Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg,j
The following is a true story.
************************************************** PART 1
Mardi Gras in New Orleans is a special time. I walked down Bourbon Street after dinner that night with my business partners and we watched the crowds barter for beads. The pretty young girl at street level was pointing up at the balcony to the young man with dozens of strings of beads around his neck.
"The white ones!" she shouted, gesturing to the boy.
He touched a string of beads with inch-round pearly beads. She nodded vigorously and waved to him to throw them down. He pantomimed pulling up his shirt to her and then held the beads out over the edge of the balcony. The crowd started to chant.
"Show your tits! Show your tits! Show your tits!"
The young girl only hesitated a moment before she drew her T-shirt up to her neck, dropping her ample breasts into view. They were white from being hidden under chaste clothes for most of her life, in sharp contrast to her tanned youthful body. She held the shirt high and leaned back so the boy on the balcony could see her pink, erect nipples and the white swell of her proud gift glowing in the light of the street lamp. The crowd roared in approval and the frenzied shout drowned out the sounds of the jazz in the near-by bars. The girl put her wonderful gifts away, but I could still see the nipples poking at the fabric of the T-shirt. The boy carefully tossed down the beads. As she caught them, the crowd cheered its approval.
Soon cries of more revelry erupted a half a block away. I thought about the girl. She seemed to be your average young American, normally chaste and shy, who found release to her secret inner wishes in the anonymity of the Bourbon Street Mardi Gras crowd. How many other people used this time to indulge in the acts they wished they could do, but knew no time or place where they could? This was a special time... a special place.
I turned to talk to one of my companions, but they were gone out of sight. I walked slowly in he direction we had been walking and looked for them, but could never see them again. Well, I thought it would be best for me to head back to the hotel and call it a night. It was after midnight, after all, and we could meet up in the morning.
I walked toward the main drag along Bourbon Street, stopping to watch the flashing breasts and the occasional dropped trouser. People streamed by in the thousands; some in suits, some adorned with 20 lbs of beads, some sad, some drunk, some very,very high. I figured I was on my own, so I stepped into a strip club to check out the action. Sad looking girls danced slowly on the stage. I bought a beer and watched for a while. Soon, a thin blond girl in a lacy body suit sat next to me. She had runners in her clothes and a big angry bruise on her thigh.
"Would you like a table dance?" was all she said.
I looked into her eyes and felt sorry for her. She had a far-away, trapped kind of look. We went to the back of the room and she stood on a small stool to dance for me. She stripped quickly and made all the right moves for the customer. Her small breasts were low on fuel and looked half empty. Now, close-up, the bruise on her leg had the look of knuckles and a fist. When the song was over, I paid and left, feeling somewhat let down from the exuberance of the street crowd to the sad eyes of the girl in the club. I was headed back to the hotel now, ready to quit for the night.
I was near the end of Bourbon street, only a few blocks from my turn to the hotel region of New Orleans. I was still walking slowly, looking around. I looked at a billboard on my right and stopped dead. This was different! Here was a club that advertised "she-male" dancers. I looked at the pictures of the girls and something inside me stirred. I was rooted to the spot. I had seen pictures of transsexual people, of course. I had also seen films of transsexual people at the peep shows in the adult theaters. In fact, I had discovered a fascination with this subject and these people, but never had been this close to flesh and blood. I am a middle-aged, heavy set business man who never had any other relationship other than one-on-one heterosexual sex. But now I knew this was a chance to satisfy a craving I had had for years and that this chance would not come along again. I looked to the doorway and saw a girl trying to draw in some customers. She looked me right in the eye and I think she could read my mind. She took the few steps over to me, smiling broadly and linked her arm in mine and said, "Come on, honey, you'll have lots of fun." I didn't resist as we went through the door together and I ignored the stares from the crowd and jeers from a group of sailors.
The doorway was dark, and the club even darker. As we stepped into the club, I felt her hand in my crotch, rubbing lightly on my penis through my pants in a tender, loving caress. I responded instantly, to my surprise, snapping to attention and not pulling away. We entered the club proper and she let go, but when I looked at her, she was smiling and looking me right in the eyes. She guided me to a chair by a table and I sat down, facing a stage where a girl was dancing to the heavy beat of some rock song. The girl who guided me into the club asked what I wanted to drink and disappeared to the back to get my beer.
I leaned back as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the club. The dancer was a stocky transvestite with lots of make-up and wild looking hair. She strutted back and forth to the beat of the music, turning around now and then to poke her ass out at the customers. She didn't interest me too much because she had no obvious breast augmentation. All of the transsexual people that had intersted me in the past were very feminine in appearance and demeanor, and the dancer didn't quite fit the bill.
The girl who had guided me into the club returned with a beer and asked if she could sit with me. I told her to join me and she pulled a chair close and sat crossing her legs. I had my first chance to really take a look at her. I decided that they must have females working at the club besides the TV who was still dancing. She was a dark, olive skinned beauty. Her eyes were large and shocking green. Her hair was jet black and slightly curly, covering her shoulders. She had ample breasts which were not quite contained by the flourescent orange bikini top she wore. I could see the aureole, dark brown against the only slightly lighter skin. She was what I would call just right in body proportions, but many might see her as chunky. I don't like skinny girls.
"What's your name?", she asked. "I'm Marguerite."
I told her my first name and she casually laid her hand on my thigh. "Is this your first time in here?"
I told her that I had never been in this club, or any other like it. She and I made small talk and I sipped my beer. While we talked, I looked around the club to see what was going on. There were two or three couples sitting at tables near the stage on an upper level of the club, a few steps up from where I was seated. I the back of the upper level were three or four rows of tables with an isolated patron or two sitting at the table watching the stage or talkingto one of the club girls. I looked back to the couples and saw that they were boyfriend/girlfriend pairs and not customers with a club dancer. This really surprised me and I wondered why they had come in here.
Marguerite and I chatted lightly as the girl dancing finished out her set. She told me it was her turn to dance and asked if I would wait for her. I nodded and leaned back to watch.
Does anyone want to see 2/3 and 3/3?