Drummer in High Heels

by Abby Rhodes

One

 

Another night, another long drive home alone, another collapse into an armchair smelling of cigarettes and feeling strange from a mixture of alcohol and the pills that kept me awake to drive. Sometimes I just wanted to tell the band to find another drummer and I'd retire or find another band with a residency somewhere close to my place.

The trouble is, playing to an audience is addictive and, on a good night, even a covers band can hit that magic space where the music takes over and everyone hurtles down the track locked together in something close to a perfect synergistic state where there's only one entity even though the entity consists of six guys who had a serious disagreement and threw punches only twenty minutes ago.

My name is Mac. I've been playing in bands for more than ten years and I think I'm good at it. Apart from the stress of travelling, and the occasional lead guitar player who thinks he can't be replaced and who therefore has a valid opinion, it's a good and often lucrative life. But there are limits and I was getting close to wanting a change.

And a change is what I got. There was this girl I went out with once in a while, just going to hear other bands and doing a bit of drinking, no sex or drugs. She calls herself Hyatt, although I have it on good authority her real name is Betty. She played keyboards in an all-girl band called Touch My Butt And You're Dead and it was a good band. They played mainly covers but were starting to write their own songs, sung aggressively but tunefully by the vocalist, a supposed radical feminist called Blanche Dubois. It will come as no surprise to hear that Blanche Dubois wasn't her real name.

Their drummer was a strange woman known only as E. She was kind of unreliable and didn't turn up several times. I'd filled in once and they'd picked someone up for a gig one other time and reported that the girl was so bad the promoter wouldn't even pay them. Blanche Dubois was so incensed she wouldn't even drive the girl home and left her and her gear stranded eighty miles away. That wasn't quite fair but Blanche was not to be argued with when she hit her stride. Good girl drummers are hard to find, and I'm sure you can see where this is heading. It's not quite that straightforward, so pay attention.

When I said I filled in for E, it was just as me. Even though the promoter had hired Touch My Butt as an all-girl band, he accepted that I was a fill-in and only there because of a crisis. He actually thanked me afterwards and complimented me on my playing and my musical contribution.

Touch My Butt finally got a break, due in no small part to Blanche Dubois' looks and attitude. She was a gorgeous, baby-faced blonde and dressed in the most frilly and feminine clothing but had a mouth like a sewer and the fans loved her. The contrast with her looks as she poured out the most vitriolic lyrics was quite remarkable. She liked to wear big square-dance petticoats and miniscule tops and once she had a pair of high heels on you thought she was going to sing a Doris Day number until she waded into Fuck You And Fuck Me, a cheerful song about the politics of global warming.

I rather liked Blanche. She was a fun person and the radical feminist lesbian stuff was just another attention-getting device. In reality she was as heterosexual and straightforward as most of the rest of us and was a serial one-guy-gal. She was funny, interesting and knew music backwards.

It was just like a movie. A talent scout for one of the big record companies saw Touch My Butt and fell in love. It was a piece of luck because he was in town only as the result of his car blowing up in a big way just down the road from the club where the girls were playing. It seems his mechanic had failed to properly screw the sump plug back in when he last changed the oil. The old caddy just seized up died when the oil dried up.

Marcus Cod was in a bind. He hadn't signed up a band worth anything for years and when he left LA to check out a band in Phoenix he was on his last chance. The band had already broken up by the time he got to Phoenix and he'd decided to hand in his resignation when he got back home to avoid the ignominy of being fired. He'd retire to San Diego where his brother owned a liquor shop and said Marcus could help out if he decided to quit the music business. Touch My Butt saved him from becoming an alcoholic liquor salesman living in fear of the next armed robbery.

Marcus was looking for a telephone because his mobile phone was as dead as the Caddy and his intention was to call a mechanic and/or AAA. What he found inside was not a telephone - the payphone in the hallway out back by the restrooms hadn't worked for a year. He saw the band on stage and dismissed them as just another would-be Bangles or Heart. If the telephone was working he would have made the call and walked back to the Caddy to wait for help, but he had to find the owner, see if he could use the office phone (no way!!), or try to find someone willing to let him use their mobile phone.

Finally he collapsed onto a bar stool, ordered a large bourbon and glared at the girl serving him, a very cute redhead who saw his look and told him to lighten up or fuck off. Marcus was startled by her frankness and forthrightness. Then he looked closely at her and saw she was wearing a gold lame bikini top under a heap of junk jewellery that failed to conceal a substantial cleavage, and a gold lame miniskirt that wouldn't have needed a foot-long ruler to measure.

"Seen enough, Mister? Give me a fifty and I'll let you see my pussy as well. Are you a local pervert or just visiting?"

Again Marcus was startled and just then Blanche Dubois shouted, "Yo, Motherfuckers, are you ready to rock and roll!!" It was a statement, not a question. There was a thunder of bass and drums and the band launched into a heavy version of My Favourite Things that would have curled Julie Andrews's hair. It seems mittens and string were no match for sex and drugs.

Marcus was startled for the third time in a couple of minutes. The music was powerful and tuneful. The girls looked good because they were dressed for a party, no blue denim in sight but there was a lot of chiffon and satin and Blanche had an enormous white petticoat on, full but short and you could plainly see the garter tabs that held up her sheer stockings. Spike-heeled shoes and a little white wool cardigan finished the look, but the cardigan was two sizes too small and gaping dangerously. Marcus was in love by the time they got to the first break.

Blanche saw him coming and dismissed him as another guy looking for a quick one and took a lot of convincing before she accepted he was a genuine talent scout and really worked for a big company. She reluctantly passed over a copy of their standard audition tape and after they went home Marcus went to sleep in the back seat of the dead Caddy.

Two days later Marcus called Blanche and asked her to bring the band to LA to strut their stuff for the bigwigs. Not only that, but he sent money. Things moved fast after that and Blanche and the band started auditioning drummers as fast as they could. They still didn't have a permanent replacement for E and everyone they tried was just a little short of what they were looking for.

Roughly two weeks after Marcus woke up with a stiff neck, back and legs, my telephone rang and Blanche asked if she could come over because she wanted to talk. That night I was playing in a local bar with two other guys I played with once in a while. We were backing a local singing hero but I had several hours to kill and told her to come on over and share a beer. Twenty minutes later, Touch My Butt arrived, all five of them, and suddenly my little apartment was full of gorgeous girls.

"Mac, we have a problem," Blanche said. "Every girl drummer we auditioned was crap and we're so desperate we decided we'd go out and talk to drummers who even remotely looked like girls. The list was very short and Mac was the only name on it. How do you feel about dressing up and playing for us? We've got a potential contract that should see us with some good money and I'm sure one of the girls will fuck you regularly. What about it?"

I looked at her and waited for her to laugh but she didn't. I looked at the other four girls and they weren't smiling either.

"You're joking, right?"

"It's getting too serious for joking, Mac. We have to be in LA in five days to give a performance for the record company and we're getting desperate."

"Desperation's one thing but isn't this a desperate remedy? Have you thought this through?"

"Of course we have, dummy. Why do you think the whole band's standing in your living room? You've bailed us out before, we know you're good and you have a great set of drums. (I beamed at her. I was proud of my drums. It was a big set I'd built up over a few years and I kept the cymbals and stands gleaming and bright.) We also think you could be transformed into a good-looking girl. Not as pretty as the rest of us, obviously, but you've got fine bones and a small face. We could do this."

"I can't help but feel you're barking up the wrong tree, Blanche. As much as I'd like to play in a band that had a recording contract and as much as I like Touch My Butt's stuff, I don't think you could do this. I'm not opposed because I'd have to bunk in with you guys, and your offer of a regular fuck is appreciated as well. I just don't think I could fit the bill girl-wise."

"Can we give it a try, Mac?"

There was an interruption as one of the other girls spoke for the first time. Carla, the part Mexican and very attractive rhythm guitar player said, "We wouldn't even be here if we weren't reasonably convinced, Mac. How does the name Belle Starr sound? Lola Delight? Wanda Farr? Would you like to pick out a name for yourself? But first things first, shut the fuck up and let us girls show you what we mean. Will you give us a chance?"

I was still bemused and just shrugged my shoulders. That was the only signal they needed and a moment later I was laid back in an easy chair and Blanche ran her hand over my chin, said "Shaved today?" I nodded and she said "Close your eyes and relax."

That was easier said than done but I did close my eyes and waited while fingers flew over my face. It only took five minutes and then I felt a wig being put on my head.

"Just another moment - there you go," said Blanche. "Have a look, Mac. God, I could fuck you myself."

I opened my eyes and Carla was holding up a mirror for me to check myself out. My first impression was that I wasn't even in the mirror, but I moved my head and the dark-haired girl in the mirror did too.

"This is scary," I said. "What have you done to me? I look like a girl. Shit, Blanche, you were right."

"I'm always right and don't you forget it. What do you think, Mac? Don't you look pretty?"

I stood up and went to check in the bathroom mirror so I could get a wider view. The doll in the bathroom mirror was wearing the clothes I'd had on before the girls arrived but I had trouble seeing myself. Blanche was right; I could pass for a girl and a pretty one at that.

I went back to the living room and Blanche was already impatient. "Well?" she said. "You want to do it? You want to come on the road with us and have all the guys throwing money at you while you're getting all the pussy you can handle as well? You're a living doll, Mac. I knew you'd pass but you exceeded my expectations. Will she do, girls?"

There were calls of 'yes', 'fuck yes', and 'he's prettier than me' and I knew then I was going to give it a try.

"You've convinced me, girls. I'll give it a try. When do I start?"

"Tomorrow at twelve, rehearsal at my place." She kissed me and so did all the girls, but Carla made a better job of it than the others.

"Tomorrow at twelve," was Blanche's parting remark, "and after rehearsal we'll look at some clothes for you. Go and wash your face."

The apartment emptied and I washed the make-up off, but not before I had a good long look at myself. This was going to be interesting.

 

The next day I arrived at Blanche's place at noon. It's an old farmhouse a little out of town that had seen better days but had a ton of space and no close neighbours. I unloaded my gear and set it up in the big living room and for a while cacophony reigned as everyone tuned up and I took experimental swipes at various bits of drums and cymbals.

When everyone was satisfied they were in tune, Blanche made a short speech about professionalism and the need to impress the music industry hierarchy. (The actual words she used were 'Show those asshole motherfuckers we're fucking brilliant and as tight as a ……. '. I've left out a couple of words here in deference to some religions who might find the word 'nun' used in this context offensive.)

We ran through the entire Touch My Butt repertoire, including a couple of new songs they were still working on. My contribution seemed to put the finishing touches to the new songs and Blanche pronounced herself satisfied. We rounded out the session with all-out hard-rock versions of Hotel California and Softly Whispering I Love You.

"That was great, Mac. So one last time – are you in?"

"I am. Much as I'm concerned about my mental health, which could be compromised by the unnatural act of dressing up like a girl, I like the music and I like your professionalism. I have another band I need to speak to because they like me too. However, they aren't going to Los Angeles, so there's no competition. Like I said, I'm in."

Blanche threw herself at me and gave me a big kiss on the mouth, again followed by the rest of the band. Carla was the only girl who included a bit of tongue.

 

I need to introduce the band so you know the cast for what came next.

 

Blanche – singer, blonde and pretty, foul-mouthed, excellent legs, breasts and a low tolerance for bullshit.

Carla – rhythm guitar, part Mexican. Golden skin, dark eyes, black hair, likes to wear slinky dresses and those dresses tend to have splits that reach so far up you can almost see her armpits from both ends. She knows some really nice chords.

Hyatt – keyboards. Hyatt held the band together musically. She was classically trained and could talk any of the others through their parts on any song. Otherwise she was another brunette and she favoured tight stretch fabrics that overexcited many a fan. She wears glasses and somehow the glasses just make her sexier.

Xenon – bass. Xenon is a redhead who besides being a great bass player is sort of mother in the group. She makes sure everyone has everything they need and makes soup when anyone gets sick. She plays in a tiny satin miniskirt and a camisole top that doesn't do much to conceal a magnificent set of knockers.

Katya – lead guitar. Hyatt once told me Katya is a white Russian and she claims to be descended from the Tsars. She certainly looks regal, with white-blonde dead straight hair cut in a bob. She looks kind of frosty but she has a grin that lights up her whole being and I'm sure she cultivates the ice-queen look deliberately. She only wears white and that's usually white chiffon with white stockings and white spike heels. Talk about sexy!!

So this is the group I'd elected to join. They were all strong musicians and I saw no reason why their looks and talent, primarily their talent, wouldn't see them all the way to the top. Meantime, I didn't have a thing to wear.

 

After the rehearsal we broke out beer and talked. About me. What was I going to look like? What was I going to call myself? What was I going to wear on stage? You have to understand that I hadn't thought the whole thing through properly and I still had a lot to learn about what I'd let myself in for. Looking back, I keep thinking of The Narrator opening The Rocky Horror Show – Let Me Take You on a Strange Journey.

 

We threw names around for a long time and I didn't hear anything I particularly liked. It was a few days later I settled on Alysa. I always intended to keep my second name but Blanche made me change it so I became Alysa Woolf.

That was nothing compared to the wardrobe. The fit-out wasn't actually traumatic, but the girls gave me a stern lecture about the need for me to stay in character 24/7. That meant no male clothes ever and I had to wear female clothing from the skin out. It hadn't occurred to me, stupid as I am, that I would be doing the whole thing including girl's underwear but I had to agree that there was no room for an identity slip-up. If we were going to make it big we had to be convincing and that was that. There was still no guarantee of a music career, but we were taking it one step at a time, and the gig for the bigwigs was our first priority.

There were now just four days left before we hit LA and everybody except me was organised and had time to help me go through my conversion. It didn't take all that long. Carla was in charge of hair and got me a couple of wigs in the same dirty blonde colour as my own hair. I'd already been ordered not to have my hair cut for the foreseeable future.

Katya was put in charge of grooming and I only shouted minor cuss words and threats as the hair got ripped off my legs, chest and back. She looked at my beard and decided that I could keep blade shaving until the audition was done. If we were in, she threatened me with permanent removal. I suppose I was lucky I was a natural blonde or she would have had me done there and then.

Hyatt was in charge of make-up and she made me over several different ways until she was satisfied, then she made me do it myself over and over until I got the hang of it.

Blanche and Xenon were in charge of wardrobe. It was unsettling at the time but by God I love it now and I know you wan to hear all about it.

As I said, Blanche had made it clear there was no compromising – I wore girl's clothes from the inside out. With that in mind, she took me down to the mall and into what they called 'Intimates'. She shoved me into a changing room, told me to strip off and seconds later handed me a pair of white stretch satin panties through the curtain and told me to get them on to preserve whatever modesty I still had. Those were closely followed by a matching bra that she brought in and had on me in a few seconds.

"Just testing for size," she said. "34 looks right and we'll go for a B cup size. Jesus, Mac, sorry, Alysa, you're skinny as hell, but I suppose that's good under the circumstances. Nice buns under the satin though." She caressed my backside and left with a big grin.

She was back thirty seconds later with an armful of stuff that would have weighed a few ounces all up. "Try those. Yell if you need help, while I find some other stuff."

Yell? Not likely. I struggled with a few things and a couple were on the small side, but clearly Blanche knew what she was doing. There were a couple of chemises, some boyshorts, two camisoles and a tight sort of garment that grabbed my waist and backside. Some sort of body-taming garment I presumed. It was shiny and black and despite its confining qualities looked quite sexy. I was looking at myself in the mirror and wondering about it when Blanche poked her head in and said, "It's to keep your dick under control. You can't have cock bulge under a skirt or dress. You won't have to wear it all that often, but I'll get two more, one in white and a nude colour. Generally, panties like the white stretch ones you've got on will suffice, but you have to be ready for anything. What if some stud runs his fingers over your crotch? You won't want him to find out you're a guy, will you?"

Stud? Fingers? For a moment I had some doubts. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment that if I was a girl, men would be approaching me and trying to talk me into having sex with them. Where could I get a gun?

I was still musing on that as Blanche disappeared again and threw in a babydoll nightgown and matching panties. I held them up and said, "Couldn't I just wear pajamas?" and Blanche replied, "I want you to think 'girl' and pajamas might make you forget you're a girl, so, no. Try them on"

I did as I was told and found them quite sexy.

"That's all here, Alysa. Get your clothes back on and we'll head for some other departments." She scooped up everything, made me take off the white panties and headed for the sales counter. By the time I had everything back on the lady was just putting everything in plastic carry bags.

"This way," said Blanche and headed for sports and casual. It was the same story again. I tried on skirts, some pants, tops and a shirt or two. Blanche picked out a black pseudo-leather jacket I really liked and a very short skirt to match and as I admired myself she said, "That's why you need a tightish something to hold everything in. You can't wear a short skirt and have things dangling underneath. The rest of us wear short things all the time and it would look strange if you didn't. You also need them for trousers even though I've got a couple of tops here that fall below where you cock sits to provide extra cover. We'll see how it goes. Get that stuff off so I can pay for it."

I should mention here that I was wearing one of the wigs and full make-up so I wouldn't look strange in the store. That was just as well since shoes were the next thing.

Blanche sat me down and said, "Xenon will cover stage clothes and co-ordinate the overall look for all of us, but how do you feel about playing in any kind of heel?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, I've played in cowboy boots and Cuban-heeled boots from time to time, so it may not be a problem as long as the heels are no more than about two inches high. I'll try something higher, but my heels anchor the rest of my feet on the pedals so I don't know for sure if I can play with shoes with thin heels. How have your previous drummers got along?"

"E always wore motorcycle boots. I seem to remember seeing cowboy boots, low heels and bare feet. I can't remember seeing anything like a stiletto heel on a drummer."

"Well, what say we get some boots with a low heel and a cheap pair of high heels and I'll see how they work?"

"Cool." Blanche picked out some neat boots to mid-calf, some low-heeled pumps and a pair of flat diamante-studded slides. The high heels she bought seemed perilously high. I tried them all on for size and I staggered around trying to get my balance, but eventually Blanche declared herself satisfied with everything and we went home.

That was just the beginning. We took all the stuff back to my place and I hung it up or put it in drawers. Blanche made me put all my male stuff in bags and store it in the garage because I'd need it eventually. It wasn't like I was having a sex change or anything. She just wanted me in the habit of wearing girl's stuff all the time.

I was still philosophical about all of this and I saw her point. Two days later we were off to Los Angeles. I polished the cymbals and cleaned the stands and tried to get used to walking in heels. I tried playing in the high heels and found they were okay on slow numbers, but Touch My Butt didn't do slow numbers so I packed them for casual use with my other stuff. We were leaving first thing the day after tomorrow for the Bigwig Gig, as we were calling it, and staying overnight at a hotel near LAX. We could have driven home but we expected to be tired, emotional and possibly over the alcohol limit. Hyatt owned a van that would just take all of us and the gear. We'd been told not to worry about taking our own sound system and after a rehearsal the day before we left we felt ready for anything.

I dressed for the rehearsal in a pair of jeans and a black cotton t-shirt. The jeans were girl jeans and featured embroidery around the pockets. I wouldn't normally be seen dead in anything like that. When I tried on the jeans I saw what Blanche meant about cock bulge and I put on the black briefs that instantly hid all the signs of maleness inside my jeans. It was effectively a gaff but a really sexy one and when the girls inspected me at the last rehearsal they pronounced themselves satisfied with my looks. Xenon looked at me real close and hitched my jeans way up to see what happened, finding out that even a jeans wedgie didn't make any appreciable difference to the way my crotch looked. If you have to have a wedgie, get Xenon to do it. She adds an element of sex missing from the traditional wedgie.

I have to report two things. Firstly, the two inch heels were fine to play in at full speed. Secondly, playing in girls clothes was a turn-on. The other girls were dressed in a mixture of denim and cotton and I fitted right in. Only twice that afternoon was I called Mac, the rest of the time it was Alysa. The rehearsal went well and we tried out a song Carla had put together with a single in mind and that was good too. We were as ready as we could be to take LA by storm. Bring it on!!

 

I have to admit that I was finding wearing girl's stuff quite stimulating. I wouldn't admit it to the rest of the girls, but I found the underwear sexy as hell. I loved the way it slid over my body and the way it felt, the way it caressed my skin when I was wearing it. Not only that, but when I was made up and dressed up I looked a damn sight better in girl's clothes than I did in guy's clothes. After all, I'm only average looking as Mac, but under Hyatt's tuition I now presented as a seriously good-looking girl called Alysa and I was rapt at the possibilities.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2004 by Abby Rhodes. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.