Giddy in the knowledge of my prospective job, I dreamt of all the smooth bodies, gyrating hips, and freed breasts I would peek at for free. Not that that was my main motivating factor for my career change, I needed money. The global recession hit, and my liberal arts college degree couldn’t cut me more than a retail job. ‘Why not strip?’ I comically contemplated. Only one problem, guys don’t make much stripping. So in a moment of brilliance and to my parent’s and sibling’s consternation, I went to the Venus Clinic and punctually moved to Las Vegas.
Vindicated, life as a female stripper conferred me all out access to naked women and more; the other girls find it hilarious to touch and squeeze each other’s tits and thick butts in the locker room between sets. Ow! As a male I never possessed a tender chest, but now endowed with two pendant breasts I almost loathe when my co-workers playfully cope a feel.
Me before the Venus Clinic would be drowning with lust in my new place of employment. Me now? Ummm… I remember the first time I wore panties, a few hours after waking in the Venus Clinic, mesmerized how they lay on my flat crotch. I remember the first time I carried a purse; no one batting an eye, yet sulking in the knowledge I severely violated the masculine conditioning of my childhood. I remember the first time I used the phrase “Oh that is so cute” in my lithe voice; the harbinger of a wave of feminine phrases I came to use in day to day conversations. And I remember the first time I realized I hadn’t thought about women “that way” in days. I peered at my gorgeous co-worker’s luscious ass and felt sheer apathy. I panicked. Try and try as I might over the following weeks, the thought of being with a woman did not arouse me in the slightest.
One light bulb in my sexual orientation shut off, and another one turned on, for men. Why did I feel all warm inside when pondering their chiseled smiles and strong biceps? Why did I excitedly laugh at their stupid stories and jokes as they flirted with me at the club? The suspense killed me, and I quickly welcomed my first date offer from a Cross-Fit Instructor for relief. One year on, do I still squeeze my co-workers boobs and butts as they do mine? Yes, but just as goofy friends without the passion and craving that marked my male existence. I much prefer my boyfriend and I have the real fun: in my mouth, splitting me in two, and seducing me till I am dripping wet.
