Gone A-Go-Go

by Swimfan

 

Long before we stepped out the front door, my enthusiasm for this adventure had all but disappeared. Suddenly, it wasn't just a kinky private moment in a gorgeous woman's bedroom: it had become a public spectacle of my total emasculation. I simply could not show myself in public dressed like a go-go dancer.

"Come on," she urged, as I clung desperately to a handrail, struggling to walk down a flight of stairs in 8-inch heels without splitting my head open. "We're going to be late!"

"I can't do it," I replied lamely. "There's no way I can go out in public like this."

"Why not? You look so cute!"

"But I'm in drag! I've never done this before! What if people I know see me like this?"

"They won't even recognize you! Now come on!"

She dragged me by the arm from the handrail, and into daylight. We were now outside her building, but still not on the busy downtown public sidewalk.

"Please, no! I'm so embarrassed!"

"About what?"

"I'm dressed like a girl. Do you have any idea how embarassing that is?"

"Really? I do it all the time."

"But you're a girl! I'm not! This isn't right!"

"Don't worry," she said, wrapping her arms around me supportively, "I don't think any less of you as a man."

"Really?"

"Of course! We're just doing this for fun, and for money. Trust me, once you get on that stage, you'll forget all about your inhibitions -- just like you already do on the dance floor -- and you'll get paid for it!"

"But these clothes are so... skanky," I whined.

"You have to! It's part of the job! Do you think I like dressing like a slut and having all these sleazy strangers ogling me?"

"You're damn right I think so. If I had a body like yours, I wouldn't mind, either."

"Very funny. Well with an attitude like that, I'm certainly not letting you back into my apartment. You'll have to walk home dressed like that, since you left your clothes up there. Now quit stalling already!"

Again, she made a persuasive argument. In fact, my keys were still in my pant pockets, so even if I ran home, I'd have no way to get in without drawing all sorts of attention to myself. I had no choice but to co-operate.

"Get back into character," she commanded. "Everybody will notice you're a man in drag if you keep walking like one."

I tried desperately to look feminine, but I was completely certain that I was failing miserably. I struggled to get back in my dancing mood.

"No, no, no. That just won't do. You're swinging your butt nicely, but your arms are all wrong."

"I can't help moving my hips with these boots."

"Listen, just turn your elbows in when you walk. You'll be spot on if you can manage that."

"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious.

We stopped walking, and she pulled me aside. I could tell that all the pedestrians were staring at me. I was sweating so much that I feared for the preservation of my makeup.

"Take a look at those guys over there. Notice how they carry their arms?"

"Uh, sure."

"Now look at this woman coming our way. Do you see how she has to bend her arms outward a bit to avoid them hitting her hips?"

"Ah, yes. She's got a sexy walk."

"Exactly. And she doesn't even know she's doing it."

Suddenly, I knew how to walk like a girl. I felt much more confident as we strode down the street to the Whiskey. I almost laughed when I understood the simplicity of it. This wasn't so bad after all. Corinne was pleased by my epiphany.

At length, we arrived at the Whiskey, but not before turning a few heads. Not many people were fooled, but most didn't make a big deal out of it. Luckily, I saw no familiar faces.

Corinne brought me once again to Andy, who chuckled the moment he saw me coming. "Nice work," he told her. "I can hardly recognize him."

"Thanks," she replied. "Is he in?"

"Yeah, I'll give him a shot. Welcome to the team, kid. What's your name?"

"Robbie," I said, shaking his hand, and feeling a little silly, wishing I had a more fitting name.

"Bobbie. Cute. Like Bobby-sox." Andy smiled lasciviously, and slapped my butt. I felt dirty and humiliated. "You'll do just fine. Corinne, show him to the dressing rooms."

There were five other guys in the dressing room, all wearing g-strings or leather pants or some other typically gay clothes. They all fell into an awed silence when we walked in.

"Nice boots," said one at last.

"Thanks," I replied, blushing. I was now in the company of a gang of fags, and dressed like a drag queen. Wonderful. I'd be lucky not to get gang-raped.

Corinne introduced me as Bobbie, and explained that this was my first time. The guys were all very welcoming. They paid me all sorts of compliments on my outfit. I thanked them coyly, and let them all return to their preparations. Corinne had me take off my dress, and practice my dance moves. I could feel eyes all over me the whole time. "Just remember," she whispered in my ear, "you'll do wonderfully as long as you just imagine yourself as a real girl."

The party on the dance floor had begun by now. She kissed me on the cheek and left. It was time to perform.

As the bouncers escorted me to one of the mini-stages, it occurred to me that so far, I had tried to focus on my girlish dancing as an act. The whole time, I kept thinking to myself that I was simply playing a role, and that the moment the bra, the boots, the fishnet pantihose, and the hot pants came off, I'd be myself again. But now, as I strode confidently to the stage, elbows turned inward, each step in line with the previous for maximum hip sway, I understood that I had been utterly feminized, publicly and willingly, and that I would never be the same again. For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine, as Corinne had suggested, that I was a girl.

I danced my little girlish heart out on that platform. It was funny to look down on the crowd, and see not a single woman: just scores of men hitting on each other. It was obvious to them that I was not as feminine as I felt: most of the time, my penis was fully erect, almost sticking out of the top of my tight little pink hot pants. I egged them on by shaking my tush at them, and waving seductively. That was my job, after all. A few times I touched myself, longing to feel the soft fabric against my cock, yet imagining it to be a pussy. I constantly touched my bra, my panties, and my smooth legs through the fishnet pantihose. It drove me into a frenzy merely to touch items of such unimaginable femininity, which I had so seldom had the privilege to touch; to actually wear them on my own feminized body, just like a real woman, was nirvana. I was the life of the party.

When the night finally ended, I was exhausted, but satisfied. Andy paid me $250, and promised me more if I returned next week. I couldn't help but giggle when I let him pinch my ass. I walked extra sexy for him back to the dressing room, where Corinne awaited me with a bag full of my clothes.

"So I hear you were quite the little strumpet up there," she said.

"Oh, Corinne! I wish you could have seen me!"

"I told you it was fun, didn't I?" She kissed me on the cheek again. "Now let's get you back into your normal clothes and go home."

I felt disappointment that I'd have to give up my go-go outfit. Then, shock as I realized how I felt. Then, embarassment for feeling that way. I was slow to disrobe, but I didn't want to give Corinne the impression that I enjoyed wearing her clothes. I pretended to be happy about putting on my own clothes at last.

"So, are you coming back next week?" she asked.

"I guess," I answered meekly.

"What, didn't you like it? Just a minute ago, you were bouncing off the walls."

Now I was stuck. I couldn't tell her I wouldn't be back, because I desperately wanted to, and I needed her wardrobe; but I couldn't let her think that I was some kind of faggot crossdresser. "It was fun," I finally stammered, ashamed of myself for admitting it to the most beautiful woman I'd ever met.

"Great!" she said, smiling sweetly. "I can't wait to do this again next week!"

We took a cab back to her apartment. She french kissed me at her door, but didn't invite me in. I walked the rest of the way to my dorm, dejected. I had hoped to at least get to second base.

"Hey Rob," said Gary, one of my clubbing buddies, who hadn't left for the summer yet, as I walked into our dorm. "You had a wild night, I see."

I wasn't in the mood to talk, so I muttered something and headed straight to my room. I felt something on my butt as I walked past him, and was ready to slug him. Does he know? Was he there?

"What's this hanging out of your back pocket?" he asked, dangling in his fingers the hot pink hot pants I wore. "Did you score with that dancer chick?" He stared at me with a look of amazement and disbelief.

I couldn't help but laugh mysteriously as I snatched them out of his hand, and shut myself in my room without directly answering his question. I wasted no time in stripping naked and slipping into Corinne's pink hot pants. She had left me a gift! For a few glorious minutes, I was a girl again, dancing away in a nightclub, dressed like a hooker. I touched myself the way that I wanted to touch her.

When it was over, I wept from the shame.

Contrition for my sins fell on my head like a tonne of bricks. I had cast aside my manhood with reckless abandon that night, and I only realized it after I pleasured myself about it. I certainly couldn't allow myself to repeat this evening next week -- or ever again. I couldn't risk making a habit out of it. Worse, the woman of my dreams knew. She knew that I enjoyed it, and she taunted me by hiding her panties in my pocket. My only consolation was that nobody else knew, and that I could very likely keep it a secret for the rest of my life.

That is, it was my only consolation until I saw my face in the bathroom mirror: it was still covered in makeup.

  

  

  

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