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Bobbi's Story 6 One, Two, Three, Kick!
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.
Bobbi's_Story
6 One, Two, Three, Kick!
The rest of that week passed in an ordinary manner. There was only
the usual routine of work, and lunch with Edith. We were becoming
very close, and I liked that. She was true to her word in acting very
motherly toward me. Edith wanted to know all that was happening
to me, and all that I was feeling. I was happy to tell her all about it
too. It felt good to have someone like her to confide in. Margo was
all right as a roommate, but there were just some things that I did
not like to talk with her about. She was a little too cynical about
people. They had failed her too many times.
Edith wanted me to come over to her home for dinner one evening.
She lived out in Queens, and had her mother, Sarah, living with her.
I wanted to do that too. Since my family had written me off, I
missed that sort of contact. Edith and her mother could provide
that missing part of my life, and they were more than willing to do
it.
Edith said that she would just introduce me to her mother as a
girlfriend from work. Sarah was 84 years old, and it was not worth
making a long explanation to her about me. I agreed with that. I
wanted everyone to think of me as the woman that I am anyway, so
there was no need to complicate things for Sarah. Things were going
to be a little hectic for me that week, so we put it off for now.
The next big step in my life was my first dancing class with Toni
at the "Stage Door Dance Academy" on Friday evening. After the
session at the rehearsal of the "G.G.Girls" chorus line, I wondered
if I was up to it. My legs hurt right after the rehearsal, but that
was nothing compared with the way they felt the next day! I could
barely get out of bed on Wednesday morning. I was just not used to
that much exercise, but I knew that was the only way to get what I
wanted out of this. I steeled myself to what was ahead.
Tina said that I should work at the dance exercises as much as I
could until my muscles loosened up enough. It was not easy, but I
did my best. I worked out in the living room of the apartment every
night that week using the back of the sofa or a kitchen chair for a
dancer's bar. Margo was playfully annoyed at this, but generally
supportive. For all the problems that we had, we were very much
like sisters through it.
The telephone rang at about 8:00PM on Wednesday night. I had
just got home after shopping with Edith, and was getting ready to do
my dance exercises. It was Peter. After a few pleasantries, he asked,
"What are you doing on Saturday night? Could we have dinner?"
He wanted to take me out on a real date!
No man had ever asked me out before, and I was thrilled. It was
with a lot of sadness that I had to tell him, "We have a show at 'The
Gilded Grape' on Saturday, and I'm in the chorus line. I can have
a drink with you between the shows, but I won't be free until about
midnight."
"That's all right," Peter responded. "I'd like to see the show, and
if you're in it, that's so much the better, doll! Maybe I could take
you home afterward."
I liked the interest he was showing in me. I did, however, wonder
if he had anything in mind for when he got me home after the show.
It was not that I did not want him to get me into bed. I did want
him to get me into bed, but I was sort of hoping that we could get
at least one date in first.
"That would be nice," I told Peter. "A girl can always use an
escort on these streets at night." He chuckled, and said, "Than it's a
date! I'll see you at 'The Gilded Grape' on Saturday night. Bye for
now, doll!" I said "good-bye" too, and hung up. I was already looking
forward to seeing him again. He was cute enough to daydream over
while I exercised.
The only other incident of sorts took place on Thursday morning.
I was putting away some stock at work when Edith came out into the
stockroom to get me. "There's a call for you in the office," she said.
"It's Paul from Personnel." Edith and I exchanged knowing glances.
She knew from our lunchtime talks that Paul and I were seeing each
other. I had planned not to tell her, but it was just too good a piece
of gossip to hold back.
I entered the office, and Edith pointed to the telephone on the
spare desk. Mr. Steinman, the Assistant Buyer, was in the office, so
I had to be careful of what I said. I picked up the receiver, pushed
the button that was flashing, and said, "Hello?"
"Hello, Bobbi?," said Paul. "Yes," I answered. "Listen," he went
on, "I know that you can't, err... talk there in the office, so just say
'yes' or 'no'. All right?" "Okay," I answered. "I know that we had
planned to, err... get together this week, but I, err... can't make it.
My wife is in one of her, err... moods, and I can't get away. You do
understand, don't you?" "Sure," I answered in a sympathetic tone.
"That's good," said Paul with a little sigh of relief in his voice.
"We're still, err... friends, right?" "Yes," I answered. "You're still
going to, err... see me from time to time, right?" "Yes," I answered.
"Oh, yeah!," he said remembering something else. "You have an
appointment with my, err... buddy Jack at two o'clock on Tuesday
about that modeling job, so I, err... set it up with your Buyer that
you can, err... leave at noon, and take the rest of the day off. We
put it down as a half of one of your, err... personal days, so you still
get paid for it. All right?" "Yes!," I answered excitedly.
"Okay, cutie!," Paul said. "We both have to get back to work.
Err.. tell anyone who asks that I was just giving you the, err... OK
on your half personal day for next week. That isn't a, err... lie. Bye,
cutie!" "All right," I said, "bye-bye."
"Is everything okay?," Mr. Steinman asked as I hung up the
telephone. "Oh, sure," I answered. "I had just asked for Tuesday
afternoon off to take care of some family matters, and they were
just letting me know that they had cleared it with Mr. Conlin." Mr.
Steinman frowned a little, and said, "He didn't say anything to me
about it, but I guess it's okay. No serious problems at home, I hope?"
"No," I answered, "just usual family nonsense." He turned back to
his desk, and I went back to the stockroom.
I told Edith all about the calls from my two new boyfriends over
lunch. She showed a motherly interest in them asking, "Well, when
do I get to meet them? You should bring them home to meet your
mother sometime."
We both laughed at this, but it was not a bad idea. I asked Edith,
"When I do, could I... introduce you as my mother for real? I would
like that." Edith got a little misty, and after a short pause, answered,
"Of course, Bobbi. I would like that very much too."
I think we got even closer then if that was possible. She had
already accepted me as her daughter, and this was my way of telling
her that I too accepted the relationship. I really did see her as my
mother in every way. A girl needs a mother to help her along, and
be a sort of refuge for her to turn to when she has problems. Since
my natural mother had abandoned this role, I needed a substitute.
Edith was more than willing to accept the role, and I was happy to
have her in it.
There is a real "sisterhood" among women that most men do not
fully understand. It was slowly beginning to show itself to my own
understanding, and Edith was part of it. She was also as much a
friend as a mother figure, and I liked that part best of all. We have
stayed that way all of my life.
Friday came at last, and I was ready for it. I had packed all of
my rehearsal clothes, and a few other things in a big blue canvas
bag that I could sling over my shoulder by its handles to go to work.
My dancing class was due to start at 6:00PM, so I would have to go
straight from work. I would have liked to have work a skirt that day,
but I could not go to work in one.
I was hating that job more and more every day. Margo worked
as a cashier in a variety store, and held that job as a woman. I
would have liked to do the same, but the salary she made was very
small. That is why she turned tricks for cash as a TV prostitute at
night. There was no other way to afford the apartment we shared.
My moving in meant that she did not have to turn as many tricks,
but she still needed to do a few. If I were to have taken a job like
her's, it would mean that I would have to do the same thing. I did
not want to have to live that way.
I did not make a large salary at the department store, but it was
just about enough for the rent, food, clothing, and other essentials.
I turned a few tricks too. That gave me some extra money to have
fun with. I could also just afford the twenty dollars a week for the
dancing lessons on my salary.
The doctor bills that I would have to incur in order to be all
the woman that I could be were another matter. I knew that a full
program of Sexual Reassignment Surgery, or SRS, cost quite a bit of
money, but I had no idea of how I would get it. Turning to my family
was out of the question. There were only two possible options as I
saw it. I could save enough out of part-time modeling assignments if
the interview that Paul had set up with his friend Jack worked out,
or I could turn, like so many other drag queens, to prostitution.
Prostitution is an easy way to make a small living for a number of
drag queens. There are always men who are unsettled enough with
their sexuality that they want to try a sample of what it is like to
have a sexual encounter with another man, but need the trappings
of femininity that such an encounter with a drag queen provides to
keep them from thinking that they have turned "queer". There are
bisexual men who just enjoy making love with a transvestite. Also
there are the men that just want a "change of pace" from their wives
and/or girlfriends. Many men of these types are willing to spend a
few dollars to satisfy their needs.
Crossing the gender gap from male to female can be very impov-
erishing. Most males lack the job skills that are needed to fit into a
mid-range "female" job like secretary or typist, and the top-of-the-
line jobs are difficult to get when you show up at the interview in a
skirt while your university record indicates that you are a male. Even
for low level jobs things are difficult if you do not have identification
and a Social Security Number that shows you to be female.
I got around all this by holding my job as a male while living the
rest of the time as a female. Margo did it by working "off the books"
for an employer that knew she was a transvestite. She had to give
the guy at least one blow-job a week in his dingy office at the back
of the store to keep the job, but she did not seem to mind that very
much.
The real problem that she and other transvestites that supported
themselves in the same way had was a total lack of any reserves or
benefits of any kind. It is a completely hand-to-mouth existence. It
is very easy to loose all self-esteem living that way, yet that very
sense of self-esteem is what you need most to become all the woman
that you can be. Prostitution offers an easy way to lift yourself up
a little on an economic basis for as long as you are pretty enough to
attract a "john" while satisfying an inner need of most transvestites
to prove themselves as women sexually as often as possible.
Making the decision to adopt the lifestyle of the drag queen can
be as painful as making the decision not to adopt it. The need to
be what I really am, however, compels me to do it. I cannot deny
myself.
The real problem that I had with the way I was supporting myself
was that it was depressing. I was thinking about this as I handed
the bag with my rehearsal clothes in it to Edith to keep under her
desk for me. I was dressed in my usual jeans, sweater top, and penny
loafers, but in that bag were the things that I would rather have been
wearing including a skirt, heels, stockings, and lingerie that I would
change into after my class. I so desperately wanted to be wearing
them now.
I retrieved my bag from Edith at 4:45PM. Mr. Conlin had said
that it was all right for me to leave fifteen minutes early on Fridays
from then on. I had told him that I needed the extra time to get to
school, and he seemed pleased to help me in continuing my education.
I just neglected to tell him what sort of class I was taking.
Edith wished me luck as I headed out the door to my first dancing
class. The "Stage Door Dancing Academy" was on 48th Street be-
tween 8th Avenue and Broadway. Those side streets around Broad-
way just north of Times Square are lined with aging office buildings
filled with businesses involved in the theatrical trades. This is where
you start your climb to stardom through the rehearsal floors of the
dancing schools, or the casting couches of the agents and producers.
This is also a place to wind out your career when you find out that
stardom is harder to achieve than you thought, and get a job as a
dance teacher for a new crop of hopefuls, or a receptionist for a pro-
ducer where you can usher those same hopefuls toward that casting
couch that is still warm from your own turn on it.
I took a few minutes to stop into the Coffee Shop near the de-
partment store for a soda, and pop into their Ladies Room to put
on my make-up, bra, and jewelry as I did each evening on my way
home from work. I got a big smile and a little wave from the Puerto
Rican boy behind the counter when I walked in. I smiled back at
him, and parked my canvas bag on the counter with him while I
used the Ladies Room. His smile was even broader when I emerged
all made-up. "You early tonight, si?," he said with a heavy accent.
"Yes," I answered. "I'm going to dancing class." He added a nod to
the smile as he brought my soda, but said no more as he went back
to his station at the end of the counter. His boss did not like him to
talk to the customers.
I finished the soda, and gave him a smile of my own as I left.
I walked up 5th Avenue to 42nd Street then crosstown to Times
Square. I looked over all the theater marquees as I turned again
uptown through Times Square on Broadway. I was daydreaming of
what it would be like to have my name up there as the leading lady
in a musical. It was a pleasant thought, but a goal that was a long
way off, and rather unrealistic. I would settle for a job as a chorus
girl, but I wanted that job as a woman instead of just being one of
the TV's in the "G.G.Girls" chorus line. I made up my mind then
to set that as a goal.
I got to the "Stage Door Dance Academy" about twenty-five min-
utes early. There was nothing at all fancy about the place. The little
outer office was plain with just a few chairs, and a small desk behind
which sat a small middle aged woman. "May I help you?," she asked
as I came in.
I told her my name, and she said, "Oh yes, you're just starting
tonight. We have a few forms to fill out, and then Toni wants to see
you before class." She handed me a clipboard with some papers on
it, and I sat down to fill them out. They were standard name and
address, contract, and insurance forms, and I was done with them
quickly. I handed them back to her, and she said, "Okay, come with
me, and I'll take you back to meet Toni." My dancing career was
about to begin.
A door in the reception area led back to the dance floor. It was
just a big room with a wooden floor about thirty feet square. One
wall was all windows looking onto 48th Street, and another was all
mirrors. A dancer's bar ran around most of the walls except for the
one with the windows. An odd assortment of crude props cluttered
one corner, and an upright piano filled another next to which was a
bookcase full of tapes and records with a small hi-fi set on top.
Over on one wall near the window side of the room was a door
that bore the name "TONI" in capital letters over a big gold star.
"My name is Liz. I run the office, and play the piano here. I'm the
one you come to if you have any problems," she said as we crossed
the dance floor, and she knocked at the door to Toni's office.
"Come!," said a voice from inside, and Liz opened the door to
let me in. Inside Toni sat behind a large wooden desk. There was
a sidechair by the desk, and Toni shook my hand, and motioned for
me to sit.
Toni's office was a little less spartan than the rest of the "Stage
Door Dance Academy". Her desk dominated the room with its pres-
ence, and that was because it looked slightly out of place. The rest
of the room looked more like a dancer's dressing room done up as
a museum display. The windows overlooking 48th Street continued
across one wall of the office. There was a dressing table with a mirror
ringed with lights on the opposite wall. Behind the desk were some
bookcases full of books on dance and business, a file cabinet, and a
rail of costumes. A large brown leather sofa was against the wall just
inside the door with a side table next to it topped by a pile of worn
dance magazines, and a lamp with a statue of a nude woman in a
ballet pose as its base. A matching lamp with the figure of a nude
man in another pose decorated a twin table at the other end of the
sofa. The walls were covered with framed newspaper clippings and
photographs mostly of or about Toni, but some of famous dancers
complete with autographs. One picture looked very much like Tina,
but I could not be sure.
Toni herself was tall with a figure that can only be described as
willowy. Her breasts and hips were not large, and there was not the
trace of an ounce of fat anywhere about her. Her features ran to the
"mannish" side with high angular cheekbones and a strong chin. Her
medium brown hair was short. Her dark eyes flashed with a fire and
drive that I have seen in few women. She was quite beautiful.
"Bobbi," Toni began as I sat in the chair, and Liz closed the door
leaving us alone, "I talk to all the new girls when they first arrive to
give them the rules here." Her voice was stern but friendly, and I sat
up straight to show interest.
"We have a nice group here, and I like it that way," Toni con-
tinued. "I expect all of my girls to be on time, and do what they're
told. The key to dance is discipline. If you're here just for fun or
figure control, you're in the wrong place. I train serious dancers who
want to work as dancers. I don't have time for anything else. Do
you understand?" I nodded, and Toni went on with a little less stern
voice.
"I know that you are a transvestite," she said. "I only train female
dancers normally, but I do make an exception for serious TV's. Tina
vouches for you, so that is fine. There is also another TV in your
class. The rest of the class are all women, but they know that the
two of you are here, so don't feel embarrassed in the dressing room.
Your body is your instrument in dance, so don't be afraid to show
it. The only thing I will NOT tolerate is anything sexual of any type
in the dressing room or on the dance floor. You are just one of the
women here, and I expect you to act like it. Do you understand me?"
I said that I did, and Toni directed me to the dressing room. I left
her office, and headed there. I was on my way to becoming a dancer.
There were two other doors in the wall of the rehearsal studio
next to the one that led to Toni's office. The one on the middle bore
the name "LIZ" with a gold star a little smaller than the one on
Toni's door, and the other just said "Dressing Room" on it. I walked
to the dressing room door, and was just about to push it open when
Liz cam up behind me, and said, "Just a minute, Bobbi! Let me give
you some things first. This is your I.D. card for the studio just in
case I am not here, and here is your locker key. You have number 32.
That's a lucky one. The last girl that had it is on Broadway now." I
took the things she pushed toward me, and thanked her. It was now
time to change, and get to work.
Inside the dressing room was as plain as the rest of the studio.
There were five or so girls in there when I entered, and all in various
states of undress in the process of changing. I had been in locker
rooms full of boys before, but this was the first time I had ever been
in a girl's locker room. Three walls of the room were all lockers, and
the remaining one was a long make-up table with mirrors and lights
above. It looked just as I pictured any theater chorus dressing room
would look. The center of the room was filled with benches for us to
change on.
I found my locker, and opened it. I set my canvas bag down on
a bench, and started taking off my clothes. Toni had said that she
had told the other girls that there were two TV's in the class, so I
had nothing to worry about from them. I wondered who the other
TV was, and how we would get along. One girl, however, spoke as I
removed my bra.
"Hi!," she said. "My name's Pamela. What's your's?" She was
a rather ordinary looking woman, but pleasant enough. "Bobbi," I
said with a smile. She smiled back, and said, "Oh, your one of the
drags that Toni said were in the class. That's all right. I don't mind.
My locker is next to yours, so maybe we can be friends here?" I
thought that might be a good idea, so I went along with it. I wanted
to fit into this group here, so I needed all the friends I could find.
I was just pulling my sweater over my head when a familiar voice
said, "Well, hello Bobbi. Toni didn't tell me that you were the other
TV in the class." The sweater popped off my head to reveal my friend
Patty putting her own bag of rehearsal clothes on the bench. "This
might be fun," I said with a smile of surprise on my face. "I thought
you were in a more advanced class." No," she answered, "I took one
class a few weeks ago, but that was only because Toni didn't have a
beginners class just then. She thought it would be better for me to
move to this one." "Well," I said, "I think it is a pretty good idea
too. Maybe we can help each other."
Having Patty in the class made me feel a little better about it. It
is one thing to be out on the street in drag where nobody knows that
you are not exactly as you present yourself, but quite another to be
in the sort of situation that I was now in. After I had finished talking
to Patty, I turned to strip off my jeans, and was confronted with an
entire room full of naked and semi-naked women. There were a total
of twenty of us in the class to start with, and all of us were here now.
Patty and I presented ourselves as women, and Toni had assured
us that we would be treated as such. It was a little intimidating,
however, to be faced with this reality of becoming a woman.
As I grew up, I had, as all boys had, been taught that the Ladies
Room was not a place I should go. The Ladies Room at "The Gilded
Grape" was one in name only. The couple of public Ladies Rooms
that I had been in were almost as sordid affairs as the Men's Rooms
that I had been in. This was very different. It bordered on an almost
intimate situation. I did not feel a strong sexual attraction to these
eighteen women, but I had to force myself not to stare at the strange
newness of the situation.
I stripped down to just my panties, and put on my rehearsal
clothes. I was pulling on my tights when I noticed Pamela staring at
me. I looked up at her, and she blushed in embarrassment. "Oh, I'm
sorry," she said. "That's all right," I said with a giggle. "I like being
looked at." Pamela looked puzzled for a second, and then laughed
too. "I should tell you," she said, "that you're not what I expected
when Toni told me that there would be TV's in the class. You and
your friend Patty are very pretty."
I was pleased to hear her say this, but it was a little naive and
condescending. I returned her remark by saying, "Thank you, but
you didn't expect us to have full beards, did you?," and added an-
other girlish giggle to soften the statement. Pamela laughed too. We
had made a joke of it, but my message had gotten through. She
treated me just like the woman I am ever since then.
I was dressed in a few minutes, and left the dressing room to join
the crowd of women milling about on the dance floor. Then the door
to Toni's office opened, and she appeared. Toni wasted no time in
preliminaries, but went about in the group lining us up, and telling
us to remember our places in line for future classes.
She went through a few minutes of the theory of dance, and then
launched into getting us moving with some warm-up and exercise
moves. These were sort of like the moves that Tina had taught me.
Other than some more instruction on some dance theory, and an
explanation of the proper way to move at the dancer's bar, that was
about all we did for the two hours of class. There was not much
more she could do with us. This was the first time on a dance floor
for most of those in the class.
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