business. With an unladylike grunt, I forced the piss out. Soon the glass was half-full. Or was it half empty?

Then I put the glass down on the top of the white porcelain toilet tank for a moment. I re-tucked my penis in between my legs and pulled up the gaff so that I was flat again. Next came the pantyhose and the panties.

This time consuming procedure, just to take a piss, was one thing I wasn't going to miss about being a male cocktail waitress.

Emerging from the stall, I took a moment to check my reflection in the mirror. I lifted my skirt to check my crotch. It was absolutely flat. Undetectable.

My long curvaceous legs on top of four inch stiletto heels, a nice round "Squeeze the Charmin" delectable ass, a silicone enhanced Lara Croft like illusionary bust, long gently curled auburn tresses and model perfect facial features accented by skillfully applied makeup - I was a tasty temptress in a frilly French Maid's fantasy outfit.

I must confess, as I preened in front of the washroom mirror, there was a devilish smile on this particular sexy French Maid's face.

When I returned to the bar area, I knew what I had to do. I poured some of the yellow contents from the offensive glass into the two golden pitchers of beer 'til they almost overflowed.

I paused for a moment to think about what else I could do. Then I reached under my skirt to my left buttock. I pinched myself as hard as I could. Next, I looked at my rear end to see if it looked really red. I was pleased to see it looked quite raw. Then I looked up to see the face of the bartender, Jack, who gave me a strange look. When I smiled back at him, he shrugged. He must have thought I was into pain and bondage.

A new stripper had been introduced by our DJ. Her name was Stormy Daze. Yeah, she was the sister of Cameron Daze. She was quite beautiful - one of the best local girls from the Kingston vicinity. Stormy had long jet-black hair, a fabulous body, and a very sexciting dance routine!

This girl should've been giving lessons to all the other exotic dancers! She knew how to tease and please with classy sleaze!

Her music, Lady Marmalade by Christina Aguilera, Lil' Kim, Mya, & Pink, conjured up visions of great dance numbers in the Nicole Kidman film Moulin Rouge.

The guys were all focusing on Stormy Daze as I came forward with the tray. It was filled with two frosty pitchers, four beer steins, coasters and napkins. The draft beer pitchers were precariously balanced on opposite ends of the plastic tray.

It was the proverbial accident waiting to happen!

Mike and Paul were sitting together, fixed in the gaze of Stormy Daze. She bent over to accept Paul's proffered five dollar bill. She tucked it into her g-string and mouthed a thank you to Paul.

Then Stormy strutted down the catwalk to the next guy with a bill in his hand.

Studlater was the only one who saw me approaching.

With a little head nod, I indicated to Studlater I was targeting those two.

When I was practically standing over top of them, I announced, "Here you go, fellas...Aiee!" I yelped as I spilled the pitchers of beer and the whole tray all over Mike and Paul!

Bull's eye! I swear those beer pitchers bounced off their friggin' noggins! The beer splattered all over their faces, shirts and pants, absolutely drenching them!

"Oh, I'm so sorry, gentlemen." I was aghast!

The beer steins ended up on the laps of Paul and Mike. They quickly stood up to try to minimize the damage. The glass steins fell to the floor, shattering to smithereens!

Absolute chaos!

Paul gave me an angry glare!

"What the hell happened?" demanded Mike.

"You idiot! How could you be so clumsy?" complained Paul.

"I'm so sorry fellas," I said in as sweet a voice as I could manage. "But somebody pinched me in the butt, just as I was placing the tray on your table." I lifted my skirt to show them a red welt on my left buttock. It was all raw and red. "See!"

Studlater burst out in laughter! He was practically killing himself.

"Who the hell pinched her butt?" yelled out Paul angrily.

Studlater continued to guffaw. Then Damian snickered as he tried to hold back his laughter.

"You dirty bastard Studlater!" wailed Paul.

"We'll get you back Studlater!" insisted Mike.

Studlater kept snorting and chortling. He didn't deny pinching my butt, but he didn't confirm it either.

Eric Studlater Stradlater was a real sweetheart of a guy. He really knew how to win over the affections of any girl.

At the end of my shift, I said goodbye to Sinead and the rest of the staff that I got to know in the months I had worked at the Hook and Ladder.

But, it wasn't a tearful farewell. I mean it wasn't like my life was coming to an end or anything that serious.

Oh! They let me keep the French Maid's outfit. I guess I should have been thankful for that.

When I walked through the front doors of the club for possibly the very last time, I wasn't surprised to see a silver Mustang sitting by the curb.

Studlater opened his car door as soon as he spotted me. Then he escorted me to the passenger side and opened the door for me.

Then, after he helped me to be seated, he gently closed it as I mouthed a thank you to him.

Later on, when Studlater dropped me off at Gordon House, we stood on the front steps of the student residence. He majestically swept me up in his arms, paused to look me straight in the eyes, and then gave me the mother of all goodnight kisses!

Lightning and thunder shook the heavens! Bombs exploded! Mushroom clouds shot up into the sky!

Damn him! I wanted Studlater to father all of my children!

Studlater was driving me absolutely crazy!

 

(continued)

  

  

  

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