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.