Gone A-Go-Go

by Swimfan

 

After a few hours of guilt, I hauled myself out of bed, and shuffled off to the showers to clean up. Even this is no consolation, as lathering the soap all over my smooth, hairless body evokes images of lithe, soaking wet women with equally bare bodies. My penis hurt terribly each time it became erect, because of the hours of abuse I subjected it to while playing dress-up with Corinne.

I deftly avoided staring at the lingerie drying all over my room, and put on a clean outfit of my own. I remembered to return to the laundry room to move Corinne's bedsheets from the washing machine to the dryer. I couldn't stand the torture of remaining in my room with all these feminine garments everywhere, in plain sight. I left to wander the streets for a while.

What had I done to myself, I wondered. In the last five days, I had suddenly found myself sucked into a whirlwind of sexual confusion. On Tuesday, I had allowed myself to be convinced to dance in drag at a gay nightclub for money, and even enjoyed it. By Friday, I had sworn never to speak of it again, and break off with Corinne, who dragged me into it in the first place. But when I met with her, I was smitten once more, and ended up wearing her underwear in her apartment as I licked her pussy. And now, the following day, I was confused, more depressed than ever, and utterly confused about my sexuality.

The problem was that men aren't allowed to wear women's clothes. It is seen as a sign of outright homosexuality, or at the very least a most unsavoury sexual perversion. In any case, crossdressers have no business calling themselves men. And yet I myself, a truly heterosexual skirt-chaser, had become a crossdresser. Not only had I worn women's clothes, but they were outrageously sexy clothes; worse, I wore them in public; worse still, I made a public performance of it; worse than that, it was in front of a couple hundred gay men; worst of all, I enjoyed it, tremendously. If it were possible to make things worse yet, I practically begged the most beautiful woman I've ever known to wear her underwear, and pleasured myself with it as she sat on my face.

Were these acts of homosexuality? She had convinced me that I was doing it only because I loved girls. And it was true! All I could think about was the delicacy and shapeliness of women. Wearing their underwear only makes me even more aware of it. So how could it be gay? All the same, I could have -- and certainly should have -- fucked Corinne, but I didn't. After I had gotten started with the lingerie, it didn't even enter my mind. I just wanted womanhood all over me. Just the thought of silk and frilly lace all over me made me sweat. I even knew it was gay when I was doing it, but I loved it so much that I didn't care.

As I pondered these puzzles, my cock began to throb again. I imagined myself in panties again. How could I wear such things and not expect to compromise my manhood? What would be next? A garter belt and stockings? A lace teddy, perhaps? Maybe a bustier? Would these things turn me into a girl, being as feminine as they are? My bloated cock throbbed uncomfortably. This line of thinking certainly was gay. Real men don't wear panties. What did this make me? Nobody would understand that I do it because it makes me feel even more intimate with women than they could possibly imagine. I wouldn't turn down dancing again on Tuesday. What wonderful, sexy, girlish things I would wear!

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, snapping me out of my fantasy. Corinne was on the other line, asking about her clothes. I rushed back to my dorm to pick up her bedsheets. I trembled as I fondled her lingerie hanging in my room. It was still quite damp. I left it there and hurried over to Corinne's apartment.

"Where's my lingerie," she asked.

"It's still wet."

"Is that so? Are you sure? You're not keeping it for yourself, are you?" She grinned maliciously as she said this.

"No, really, it's still pretty damp. I thought I should keep it until it's dry. I didn't want to make your bedsheets damp, too."

"Riiiiight, of course not. I know you're planning to slip into them again. It's ok, as long as you wash them afterwards. I don't want any nastiness all over them again."

"I swear, I won't wear them!" I lied. "I promise I won't."

"Well, that's too bad," she said, pouting. "Anyway, I'm dancing at the Phoenix tonight. You should come. I'd like to see you there."

"I'd love to!"

"You can even get some practice on the dance floor."

She had other plans for the early evening, so she saw me to the door and sent me on my way. It was funny how I felt shy about wearing her panties, even with her.

Hours later, I was cutting the floor of the Phoenix, another of my favourite nightclubs. It was just as crowded as usual. I brought Gary with me, and we were hamming it up for the girls again. I found a spot near Corinne's platform, and she waved at me. She was wearing a white micro-dress, and a light shone from the floor under her feet and illuminated her white panties. She was the hottest dancer in the place. Gary refused to believe that she had waved at me. I ignored him and danced my heart out, shaking my hips, and mimicking Corinne as best I could. Somehow, it felt awkward without the platform boots.

Gary watched me uneasily, intimidated by my dance moves. People gave me room, and I could feel their eyes on me. I had a gaggle of pretty girls checking me out. They paid no attention to Gary, except to ask him about me. I joined them and we all had a wonderful time dancing and drinking and giggling. None of them were even close to Corinne's beauty, so it didn't go any further than that. I looked up at her everytime someone offered me a phone number, and secretly passed it on to Gary, who was furious. I sure showed him!

Near the end of the night, Corinne came down from her perch, and was escorted by bouncers back to some dressing room. I followed as far as the bouncers would let me. I brought Gary along, just to prove once and for all what a ladies man I had become. I saw Corinne look my way just before the door closed behind her, and moments later, the bouncers let me and Gary in.

"Hi Robbie!" she exclaimed, "I'm so glad you could make it!" She threw her arms around me, still wearing that slutty little microdress. Gary shuffled around, humbled by my good fortune. "Who's your friend?" she asked.

"This is Gary. He's one of my dorm mates."

"Pleased to meet you Gary," she said, gracefully extending her hand. Gary was dumbstruck.

"So, did you bring my lingerie," she asked me, slinking her arm around my waist.

"Of course. I put it in a bag and checked it at the door."

"It's all there, is it? You're not secretly wearing any of it, are you?" She slid her hand down the back of my pants and peeked at my butt cheeks. "Robbie!" she gasped.

I shimmied away from her groping hand. "Well, not secretly, anyway," I said sardonically, motioning to Gary. "Not anymore."

There was no mistaking it anymore. The pantywaist of the black lace panties she wore to bed with me the night before was sticking out above my belt. It was obvious, and Gary had seen it. But I didn't care. "Gary," I said, as Corinne gushed with joy at my little surprise, "I'm going home with Corinne, so you just go on ahead without me." He picked up his jaw from the floor and walked out the door, shaking his head in disapproval and disbelief.

Corinne chaged into more appropriate attire, and we shared a cab back to her apartment. She was cuddling with me the whole way, fondling my panties' waistband. Without a word, we stumbled into her bedroom, and I put on the go-go outfit she had worn that night: white microfiber panties, and a tight white microdress that barely covered my ass. Again, she wrapped her legs around my face, and I sucked and licked and rubbed myself in her clothes. I was much more careful this time about coming all over them.

When she was done, she asked me to prance around the room for her a bit, which I did gladly. "That dress is really cute on you," she drawled sleepily, "You should get yourself one."

I was flattered, but terrified. "Get myself one? Can't I just borrow yours?"

"For now, sure, but soon you're going to need your own outfits. I can't have you wearing my stuff all the time."

"Where am I going to keep it? I might as well keep it here with your stuff, in which case it might as well be yours."

"As much as I love you, I'm not buying you a wardrobe. That's expensive! Use your own money!"

"Oh, I'll buy it, but we can keep it all here. I can't keep it in my dorm."

"Why not?"

"Because people will see."

"So what?"

"I don't want everybody to know what I do on Tuesdays."

"Aw, don't be shy! Besides, you really don't have much choice, because I'm certainly not letting you in here every time you feel like being girlie."

"I'm not going to need it except when I go to work."

"Of course you are! You should be wearing it every day!"

I nearly fell to the floor. "You expect me to wear girlie clothes every day?"

"You need to practice your dancing. You can't do that unless you get into character. We both know that's true."

The thought of dressing like a girl every day made my heart weak. I had to sit down.

"We'll go shopping tomorrow, after you've done the laundry," she said. And with that it was settled.

The next morning, tired from the night's frolic, we walked around downtown, shopping for my work clothes. We started with the go-go boots, since there was no way I could continue wearing Corinne's without either damaging them or my feet. To keep me in the mood, she had me wearing silky red panties under my own pants. She refused to let me wear anything else, as much as I begged, because she wanted to wean me off of her clothes. I must have tried ten different pairs, all of them funky and sexy and totally different. In the end, I figured that I needed something black, which would go with just about anything. The ones I bought were knee-high, and had an eight-inch heel, and sexy little buckles all the way up. Each time, in each store, we had to explain to the saleslady that the boots were for me. Corinne gave them a dirty look if they gave the slightest bit of attitude, so they usually were agreeable. It was difficult making up my mind, because it was hard to picture myself in a miniskirt instead of my boy pants.

It was quite a lot easier buying my underwear. We went to the clearance bin and picked a dozen cute panties, in all sorts of different fabrics and colours, and three fancy brassieres, in black, white, and red. I didn't have all that much money to spend, especially after the boots, so my options were a bit limited. I was humiliatingly enticed by the displays of nighties and garter belts and other items of fancy underwear. As much as I wanted it, it was inappropriate for work, and more importantly, unaffordable, considering my more basic needs.

We were getting tired from this adventure, and were prepared to go home, when we passed by a swimsuit store. It had on display a cute little red one-piece with a halter neck that tied behind the neck. I was in love. I had never worn anything like it, and to me it looked like the most feminine article of clothing imaginable -- even after spending much of the day in Victoria's Secret. I pulled Corinne with me into the store, and after much embarrassing talk with a gorgeous young salesgirl, I bought one in my size. I could just picture myself dancing with it on Tuesday, with my new boots, and maybe a wide studded belt. That purchase broke the bank, and left me with a small debt on my credit card, but in my mind it was worth every penny.

I finally arrived home, with all my bags of new girlie clothes. I washed everything, completely heedless of the comments of my dorm mates, and stored everything in my dresser. I shoved aside my boy underwear to make room for my practice panties, bras, and swimsuit. I took the go-go boots out of the box, stripped down to Corinne's red panties, and strapped on the boots. I practiced my dancing like this for about an hour, before I couldn't take it anymore and spurted semen all over the room. Femininity coursed through my veins, and made me a much better dancer. But as good as I was, Corinne was right: I did need to practice.

After a few more sessions the next two days, I was ready to knock them dead at the Whiskey. I still needed Corinne's help with makeup and hair, but apart from that, my outfit was even sexier than I imagined. The swimsuit was perhaps just a bit too small, which made it perfectly and delectably tight. The high leg cut made me feel obscenely skanky, especially with the wide studded belt I borrowed from Corinne, which I wore loosely around my hips. I felt like a goddess in my go-go boots, with the extra height they afforded me. The shyness and shame I felt about my ultra-feminine outfit was just barely obliterated by an overpowering urge to show it off. This, I thought to myself, is the ultimate in femininity, and I want everybody in the world to know how much I love it.

My cock bulged erotically in my swimsuit the whole time I danced. I used all the moves I learned from watching Corinne. I made myself her. All I could think of was how much better I would look if I had boobs like hers, and if I could get rid of that nasty bulge. I was extremely self-conscious about what I was doing, but not in the same way as when I first tried on go-go outfits in the privacy of Corinne's bedroom the week before. This time, I was making myself unbearably horny thinking about how feminine I was, and how much more feminine I could be. I wanted everyone to look at me, and see how I was rapidly becoming a gorgeous, ultra-sexy go-go-dancing girl. The crowd actually cheered me on. I came all over myself while onstage, and the crowd went wild.

I kept my outfit on under my boy clothes when I went home. I couldn't bear to take it off. I made almost $800 from the rowdy gay men. I needed help from the bouncers to get out of there unmolested. One guy gave me a business card, and offered me another gig on Friday nights at a different club. I already knew which lingerie I would spend my money on, and which skirts and minidresses I would buy. I was set for the rest of the summer, and eager to practice for my next gig.

From that night on, I knew how right Corinne was. I loved girls so much that I now longed desperately to become one.

  

  

  

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