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New Girl in Town #9
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
From: [email protected].org (Jon Grossberg)
Subject: Bobbi's Story (chapter 9)
Organization: Somewhere just far enough out of Toronto
Date: Wed, 6 May 1992 03:38:27 GMT
Approved: [email protected]
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
Sender: [email protected] (Evan Leibovitch)
Lines: 958
Archive-Name: bobbi-09
(Note: the original author of these stories prefers to remain anonymous)
S T O N E W A L L S D O N O T A P R I S O N M A K E
Peter left for home just before noon on Sunday. We had made love an-
other time when we awoke. I just could not get enough of being in his
arms. Making breakfast for us was fun too. It was sort of like play-
ing house. I started dreaming of what it might be like to be doing it
every morning, and wondered if I would like being a housewife. I de-
cided that I would as long as Peter was my husband.
It was raining that afternoon, so I just stayed home to putter around
the house. Margo got home late in the day with a wild story about rom-
ping in the nude around the pool at Uncle Charlie's place, and giving
his chauffeur a blow-job on a deck chair while Carol had Uncle Charlie
tied to the diving board, and was clamping clothespins to his cock and
balls. "You should come with us sometime," she suggested, but I pol-
itely declined the honor. I preferred the way I had spent my weekend.
Margo did not go to "The Gilded Grape" that night. She said that she
was too tired from her weekend, and wanted to give her body a rest.
That did not, however, stop her from working of her nightly drunk by
drinking beer and a few shots of whiskey while we watched television.
It was getting so that Margo could not function without a drink. We
had almost missed the last rent payment because she had all but run out
of money from buying alcohol. If I could have moved out I probably
would have, but I felt sort of obligated to staying with her until I
had a really good reason, and I did not know where else to go. I could
not afford as nice an apartment as we had on just my salary. I needed
something major to happen to break things loose. I went to bed early,
partially to get away from Margo, but mostly to get a good night's
sleep. I had an appointment with the photographer in the morning.
I arrived on time for my photo session at Tom's studio. The girl at
the reception desk told me how to get to Tom's office, and I knocked at
the door. His big, friendly voice boomed out, "Come in!," from inside,
and I entered. The office was a lot neater than I had expected. All
the decor was very trendy and modern in the style that was called "Mod"
at the time. The walls were, of course, covered with photographs along
with a number of awards that he or the studio had won.
Tom was sitting behind a big, wooden desk talking on the telephone. He
was leaning back in the chair with his feet up on the desk gesturing
with the pipe in his right hand as he talked. He waved to me with the
pipe as I came in, and used it to point to a big, upholstered chair at
the front of his desk. I took a seat to wait for him to finish his
conversation.
"Glad you could make it," Tom said when he hung up the phone. "You're
the first one that we called in. Did you bring your papers?" I took
out the forms that he had given me in the envelope at the audition, and
passed them across the desk to him. "I think that you'll find them all
in order," I said in a playfully businesslike tone as he took them.
"Good," he replied. "All we need to do now is get your signature on a
model's release." "What's that?," I asked.
Tom reached into a desk drawer, and brought out another form. "This,"
he said, "is a Model's Release. We can't use any photographs of you
for any purpose unless we have one on file. By signing it, you give
the studio the right to sell photos of you as long as you have been
compensated for the session during which they were taken." This was
still a little new to me, so I asked, "Why do you need it? I thought
that all you did was take the picture, and use it."
"Not quite," Tom replied. "You see you have a right to privacy under
the law. If someone takes your picture, and sells it without your
written permission, that is an invasion of privacy. The only exception
to that is if you are a public figure, or are involved in a news event.
The Model's Release is your written permission for the studio to use
your pictures for any purpose as long as it does not defame your char-
acter, and we have paid you in some way for posing. Okay?"
It seemed all right, but I still asked, "What do you mean by any pur-
pose?" "Well," said Tom, "let's say that we did the coat layouts. We
could also use some of those shots for our own advertising. If we did
a portfolio for you gratis, we could use the pictures as stock shots
for other things. It's really to your advantage. It lets us get your
pictures around, and that could mean more work and money for you."
I signed the form. "Good," said Tom. "Now you're officially a model.
Welcome to the studio! Are you ready to get started?" He did not have
to ask. "Yes," I replied. "What happens next?"
"What happens next," said Tom, "is for us to get you in front of a
lens. I have a deal for you. As a model or a dancer, you're going to
need a portfolio to show. The test shots we want to do could be the
basis for that. We'll do a full portfolio for you today if you'll al-
low us to sell the shots as stock photos, and do some cross-dress che-
esecake and soft core stuff of you. Your fee for today will be the
portfolio, so you get no royalties for the shots if we sell them. We
usually charge two-hundred and fifty dollars for a portfolio session
like this, so you aren't being cheated." The deal sounded all right,
so I agreed.
"Okay," said Tom, "then it's time to meet your photographer." "Aren't
you going to take them?," I asked. "No," Tom replied with a laugh. "I
run things now. I only do a few special assignments any more. I've
got eight photographers working for me. You'll like the one you're
working with." Tom picked up the phone, dialed an extension, and said,
"Ray?... Can you step into the office?" There was a short pause, and
Tom hung up the phone saying, "Ray's one of my best people. He just
does fashion and cheesecake, so you'll probably be working a lot with
him."
A moment later there was a knock at the door, and Tom called out, "Come
in!" The door opened, and in came Ray. He was about six feet tall
with thinning, blonde hair, and looked to be in his mid-thirties. Tom
introduced us, and Ray said, "Okay, let's get started." He led the way
down the hall, and into a big loft room that was set up as a photo stu-
dio. The walls were mostly bare brick, but one corner had a strange
sort of two level structure built in it. "That's the dressing room,"
Ray said pointing to the structure. "Put your stuff in the first flo-
or, and straighten your make-up. My office is the top level. The
make-up girl should be in to help you in a minute." I went in, but
there was someone in there already.
"Hi," said a woman in her late twenties who appeared to be waiting for
me in the dressing room. "My name's Wendy. I do the make-up for Ray.
You must be Bobbi. You sure don't look like any TV that I know. I
think you'll do well here." I did not expect her to know that I was
not all the woman I could be yet, so I asked, "How did you know?" Wendy
giggled, and said, "Ray told me. It's part of the assignment for us to
know, but we won't tell anyone. I understand you're going to be doing
mostly Straight stuff, so you'll just have to trust me with your sec-
ret. Now, shall we get to work?"
I sat in the make-up chair, and Wendy put a make-up bib on me. "Ray
wants to do some shots of you in your street clothes first, and then
we'll change into some costumes," she said as she worked on my make-up.
"Don't be nervous. Ray comes off as being short and gruff, but he's
easy to work with if you just follow his direction. All the girls like
working with him." I was a little nervous, but Wendy had a very cal-
ming effect on me for some reason. We talked a little more while she
worked on me. She had started out as a model herself, but wound up
doing make-up here. She said she still did a little modeling too, but
only as a fill in for stock photos. When she was finished she said,
"There! Now let's take some pictures!"
Ray did not say much at all as he started his work, and let Wendy set
up the shots. The first part of the session was simple things. We did
some portraits from one or two shots of just my face through some head
and shoulders poses, and ended up with some head-to-toe shots. Ray
called them "mug shots" in a more jargonlike than cynical way. He said
that all models needed them. They were the basis of any good port-
folio.
"Okay," said Ray at last. "Let's get down to some business here. Let
me see how you can work that dress you're wearing." Wendy cleared away
the table and chair we had been using as props. Ray had been working
with a large format portrait camera, but now he picked up a 35MM. He
took a picture of me, and said, "Don't just stand there. Move around!
Let me see you move!"
I was not sure what to do. I had never done this before, but I had to
do something. I decided to try some of the dance moves that I had
learned. I started slow, but it seemed to be what Ray wanted. "That's
it," he called, "That's the way... More swing in the hips... Work the
skirt... Shake your hair... That's it!" I kept it up, and got a
little more suggestive with my moves. Ray liked that too, and kept
calling encouragement. Then I pulled up my skirt, and gave him a few
cheesecake poses that showed my garters and panties. Ray threw himself
into that too getting down low to get some shots up my skirt.
"That was good," Ray said. "Let's get a dance costume on her, Wendy.
I've got to change film. Then we'll get to other things." Wendy and I
went back into the dressing room. I was starting to have fun.
Once in the dressing room, Wendy said, "Now, one of the next lessons
that you've got to learn is not to keep the photographer waiting. That
means that you have to learn how to change costumes quickly. Take off
your clothes." I wanted to be a good model, so I stripped down to my
bra and panties as fast as I could. Wendy was arranging things on the
make-up table, but I could see that she was also watching me closely.
"It's remarkable," she said when I was down to just my underwear. "I
know that your a TV, but I still can't see anything that might give it
away. Well, the panties are fine, but the bra won't work under the
dance costume that we have. You'll have to take that off too."
The costume was a dance leotard with some sequins to make it sparkle.
It was a light green color, and had a removeable, wrap around skirt
that would come to just above my knees. Wendy also gave me a pair of
black fishnet tights. "The costume has a built in bra," she said, "but
we'll have to fill it out with something. You don't have as much up
top as most girls." We giggled at this, and then I added, "Not yet,
anyway." Wendy questioned what I meant by that, so I told her a little
about my plans for surgery, and the hormone treatments that I had star-
ted. She seemed very interested saying, "I've never even known a TV
before, let alone worked with one. I was a bit unsure when I took this
assignment, but it sounded interesting. I'm glad I did now. I think I
like you."
I felt a lot more comfortable too after she had said that. I was be-
ginning to like Wendy too, and it was good to know that she felt the
same way. People react to transvestites and transexuals in a lot of
different ways, and not always in a positive manner. I have always
been somewhat self-conscious of this. A bad reaction could have disas-
trous consequences sometimes. I was glad that nothing like that would
happen here.
It did not take long to get me in the costume with Wendy's help, and I
was back in the chair getting my make-up adjusted. The shades of blue
that I had been wearing on my eyes had to be replaced with greens to
match the costume. "Green is really your color," Wendy said as she
worked. "It goes well with your hair, but have you ever thought of
making your hair a little more red?" My own hair was long enough now
that I did not need a wig, but the wigs I had were all a little more
red than my natural color. "How would I do that?," I asked. "Oh, just
a simple henna rinse should do it," she replied. "I can show you later
if you like. I'm going to be working on the coat assignment with you,
and we thought that we could use a redhead in the group, so I told Tom
I would ask you. What do you think?" I liked the idea, so I agreed.
"Then we'll do it later," she said finishing my make-up. "Now let's
take some more pictures."
Ray was fiddling with the lighting when we emerged from the dressing
room. "You two sure took your time in there," he said. "Bobbi, you
say you're a dancer, so that's what I want you to do. Just get out
there and dance. We have some music to go with it, and all I want you
to do is go with the music. You can make it as classical or as sexy as
you like. Ready?" I told him I was, and Wendy started the music.
I started to move to the rock beat, and Ray called out, "Just ignore
me, and concentrate on the music." I did that, and just enjoyed let-
ting myself go. I used every move that Tina and Toni had taught me,
and tossed in a few of my own. I did high kicks and shimmies, and st-
ripped off the skirt to crawl on the floor tossing my hair about. It
got very sexy and suggestive in some parts, but that is what Ray wanted
from me. I gave it all I had. All of it was punctuated with the fla-
shes of the strobes, and Ray's frequent calls of encouragement. I
really was having fun.
"Okay, Bobbi," Ray said as the music died after about half an hour of
work. "Take a rest, and sit over here." We went over to a prop sofa
off to one side of the studio, and I plopped on it, glad for the chance
to take a break. "It's about eleven-thirty," Ray said. "Let's take
lunch now, and we can talk." Wendy went to get some food from the deli
order that the studio had delivered every day, and I was alone with
Ray.
He lit a cigarette, and I refused his offer of one. Then he explained,
"Tom told you that we want to do a sexy cross-dress layout of you. Af-
ter lunch we're going to do a couple of coats first, and then I want to
try something else. Since you're a dancer, I want you to do a strip-
tease. I'll have a movie camera running, so there'll be no strobes,
but I will be doing some stills while you dance. This will be sound,
so other than the music we all have to be careful of noise. Have you
ever done a striptease before?"
I told him I had once, remembering the one I had done in the G.G.Girls
dressing room, and he said, "Good, but I want you nude at the end, and
I need your cock to show when you're finished. Then we'll do some lin-
gerie and nudes. Can you do that?" I did not like to show my penis,
but it was part of the deal I had made with Tom. I agreed as Wendy
returned with the food.
I just had a small salad for lunch. The camera adds a few pounds to
anybody's apparent weight through optical distortions, and it would not
be an asset to have my tummy bulging with food while we worked this af-
ternoon. We talked a bit about the striptease routine and the other
shots we would do while we ate. Wendy played some of the music for the
dance, so I would have some idea of what I had to work with.
Wendy and I went back to the dressing room after lunch. I took off the
dance costume, and was standing there in just my panties when Wendy
asked, "Where do you hide your cock?" I noticed that she had been
staring at my crotch, so I sort of knew that she was curious about it.
"It's tucked back between my legs," I answered. "Could I see it?," she
asked. "I know that you're going to show it as part of this after-
noon's session, but I would rather have seen it here first. Is that
possible?" I nodded.
I put my thumbs in the waistband of my panties, and slid them down off
my legs. I spread my thighs a bit, reaching between them to pull my
little penis out into Wendy's view. She stared at it for a moment, and
then reached out to gently pet it with her fingers. It twitched at her
touch, but she stroked it again. Then she withdrew her hand saying,
"Thank you. I've never worked with a transvestite before, and I just
had to see it before we did the nudes. Are you going to have a sex
change?"
Her touch and her questions were all so very innocent that I could not
be offended in any way. Her manner in them was almost childlike.
"Yes," I said, "I am going to have a sex change, but it is really more
like making me the sex I should always have been. These male organs
are a prison for me. Stone walls do not a prison make. Emotions can
imprison us more securely than any concrete and steel. I want to be
released from my prison." Wendy looked at me strangely with almost a
tear in her eye. "Let me help if I can," she said. "All I know about
is make-up and beauty, but that could help. Let me be your friend."
Wendy and I embraced, and she kissed me lightly on the cheek. There
was nothing at all sexual in it. It was just the way two women shared
their emotions together as friends. I was being admitted a little fur-
ther into the sisterhood that women shared, and that was where I wanted
to be. Wendy and I became good friends as well as co-workers. That
helped a lot as things went on in my modeling career.
"Time for a new costume," Wendy said. "I'd like you to get into just
your bra and panties for the coats. We don't need a dress under them
for these shots. Then we'll get you into the striptease gear." I put
on my underwear again while Wendy stepped outside for a second, and I
heard her moving some things around. She called me to come outside,
and I found that she had moved a rail of coats behind a changing screen
just outside of the door.
"Put on a coat," she said, "and walk out there and model it as if you
were working to an audience. Just pretend Ray isn't there." I did as
she asked, and Ray snapped pictures all the way through it. Then it
was another coat, one after the other until all nine on the rail had
been done. "Take ten!," Ray said after the last coat, signaling a very
welcome period of rest, or so I thought.
"Take off your clothes," Wendy said when I got back into the dressing
room expecting to rest for a few minutes. "But, Ray said..." I star-
ted, but Wendy cut me off, saying, "Never mind that. Photographers
only have to change film. The can afford ten minutes for a smoke. We
have to change clothes and make-up. They get to work now! Strip!"
In seconds I was nude, and sitting in the make-up chair so that Wendy
could remove all of my powder and paint. Then she handed me a shimmer-
ing, silver lame' g-string and pasties. It was not easy to get the g-
string into a position to secure my little penis in its tuck, but I got
it there. Next was a red jersey bikini panty with string ties at the
hips, and a red jersey bra that was really just a pair of falsies cov-
ered in fabric, and connected with elastic straps. Over that went a
black lace garter-belt with sheer stockings, and a black lace full-slip
with breakaway seams. The top layer was a pink sequined dress with a
low cut neckline, and a skirt that was slightly flared. The shoes also
glittered with pink sequins.
The make-up that Wendy had chosen was also a series of shades of pink,
but with ruby red lipstick for my lips. "Pink is another good color
for you," she said as she worked on me. "It goes with your hair almost
as well as the green." It did not take too much time to get me changed
and made-up again, and soon I was ready to do my first theatrical style
striptease which was also my first striptease in front of a camera.
"When you go out there," Wendy said giving me my stage directions, "go
to the middle of the set, and pose. I'll slate the scene, and start
the movie camera. When Ray calls for 'action' just go with the music,
and do your strip. Don't get off the set, though, until Ray calls
'cut'. I'll have a robe out there for you, but you'll stay nude under
it out there for the next break. We'll do lingerie and nudes after the
striptease, so there'll be no need to come back in here."
The set was bathed in bright theatrical lights when I stepped out of
the dressing room. I went to center stage, and struck a dancer's pose
with my hands on my hips, and my back arched slightly to hold my head
high. I hear Wendy announce the scene over the soft whirr of the movie
camera, and the snap of the slate followed by Ray's call of, "ACTION!"
The music started, and I began to dance.
A properly done striptease means that you remove one article or layer
of clothing for each song that it part of the music. There were six
musical numbers on the tape which set the pace for my movements, and
that meant almost half an hour of dancing for me. In the first number
I danced in the dress lifting the skirt to show my garters before
stripping it off at the end. The second number had me give a sharp tug
at the bodice of the slip about half way through to break the temporary
stitches at the seams, so it could just fall off me. The third number
was a lot of high-kicks and leg flashes as I lost my stockings and gar-
ter-belt. Then at the end of the fourth number, I pulled the string
ties on the bra and panties of the red jersey bikini, and struck a
flamboyant pose in just the pasties and g-string to wait for the next
piece of music to begin.
The next and fifth number was a hard driving bit of jazz with lots of
brass, drums, and bass in the classic tradition of the striptease. I
let things get really hot in this one, bumping and grinding for all I
was worth. I could not see or hear Ray or Wendy for all of the lights
and music, so I lost all touch with them. I was alone in a cloud of
light on a sea of music, and I let the waves of both crash over me.
My movements went beyond the simple suggestiveness of a striptease, and
became downright lewd and pornographic. There were two tiny stings at
my nipples when I pulled off the pasties about half way through the
number, but I danced on in just a silver lame' g-string. At last I
turned my back to the camera at the end of the number to strip off the
g-string, and await the sixth and final number with my naked bottom
facing the lens.
More brass and bass filled the air, and I turned to face the camera.
My little penis was still in its tuck, so all that appeared at my
crotch was a bit of feminine looking pubic hair. I danced that way for
about thirty seconds, and then flexed my thighs to pop my little penis
out into the light for all to see. It was sort of semi-hard from the
excitement of doing this striptease, so it stuck out from my body just
a bit. I swear that I heard either Ray or Wendy gasp when it appeared.
I was into the dance completely by then, and just kept going. Ray and
Tom had wanted a pornographic, transvestite striptease, so that is
exactly what I gave them!
The last notes of the last song died away, and I held my last pose. I
was totally naked and exposed under the lights and before the lens. I
could hear Ray's camera clicking away a last few shots before he cal-
led, "CUT!," and I heard the movie camera stop. Ray shut down the
lights as Wendy came over to put a red nylon robe around me. "Take a
break," said Ray, and we all went over to the prop sofa in the corner
for a much needed rest. I was still having fun, but getting tired.
I guess that my performance was the sort of thing that the studio had
wanted, for I could see at least a small bulge at the crotch of Ray's
pants when he sat down. "That was quite a show, Bobbi," Ray said as he
lit a cigarette. "I've worked with cross-dressers before, but none
quite like you. I think you'll do very well here. You can do Straight
stuff as well as any woman I know, and if your lingerie and nudes are
anything like that striptease... Well, let's just say that I enjoy
working with you." It was nice to know I could turn on a Straight guy
too!
The work with the lingerie and the nudes that we did were all pretty
tame by comparison to my porno debut as a striptease dancer. We had
three nighties to do, and we handled them the same as the coats. I
would put each one on, and do a sort of runway walk through the studio
while Ray snapped pictures from various angles. We did a few sexy
poses with them, but I had expended a lot of energy on the striptease,
so I needed to work back up to things.
Next was a red bra, panty, and garter-belt set. It was lace, and Wendy
helped me pad out the bra cups so that it looked like I had a lot more
than I did, but in a way that would not let the camera see the falsies.
I went right into the sexy poses this time. The sofa had been moved
onto the set as a prop at my request, and I used it to lie on while I
writhed around to show off all the sexuality I could. I also decided
to give the studio a little more to add to its now growing pornography
collection of me.
As I lay on the sofa with my legs spread, I pulled the crotch of the
panty aside, and let my little penis slip out. "Great!," shouted Ray.
"Hold that!" He meant to stay in that pose for a moment while he got a
couple of shots, but I decided to be a bit evil, and take him more lit-
erally. I took hold of my little penis, and worked it with my hand
until it got hard. Then I did a few more poses with it sticking out
for all to see. I did not really like showing my penis this way, but
it was part of the deal I had made with the studio. I also thought
that the pictures might be of some interest to look back on after I had
my penis removed.
Whatever would happen with the photos, the session was having quite an
effect on my co-workers. Ray had gotten a thrill from my striptease,
and when the lingerie and penis pictures were done, I could see the
nipples on Wendy's breasts pressing through the material of her blouse.
I had managed to turn everybody, including me, on, and I liked that. I
have always enjoyed being a tease.
"Okay, girls," announced Ray when his film ran out after the lingerie
pictures, "that's a wrap! It's three-thirty, and I have to get all
this film ready for the lab. Besides, if our new model gets it any
hotter in here, my lenses are going to melt!" Wendy and I started back
toward the dressing room as Ray added, "Come back next Monday at
10:00AM, Bobbi. We can look over all the shots together then after the
lab is done with them, and I'll help you pick out a portfolio." I told
him I would, and followed Wendy into the dressing room. I was a real
model now.
I took off the lingerie in the dressing room, and sat in the make-up
chair. I was nude, but that hardly seemed to matter now. Wendy took a
seat in the big chair in the corner, and said, "Well, Bobbi, we're
almost done for today. We just have to hang up that last outfit, and
get you and me presentable for the street again. Only I'm too tired to
do it yet." She stretched to relieve some of the fatigue, and said,
"You're quite a turn-on when you want to be. You even got me going at
the end, and Ray was really into that striptease of yours. You prob-
ably couldn't see for the lights, but a couple of times he was so into
watching you that he forgot to take pictures! Just keep it on the set,
though, honey. Ray is all mine outside of the studio."
Wendy added a sort of giggle to this by way of saying that she was not
angry, but her message came through all the same. We could be close
friends, but do not mess with her man! That was another part of the
sisterhood of women. No matter how close I would get to another woman,
there were still some things that would not be tolerated. The signals
were getting clearer now. I was really becoming a woman, but I still
would need a catalyst to start me on the last part of the journey.
That catalyst would come all too soon.
"Could we try that henna rinse another time?," Wendy asked. "I'd like
to do it for you now, so you can get used to it, but I just don't feel
up to it." I was beat too. I was absolutely exhausted! This had been
a very long day for me. If I thought that I worked hard as a stockboy,
I had another think coming. I had never pictured a model's job as be-
ing this much work. I thought all you did was dress up nice, and smile
pretty. This was work!
There was a small shower stall as part of the toilet room that was con-
nected to the dressing room, and Wendy let me use it first. When I
came out, she was waiting in just a robe. It sort of made me conscious
of my own nudity. I was just openly cavorting about in the nude. It
would not have mattered to me if Wendy had done the same, but she had
the modesty to cover up. "I guess I should have a robe too," I said
with a blush rising in my cheeks. "Well...," replied Wendy. "After
the type of session we just did there really isn't anything between us
to hide, but you should get used to wearing one around the set most of
the time. There are a lot of eyes around, and once they get a look,
some of them think they're entitled to more. Save yourself a lot of
trouble, and stay covered except when you're in front of a lens."
I got back into my lingerie while Wendy was in the shower. She came
out with a sort of nervous look on her face. She looked at me stran-
gely for a long moment, and then said, "Okay, girlfriend. We only have
one dressing room here, so remember that we're both supposed to be
girls." With that, she took off the robe, and tossed it over the
chair.
Wendy was as pretty in the nude as she was in her street clothes. Her
breasts were round and globular, her hips were narrow and seductive,
and the hair at her crotch was trimmed to just a vertical bar, so it
would not show in a bikini panty. She stood still to let me look her
over, and said, "Well, what do you think? I wanted to return the favor
you did me before by showing me your cock. Ray wants to do a series of
nudes of you and a real-girl, and I got him to let me do the real-girl
part. I'm no stranger to porno. I don't look as good as you in front
of a lens, so I don't get to do fashion. I like what I did today, but
I like to model too. The only way I get to do any modeling is naked."
There was just the merest hit of a tear in her eye as she spoke.
"I'd be honored to pose with you," I said. I knew that my words could
do little to relieve the pain she was feeling. Wendy wanted to be a
fashion model very badly, but she was not quite fashion model caliber.
Almost anyone could be a model of some sort, but a fashion model is the
elite. It is not just beauty. The qualifications go far beyond that.
There is also a certain style in the way a fashion model moves and car-
ries herself. Some of it can be learned, but most of it seems almost
inborn or instinctive.
Wendy lacked these qualities. She did the cheesecake and pornography
because that was what she could get offers to do. Most of what she did
was with Ray behind the lens. They were also lovers off the set, but
did not live together. Ray was too into "doing his own thing" for
that.
"That's all right, Bobbi," Wendy said as we went back to our dressing.
"I'm content with what I do. Oh, I would rather be doing other things,
but I'm happy here. Look, why don't you come over to my place on Thur-
sday night, and I'll do that henna rinse for you. We girlfriends
should see each other off the set too." I readily agreed, and Wendy
offered to do my make-up before we left. "When you get to be a big
star," she said as she worked, "maybe you'll hire me as your personal
cosmetician." It was a joke, but it was also a pretty good idea. Now
all I had to do was figure out how I was going to go about becoming a
big star.
It did not take long before Wendy and I were ready to leave. She look-
ed different in a dress somehow. All day she had been working in jeans
and an old blouse, but I guess those were her work clothes. The dress
she wore was nothing fancy, but she wore it well. There was still a
lot of "model" in her even if she did not do fashion work. "Got any-
thing special planned for tonight?," she asked as we left the dressing
room. "No," I replied. "I might stop by the local bar for a drink,
but I'll probably just go home." Wendy took my hands in her's, and
moved her face close to mine in the sort of mock kiss that women do as
a greeting. "Well," she said, "if you've got nothing else to do, call
me, and we'll chat some more. You're fun as a friend. If I don't hear
from you, have a good time!"
I returned her pleasantries, and she went up the stairs to Ray's of-
fice. I left the studio, and started for home. All of what I wanted
in life was starting to fall into place. I was taking dance lessons, I
had a part-time job as a model, I had some good friends, I had a nice
boyfriend in Peter, I had a mother to lean on in Edith, and I had found
a doctor to help me become all the woman I could be. What was it then,
that felt like something holding me back? I needed one more thing to
happen to push me over that obstacle. I was soon to be pushed.
By the time I got home it was almost six o'clock. I had walked home,
so that I could think about what was going on in my life. Margo was
getting dressed when I got in. She was going to "The Gilded Grape" as
usual, and asked if I was going along. That night I really felt like
going for two very important reasons. Firstly, I wanted the normally
festive atmosphere of the bar around me. I had just become a model of
a sort, so I think I was entitled to celebrate a little. Secondly, I
needed some money. I had to pay for my hormone shot on Wednesday, and
get through the rest of the week, but I did not have enough money to do
it. Two tricks should resolve that problem. I did not like turning
tricks for cash, but prostitution was always a quick and easy way of
making ends meet if you knew how to do it, and Margo had taught me
well.
"Would you mind if Carol spent a couple of days here?," asked Margo as
we dressed. "You mean a couple of nights in your bed, don't you?," I
said with a giggle. "Whatever," replied Margo with some annoyance in
her voice. "She'll sleep in my room with me," she continued, "and you
won't know we're here. We want to spend some time together, and she's
getting a lot of hassles from her Landlord."
I had suspected that Margo and Carol were lovers for a while. The fact
did not bother me, but Carol did. I did not like her at all. It was,
however, really Margo's apartment, so she could do what she liked here.
At least she had told me by way of "asking" me if I minded rather than
just "telling" me Carol was coming. "No," I said. "I don't mind at
all. Are you ready to leave yet?"
"The Gilded Grape" was never a hotbed of activity on a Monday night,
but there were a few people around when we got there. This was Emma's
night off, so Margo went to the front bar to talk to Edie. I did not
see anyone I knew very well, so I just went to the bar at the back of
the place. Margo did not complain that I did not sit with her. She
knew why I was here, and the back bar was a better place for hustling
tricks. I ordered a drink, and waited.
It did not take long for someone to notice me. He was dressed very
casually, but was good looking enough. He started by just staring at
me until I turned to him, and said, "Hello." We talked about nothing
in particular, and finally I got the subject around to sex. That star-
ted slowly until he bluntly whispered, "I'll give you twenty dollars
for a hand-job in the toilet." This was not what I normally did, but
the price was better that normal for a hand-job. I leaned over to him,
and whispered, "If you can get into the last stall in the Ladies Room,
I'll do you there." He agreed, and made his way to the appointed spot.
I waited a few minutes so as not to arouse suspicion, and went in af-
ter him. The room was deserted when I got there, so I went to the last
stall, and tapped on the door. It opened, and there he sat on top of
the toilet tank with his feet on the rim of the bowl. He had taken off
his pants, and was naked from the waist down. I stepped into the stall
with him, and latched the door behind me. "I've never gotten jerked
off in a Ladies Room before," he said with a slightly insane sounding
giggle.
I was not enjoying this already, so I said, "Let's do business first."
He looked puzzled, and said, "Huh?" This was going to be neither fun
nor easy. "Pay me now, and then I'll do your dick!," I said with some
exasperation in my voice. "Oh!," he said, and handed me a crumpled wad
of paper that turned out to be a ten and two fives. "Fine," I said.
"Now let me get to work."
The Ladies Room at "The Gilded Grape" never smelled like a flower gar-
den, but there was a new odor now. It did not take long to realize
that the source of the smell was my trick! I do not think he bathed at
all. These were the "Hippie Years", and that was part of being hip to
some people. When I gripped his cock, it felt all sweaty and slimy. I
pumped my hand up and down it, and was very pleased that I did not have
to put it in my mouth to give him a blow-job.
His cock was hard, but not straight. It sort of twisted to the left,
and bent upwards in the middle. I pumped it for all I was worth to get
this over with, and get away from the ugly and smelly thing.
It only took me a few minutes to make him cum, but he seemed to delight
in watching himself shoot. He also liked the way the cum that did not
drop into the toilet ran over my hand. When he was finished cumming,
he took my hand, and licked it clean. I told him to stay in the stall
for ten minutes while I left. I got out quick, washed my hands, and
went back to the bar. He did not come out for half an hour. I do not
want to know what else he might have been doing in there!
Soon, another man sat on the stool next to mine at the bar. He was
casually dressed, but not a Hippie type like the other one. His build
ran to the heavy side, almost fat. He wore glasses, and although he
was not exactly handsome, he was not bad looking. I looked over at
him. He looked back, so I said, "Care to buy a woman a drink?" He
smiled nicely, and answered, "Sure. I've seen you here before, but
I've never had the chance to talk to you. You're very pretty." I sip-
ped my drink. "Oh?," I said. "Then you like pretty girls like me?"
"Very much," he answered. "Would you like to go somewhere, and get to
know me better?," I asked. "How much?," he replied. He knew the pro-
cedure.
We got up from the bar, and he followed me outside. I took him to The
Alva Hotel where most of the girls went with their tricks. He checked
us in as just another of the vast list of "Mr & Mrs John Smiths" that
filled their register, and we went to our room. As soon as we were in-
side, he produced his wallet, and handed me two tens and a five. "What
do you want to do?," I asked. "Whatever you like to do most," he rep-
lied. I thought for a moment. I liked to get fucked, but a blow-job
would be quicker. "I'd like to suck you off," I said. "Okay," he an-
swered, and started taking off his pants. When he was naked from the
waist down, I tool him into the bathroom, and washed his cock. I am
not fond of the taste of sweat.
He left the bathroom, and went straight for the bed. He lay on his
back, and waited for me to get to work. I never really liked turning
tricks, but I do like giving a man a good time. This goes for either
lovers or tricks. This trick would be no exception, and besides, if he
liked what he got tonight, he might be back again. Even a prostitute
has to think of he marketing.
I slowly slipped out of my clothes until I wore only my bra, panties,
garter-belt, stockings, and heels. I posed for him that way for a few
minutes in all the sexy ways I could think of, and he responded with a
broad smile, and lots of words of compliment and encouragement. Then I
got onto the bed between his legs, and kissed his cock right on the
tip. It jumped and twitched at this, and I started licking it all
over. After a moment of me licking his cock, he lifted his thigh to
nudge me up, and asked, "Could we fuck instead?"
He was just so sweet about everything, that I agreed. I liked getting
fucked better anyway. I got up, got a tube of Vaseline from my purse,
and gave it to him, saying, "Get yourself lubricated while I get ready
for you." While he squeezed some jelly on the head of his cock, I un-
hooked my garters, and removed my panties. Then I put some lubricant
on my ass, and got beck into bed with him. He pulled me onto my right
side with him behind me. His right arm was under me, and pulled me
back against him. His left arm reached down, and positioned his hard
cock against my anal opening. He thrust his loins forward, and I
pushed my ass back burying his meat in me. I let out a little gasp
when he entered me. He felt bigger back there than I had expected him
to be.
His left arm now came over the top of me, and both arms gripped tightly
in a bear-hug. His right hand found its way under my bra to pinch and
tickle one of my nipples while his left hand groped for my little pe-
nis, and having found it, gripped it to sort of jerk me off while we
fucked. The thrusting of his cock was not hard and violent, but slow
and pulsing. In his arms as I was, I felt as if I was wrapped in some
sort of a machine of total sexual stimulation. I might not like tur-
ning tricks in general, but I was enjoying this one. Every nerve cen-
ter of sexual energy that I had was being given attention in some way.
I could have rocked like that in his arms for hours. I hoped he cer-
tainly would be a repeat customer.
We rocked back and forth in that embrace for some time. Normally, I
would work to get things finished quickly, but his cock felt just so
good in my ass the way it was, and the stimulation my own little penis
was getting from his left hand was so exciting that I just let him ride
me for as long as he liked. Then, at last, the climax started, and I
felt his cock throb in my ass as he shot his sperm up into my bowels.
His hand pumped harder now on my little penis, and was rewarded when my
own cum spilled out onto the bedsheets. I was panting hard, gasping
for breath, and I felt his hot breath against the back of my neck as he
did the same. We lay there for a little while with his cock still
oozing semen into my ass, and my little penis dripping on the bed until
it was time to go.
We both got up, and I invited him back into the bathroom where I clean-
ed us both up. He might have paid for the trick, but I had gotten
something out of it too. It was one way I could repay him. "What's
your name?," he asked as we got dressed. "Bobbi," I replied pulling my
dress over my head. "That's a nice name," he said. "Mine's Bob. I
hope I'll see you again." I smiled thinking of how good his cock had
felt in my ass. "Oh, I'm sure you will," I said. "Are you going back
to the bar?" "No," he said, "I'm going home." "Well," I said, "then
maybe I'll see you next week," and kissed him. He kissed back, but did
not take me in his arms. I do not think he realized he could have if
he wanted to.
We left the hotel together, and parted company at the corner. I wat-
ched him walk away before I headed back to "The Gilded Grape" again. I
did not have any regular tricks of my own, but I hoped Bob would be
one. I just liked the way he fucked.
Patty was sitting at the back bar of "The Gilded Grape" when I got
there. She gave me an evil smile, and said, "My, but aren't we the
proper little whore tonight, girlfriend. Two tricks already, and it's
not even nine o'clock yet." I was shocked! "How did you know?!," I
asked. "You know there are no secrets in here," Patty said with the
same evil grin. "Margo told Edie that you went to the back to turn
tricks, and Edie's been watching what you've been up to. She told me
you went to the hotel with some fat guy, so I came back here to wait
for you." Patty lit a cigarette, and added, "You can take all the
johns you want to the hotel, but don't do anymore tricks in the Ladies
Room, or you'll get yourself eighty-sixed from here. Gerry, the owner,
could lose his licence for letting that sort of thing go on. It's okay
this time, but don't do it again! Emma will eighty-six you for sure if
she finds out."
I composed myself. It was just not worth getting angry over. Drag
queens are notorious gossips, so the story would be all over the place
soon enough. There was nothing I could do about it no matter how much
I disliked it, but this was not how a real woman should have to live.
I was growing to hate this bar, and the life that went on around it. I
had to find a way to start living as a real woman.
"What brings you here tonight?," I asked. "Oh," said Patty, "the same
as you. I've been working the street outside, and I just came in for a
drink." "Outside on the street?," I said quizzically. "You mean with
all the real-girl hookers?" Patty laughed, and said, "Not exactly.
The real-girls work all of 8th Avenue. We work the west side of 8th
Avenue from 46th to 45th Street, and the north side of 45th Street be-
tween 8th and 9th Avenues. The johns all know it, so just make sure he
gives some sign that he knows you've got a dick, and watch out for
cops. The law's the same now for both boys and girls. If you get ar-
rested, you go to jail at least overnight, and there's a hundred dollar
fine."
"What'd you mean about the law being the same for boys and girls now?,"
I asked. "It used to be different," Patty replied. "The law on pros-
titution used to be used to be specific to women, so technically a man
could not be a prostitute, and the worst they could bust you on was
loitering, but they changed that now. You can be as much a prostitute
in the eyes of the law as a real-girl now. Ain't equality grand?" We
both laughed. This was one step on my way to becoming all the woman I
could be that at least did not require surgery.
"I'm going to try one on the street," I said to Patty. I had always
been fascinated by the hookers, and fantasized about joining them. Now
was the time. "Easy now," Patty said. "I've been doing this for a
while, and you've only done it in this bar. Gerry, the owner, pays off
the cops to leave us alone in here. Outside of this bar you're on your
own. You have to be careful out there." I was determined. "I still
want to try it," I said. "Okay," said Patty, "I can't stop you. Stick
to where I told you to, and watch out for cops. Their out in both uni-
forms and plain clothes tonight!" "I will," I said, and got up to
leave.
In a moment, I was out on the street. There were a couple of other
"girls" that I knew from the bar out there too, so I felt reasonably
safe. I started off by walking slowly and seductively up 8th Avenue to
46th street, then back down to 45th Street, and around the corner to
where the back door to "The Gilded Grape" was. A number of potential
johns looked me over, but none stopped. Then I heard on of the other
girls say, "D'ya wan'a date?," to a john, and he stopped to talk to
her. That must be the code phrase. I guessed I should try it too.
I also noticed that the girls only walked the street enough so as not
to be picked up for loitering. The johns were left to come to them.
The doorway in front of the beauty supplies store next to "The Gilded
Grape" was vacant, so I settled in there to wait for someone to notice
me. I soon knew why most of the street girls smoked. It was boring
just standing there, and I wished I had a cigarette just for something
to do.
Then I saw a guy looking at me. He was tall, and well built with curly
black hair that made him look very Italian. His face was rugged and
handsome. He walked by the doorway very close to me, and gave me a
look as he passed. A few steps later, he stopped, turned, and came
back again. As he passed me this time, I said, "Do you want a date?"
He stopped, and looked me over. "What?," he asked. I said, "Do you
want a date?" "What sort of date?," he asked. I was not sure what was
going on, so I said, "Would you like to go to the hotel with me? It'll
only cost you twenty-five for me, and ten for the room." He looked
very seriously at me, and said, "You are asking me to pay you twenty-
five dollars, so that we can go to the hotel where you will have sex
with me. Is that correct?" I did not understand why he was asking me
that way, but I replied, "Yes," and waited for his response. His res-
ponse was to reach into his pocket, and pull out his wallet. This
flipped open, so that he could hold up his policeman's badge!
I wanted to run, but my feet were riveted to the pavement. "You have
solicited me for the purpose of prostitution," he said in a cop's mono-
tone voice. "I therefore place you under arrest in the name of the
City of New York." He took one of my wrists, and pulled it behind me.
I heard the click of his handcuffs as they snapped around that wrist,
and then the same on my other wrist. With my arms handcuffed behind
me, he walked me to the north side of 46th Street where a police van
waited. I soon joined four other prostitutes inside. The shove my
life had needed had come. I was arrested!
I could not believe what had just happened. The van was dark inside,
but I could make out the faces of my companions enough to know that I
had never seen them in "The Gilded Grape" before. They must all have
been real-girls.
The van smelled like a urinal that someone had been trying to disin-
fect, and the seats were just plain wooden boards. Two of the girls
were talking about how they were going to be out of jail as soon as
they called their pimp, and swapping stories about the johns that had
fucked them that night. A tall blonde with huge breasts sat in silence
in one corner, and seemed almost to be napping. The fourth girl was
bent over, and sobbing piteously. I just sat in disbelief staring at
them. We all had our hands handcuffed behind us.
Twenty minutes later the door of the van swung open, and another blonde
girl joined us. She bumped against me as she sat down, but said noth-
ing. The glazed expression on her face said that she was not quite in
contact with the world around her. She looked drugged.
"Take this load down to The Tombs," came the sharp voice of a police
sergeant through the open door, "and come right back! We should make a
good haul tonight." Then the door slammed shut, and we were left in
the dark with only the sobbing to break the silence.
The motor of the van started with a roar, and we began to move. The
seats and suspension were not made for comfort, so we bounced back and
forth as the van weaved through the Manhattan traffic. Each time we
hit a bump, my little tush was bounced on the hard wooden seat. The
handcuffs had been put on tightly, and were chafing my wrists. The
smell in the van was nauseating.
Then the glassy eyed girl next to me leaned forward, and started to
vomit! I jumped away from her, and slammed into one of the girls who
had been talking. "Watch what you doin', bitch!," she shouted, and
shoved me back. The van hit a bump, and the vomiting girl fell to the
floor. She just lay there in the mess she had made. All we were left
with was the gurgling sounds of her retching, and the sobbing of the
other girl. There was vomit on my skirt and leg that I could not do
anything about with my wrists handcuffed behind me. I felt like crying
too.
The van halted at last, and we sat for a moment in the dark. The door
opened, and a policeman in the doorway said, "All right, ladies, last
stop! All out for The Tombs!" Then he saw the girl lying in the pool
of vomit on the floor. "Fer chrissakes!," he said. "Hey, Harry! Get
a stretcher and a mop! We got a puker, and she's passed out. Call
Bellevue, and get an ambulance over here."
They made the rest of us stay in the stench of the van while they pul-
led her out on the stretcher. Then we got out. One cop stood in the
doorway to hold out arms, so we would not slip on the vomit covered
floor on the way out. He grabbed a feel of my ass as I passed him.
We were taken inside, and a policewoman took our names and addresses.
I gave my name as "Bobbi" like I always did, but she did not ask what
sex I was. She typed it all onto a form, and then took an inventory of
my purse for the record. "You'll get this back when you're released,"
she said putting a tag on the property bag that now held my purse.
"Come with me!" She led me into a room that had a series of cubicles
with telephones in them. "You get one phone call," she said. "Make it
a good one."
I went to an open cubicle. Who should I call? Margo would be too
drunk by now if she was home at all. Edith would be home, but I did
not remember her number. There was only one person I could call. Pet-
er was all but a lawyer too. He would know what to do. Nervously, I
dialed his number, and prayed he would be home.
"Hello?," said Peter's voice at the other end of the line. "Peter,
this is Bobbi," I said. "I need..." "Hi, doll!," Peter interrupted.
"I had a really good time last night. Can we get together agai..."
"Peter! I'm in jail!," I broke in. "What... what do you mean you're
in jail?," he said. "I got arrested, and I need help!," I replied.
"Okay, doll," Peter said. "Calm down. What was the charge?" The next
word I said was not what I wanted to say to him. I swallowed hard, and
said, "Prostitution!"
There was a long pause on the other end of the telephone line. Then
Peter spoke in cold, measured tones. "Did you do it?," he said. I
thought carefully, and said, "I didn't go to bed with him. I was on
the street, and this guy was looking me over. I propositioned him on a
lark. I didn't know he was a cop." "Did you ask for money?," Peter
asked quickly. "Yes," I answered quietly, and with shame in my voice.
Peter had lost the happy tone in his voice when he spoke to me. It
would never really come back again. "Where are you?," he asked. "The
Tombs," I replied. "I'll get you a lawyer," Peter said. "Do whatever
they tell you to, don't answer any questions until the lawyer gets
there, and don't make any more trouble. I'll see you in the court."
Then Peter hung up. I was shaking all over, but managed to make it
back to where the policewoman was waiting for me. "Here," she said
holding out a packet of tissues for me. "You look like you need these
more than I do." It was only then I noticed I was crying.
She led me out of the room, and into another where she did a quick pat
down body search. Then we went down a long hall, and through a bared
gate. There were dozens of cage-like cells inside. She opened one,
and put me inside with five other women. There were six bunks in the
cell in two tiers of three. "Have a good night, ladies," she said.
"We'll see you in the morning. Got too many in Night Court to do you
now."
The clang of the cell door closing went through me like a lightning
bolt. Stone walls do not a prison make, but cold steel now held me
fast. I was now imprisoned physically as well as biologically.
--
Jon Grossberg - Internet: [email protected].org FidoNet: 1:107/565
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