The other night I decided to stop at a local strip club to unwind. Little did I know, it would turn into one of the most fantastic nights of my life.

There were about twenty girls dancing and approximately thirty to forty guys in the club. I watched the ladies for a little while, to decide which one I would like to have dance for me. I settled on two different women. The first was a tall girl, around five-foot-ten, who had long, dark hair that fell to her mid-back and was just gorgeous. She had a tiny butt and extremely long legs. She was small in the chest, but I was okay with that. She was model-type beautiful. She told me her name was Angie. She took me to a corner of the club and pulled me forward on the seat, and then gave me one of the best dances I ever had. I had her dance for me twice, and then I took a break. I was afraid my cock would explode; she rubbed me and showed me her breasts and cunt while she danced. I was in heaven.
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The woman across the room had a way of looking at herself in the mirror. I observed her watching herself, not because I thought she was pretty (although she was), but because I could tell that she thought she was pretty. In fact, she thought she was beautiful. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that a certain type of attractive woman will reuse the same gestures repeatedly, in the way a model will turn “her good side” to the camera. This redhead was like that, looking down at her drink in a sad little way, running her hand through her thick hair, and always, always returning to her gaze in the mirror.

I don’t know precisely what prompted me to send her a drink. I don’t usually pick up girls at clubs, and I don’t care for women who are so tied up in their own appearances. But I do like to tie girls up, and I could see what this one would look like: wrists over her head in the middle of my bed.
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Last fall, my girlfriend Hannah announced that she was getting married. She was planning to have a riotous bachelorette party at a private club, including several male strippers. Aiden, my best friend and roommate, heard me giggling as I discussed the party with Hannah over the phone. Afterward, he told me that he’d seen lots of porn about those kinds of parties. He wanted to go so badly, but he knew it was a girls-only event. He thought about getting a job at the club as a waiter, but the staff for that event would be girls-only, too. For a month, he kept badgering me about the party. He really got on my nerves. Finally, I told him the only way he was ever going to get in was to become a girl. He actually started exploring the idea. He wanted to know if I thought he could pass as a woman and sneak in as a guest.

I looked him over and thought it just might work. Aiden is a slim guy, only five foot eight. His face is slender, and he has high cheekbones. His hair is jet-black and he wears it long, but not too long. As it was nearing Halloween at the time, I asked him if he wanted me to turn him into a woman for the holiday. He was really hesitant at first. I told him it was his choice, however I reminded him that girls tend to get pretty drunk and lose control at bachelorette parties, so he really should think about the benefits of cross-dressing. Finally, he agreed.
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Camping had never been my favorite activity, but it definitely went up a notch on the pleasure meter with my recent trip to the woods. On that weekend, my best friend, his girl and I were enjoying the great outdoors—but the last night of our trip brought an unexpected twist.

“I need a favor,” Debbie said directly in my ear. I actually jumped. The last thing you expect to find crawling in your sleeping bag in the middle of the night is your friend’s girlfriend.

“What?” I was tired and not in the mood for campfire games. I thought she was going to ask me to walk her to the outhouse since it was so dark.

“I need you to…” She petered off and exhaled loudly.
“Need me to what, Debbie? It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t see my own hand in front of my face.”
“Fuck me—”
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We call it having a dinner guest. We’ll have a slow and lonely night at the diner, and when an unsuspecting guy who passes Kelli’s muster walks in, I give her the nod. The door gets locked, and as my wife pulls the big industrial blinds down, she tells him he’s our last customer of the night.

All the while, he’s eating and trying not to watch her. The way her pink uniform rides up when she reaches for the shade pull. Or the way her stocking tops peek out just so. She’s an old-fashioned girl, and she likes the thigh-high kinds that stay up on their own. We let him eat, and then she makes her move as I watch from the kitchen.

Our last guest was a big trucker type. He had a turkey club before he realized he was actually going to get from Kelli the filthy things he really wanted.
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