The true cost of real estate

Natasha Romanova had planned for a long time to take over the abandoned building that sat empty across from the big shopping mall near her home. She’d talked at length with the real estate agent that had the listing and he had assured her that no one had expressed any interest in the property. She was biding her time, saving her money and waiting for the right moment. She would swoop in, buy the property and then set it up as her new home and workspace, all in one building. Offices downstairs, with a large conference room set up for conducting group séances. As a psychic, she wanted to live and work in a building, because much of her clientele would come in at odd hours. Now she worked from a storefront office where she spent nine hours per day, six days each week. Her clients who wanted to see her outside of those hours had to page her and then wait and see if she was able to come in. Usually she could be there in less than an hour, but not always. If she was living on the property, this would no longer be an issue. Only if she was not at home would a client have to wait for her. So when she was on her way home from having a late night dinner with a friend, she was shocked to see a “Sold” sign on the larger “For Sale” sign that was sitting on the side of the building. She pulled over and reached out with her mind to find that real estate agent to see what had happened. Rick Pritchard was sitting home, surfing the web for porn while his wife slept in the next room when he suddenly felt something gripping his head. It felt like someone had taken his skull in both hands and was slowly shaking it, trying to get it to open. The pain increased until it was a searing, burning sensation that suddenly faded. Not wanting to experience that again, he decided he’d go get undressed and get into bed with his wife. Natasha now knew what had happened. Rick had been honest with her. That would save him from being punished. But the five lawyers who had just bought the property, they would suffer. Suffer greatly, although she wasn’t sure just how. The answer would come to her in the next few days. * * * * * Two of those five lawyers were brothers and they shared an apartment on the other side of town. Unaware of what had just transpired, they were sitting together at their dining room table, looking over the plans they had obtained earlier that night from their architect. They were perfect. The building would require some renovations, but basically there were five suites for the five lawyers in the newly forming partnership. Two suites for the two paralegals they would hire, and enough space left over for reception, secretarial space and the machine room where computers and other equipment would be housed out of sight of the public. There would be no law library per se, but there were alternatives available for research purposes. Mike Lincoln was the older of the two. He was 32 years of age and had been working for the same firm since the day after he’d graduated from law school. It was also the firm that had just passed him over for partner a second and final time. Oh he could have stayed and tried one more time, but he saw the handwriting on the wall. Paula Cartwright was a senior partner, and he’d had an affair with her when he was 25 and when he ended the affair, she had sworn revenge. Now she’d gotten it. He hadn’t given notice yet, but it was all written and just needed a signature. His younger brother Rick was an associate at a much bigger firm downtown. He’d been there five years and was on the partner track. He was an outstanding litigator who’d honed his skills for two years in the DA’s office after law school, before taking this job. But he had always wanted to work with Mike and when Mike had said he was forming his own firm, Rick leapt at the chance to go with him. His resignation letter was also written. There were three other lawyers that Mike had brought together, all of whom were working and were ready to become partners in this new firm. Eldon Abrams had chosen to stay with the medium sized firm he’d been with since high school even after being passed over for a partnership, on their senior associate track. He had made decent money, but now that he was in his late 40s, he wanted a shot at a bigger share of the pie, in retirement planning. His having gone through a divorce where he’d been forced to give his ex-wife half of everything including his 401(k) was partly to blame. Patti Turner was the specialist in real estate law with litigation experience that Mike had gone up against while he was on loan to his firm’s real estate department. She had been part of the team that had beaten the partner Mike had been working with and he’d become a fan. Afterwards, he recruited her because real estate was one area of expertise the other four attorneys lacked. Since they wanted to focus on being a business litigation firm, a real estate expert was a good idea. She was coming up on 30 and was willing to give up a shot at a partnership because doing this meant that she and her husband Bernie could have a baby. In order to stay on the partnership track at her firm, they’d have had to wait four more years before she would have made it and could then have a kid. The last member of the team was Randy Wade. He had done something none of the rest had been willing to try. He’d graduated from law school and just hung out a shingle. It had been tough, but he’d managed to get by, doing PI work as well as general litigation. He had a terrific trial record, having won a settlement or a judgment in over 94% of the cases he’d filed in the years since he’d graduated. He and Mike had gone to the same law school and kept in touch in the intervening years. When Mike had mentioned he was forming a firm, Randy had expressed interest and it had just come together. * * * * * The five met on Saturday at a quiet coffee shop not far from their future office. Mike passed out agendas for the meeting after they’d all ordered drinks and snacks. They were tucked away in the back room of the place to get their privacy. Rick was dating the sister of the manager, which was how they’d arranged to get a place to meet since their building wasn’t ready yet. Once the agendas were passed out, Mike said “okay, let’s get started. I have deposited everyone’s buy-in check into the firm’s accounts and for the moment, Patti and I will be the signatories on any checks, although as called for in the terms of our agreement, expenditures in excess of $10,000 require approval of three of the five of us and expenditures in excess of $50,000 require unanimous approval. We’ll elect a managing partner on the one year anniversary of our official launch and then the other rules about expenditures will go into effect. I have the contract here for the construction of our building here, and the purchase orders for the equipment we’ll need. Based on our preliminary budget, even if we spend the full amount of the contingency money on construction and equipment, which I don’t see happening, we should still have enough money to hire our staff and operate for ninety days from our first day. That’s hiring everyone in our business plan at the budgeted rates. Questions?” Randy said “it all sounds great, but what if we’re open 90 days and we’re out of money. What do we do then?” Mike looked over at his brother. “Rick?” “I’ve emailed each of you an application to complete. It’s for a line of credit of $500,000 we’re arranging with the bank we’re working with. The loan officer I’ve talked to told me it’s a formality, we’re already pre-approved. If we have to, we’ll use the line of credit. But the expectation is we’ll be generating revenues from day one. Doesn’t everyone have at least one client they will be bringing with them?” Everyone nodded and Patti interrupted. “Look, we’re all good at what we do. We just need to get the doors open and everything will be fine. How long are the renovations going to take?” “We should be up and running on June 1s” Mike said. * * * * * LATE AUGUST It was coming up on the three month anniversary of the firm’s opening and everything was going fine. In theory a law firm can sue an associate who leaves and takes a client with them, but the practical application of that theory didn’t always work out well. Clients are fickle and if one firm tries to muscle them to stay, odds are good they’ll leave in the end anyway. The clothing retailer in the building two doors down from the law office had gone out of business recently and on a Saturday morning, Mike was heading in to catch up on a little work when he noticed someone moving into that building. He walked down to see what was happening. A woman in her late 40s or early 50s was supervising a moving crew taking boxes off of trucks and carrying them into the building. He waited until she had stopped giving directions and then walked up and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Mike, I’m one of your new neighbors. I work at the law firm right there” he said, pointing at his building. “Hi Mike. I’m Stacy. But I won’t be here all that long. We open on September 1st and we will close down on November 2nd or 3rd.” “What kind of business does that?” “A business that rents Halloween costumes. I’m searching for a permanent location but this one isn’t big enough. I just moved to town and I needed a place to operate for this year. I’ll run my business from here and keep bringing in inventory throughout the two months of my season. Then after we’re finished, I’ll find a permanent location where I can keep my inventory all year and run a scaled down year-round operation.” “Halloween costumes, eh? I’ve never been much for dressing up.” “Well, this year you should give it a try. My costumes are the best there is. Unlike most shops, I rent you almost everything you need. The basics of the outfit, the accessories, the shoes, wigs and so on. Then I also sell the things I can’t rent, like underwear since you can’t legally clean and re-use that kind of thing. When one of my clients leaves, he or she will look exactly how they want to look in my costume. Assuming it isn’t some 328 pound man trying to be a skinny French Maid of course.” “Sounds interesting. I’ll mention it to my colleagues. Nice to meet you.” * * * * * OCTOBER The signs were up on Stacy’s Costume Shop and for some reason they caught Mike’s eye as he entered the office on this morning, about two weeks before Halloween. Business was building and life was good. Perhaps one of the ways to reward everyone would be to have a Halloween contest on that day, which happened to be a Friday. Anyone going to court would not be able to take part, but the odds were good none of them would be in court that day. Five lawyers, five assistants, a receptionist, an office manager, a tech guy and two paralegals. Fifteen people, and 15 costumes would be required. Noticing that the door to Stacy’s was open, Mike headed over in that direction to find her. She was in her office, going over paperwork while her skeleton crew staff that worked in the early mornings tidied up the shelves. “Mike, good to see you. What’s going on?” “I came to ask a question. We’re a new law firm and I want to throw a Halloween party and I don’t want my people to have to put a lot of time and effort into finding costumes. So will you give me a discount pricing structure if I pay for the costumes for all 15 folks that work for me?” “Actually I would. I’d give you a 20% discount. And, I’ll work with each of you to make sure that you get the best possible costumes. Have everyone call me for an appointment. It takes about 30 minutes to measure and select a costume. If we start today we can have everyone in and out without messing up our schedule here in a couple of days. Why don’t we start with you, right now?” “Okay, I’m game. What do you think?” “I think that the best Halloween costumes are those that people would not expect you to wear. You could easily be a football player, or a horror film type but that’s normal for someone like you. I have a better idea. Something unusual that might be a bit of fun.” “What’s that?” “Ever see any of the Harry Potter films?” “Of course. Being a lawyer doesn’t mean you never see modern movies.” “Well, my idea is that you go as Hermoine Granger in her Gryffindor robes. You’d look like a schoolgirl. Dark tights mean not having to shave your legs, and the rest would be easy.” “Stacy, I have a linebacker’s body. Narrow waist, broad shoulders and big thighs. I’d look ridiculous.” “Not at all. My costumes are designed to conceal the physical flaws of the wearer. Some use new technology and others are just very well crafted. I promise, once we get you into tights, a waist cinch, a bra and the rest of the costume, you’ll be shocked at how much like the real Hermoine you look. Got the nerve to try it?” “Why not?” “Come with me.” * * * * * It was a puzzled Mike who was slipping his black tights-covered feet into the Mary Jane flats that Stacy had set on the floor before him. He tried shaking his head, but the wig of hair that was an exact copy of Emma Watson’s own hair from when she’d played the role in the films wouldn’t budge an inch from his head. Stacy had put four pins in place and from that point forward, the wig would not move. The training bra fit perfectly and there were little inserts in the cups that made it appear he had adolescent breasts underneath his sweater. Maybe that should be her sweater, as no sign of a male person was present. Even his arms and legs seemed slimmer than before, thanks to something the skirt, tights, blouse and jacket were doing to him. To her. “Look at yourself in the mirror, Hermoine.” Mike looked. He liked what he saw. His made-up face and hair made the look complete. He looked just like a high school aged girl in a Hogwarts school uniform. “We won’t use the spray because then you’d sound like her for 12 hours, but what do you think?” “I think I’m completely amazed. I think I’m going to look just like Hermoine on Halloween. I also think we can’t afford costumes this good for 15 people.” “Nonsense. $80 bucks each for the rental and another $35 for the items that can’t be returned, which in your case is the bra, the tights and the waist cinch. It’s a great deal.” “It is. We’ll take it.” The other four lawyers were among the staff who went and saw Stacy over the next couple of days, during holes in their schedules. Each had been just as amazed as Mike had when they’d seen themselves in Stacy’s mirror. Randy, who had played football in high school and tried out for the team in college, ended up in a high school girl’s cheerleader uniform. It even had the name “Randi” embroidered on the big letter G that represented the mascot of whatever high school ‘she’ cheered for. Shiny tights made ‘her’ legs look smooth and tanned. Sandy had completed the look with a big floppy hair bow that she fastened into the wig. It looked just like the bows Randy had seen girls wearing in a TV cheerleading competition and he loved it. Rick was next, and after having heard how good the costumes were, he’d almost given in to Stacy’s suggestion that he dress as one of the dancers from the strip club he liked to frequent. But he’d been unwilling to expose that much of his flesh. However, Stacy had managed to convince him to wear the uniform of a cocktail waitress at that establishment. The waitresses there wore tight, short knit dresses and pumps with very high heels and a little platform under the toe. “I’ll have trouble walking in these shoes, Stacy” Rick had complained. “Nonsense, a few hours of practice and you’ll be strutting like any of those girls slinging those way overpriced drinks. In fact, be careful the managers don’t see you in your costume. You might end up being a cocktail server rather than a customer.” Patti was the next one to go over to Stacy’s and Stacy had hemmed and hawed before finally suggesting a costume for her. She put Patti into a man’s business suit with shirt and tie, a pair of Italian loafers on her feet and a short-hair wig covering up her own long tresses. “You’re going as a lawyer, but a male lawyer. The guy in charge. How does it look?” “Looks fine to me.” Eldon was the last one to visit Stacy’s shop and he’d tried to beg off, saying he didn’t want to wear a costume. But she’d managed to convince him to at least try on the one she was suggesting. Eldon would be going to the Halloween party as a Geisha girl, with a perfect black wig that fell to his waist, but would be worn perfectly piled atop his head. The makeup gave him the stark white complexion of the proper Geisha and Stacy promised to re-shape his eyebrows the night before to give him the proper slant-eyed appearance. The staff all had costumes and Halloween promised to be a very fun day. The schedules had worked out so that none of the lawyers would need to go to court, all would be in costume, all day long. There were going to be a few clients to see, but the last would be gone by 1 p.m. and then the booze would come out and the real party would begin. OCTOBER 31ST Mike was sitting on the sofa in his office, his client Ralph Zimmerman sitting in a chair across from him. “I can’t get over you in that costume, Mike, you look so much like that actress it’s almost scary. I think you’re going to have to dress a little differently for our next court appearance though.” “I promise, if I still look like this, I’ll borrow one of Patti’s suits and a pair of pumps, so I’ll look like a lady lawyer. Fair enough?” “Works for me.” They shook hands, the meeting having been completed. Mike walked Ralph out, gave him a drink and then a few minutes later, he departed. That’s when the party got wild. The booze flowed faster and faster. The last thing Mike remembered was dancing with Patti and then it all went black. * * * * * The bright light of Saturday morning’s rising sun shining through the windows caused the five attorneys sitting in the conference room to begin to stir. All were hung over and still in costume. Only now, the costumes looked a little more realistic. Mike was first to wake up and he felt the need to throw up. So he ran to the ladies room and managed to get to a commode where he emptied his stomach in several heaves. After that he washed his face and then realized that his bladder was ready to burst. He pulled down his tights and panties, and lifted up his skirt to pee while standing, but the urine sprayed all over everywhere. He reached down to aim his errant penis and found nothing there to put his hand around. The flow of urine stopped and before daring to touch his skin, he grabbed some toilet paper and wiped the area of his groin dry. Then he probed and found that he was now able to insert his fingers inside of himself. Her fingers inside of herself. He had a vagina. She then tore off the sweater and blouse, struggling to get the bra off. Once it was on the floor next to the rest of her clothes she looked down and saw there were no bra inserts anywhere. Just youthful, budding adolescent breasts. The mirror revealed the face of not Emma Watson, but an ordinary high school girl who’d dressed herself up as the movie star’s seminal character. She did what any red-blooded American man who awakened to find himself now female would do. She screamed. Loudly and for an extended period. The other lawyers got up and ran into the ladies room. They looked at Mike standing there and it was Rick who said it. “Who are you, girl?” The feminine tone of his own voice took him aback. “I’m your brother Mike. At least I was, just as you were my brother until you turned into a bimbo.” “I’m not a bimbo”. “Dudette, you look like any of those waitresses at that strip joint you drag me to when you can get me there. Last night it might have been a costume, but right now you really, really look the part and I bet you’re going to find the same vagina and breasts inside of your costume.” “We’ll just see about that.” She whipped off her skirt and blouse and stripped the bra away from her impressive 38D cup boobs, and then she started crying. “What happened to us?” “I can explain that.” Everyone turned around and saw Stacy, the woman who had helped them with their costumes. “My name isn’t really Stacy. I’m Natasha Romanova and this was going to be my building. My new home where I could run my business and live comfortably. There would have been enough room to house my aging parents, and it was just perfect. The realtor told me no one was interested in it and suddenly before I could buy it, you swooped in and took it away from me. So I have taken something precious from you. But you can have it back. Just sign over the building to me and pay to remodel it as I desire and I will undo the effects of those costumes.” “No way lady. It took most of our working capital to get to this point.” “Fine, ladies and gentleman. Maybe living in your new lives a few days will alter your willingness to comply with my requests. You’ll find that your identity documents match your new appearance, and otherwise your lives are unchanged. Oh, with one little thing I tossed in to make your new lives easier. You’ll find that you have all of the skills and knowledge about your new selves that you would have had had you been born this way. All four of you ladies know how to put on a bra and pantyhose, apply make-up, insert a tampon and so on. But otherwise, you are as you were.” It was Eldon who objected first. “I’m not an Asian.” “Oh, but for the moment you are. And you weren’t the only one whose name I had to arrange to have altered. You’re now Yumiko.” “What about my girlfriend?” “You’re still living together, but as platonic roommates.” “I don’t understand. If you have all this power, why didn’t you just give yourself the building.” “I can’t use my power to directly benefit myself. I can persuade others to do things to benefit me though. I didn’t make up the rules. I just have to live by them. So I can’t force you to do what I want, but I can certainly try to convince you to see things my way. You voluntarily donned the costumes. I didn’t make you. Therefore, you accepted the magic they contained. Now if there’s nothing else…” She waited for a moment and then left. Mike said “let’s go to the conference room and sit down and figure out what we’re going to do.” The five partners went into the conference room and sat down. No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Then, finally, it was Randy who proffered an idea. “Look, we don’t have the money to bail out of this building, retrofit it to her specifications and then start over again elsewhere. We cut our ties to our old firms, so there’s no going back in that direction either. So we’re stuck like this. But maybe not forever.” Patti stood up and said “even today is going to be too long to be a man. I didn’t grow up to be a successful woman in spite of it all to end up going over to the dark side.” “We’re not the dark side, Patti” Randy responded. “But here me out. I’m guessing that our clients know and accept us in these altered appearances. Just suppose we put up with it, and go on working for the next couple of weeks, months, whatever. We chase down every piece of business we can and build up our cash as quickly as possible. It might be a few weeks or a few months, but we can replace the capital we came up with to get started. So we start over again. As our real selves.” “You’re proposing we just go home, spend the rest of the weekend getting used to this and come in here on Monday morning, ready to work? The four of us in skirts and heels and Patti…excuse me, Patrick, in a suit and tie?” Mike sat there for a moment pondering his own words. “Randy is right. Or is that Randi with an “I” now? In any event she’s correct. That’s what we should do. We work hard, we work smart and as soon as we have enough cash in hand to start over in a new building, we find it, get it ready and then move out of here and into there. As soon as she’s in here, I’m sure she’ll change us back.” There was more discussion but no one had a better alternative to Randy’s plan. Eventually, they agreed that this was the right course of action and they all went home to prepare for Monday. * * * * * Monday morning seemed like a normal morning at the firm of Lincoln, Lincoln, Abrams, Turner and Wade to everyone else who worked there. But for the five partners, arriving at work was very, very different. Rather than four men and one woman arriving, four women and one man showed up for work. Three of the women were wearing skirted suits. Yumiko, Michele and Randi all had on skirts and heels. But Lisa (Rick) had insisted on wearing a pantsuit and flats. It didn’t help much. Even with the tie she’d insisted on adding to her blouse, she still looked very, very female. Patrick’s Brooks Brothers suit and tie were perfect, for a male lawyer. All five had busy days ahead. Patrick and Randi had court appearances. Worse yet, they knew that something was very wrong, but no one in the office said anything or acted any differently. As far as the secretaries, paralegals and the other employees were concerned, they’d always worked for four women and one man. Before the two who had court dates left, they had a quick conference call and agreed to meet in the conference room that night at 8 p.m. It was a tired group of attorneys who filed into the conference room just before 8 that evening. Michelle was last and she was carrying some print-outs. “Here you go girls, and guy. Projections of our firm revenue for the next 30, 90 and 180 days. I had our accountants prepare them. As you can see, it will be at least six months before we can accumulate even half of the revenues we’ll need in order to bail out of this deal. Can you do this for six months? One at a time. Randi?” “If I have to. I didn’t like having to walk around in heels and a skirt all day. But I have to admit something I found surprising. The jury and the judge responded differently to me today. It was easier to connect with some of them, especially the men. I caught them looking at my legs and they smiled. I wouldn’t want to stay this way, but there are going to be some advantages.” “Yumiko?” “I don’t know. It’s bad enough being a girl. But being a tiny little girl and feeling so vulnerable really sucks. I’m living with the woman I am in love with and she treats me like a sister. I don’t even want to think about what she said last night when she was going out to do some shopping.” “What was that?” “She reminded me that it was almost that time of the month and she wanted to know if she should get me some napkins while she was getting some for herself. Apparently women who live together synchronize their periods when enough time passes.” Patrick said “that’s true. My college roommate and I weren’t on the same schedule at first, but eventually we synched up. All four of you are going to meet and learn to live with Auntie Flo. And you aren’t going to like it. That’s the one thing that makes this palatable for me, knowing I won’t have a period for however long it takes to get back to normal.” “Maybe you’d rather stay this way, Patrick?” “I’m a lot tougher than any of you. I could do it if I had to. The minute I got it that we were stuck until we find a way to make that bitch happy was the minute I decided to just do what needs to be done.” “So we’ve heard from Randi, Yumiko, Patrick and me. What about you, Lisa?” “I could shoot myself but that wouldn’t be an answer. I wore a pantsuit today to try to hold on to some shred of my manhood, but it didn’t help. Sylvia complimented me on my perfume. I don’t remember putting any on this morning, but apparently I did. Betty reminded me that I’d better wear a skirt on Thursday because I have a court appearance and Judge Tyler hates women lawyers who wear pants to court.” “Sounds like we’re in for a rough time. Anyone got any bright ideas?” “Yes, actually I do.” Everyone turned and looked over at Yumiko. “Did anyone else have a minute to listen to or read the news today? Bill Carson was indicted today for multiple counts of perjury, voting fraud and other charges. He fired the firm that represented him during the grand jury proceedings. If we could get him as a client, we could ask for a million dollar retainer upfront and that would solve our problem. We’d have the cash to fix this within a week or two, could find a new building and get moving toward getting back to normal.” All eyes turned to Michelle. She was the best they had in this area. “Alright. I’ll try to get an appointment with Carson tomorrow. I know, or at least I used to know one of his legislative assistants. I hope he remembers me. We’ll see what happens.” * * * * * Michelle had dug through what turned out to be a surprisingly large collection of suits with skirts in her closet, before choosing the one she was wearing now. It happened to be the one with the shortest skirt. She’d also chosen a pair of 4.5 inch heels, the tallest pair in her closet that was suitable for a work appointment, although she’d cast a curious eye at a pair of 7 inch platform pumps, wondering if she’d ever find herself wearing those. She’d taken extra time applying her make-up. She’d called her acquaintance the night before and had been ready for the call at 8 in the morning, informing her that Bill Carson would see her at 10 in his downtown office. She’d made sure to be early and had been waiting in reception for 20 minutes before the assistant finally came to collect her. “Ms Lincoln, Mr. Carson will see you now.” She was led through an inner office suite and down a hallway to the end office. The sign on the door read “Bill Carson – Member of the Assembly”. The assistant knocked on the door and opened it without entering. “Go right in.” Michelle walked in and Bill Carson came from around his desk. “So you’re Michelle Lincoln. I’ve heard great things about you from Roger Morgan. How do you know him?” Michelle certainly couldn’t mention that she’d originally gotten to know Roger when they were dating the same girl in college. “We met in school through someone we both knew and we got to be close. He’s a great guy. When I heard about your little problem, I thought my firm might be in a position to help.” “Just how do you think you can help? You’re a five lawyer firm that’s less than six months old. I just fired the biggest law firm in town. Are you here to recommend some other big firm?” “No. I’m here to try to get you to let me take your case. My partners are all topflight attorneys and I’ve worked on cases like yours before. Both voting fraud and perjury case and all of the clients I’ve been involved in representing were acquitted, or the charges were dropped. I’m very good, Mr. Carson and you know it or I wouldn’t be here.” “True. I checked you out. You would have made partner if you hadn’t gotten involved with a senior partner. But what can you do that any other big firm can’t do?” “I can commit 100% of my time and resources to your case. I have a clear calendar at the moment, or I will if you hire me and my firm to represent you. I’ll farm my three other current cases out to my partners and focus on you full-time. From the moment you sign a representation agreement until the moment you’re a free, exonerated man.” “I’m going to be honest with you, Michelle. I can call you Michelle, can’t I?” “Of course, Mister Carson.” “Please, call me Bill. The truth is, I don’t know if I can win this case or not. The evidence against me is strong. I’m not going to ask you to do anything unethical or wrong to help me. And I won’t involve you in anything that might or might not go on in the background to help me avoid a conviction. But I don’t expect to win this case on the merits in court. The evidence against me is strong.” “So you’re going to hire me?” “I am. But I’m not going to give you any $1 million retainer as you mentioned to Roger. I’ll give you $250,000. When I’ve exhausted that in billable hours, which shouldn’t be soon, let me know and I’ll give you another quarter-million. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.” “Five hundred thousand. Up front. Otherwise, I won’t waste anymore of your time.” “Spunky. I like spunky when it’s a cute girl in a short skirt. Agreed. Send me a representation agreement and I’ll sign it and get you a check by end of the day. As you know, the money isn’t the issue. I’m loaded.” “I happen to have that representation agreement with me. And being as loaded as you are, you should have no trouble giving me the signed agreement and check before I leave.” “On one condition.” “What’s that?” “You have a drink with me tonight after office hours. To discuss business strategy. And get out of the work clothes, wear a nice dress. I’ll send a limo to your place to pick you up.” * * * * * “We’re halfway home” Michelle told her partners in the conference room that afternoon as they all nibbled on Chinese food that they’d ordered in. No one had court today as the trials Randi and Patrick were in had the day off. “Only half-way?” “It’s enough. We can tap the line of credit for the rest. I’ve called a realtor and Lisa and Yumiko can go out and look at locations this afternoon and evening. We need to find a new place as quickly as possible and get it ready for our move. Once we’re moved, we find out how the bitch wants this place redone, get it done and presto-chango, we’re back to normal.” It was a few hours later that Michelle got the call that let her know that the limousine would be picking her up at her place at six. Realizing that it was already four, she rushed home and jumped into the shower. She noticed that the old-style nozzle shower head had been replaced by one that could be removed and used on any part of the body. Michelle decided she’d shave her legs and after she was finished with that task, she took the head off of its mount to rinse those legs. As she pointed it down and moved around to get all of the soapy water off of her, she accidentally pointed the showerhead at her groin. And it felt good. Very good. She found herself twisting the showerhead to make the stream of water turn into two firmly pulsating jet blasts. The pulsating water made her pleasure meter soar higher and higher, before she finally erupted in her very first female orgasm. Orgasms. One after another as she refused to pull the pulsating water jets away from her crotch. Only the knowledge that she had to get dressed for her drink with Bill Carson finally got her to put the shower head back where it belonged. After she’d finished drying off and re-applied her makeup, Michelle took the dress she’d laid out on the bed and pulled it on. It was a tight, clingy knit dress that had a low neckline, no sleeves and a skirt that came barely to mid-thigh. She pulled on the same heels from the work day and after adding some jewels, headed to the living room. She’d heard the beeping horn of the limosine. The driver got out and came around to open the door for her. She sat down sideways, legs out and then slid her legs into the limousine, as though she’d been getting in and out of cars in short skirts her whole life. For an instant she thought she heard a giggle nearby, but after looking around she realized she was alone with the limo driver. * * * * * The lounge where she ended up was at a very quiet hotel on the edge of town. Bill was there, sitting in a back booth with a scotch in front of him, talking on his cell. He hung up when Michelle walked in. “May I join you?” “By all means. That’s why we’re here.” “Why are we here? This is strictly a business deal.” “Is it? Roger told me you like men. You’re a hot number. You stick with me and you could really go places.” “Like upstairs?” “That’s the general idea.” “I’ll send your money back to you tomorrow.” “Whoa, whoa girl. Wait a minute. You don’t have to sleep with me to get or keep the job. You checked out as a really good lawyer. But Roger told me you liked guys. So I figured I’d take a shot.” “After you cleared it with your wife, no doubt.” “She and I have an understanding.” “You screw around and she acts all understanding?” “No. She sleeps with the men she wants to sleep with and I sleep with the women I want to sleep with. If she feels like a woman instead of a man, she does it. We don’t sleep with each other any longer, so there’s no risk of disease. Now have a drink and relax.” The problem with having one drink is that it’s never just one. One leads to two. Two leads to three. And so on and so on. Worse yet, when you’ve grown up in the body of a big guy and now you’re living in the body of a smaller, lighter woman, you don’t have a good grasp on how much alcohol your body can handle. Michelle thought a few drinks wouldn’t be a problem, especially since she was going to be riding home in a limousine. But she lost control after the fifth drink and before she knew it, she was accompanying Bill Carson in the elevator up to the room he’d arranged. * * * * * The limo did take Michelle home. The following morning. Michelle had that expression that some would describe as “freshly f***ed”. She was tired, hung-over and worse yet she had to shower and dress for the office. Yumiko didn’t show up for work that morning. Calls to her cell and home phone went un-returned. Patrick was in court, as was Randi. Lisa was at a meeting. So Michelle was all alone in her office when Natasha showed up, all of the other partners nowhere to be found. “Hello Michelle.” “What can I do for you, Natasha? My partners have been looking for another building we can move to, and as soon as we find it, we’ll be renovating it and moving. Then we’ll fix this place up and you’ll have what you want.” “I know. I’ve been watching you. I can watch you, all of you, as long as you are under the influence of my magic. Wherever, whenever, I get to see what you’re doing. I was the one giggling that you heard last night when you were getting into the limo.” “So where is Yumiko?” “I’ll tell you after we’re fininshed. I wanted to ask you something. How did it feel to have a man inside of you? Be honest with me and I might help you get back to normal sooner.” “Truth? It felt good. Just like it felt good when I played with myself in the shower. Why does that matter? I’m not staying female when this is over.” “You can if you want to. Think about it. Those multiple orgasms anytime you want, the way you felt in that dress, when that driver was undressing you with his eyes. All that can be yours forever if you want it.” “No thanks. I’m going back to being Mike Lincoln.” “Alright. Yumiko felt an overwhelming compulsion this morning to go shopping for clothes and to get her nails done. I may add things like that to the rest of you from time to time, so you don’t get comfortable in your new lives. The added pressure may help you give me my building more quickly. * * * * * The long red nails adorning Yumiko’s hands were wrapped around a pair of platform wedges that were on sale and that she just had to have. The last pair of size 5s, her new foot size were in her hands as she kicked off her pumps and tried them on. They were perfect. Two inch platforms underneath her toes rising up to a six inch heel at the back. It made her five four three inch body look almost five foot nine. She had two full bags of clothes and shoes already to which she added these platforms before heading to her car. She was putting her bags into the trunk when the man grabbed her from behind. She tried to scream, but he already had his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him but he was experienced at this, and was cupping her mouth in his hand. Suddenly the arms and hands that were holding her sagged away and as she turned, the man slumped to the ground, unconscious. Standing behind him was a man holding a club. “I hope I didn’t hurt him too bad, but I was afraid if I used my Taser, you’d be shocked too. So I just knocked him out.” Yumiko bent down and discovered that her assailant was still breathing. “He looks okay. Thank God you were there.” “Well, you need to be more careful. Guys love to attack little women like you.” * * * * * FIVE MONTHS LATER The new building was finished and the law firm had moved in. The renovations that Natasha Romanova had demanded were also finished. The five partners had paid extra to get the work done in only sixty days, which was how long it had been since they’d moved into their new digs. The Bill Carson case was proceeding apace, with a preliminary hearing having been delayed at the request of the prosecution, which Michelle had decided not to oppose. She had been tempted to demand the hearing take place within the statutory period, but figured that the prosecution would just drop the charges and re-file later when they were more prepared. It meant that the case might well take 18 months to two years to reach trial, but it didn’t matter. The retainer had been paid, the money used to get them out of that building and today was the day they would meet with Natasha in the conference room of their new office. Yumiko had been forced to fly back for this meeting. She’d taken a leave of absence three weeks earlier, saying she had to deal with a family crisis. She was the first to arrive, still wearing the jeans and sweater she’d worn on the plane, although as usual she was wearing very high heels. She’d grown accustomed to this and it helped her to feel taller and therefore less vulnerable. She’d also insisted on taking self-defense courses since that attack in the garage. Patrick was next. He was in a good mood, having just gotten a client a win in court. His dark grey business suit contrasted with the bright blue tie he was wearing. He’d taken to wearing more brightly colored ties and the women he interacted with had been complimenting him on his taste. He was also finding time to get to the gym and lift weight and as a result was slowly bulking up his physique. Lisa came tottering in on her pumps, wearing a dark green suit with a knee-length skirt. She’d been in a meeting with a potential client and was hoping the client would call back the next day with good news. She was hoping the meeting would be short. She had a date with a male lawyer she’d met at a mixer. He was tall, good-looking and she had enjoyed their first two dates immensely. Randi was right behind her, also in a skirted suit although hers was actually a bit longer than Lisa’s, falling below her knees. She was also wearing sensible-height heels and looked like she’d been taken from doing something she was focused on. She’d been working on a case and would have preferred to skip the meeting. Michelle was the last one to enter. She had on a bright red evening gown and six inch heels. There was a long slit up the side of the floor length gown, showing off her long leg. “Sorry I’m late, I had to change, as I have something going right after this.” “So do I, sister, but I didn’t stop to change. I wanted to get here in case Natasha came early.” “I’m here now” came the voice from just inside the door. Natasha closed the door behind her and continued “sit, ladies and gentleman. I won’t take too much of your time. I know that you all have things to do. I’ve toured my new building and signed the papers. It’s just the way I wanted it and I’m pleased. So pleased in fact, I’ve change my mind about something.” “What is that?” “I was going to leave all five of you this way. After all, I’ve got what I wanted. You’re all doing well, very well in your new identities. Why should I expend the energy needed to return things to normal? But, because you’ve worked so hard to earn the right to go back, I’ve reconsidered that decision. For some of you. For others, I’m thinking you might not want to go back. Let’s go around the room. Yumiko, you first.” “My father and mother are in trouble and my sister has convinced me to move home to help take care of them. I’m a better caretaker this way, so I’d like to remain this way.” “For the rest of your life?” Perhaps if she hadn’t been so thoroughly inculcated into the Asian ethos of honoring and obeying one’s mother and father in her altered memories, Yumiko might have been able to resist the compulsion to be a dutiful daughter. But in this mindset, with months having passed for those memories to take hold, she couldn’t possibly do anything her parents didn’t want her to do. They wanted her living near them, taking care of them and with her law degree, she could easily get a job there. “Yes. Forever.” “Very well. Done. Randi?” “I want to go back. This has been interesting and educational, but I’m not cut out for a life as a woman.” “Very well. Done. Patrick?” “I’m staying this way. I was a great woman but I’m an even greater man. I like women now and I like how they make me feel.” “Very well. Done. Lisa?” “I’m staying this way. I had no idea what sex was like as a woman. I’ll trade multiple orgasms for my manhood any day of the week and three or four times on Sunday.” “Very well. Done. Finally, Michelle?” “I want to go back.” “Interesting. Why are you dressed like that, as if I didn’t know?” “Because I’m going to an event with Bill Carson. He wants me to be there to meet some people.” “People who might be involved in his future, and his trial?” “Yes.” “Sorry darling, you’re not going back. Not yet anyway.” “Why not?” “Because you promised to defend Bill Carson in his trial. And so you will keep that promise.” “I will. As Mike Lincoln.” “No darling. Michelle Lincoln made that promise and Michelle Lincoln will be keeping it. After the trial, find me and if you still want to go back you can.” “But that might be two or three years from now.” “You’ve got three law partners to help you with the case, and who will offer you a shoulder to cry on when you have bad moments as a girl. Be glad I’m giving you an out after the trial. You were the one who forced me to miss six months in my building, you were the one I was most convinced should stay this way.” ONE YEAR LATER The wedding was one of the biggest weddings in town. Lisa Lincoln, successful lawyer was marrying Wesley Hardman, a name partner in a downtown firm. She had three bridesmaids, Yumiko who had to fly in for the ceremony, and two of the women who worked in the office. Michelle was the maid of honor. Patrick and Randy were ushers for the groom. At the reception, the single women lined up to catch the bouquet. Tradition says that the woman who catches it is the next to be married. Michelle tried to avoid it, but it went into her hands like it had been aimed in that direction. There was an almost inaudible giggle from the corner of the room. Natasha Romanova smiled to herself, since now that Michelle had caught the bouquet, she would have to get married to keep tradition alive. Married to a man, as a woman. Any possibility of her going back to her old life was now gone.

They go by many different names. Men's clubs. Dance clubs. Strip Bars. They are mostly the same though. Women dancing for men. Sometimes the women are completely nude, sometimes topless, and once in awhile, clad in a two piece bikini. Some of these clubs are richly appointed, serving a wealthier, more up-scale clientele. Others are nothing more than cesspools of raunch. But no matter the quality of the club, the one thing that never changes is men paying to watch women dancing. Danny's Dance Den was one such club. Located in a suburb of Los Angeles, it was an upscale club. In the days when Danny had owned the Den, for a girl to get a job as a dancer, she had no choice but to sleep with him at least once. Danny had sold the club to Mike and Robby Milligan, a pair of brothers who were CPAs. The club was a solid investment but any hope the two had of taking on Danny's auditioning style were cut short by their wives. Realizing that their dreams were not going to come true, the Milligans hired Peter to run the club and he ran it like it was his own. As long as the money flowed in, the Milligans and their wives were happy and the little gold mine known as Danny's Dance Den continued to be a sleepy little strip bar. The girls have a variety of names for the regulars. Some of them aren't fit to repeat in any forum. Tom was a "same time next weeker". Once he found the Den, he was there three nights a week, week in and week out. Sunday, Monday and Tuesday nights, from sometime between 7:30 and 8:00 until 11:00 p.m. , Tom would be found sitting in a table near the stage where the girls danced in high heels, bikinis, and often little else. He was a good tipper too. The girls each got a five dollar bill from Tom, during each set. At seven sets an hour, Tom was spending well over $100 each night at the Den. More if he ended up eating the overpriced, overcooked food the Den served. The girls knew little about him. Not that they hadn't tried. Becky had been after him from the first night he'd wandered into the Den. She knew a money-guy when she saw one. She'd sat at his booth, managed to get him to buy her a few drinks, but hadn't gotten much info from him. After a few nights had passed and he'd moved from new customer to frequent visitor, the girls pressed Becky for data about him. "Come on girl, does he have real money, does he like dancers, what's his trip?" Becky tried to avoid the questions, but they were relentless. "Okay, okay. I didn't get much. He's local, but wouldn't tell me what kind of work he does, or anything. I looked for a ringline, but nothing there either. I don't know, maybe someone else should give him a try. I didn't seem to ring his chimes." The challenge was on. By the time the girls had given up, almost six months had passed. They'd come to accept Tom as a fixture on those three nights of the week. The reason they'd finally stopped was when Tina had been a bit aggressive one night in pumping Tom for information and he'd said, loudly enough for several to hear: "I don't talk about those things and if you can't get the hint, maybe I need to go to another club where my privacy will be respected." That settled that. No one wanted to kill the goose laying the golden five dollar bills. Tom was left alone, sitting in his booth, occasionally inviting a girl to sit down and join him for a drink and enjoying himself thoroughly. He always smiled, never seemed upset by anything and was generally a very supportive patron. He even went about gathering the birthdates of the dancers and would bring each one a card and small gift on her birthday. Tom had been coming to the club for well over a year when Veronica was hired to work at the Den. Young, tall, perfect body. That was part of being a dancer at a club like this. Dancing five or six nights a week got a dancer's body into such top physical condition that working out became unnecessary. Some of the girls did anyway, to pump themselves up even more than others. Veronica was one who worked out and was also a fanatic about her body. She wouldn't drink alcohol, or take drugs. Things that often ruined the lives of the dancers she'd known in her years of dancing. Veronica was different. While she'd been dancing for a long time, it had been with a purpose. Veronica had danced to put herself through college. Not just undergrad either. Veronica had finished her MBA and had stopped dancing to take a job in corporate finance. That had lasted right up until her new supervisor groped her several times. Veronica had decided that as long as she was going to be a sex object she might as well dance because it paid more. She would put her knowledge of finance to use investing the money she made dancing until she had a big enough nest egg to retire. That was what brought her back to dancing and ultimately to the Den, after trying a few other clubs and not finding a setup she liked. The Den was what she wanted. A nice club in a safe part of town. Somewhere that she could dance, and spend her days planning on how to gather enough money to retire in the quickest way possible. Becky was there in the girl's dressing room when Veronica arrived for her first night of dancing. "Hi, you're the new one, right?" "Yes. I'm Veronica. My friends call me Ronnie." "Nice to meet ya Ronnie. I'm Becky. Let me show ya around." Becky gave Ronnie the nickel tour of the back area of the den. "This is a little shower we have, just for the girls. They have a separate locker room for the bouncers and other men. There's also a small room off of the kitchen where you can eat. The boss doesn't want us eating in front of the customers. No alcohol backstage, no being drunk while working, you know this stuff, right? This isn't your first dancing job." Ronnie laughed. "No. I dance my way through school." "You're a college girl?" "Yep." "No way. Why would you come back here?" "Long story but the short version is that I decided if I was gonna get groped and pawed, might as well get paid for just that and not have to do the other office work." Ronnie asked more questions while she was changing. Becky told her about the bouncers, the bartenders, the d.j.'s, and the regulars. They used the closed circuit television monitors to check out the various patrons in the club. Being a Monday, the VIP room was empty. There were a number of regulars and Becky talked about each of them as the camera zoomed in. Finally, she got to Tom. "Now Tom is a different case. A pretty good tipper. No laps or table dances, but five bucks for each set on stage." "What do you know about him besides that?" "Not much. He won't say much about himself. He'll buy a girl a drink now and then, but doesn't talk about himself. In here the same three nights, week in and week out." "Maybe I can get him to open up." "Be careful. Don't piss him off and scare him away, or you'll have every dancer in this joint pissed off royal at you." Ronnie stepped towards the stage as Susie's music was winding down. Becky, Susie, Ronnie, April and Micki were the dancers that night. The D.J.'s voice boomed from the P.A. system. "Give it up for Susie, guys. She's out there working really hard for you and so are those waitresses. Remember, they work for tips, so rewards for that excellent service you're getting are in order. And don't forget, Susei and the rest of the girls are available for private table dances, and lap dances in the VIP room if you're so inclined. Just ask. Now stepping to our center stage is Veronica, or Ronnie as she prefers. Ronnie is new to the Den and we want her to feel right at home, so make her welcome known by putting your hands together for...Ronnie!" Her patent black leather pumps with the four inch stiletto heels reflected the stage lights as she climbed up the small flight of stairs at one end. Ronnie was wearing one of her favorite dance outfits for working clubs where bikinis were in order. Beneath her outerware was a black leather thong bikini. She wore a simple white skirt and jacket in cotton over it, both of which had zippers to unfasten easily. She'd decided against a garter and stockings, although she had several from which to choose in her bag. The music started and Ronnie began to dance. The moves were long-practiced and honed to perfection. The muscles in her legs, while looking oh so feminine, were like hardened steel cables, strong to the nth degree and yet flexible enough to allow her to drop easily into the splits, which she did several times in the first song. Ronnie knew all the tricks. Looking soulfully into the eyes of the men she felt were most likely to give her a big tip as she danced. Long glances, suggesting openness, invitation, but without being overpowering. She knew not to go too far in a new club or she might have to use her karate skills in the parking lot after work. She'd only had to defend herself a few times and each time she did, she blessed her father for one of the few good things he'd done in his life. It was her father, at an early age, who'd gotten her started in martial arts. That had led to the amazing flexiblity and dance career she'd ended up pursuing. She was glad this bar featured two song sets rather than three. While Ronnie loved the dancing, she also loved working the room. It wasn't about seducing the men. It was strictly about the money. The money was what she loved. Ronnie hadn't been attracted to a man for a long time. Not that she was lesbian either, although she'd experimented with that too. Most dancers do. Ronnie had simply become an asexual person in her life away from dancing. All her sexual energy was expended on the stage. She dreamed of finding a man who would reignite the spark of desire in her, but as time had passed, her dreams were dwindling. Tom saw Ronnie and was transfixed. She wasn't necessarily more attractive than the other dancers he'd seen come and go at the Den. But he sensed something inside of her immediately and was drawn to it like a dog to another dog's scent. As she was finishing up her set, she worked the rail collecting tips. Tom moved from his booth to the rail as was his custom, to give a tip. He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, from which he pulled a bill. Not the usual five-spot he gave a dancer, but a double-sawbuck. He slipped it into the edge of Ronnie's bikini and met her dazzling smile with a sheepish grin of her own. Ronnie wasn't sure what to make of that grin. She decided to sit with Tom and see if he was interested in buying her a drink. He stood up when she arrived at his table, after returning from the dressing room where she'd put her cover-up back on. "Hi, I'm Ronnie. Mind if I sit with you?" "Pleased to have you. I'm Tom as I'm sure the other girls have let you know." "I've heard you're the local nice guy dance fan." "Something like that. Would you like a drink?" "I'd love a diet soda." "I'll get the waitress to bring you one." They talked all through the night. Ronnie would dance, and then go back to sitting with Tom. No one would be surprised to learn that there are a number of dancers who continue their nights with "private sessions" with their clients that don't involve dancing. Ronnie had drawn that line firmly the first night she'd ever danced in a strip club. She wouldn't have sex with someone for money, no matter how much money was involved. To her delight, Tom didn't suggest that. Ronnie wouldn't have been adverse to the idea of taking Tom next door into the VIP lounge for a lap dance, but he didn't suggest it and she didn't want to seem forward on their first night together. She was surprised by what Tom talked about. He talked about the girls and their dancing. Who had the best moves and the better costumes. She found he was quite knowledgeable about the girls and the club. "You know a lot about this place for someone who is only here three nights a week. Do you go to other clubs?" "Never. I used to go to a different club, but I gave it up a few years ago." "So what do you do on those other four nights a week, Tom?" "I've been terse with other girls who've asked personal questions before, and I may have been wrong. I'm willing to be a bit more open with you, for some reason I don't understand. But all in good time, alright?" "Sure Tom." It was time for Tom to go. He was surprised to get a peck on the cheek from Ronnie as he stood up and said his good-byes. He got hugs from the other girls who gave him expressions of mock scolding for ignoring them in favor of the newbie. He laughed and joked with them and promised to be in the next night. Then Tom left. After he was gone, the placed seemed noisier and yet more empty to Ronnie. She flirted with other customers, did a few fast lap dances, a couple of tables, and ended the night with just over $200 in tips. A good night for her first night, particularly on a Monday. She declined the bouncer's offer to walk her to her car, then thought better and decided to accept. Kevin, the bouncer asked "so how was your first night? You're one hell of a dancer." "Thanks, Kevin" Ronnie replied, palming a ten from her wad and slipping it to him. "Do me a favor and keep an eye on me, and that Tom guy, alright. I have a feeling he may be the goose that lays the golden eggs and I want him safe." "You got it babe." was Kevin's answer. The following morning, Ronnie went to the bank as soon as she got up, depositing her cash. This was one area where Ronnie was not only different from her fellow dancers, but in the eyes of some was downright nuts. She always deposited the bulk of each night's tips into the bank next day and worse yet, claimed the income on her income tax return. When asked once why she did it her answer was "I intend to end up with a lot of money someday from all of this. I don't want to lose it because I didn't pay the taxes on it along the way. Maybe what I do is a tiny bit sleazy, but this cash is legit and it's gonna stay that way." Tuesday night, Ronnie was working with the same girls. The night was much like Monday. Tom was there and monopolized Ronnie's time from the moment she stepped onto the stage. He told her how much he liked her outfit that night. "Why thanks, Tom." Ronnie was wearing a bright orange bikini, not a thong, but a string model, with bright white hearts on it. She was also wearing white stiletto heels, white stockings and a white lacy garter belt. Over this, she had on a purple two piece cotton outfit, skirt and jacket. "Tom, would you like to go into the other room for a private dance?" "No thanks, Ronnie. I just like sitting here and watching and talking." Soon it was eleven. Tom didn't budge from his seat, again to the surprise of the dancers. Ronnie was on stage in the middle of a set when the clock struck the hour. Tom waited until she was done and had changed before moving. He walked up to the door, waiting for her to come out. "Can we talk for a second?" "Sure Tom. What did you want to talk about?" "There is no policy here about dating customers. I'd like you to have dinner with me on Thursday night. Are you available?" "Yes. I only work Sunday through Wednesday the first two weeks here at the Den." "Wonderful. Meet me at Stan's Seafood tomorrow at eight? It's a nice place, so you may want to dress up a bit. I'll see you there." Stan's Seafood was near the shoreline in an area Ronnie didn't know well. She arrived early anyway, wanting to make a good impression. There was something about Tom that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but she was sure it would become clear in time. She'd spent a lot of time deciding on what to wear. The closet in Ronnie's house was amazing. Ronnie had made a lot of money in the years she'd put herself through school and one of her best investments was her house, tucked away in a quiet corner of a hilltop community. She'd bought it because she fell in love with the master bedroom suite, complete with his and hers walk-in closets. Being a clotheshorse, Ronnie had filled the hers closet long ago and was working hard on the his closet from time to time. She'd spent a lot of time in there deciding what to wear to this dinner. Disdaining what she referred to as her "slut-wear", she'd decided on a demure black dress that had a high neckline, although it was sleeveless. Plain black pumps and sheer nylons completed the outfit, along with a matched set of wicked lace panties and bra in black satin from a famous lingerie store. While she was ten minutes early, Tom was even earlier and had flowers in hand as she walked up. He handed her the small bouquet of carnations and said "you look wonderful. Ready to go in?" "Yes, and thanks, Tom. You look pretty good yourself." Which was quite a surprise. The dancers had told Ronnie that Tom wasn't much of a fashion plate, based on his usual spectator attire of plain jeans and a button down shirt. They'd never seen him in a tie, or wearing anything other than running shoes. Tonight, Tom was clad in a dark designer suit, expensive Italian loafers, and an exquisite silk tie, with matching pocket handerkerchief. He looked like he was from the cover of a men's fashion mag. "No, Tom, I mean it. You look dynamite. Quite the stylish man. Is the food good here?" "Best seafood in the area. Let's go in." They went inside. The host smiled widely upon seeing Tom. "Mister Baker..." Tom interrupted. "Tom. I keep telling you Tom. Is that too much to ask, Henry?" "No Tom. Sorry. Table for two coming right up." Dinner was perfect. They shared a Caesar's salad. The waiter didn't even ask their order or bring menus. Tom smiled at him and that was it. When he brought the main dish, it turned out to be seared swordfish, in a lemon-lime glaze that was the best fish that Ronnie had ever tasted. Even the conversation was just right. Nothing too heavy. Ronnie learned more about Tom's past than any of the girls at the Den had ever hoped to find out. After they'd finished the light chocolate souflee that Tom ordered for them, he surprised Ronnie yet again. "Would you like to come back to my place? You asked me why I didn't come to the club the other nights of the week and it might be easier to show you rather than try to explain." "This isn't some trick to seduce me?" Tom gazed into Ronnie's eyes for a moment and his own eyes seemed to sparkle for the briefest instant. Then he smiled. "You know that's not true." Then they left the restaurant, got into his sports car and drove off. The mansion was behind a tall iron fence in a very exclusive neighborhood. Ronnie was surprised by the size of it. "Tom, what do you do that you can afford all of this?" "I don't do anything anymore. I have more money than I can spend in a lifetime and I use it to make even more each week. I'll never work at a job again and I haven't for a number of years." "How did you manage that and where do I sign up?" "Be glad you can't sign up for this gift, Ronnie. I'll explain it in a moment." The driveway led to a large garage and Tom pulled the sports car into place among the other automobiles. The couple entered the home through a side entrance. "No servants?" "No. I have a cleaning woman who comes each morning, but that's only to make the bed, vacuum some parts of the house and wash any dishes I may have dirtied that day. I like my privacy too much to have a crew of servants around. Besides, part of the reason that I prefer solitude is based on that gift I mentioned earlier. Now don't be shocked, but I'm psychic." "Come on, Tom, be serious." "I am being serious. I can read minds and to a certain extent, can predict the future." "Okay, read my mind now." "Well, the obvious thought in your mind is the disbelief I'm sensing about what I've just told you. But you're also wondering if your initial thought that I wasn't bring you up here for seduction purposes was wrong. You're also thinking that you should have worn your other pair of heels with that dress, because your left toe is aching. I also see that..." Ronnie interrupted him. "Okay, I believe you. How did this help you to make money?" "The future part, combined with knowing the thoughts of others around me in big business. I took a small amount of money and through adroit investing, built it up into a multi-million dollar nest egg. I can't predict all future events, but I can see some. I see enough to be useful. Now let me answer the other question in your mind and show you the reason I'm not at the club those other nights." He led her through the huge, fashionably appointed home. In the back was a door with a gigantic padlock and hasp securing it. Tom pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Opening it, he reached inside and flipped the lights on. As Ronnie stepped in, she saw what looked like the finest strip bar ever created. The bright overhead lights weren't the kind a bar would normally have on when in operation. They were to show the place off. Ronnie went inside, walking around and looking the furnishings over. The tables, floor and stage were of finely polished hard wood. "Maple?" she asked. "You have a good eye. The sound system is state of the art too." He walked over and flipped a few switches and music reverberated softly throughout the room. "Surround-sound speakers imbedded in the walls, so there are big huge black speakers above the stage to cause shadows or distract the dancer cause the music is too close." "What else, Tom? I'm amazed at the quality here." "I only go with quality, Ronnie. Ordinarily in a room this size there would be two bars, but I never intended to open this room to the public. There are dressing rooms though, that normally function as the dressing rooms for the pool." He adjusted the music to make it even softer and switched it from a song with a dance beat to a slower tempo number. "Would you like a drink?" "You should know the answer Mister Psychic." Tom looked at her for a moment and then laughed. "One diet cola coming right up." He poured two from the fountain after filling two glasses with ice. He walked around to where Ronnie had seated herself at a table near the stage and sat. They clinked their glasses together. Tom spoke first. "To Ronnie. The prettiest and most talented dancer I've ever watched." "Thanks, but neither are true, are they?" "You're as pretty and as talented as any I've seen." "So is that why we are here? So that I can put on a private dance for you? You weren't satisfied with the privacy of the VIP room at the Den, you wanted me all to yourself?" "No, Ronnie. Calm down. I'll take you home right now, no further questions asked if that's what you want. I won't lay an unwanted hand on you either. You misunderstand completely." Ronnie relaxed a bit and smiled. "Okay, you have my undivided attention." Tom took a deep breath and began. "I know that you are dancing because you've had a hard time finding work worthy of your education where you aren't a piece of meat. You figured if you're gonna be a sex object, might as well get paid like one, right?" Ronnie nodded. "And you intend to get out of this racket just as soon as you possibly can." "Also correct." "I can make that happen much sooner for you. But I want you to help me experience something. I've gone around and around with this and the conclusion I've reached is that there's no other way." Ronnie stood up. She walked around to where Tom was sitting. He started to stand and she pushed him gently back in the chair. "No, don't get up. Just get to the point. I won't judge you, I won't hurt your feelings or laugh or anything. Just tell me what it is, and I'll keep your secret safe in here." She touched her left breast in an inviting, yet comforting way. Tom knew she was telling the truth, he read the honesty in her brain. "I want to feel what you feel when you dance. All you dancers feel a powerful feeling from the adoration you get from the audience. You seem to feel it more powerfully than any other dancer I've ever seen." "I do feel it. It is an incredible sensation. But I don't see how you can feel it without being a...." The realization of what Tom wanted sunk in and Ronnie smiled. "Right, Ronnie. You can't feel that feeling without being a dancer." She smiled at him. "Take off your coat, tie and shirt. Keep your pants on for now." Tom did as Ronnie had asked. "You're flabby. This will take a lot of work. How far are you willing to go to do this?" "I won't have a sex change operation. Other than that, the sky is the limit, provided that at the end of the rainbow I can get up on a stage and dance just like you." "I don't know if you'll be able to move as well as I do. It took a lifetime of dance training to get to this point. But we'll do the best we can." "How much?" "Do you care?" "No. When I dance at the Den, you retire. I'll give you enough money and enough ways to use it to make more to ensure that. How long will it take?" Ronnie stood, lost in thought for a moment. "I don't know. A few months at least, to work on your body. You'll need a lot more flexibility and strength than you probably have now. You'll need to lose weight. All that body hair will have to go. You'll need to hide that big bulge in your pants and if I decide you need breast implants, you won't question me, will you?" "Not as long as they are removable afterwards." "I need to fly and see a doctor I know. He did a friend's boob job." "Buy the ticket and I'll reimburse you for the trip and for whatever the doctor charges." "Alright. Take me home. Tomorrow we start dance training at noon sharp, right here. Do you have a gym?" "Some equipment in a room." "I need to see it before I leave and you'll probably need some other things." The following day Ronnie arrived at Tom's before noon. She had a long handwritten list which she gave him. "This is the gym equipment I want you to have installed in your gym, the shoes I want you to order are from the store listed next to the shoes. Go in and have them fit you. The other name and phone number is a dietician I've picked out. You go see her as soon as she can see you. You need to work out and diet 24 hours a day and I'll arrange a workout schedule for you after I see what kind of shape you are in." The workout proved to be a 2 mile run around the neighborhood, followed by a stretching session in Tom's gym. As he was going through the last part of the stretching exercise routine Ronnie had designed for him, Tom asked "why so much stretching?" "Because, when you step out onto that stage, you have to be able to do the splits and all the other moves that we dancers do. Dancers are women, Tom and our bodies are different. So we have to make your body stretch and move just like a dancer's. You're a dancer now, Tom. A female dancer is how I want you to think of yourself from now on. One in training to be sure, but by the time I finish, you're going to step out on that stage in your heels and bikini and the only people who will know it's not a real girl are you and me. Now stretch." By the time they were finished, Tom was drenched in sweat. "I don't want you to change your club routine either. Be there the same nights, and spend the same money. We can't arouse suspicion yet. Once your appearance starts to change, then we'll ease you out of the scene at the Den. But it has to be a gradual transition to avoid making anyone curious." On her next day off, Ronnie flew to Reno, to meet with Doctor Albert Lofgrin. He was the physician who had done a few plastic surgeries on dancers Ronnie knew. He was utterly discreet, incredibly talented and completely trustworthy. "Ronnie! How good to see you? Finally going to let me finish Nature's work of perfection in making your bod?" "We both know my body's as good as it's gonna get naturally and I don't believe in the kind of work you do for myself. I'm here for a friend." "What does she look like, maybe I'll give her a discount for 'servicing' me." Ronnie told him the story of Tom, leaving out the exact identity of the man involved. "So he wants to be a dancer? Does he have a screw loose?" "No. He's an incredibly rich guy who has a fantasy and he has enough money to make it come true. Now what can you do?" The Doctor went over and opened his computer imaging program. Using a gigantic computer monitor, he called Ronnie over to get her too look at the screen. He brought up an image of a standard male body. "This is your friend. Is he overweight?" "For a female dancer, yes. For a middle-aged man, no." "So, no big beergut to erase. Now, we start here, with the breasts. We use gel plastic bag implants, through a side incision, under the armpit. We slide the bag in and then use a special saline solution to inflate it. The saline's viscosity is altered with additional chemicals so it gels and isn't really liquefied anymore. It makes a perfect breast. If the nipples don't center up on inflation, we move them slightly." Albert continued typing. "Now, the best thing to do to create the impression of a female waist is to remove the lower rib on each side of the rib cage. We could remove two, but I think that with a bit of liposuction, removing one on each side is sufficient. We use that to create a female waist, and use a bit of the fat to fill out the hips if need be. A lot will depend on how his weight loss goes. But the two critical parts are going to be the pelvic region and his genitals. Not being able to do a complete sex change will make things more difficult." "What will you do?" "If he'll agree, I'll work his testicles back into the canals they descended from, to avoid a more technical explanation. Then depending on the size of his 'tool' I'll hide it inside of the body as well. Both the testicle work and the stuff with his penis will be fully reversible, but as long as he has a merkin or something, he should be able to fully simulate a set of female genitalia covered by a bikini. He can't dance bottomless though. Can't do that without the full magillah sex change." "Body hair?" "Waxing, shaving, whatever. Electrolysis is also not reversible, but if he wants it, it's arrangable." "Let's talk price." "I'll need to examine him for a firm quote, but the estimate is two to three surgeries and a cost between one fifty and two hundred." "Last question. Recovery time?" "A couple of weeks for the breasts and everything except the pelvic, assuming you have him in shape before you bring him to me. The pelvic will take two full months of flat on his back rest" "Fine. He'll be in good enough shape when he arrives." Tom asked Ronnie about how the visit had gone with the doctor, but she wouldn't comment. "I'm in charge of this project and it goes according to my terms, Tom. I'll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. And, no more reading my mind. If I find you read my mind, I walk. Clear?" "Alright. I can restrain myself." "I promise you that if you do as I say, you will feel that adrenaline pulsing through you as the music's beat overwhelms you. Now, you've seen the dietician?" "Yes. She thinks I can lose the weight you want." "Wonderful. I've also hired a personal trainer to come train you in the mornings. Dance practice will start a week from Monday. But from now until then, you wear those high heels 24 hours a day." "But I can't wear them out in public." "Then limit your movements to the house, except for going to the Den. You have to be able to dance in those shoes and you can't dance until you can walk. Now go out and run two miles and then come back here and stretch." The days began to run together for Tom. Running. Stretching. Wearing high heels for everything except running. Dieting. Watching the weight melt away from his body. After five weeks of this, he had to stop going to the Den. The changes in his appearance were becoming noticeable. "I want you to spend those hours you were in the club in here, playing dance music and just listening to it, absorbing the feel of it. You can walk around stage in your heels if you like. Just spend time being in this space and think of yourself as a dancer. Turn the lights down. But no bikinis or other dance clothing. Not until you have your surgery." It took another six weeks before Ronnie decided that Tom was ready for surgery. She wouldn't even let him pack a suitcase when they flew to Reno. "You'll be in the hospital from the moment we arrive until you leave in a week. Ten days at the most. The day you get out, we'll go buy you some new clothes to fit your new image." Ronnie was on a plane when her beeper went off. It was a 911 page from the Doctor in Reno. She used an airphone and dialed the number. "Ronnie?" "Yes. What's wrong?" "He just came out of the anesthesia and he's not happy." "Give him something to calm him down and I'll be there as soon as this plane lands." The taxi pulled up in front of the hospital and Ronnie got out. Knowing the room number she walked past the front desk and got into the elevator. The top floor was used by the hospital for V.I.P. patients and a few executive offices. Tom was in a special V.I.P. room there. He was sitting up in his bed, staring into space when Ronnie walked in. "Well hello Veronica. Do you mind explaining what's going on here?" "The last few stages of work needed to fulfill your deepest fantasy, Tom. What part of what's been done are you dissatisfied with?" "The face, Ronnie. The doctor fucked with my face." Ronnie looked closer. Her instructions had been followed to the letter. "Yes, he made a few minor changes to your face. Think for a moment, Tom. Would you want a woman with your face dancing in the Den, or anywhere else for that matter? The changes are cosmetic and can be reversed when you're tired of dancing. But you want to fulfill the role of a female dancer and that means you needed a female face. Now grow up and stop complaining. The doctor says you're ready for the other surgery day after tomorrow." "How long will I be laid up after that?" "About two months. Then, we'll need another six weeks or so, but after that, I think you'll be ready for your first audition. Now I will see you in two months." She leaned over, kissed Tom on his cheek and then left. The pelvic surgery was one phase that Tom didn't know was not easily reversed. While removing the 38C breasts that Tom now possessed wasn't easy either, it was a fairly straightforward procedure. This pelvic restructuring was not. The Doctor would break and reshape the pelvis into a female configuration. While he would use compounds to help strengthen the reshaped pelvis, in order to return it to a normal shape, breaking it again might prove too much for the already fragile structure. Tom knew none of this. The days following the second surgery passed slowly. Immobilized in bed, turned and moved to prevent bedsores, but unable to move otherwise, Tom was not happy. He tired of reading and watching television and contented himself with reading the minds of every person who came within range. Even that grew boring and it was with a great deal of relief that he watched the last day tick off the calendar with Ronnie's return to Reno. "Welcome back." "Glad to see you, Tom. The nurse says you're walking a bit." "Yeah. I feel fine, I think I can walk normally." "You'll get a chance when the doctor is here later this morning." Ronnie filled Tom in on what was going on at the club. They were talking when the Doctor walked in. "Good afternoon Tom, Ronnie. You two will have to come up with a new name for Tom when we discharge you from the hospital today. That is after I see you walk around a bit. Ronnie, let's help her up." Tom bristled a bit at the her reference until getting a stern glance from Ronnie. They helped Tom to his feet and watched him walking up and down the length of the room. "I'd have her rest at home for a few more days, without any exercise. Then in three or four days, she can resume her dancing. As for her voice, use this. Each spray should last six hours or so." "Great job, Doctor. I'll invite you to her first night of professional dancing" Ronnie said. "Now if you'll excuse us, we girls need to freshen up for our trip home." The Doctor left and Ronnie turned towards Tom. "He's right you know, you need a new name. Fortunately for you, Ronnie's ready." Ronnie reached into her bag and pulled out a women's wallet, tossing it towards Tom. Tom opened it and gasped. "We used one of those makeover programs to alter one of your pics for the photo, using the doc's diagrams. I think we came pretty close." Tom didn't answer. He just sat staring at the driver's license in front of him. It had his address. It had his date of birth. But it also had a photo of him as a woman, a big fat F under sex and the name Theresa instead of Thomas. "That's right, you're Terri now and until you quit dancing and wanna go back to being Tom." Ronnie then had Terri open her mouth and as she did, Ronnie sprayed Terri's throat with the bottle that the Doctor had provided. They waited a moment and then Ronnie nodded to Terri to speak. "I don't...." Terri stopped. Her voice was utterly feminine. "This has gone well, Ronnie, even if I'm a bit surprised that you've taken me a lot further than I'd intended to go." "You wanted to be a dancer, Terri. Even I need to call you that from now on. Think of yourself as Terri. Be Terri. Yeah, I had to take you further. You've got a lot further to go. Like getting dressed." An hour later, two women walked from Tom's room. Ronnie was one. She'd changed from her travelling attire into a tight black dress that came only to mid-thigh and had a plunging neckline. She wore sheer nylons attacked to the garter-belt that ensnared her waist. She walked easily on the five inch patent heels. She turned to look at the other woman emerging from the room. Terri had on a pleated miniskirt, nylons, two inch heels and a silk blouse. The blouse was cut tightly against her chest, showing off her boobs. Only Terri's hair wasn't perfect and they were on their way to take care of that little detail. The salon was one Ronnie had been referred to by someone in the Doctor's office. It wasn't in the best neighborhood, but the building looked clean enough. Inside was a busy salon. The receptionist was chewing gum and reading a tabloid. "You ladies got an appointment?" she asked. "Yes, Terri does. For a weave and nails." "Oh yeah, she does. Let me get her stylist." A moment later, Terri was being led away by Susan, the stylist who would be doing her hair. "Your friend called ahead and I know what you need, doll. So sit back, relax and enjoy it." Terri decided to do just that. She took the magazine Susan offered. It was a famous woman's magazine about style and beauty and she began reading it as Susan went to work on her head. After about an hour, the manicurist came and went to work on Terri's hands and feet. The finished product was intoxicating to Terri. She oozed femininity. Her nails were long, painted bright red. Her hair was now long, thick and full, falling to the middle of her back. The toenails were also bright red, but couldn't be seen through the pumps she was wearing. But she could feel that her toenails were painted too. The scent of her perfume, added by Ronnie, wafted up to Terri's nose, entrancing her. "How does it feel, Terri?" "I feel different." "That's cause you're one of the girls now." If the beauty salon didn't convince her, the flight home did. Ronnie wanted the window seat. Terri had to settle for the seat next to her. On the aisle was a man named Eddie, and he flirted with Terri for the entire flight. Terri flirted back with Eddie, but refused to supply her phone number. "Now, you rest for a few more days, then we begin dance practice and training again." "I still don't believe I can do the splits and those other moves." "I promise you, Terri, a few weeks and you'll be moving just like I do. Now be a good girl and go upstairs and get to bed. Tomorrow, we'll go shopping for some girl things for you." Terri went up to bed. Her biggest objection to what had been done to her body was how difficult it was to sleep. She'd always been a toss and turn sleeper and with all that flesh upfront in the form of her new breasts, turning had gone from no problem to painful. But clad in her transparent nighty, she finally drifted off to slumberland. Aside from the shopping trip the next day where Ronnie helped Terri buy a full new wardrobe, Terri spent the next week resting up from the alterations to her body. She read the magazines provided by Ronnie, she watched tapes of dancing. Finally, when she was ready to resume training, she was eager to get going. The trainer was a different one. Laurie was merciless. She made Terri work like a madwoman. She had to do crunches in sets of hundred to harden her abs. She had to stretch over and over, to lengthen the muscles in her legs. She ran until her legs ached. But the work paid off. Between the working out in the mornings and the dance training that Ronnie gave Terri each afternoon, Terri's body had become a hardbody girl. Not hard like a weightlifter. Hard like a dancer. Lean muscles that were built to stretch, not bulk up. There had been a subtle re-distribution of weight in Terri's body, between the combination of training and the female hormones she was unwittingly taking in the form of dietary supplements. "Now, drop into a split." Terri fell easily into a split at Ronnie's direction. "Now do the roll and move back into position to use the pole to bring yourself up slowly and then move into another combination." Terri did just as she was told. Ronnie didn't want to tell her, but Terri had become a terrific dancer. She would tell her pupil tomorrow that she was ready to audition for a job as a dancer. Terri rolled out of bed the following morning. Looking at the clock, she realized her trainer would be knocking on the front door in half an hour. She walked over to the dresser and pulled out her workout clothes. A pair of skin-tight bike shorts and a sportsbra, socks and sneaker. She would have worn a t-shirt, but Laurie would have just insisted she take it off. She went down to the living room to wait. The knock at the door came at the right moment, but it wasn't Laurie. It was Ronnie. "Where's Laurie?" "She's taking a day or two off, because you need to rest up today. This afternoon you audition at the Den. I told them that my friend Terri was looking for a new gig and they need some new girls. So you audition." "Are you nuts? I'm not ready." "Oh yes you are. Now go put on a dance outfit and heels and we'll see." Ronnie handed Terri a box. She went off to change, while Ronnie let herself into the dance-bar part of the house. The music began, pounding the speakers, reverberating throughout the room. A sexy woman strutted up the stairs and onto the stage. She was a picture in white. A white mini, and a white top, with white pumps with tall skinny heels on her feet. She danced seductively. Invitingly. By the end of the first song, her top and skirt were off, and she danced in just bikini top and bottom and heels. Peter smiled at Ronnie. "You were right. She's great. Tell her to come back to start tonight on your shift." Peter left to go back to the paperwork that was piled on his desk. Ronnie watched Terri dancing on the stage. The stage where she herself would dance that night. The stage where Terri's dream of being a dancer in a strip club would come true in just a few hours. Terri finished her number with a high kick/drop to a split combination. She panted just a tiny bit from the exertion, her small stomach rising and falling beneath her breasts. She easily brought herself to a standing position, with grace in spite of the height of her high heels. She walked over to where Ronnie sat. "So what did he say?" "He said to bring you tonight and you can dance on the same shift with me." The girls were friendly enough towards Terri that night. The emotions were mixed and Terri could sense them easily. "We don't need more girls" was right next to "dammit we need more girls, I'm having to dance too much on stage and not enough tables and laps to make any real money." The one thought that Terri read in another dancer's mind that really scared her was what Helen thought as she admired Terri's body. "Damn that woman is good looking and in-shape" Helen thought. It made Terri reflective as she sat applying her makeup. She'd wanted to be a dancer, not necessarily a woman. What if the feeling she craved didn't come to her when she strutted onto stage in a little while? She'd given up a lot. Nothing that couldn't be restored in time. The breast implants could be removed, the skin re-shaped into a male configuration. The hair could be cut along with the nails. Only the pelvic restructuring and the removed rib couldn't be replaced and if she gained some weight gradually, the curvy female torso and hip structure could ultimately be replaced with their former male configuration. But as long as she was seeking out that emotional high she was sure would come on that stage, then she had to remain a she. Ronnie was on stage. Terri could feel her thoughts. She tried hard not to read any that involved herself. It wasn't easy. She knew that Ronnie was almost as emotionally invested in Terri's dream coming to fruition. Terri felt herself growing excited as she tapped into the rush of emotion she felt growing in Ronnie as she danced on stage. It gave her the strength and courage to stand up and walk towards the door as she received the cue that it was her time. The d.j. hadn't seen the new dancer, but the word was out that she was a hot number. "...Ronnie, thank you so much and my friends get ready for a real treat. The Den is pleased to welcome to the stage here for the very first time a talented young lady. Put your hands together for Terri." This was the moment she had waited for. She'd dreamed of this moment. She walked out slowly, drinking in the feeling. The men adored her. She could sense it. They wanted to touch her. She could sense it. As the music started, she began to undulate her pelvis in time to the beat. She lifted a leg and wrapped it around the pole on the stage. The thoughts of the men watching her dance continued to wash over Terri. There was one overriding thought that kept assaulting her mind. That she was a beautiful woman. It was intoxicating. A room full of men adoring her. She began to dance with more fervor. The intoxicating feeling of adoration from her audience had an unexpected reaction for Terri. She experienced an orgasm right there on stage. Fortunately, her reduced, restrained male genitalia was so completely hidden that the only sign of her orgasm was her shortened breath for a moment, and a tiny drop of cum that didn't even show up on the outside of the pale pink bikini bottom she was wearing. She finished her turn on stage and turned to walk off. The men were hooting and she realized that she'd forgotten to do a circle to collect the tips the guys wanted to give her. She motioned to the d.j. to put on another song. He gave her an indulgent grin and put on another song. She worked the stage and for the first time in her life, felt the sensation of men slipping bills into her panties. Dollar bills, five dollar bills and even one ten. She smiled at the man who gave her the ten. When this song finished, she smiled and then left the stage and headed back into the dressing room. Once back in the dressing room, Terri sat for a moment and then after having caught her breath, she got dressed again. The short black skirt and top weren't much more of a coverup than the bikini she'd worn on stage, but were perfect for her first night at the Den. She sat down and was reapplying her lipstick when Ronnie came back in. "Girl, what are you doing back here?" "Putting on my makeup. Why?" "You need to be out there, working the room. Getting some tables or maybe even a lap or two." "Oh God, I never really thought about that." "You know how it works. Get them to buy you a few drinks. Do some tables. A lap. You're a dancer now. Didn't you feel the sensation you wanted to feel on stage? It will be even stronger when you're up close and one on one doing a table. Now get out there, girl." Terri sat down to re-count the money. She'd made over $200 in tips on her first night of dancing. As she sat there, now clad in tight jeans and a t-shirt, Ronnie came in from the other room. She was still wearing her dance clothes. "So how did you do, Terri?" "Not quite two-fifty, but over two-hundred." "Pretty good for your first night. Did you make a date?" Terri shook her head. "No way. I got some offers, but no way. I'm not a hooker, I'm a dancer." "I know, just like me. Remember though, many of the other girls take dates and if you wanted to, no one would think badly of you." "I would think badly of me. I'm not going to start having sex with men." "You hungry?" "I'm starved." They went to a nearby coffee shop that Ronnie had found handy for late-night meals after a shift of dancing. "I can't believe how hungry I am." "Eat what you want, Terri. You'll dance it off tomorrow night. That is if you intend to continue dancing." "What makes you think I'd want to quit?" "Your dream came true. Maybe that was all you wanted it to be." "I...I don't know. All I know is that I really liked how it felt, so I will do it for awhile longer. But you won't have to dance ever again if you will stay with me until the end of my first week." "I will be happy to do that, Terri. I can't believe I'm going to be rich so soon." "Oh you will. Two million dollars will be coming your way. I'll have a cashier's check drawn." "But I don't want to pay taxes on it." "You won't. It's a gift, and I'll pay the gift taxes on the transfer. I have so much money I won't even miss it and I'll give you some tips on new opportunities as I run across them." A week after her first night of dancing, Terri was stepping off the stage. It was her last dance before a weekend off from the Den. She'd made over a thousand dollars that week. "Another good night, Ter?" "Yeah. I did. Come on, we'll go for a burger. You can treat after I give you this envelope." Terri handed Ronnie her ticket out of dancing and into a life spent doing what she wanted without ever having to work for a living again. "Okay, but only if you promise to listen to me really carefully at dinner tonight." "Alright." The two dancers were again drawing stares as they sat it the coffee shop. "Terri...." "Wait a sec, Ronnie. I have to pee. Hold that thought a sec." Ronnie watched her friend as she walked to the ladies room. Terri was dressed in a short black skirt, with a top and heels. She walked with the grace of a dancer, light steps. When Terri sat back down at the table, Ronnie noticed that she'd touched up her makeup and perfume. "Terri, this is getting out of hand. You've changed." "I should hope so, since Tom would have been booed right off of that stage." "I'm serious here, Tom. That's who you really are beneath the hair and makeup. Don't you want to go back? You got to live your dream." To her surprise, Ronnie watched as Terri started to sob. It wasn't until they were back at Terri's home and sitting in the living room that she managed to calm down. "Now tell me what's wrong, Tom?" "Come with me." The two of them walked into the back of the house, where the strip-club room was. They sat at a table by the stage, sipping diet sodas before Tom/Terri would speak again. "Look at me, Ronnie and tell me what you see." "I see a friend. He's had work done on his body to make him look like a girl, to realize a dream. Now that the dream's been achieved, he should have his body put back to normal and then he can live happily ever after. Maybe even with a young, beautiful dancer who has fallen in love with him." "Ronnie, if you didn't know me, what would you see when you look at me?" "You know the answer." "Say it. Say it!" "I'd see a beautiful woman." "Yes, and I should hate it. But I don't mind, because I can't get enough of the feeling I get from dancing. When I'm on that stage, I'm alive. Having to be a woman isn't that bad, when that's the payoff. I'm even starting to be used to thinking of myself as a female." "Then I can't help you anymore, Terri. And Terri is what I'll call you from now until the day you come find me and tell me you're ready to be a man again. Until that day, you're just a strip-club dancer named Terri. A FEMALE dancer. Congratulations, Terri. You're finally one of the girls. I'll see myself out." Ronnie walked out of the room, clutching the envelope close against her chest. She sobbed, at the thought that the perfect man for her was gone for now, seduced by a sensation she'd been afraid would seduce him. Even now it called to her to come back to the stage, to feel the adulation again. But that wasn't for her anymore. It was for Terri and the other women who danced for the money.