Archive-name: Changes/sam5.txt

Archive-author: W. Eastburn

Archive-title: Sam - 5





                            Tuesday Morning



     Sam woke peacefully, but fully to the brightness of the room.  For

some reason, he was feeling good this morning.  He knew immediately

where he was, but, for some reason, was not a dejected about his

situation as he'd been for the past few days.

     He swung his legs out of the bed, heading for the bathroom to

answer the call of nature.  As he sat on the toilet seat, he noticed

something was different.  Nature would not wait, but he kept trying to

put his finger on the difference while his body was taking care of its

need.

     He flushed the toilet, then reached down to remove the panties

from his night gown.  It dawned on him then.  There was no maxi-pad in

the panties.  He felt the ice cold stabbing of fear and guilt as he

realized that Susan would kill him, or at least give him the final

dose, when she saw the mess that he'd probably left on the bed.

     Susan walked into the bathroom just then.  Sam wasn't sure whether

she'd heard the toilet flushing or he'd called here there somehow

mentally.

     Susan smiled a cheery, "Good Morning, Sam."

     Sam tried to answer nonchalantly, but he couldn't control the fear

and guilt in his voice.

     Susan looked puzzled for a moment, then she, too, noticed that the

pad was not in place.  

     "What did you do with the maxi-pad, Sam?" she asked, fearing that

he'd flushed it down the toilet.  She knew that might cause a clogging

of the plumbing.

     Sam looked dejected, stammering, "Um, I forgot to put it in last

night."

     Susan's face contorted in rage, then smoothed, all in an instant

of time.  Her glare at Sam could have turned him into stone.  Yet,

without a word, she spun and walked swiftly into the bedroom.

     Sam sat fixed to the toilet seat.  The hollow feeling in his

stomach was deepening by the minute.  As he heard the rustle of the bed

clothes being mussed, he just knew that Susan would be returning

momentarily, probably with the hypodermic in her hands, but he sat

immobile.

     Susan came back to the bathroom, her face calmer now, but there

was a tightness in her voice as she said, "You are one very lucky young

lady."  

     Susan took the tell tale panties from Sam, gave them a quick

glance, and tossed them into the sink.  Her face softened.

     Quickly she kissed Sam on the forehead.  Her voice was much more

composed, almost light, as she said, "I only saw a few drops of blood

in the panties, and the bed was clean.  I think your period is over."

     "Go on and start to get dressed while I get into something

decent," she continued, going back to her own room.

     "And make sure to put a panty liner in your panties," she

cautioned from the other bedroom.

     Sam remained frozen on the toilet seat for a moment.  The relief

at her pronouncement washed all through him.  He knew he had just

dodged a serious situation.

     As he calmed, he got up and washed out the panties.  He hung his

nightie on the hook, and went into the bedroom.  He knew he might have

gotten past this one problem, but he'd better be on his best behavior

for a while.

     Sam went to the dresser, where Susan had been pulling clothes for

him for the past few days, and rooted around, looking for underwear. 

He found some of the same style panties he'd been wearing for the past

few days, though lacier, and put them on.  He also found a bra.

     Motivated to dress quickly, and thus try to keep Susan from being

angered again, he put the brassier on, and dipped into the drawer

again.  He couldn't find the pantyhose he'd been made to wear at the

mall, so he resignedly picked up the garter belt and put it on.

     Sam went back into the bathroom to get the stockings he'd washed

last night.  As he reached for them, the coldness in his stomach

returned.  Something had pulled the material on one of the stockings,

and there was a long area that looked like a wide spaced ladder.  He

was holding the evidence when Susan returned.

     "Oh, no," she said.  "Your stockings have a run in them."

     Her voice was remarkably calm and matter of fact, Sam thought.

     Susan went over to the dresser, selecting a cardboard envelope. 

She opened it, and pulled another pair of the sheer stockings from it.

     "Go ahead, Sam," she said, "continue dressing while I put on some

coffee."

     Sam took the stockings, and managed to get them on.  He slapped

some lipstick on his face, and went to the closet to get a dress.  He

figured he might as well get the dress on before he brushed his hair.

     As he looked through the clothing hung up in the closet for the

first time since he'd been here, he noticed that all the dresses and

skirts seemed to be about the same length.  The only one really longer

was the suit he'd worn to church on Sunday, and he recalled how short

that one was.  He didn't see a slip in the closet anyhow, and didn't

recall seeing one in the dresser drawer.  Reluctantly, he began to look

through the other clothing.

     His hand touched something exceptionally soft and silky.  He

pulled it out for a closer look.  It was a dress, in a pattern of pinks

and whites causing it to appear to be covered by big flower petals.  He

could see it had shoulders, and a collar on it, but no sleeves.  It

even buttoned down the front, though he was a little disappointed to

see the tiny buttons seemed to stop just as they got to the fuller area

of the bodice.  The skirt was full, falling from the waist in gentle,

unpressed pleats.  Even though the skirt was much shorter than he would

have liked, he decided he liked the dress.  Then, he noticed he could

see the shadow of his hand clearly defined through the dress, even

though the hand was all the way on the back side.  He slipped his other

hand inside the front, and saw it clearly, even being able to see a

tinted color version of his hand through the material.  He decided he

didn't like the dress so much any more.  It was soft, though.

     Susan returned by this time, and was watching Sam look through the

closed.  As the discovery of the dress first lighted up his face, then

fell as he discovered its transparency, she laughed.

     "That is a very nice dress, Sam," she said, "but maybe not right

for today.  Why don't we save that one for the next time Tom takes you

out.  He is sure to like it."

     Sam was doubly embarrassed by the thoughts that Susan had been

watching him check out the dress, and the prospect of going out with

Tom dressed in the sheer thing.  

     Susan reached into the closed, quickly selecting a blouse and

mini-skirt for him.  She handed them to him, saying, "Try these on

today."

     Sam took the garments to the bed, where he put them on.

     The blouse was a simple peasant style, with puffed sleeves, and a

rough lace embroidered over the front.  It didn't have any buttons, so

Sam just slipped it over his head, discovering that it didn't cover too

much of his breasts either.  The sleeves seemed to pull down on his

shoulders, so he adjusted the elastic holding them to his arms up, and

the sleeves seemed to balloon into a puff by themselves.  

     The skirt was a straight one, a combination of reddish and pink

lines forming large squares all over the fabric.  As usual, it had the

button and zipper on the waistband.  He pulled it over his head and

settling it down on his waist.  He sighed as he saw the hem just barely

covering the tops of his stockings.

     Susan took a long look at him standing there before her, then got

a few things for him.  She gave him the pair of black pumps he'd worn

before, and then circled his waist with a wide, shiny black belt, which

she fastened in the back.  It had a white net flower where the buckle

in the front would have normally been.  She moved the belt a little,

until the flower was off to one side, just about where Sam's now

flatter stomach joined the roundness of his hips.  Susan gave a curt

nod of approval and went back to the kitchen.

     Sam now noticed what Susan was wearing for the first time.  He'd

been caught up in his own trouble, he really had not been paying

attention.

     Susan was wearing a white blouse, that circled high on her neck

and had ruffles all over the front.  It was buttoned up the back, and

sheer enough that her bra displayed its lace very plainly through the

fabric as the fabric strained to clutch her body when she moved.  Her

skirt was a charcoal gray, with just a hint of red stripes running up

and down it.  As with her skirt yesterday, it fell to the middle of her

knees.  She had brownish red pumps on her feet.

     Sam recognized that the skirt Susan was wearing was obviously the

bottom of a suit.  He sighed with resignation, knowing he'd be farmed

off somewhere while Susan went to work.

     Sam brushed his hair, getting the job done quickly as he

remembered to use very light strokes, and looked at himself in the

mirror.  He was not really displeased with the woman who looked back at

him.  In other times, he thought, he wouldn't mind taking her home.

     Like yesterday, they had coffee in the kitchen, which Sam drank

without comment.  He took his calcium and vitamin pills without a

protest.  Still being on good behavior to mitigate the close call after

forgetting the pad last night, he washed the dirty cups without a word

from Susan.

     Susan had gone back into her room to finish dressing.  She now

emerged with the jacket matching her skirt on, carrying a black

shoulder bag and a black briefcase.  She was obviously ready for work.

     "Grab your bag and come on," she said, heading for the door.

     Sam got the black shoulder bag from the dresser in his bedroom,

and followed her out of the apartment.

     When they got to Susan's car, she got in the driver's seat, and

leaned over to unlock the passenger side.  Sam took the hint, and slid

into the front seat, buckling the seat belt.

     "I have to go to work," she explained as she was starting the car,

"but Gwen needs to talk with you.  I'll drop you off at her place on

the way."

     Sam wondered why Gwen needed to talk to him, but kept his question

to himself.  He was still trying to atone for his earlier problem.  



                              Strike Two



     They drove through the suburbs, until they came upon a large house

situated in a big landscaped lawn.  As Susan drove into the driveway,

Sam figured that this must be Gwen's house.  He'd never been here

before, having taken her to his apartment the time they'd gone home

together.  That thought brought a flash of a smile to his face, which

crashed almost immediately as he recalled it now seemed like a lifetime

ago since that night.  

     He turned his eyes to the house, estimating it must have cost at

least a quarter million dollars.  That brought up the question of how a

nurse could afford such a big house.  After the revelations about

Sharon last night, he was not about to ask Susan about this though.

     They got out of the car and walked up to the door.  Gwen answered

the bell almost immediately.

     "We're a little early, I'm afraid," Susan smiled at Gwen, "but I

really have to get to the office."

     "No problem, Susan," Gwen replied, returning the smile.  "I was

just getting ready for Sam anyway."

     "Thanks, Gwen," Susan said, turning back to her car.  

     Over her shoulder, Susan said, "Sam, be a good girl for Gwen

today."

     "Come in, Sam," Gwen said.  "You are looking very pretty this

morning."

     Sam thanked her for the compliment as they walked into Gwen's

living room.

     "I need to get a few things," Gwen said.  "Why don't you make

yourself comfortable here.  I'll only be a minute."

     Sam looked around the room.  It was a large, airy room.  There was

a sofa, a love seat, and a couple of matching chairs scattered around

the room, along with some end tables in a dark wood.  The furniture was

done in a light beige, matching the carpet.  He also noticed the beige

curtains framing the picture window in the rear of the room.  One wall

had an open fireplace, with all the tools on it, but it was obviously

not in use.  The opposite wall had a book case full of books.

     Sam walked over to the book case.  He had never been a big reader

before, but there was something about these books that grabbed his

attention.  Perhaps it was the bright colors on the book covers.  He

looked over the selections, recognizing several of the titles from the

best seller lists in the newspaper.  As he examined the books, he

noticed that they all seemed to be done by one author.  He wondered who

G. Chambeaux was.  Whoever he was, he was sure a prolific author.

     On impulse, Sam picked one of the books from the shelf.  The title

was one that he knew was on the current best seller list.  As he opened

the book, he almost dropped it on the floor.  There, on the back flap,

was a picture of Gwen staring at him.

     "You can take the book with you," Gwen said from behind him.  "I

have several copies."

     Sam turned red.  

     "Now, come over to the sofa.  We need to talk," she continued.

     Sam sat on the sofa, while Gwen sat in one of the chairs.  She

looked so natural in this setting, and desirable in her black pants,

that looked like she'd been poured into, and red silk blouse.  The

feeling of his nipples straining against his bra, and a slight feeling

of moistness in his groin, reminded him that he couldn't do much about

that desirability now.

     "I know you are finding yourself in strange surroundings," Gwen

began, "but there are a lot of things you have to learn.  I'll try to

teach you some of them this morning.  We don't have a lot of time, so

pay attention."

     Gwen started talking about reproduction, and menstruation, and

babies.  

     Sam lost interest almost immediately.  He didn't want to know

about all this girl stuff.  He certainly had no intention of getting

close enough to a man to get pregnant, even if Gloria's changes had

made it possible now.

     After a while, Gwen noticed him fidgeting on the sofa, and the

distracted look of boredom on his face.

     "Pay attention," she said sternly, "this is important."

     "Why are you telling me all this junk," Sam retorted.  "I'm not

going to do anything like that."

     "Oh, but you will," Gwen replied, the stern, no nonsense, tone

still in her voice.

     "As women," she said, "our bodies are designed to do one thing. 

They want to reproduce.  And they will do everything they can to get us

to make a baby, whether we want to or not."

     "Hmmmpf," Sam retorted, sharply, "That's fine for you, but I'm not

going to get within a mile of a man and a bedroom."

     "You aren't going to have any choice in the matter," Gwen said. 

"Your body will take care of that.  In fact, you'll probably end up in

bed with Tom before long."

     Sam was stunned.  Tom was a nice guy, but the idea of going to bed

with him was ridiculous.  Besides, he remembered, vaguely, something

Gloria had said about getting pregnant making his condition as

permanent as the last dose of the medicine they were holding over his

head.  He had no intention whatsoever of allowing that to happen.

     "Now, may I have your attention so we can continue?" Gwen asked.

     "I don't need all this bull," Sam said, in anger.  "I am not going

to bed with Tom, or any other man for that matter."

     "Besides, what the heck is so special about Tom?" he blurted. 

"The whole lot of you women carry on like he is some kind of Greek god. 

He's just a guy, like thousands of others.  Just like I was, until you

girls did this to me.  You all act like you'd jump in Tom's bed in a

heartbeat."

     Gwen reddened.  She was getting angry.

     "We have known Tom for years now," she said.  "He is a special

man, much more of a man than you ever were.  And he HAS taken me to

bed, as well as the other girls.  And we are DAMNED happy he's around

to do it."

     She paused for breath, continuing heatedly, "I don't know what he

sees in you.  He's much too good for the likes of you, but he'll

probably take you to bed very soon.  I'm doing this mostly for him.  I

don't want to see him hurt because you can't take care of your own

urges."

     She stopped suddenly, the tension and anger clearly showing all

over her body.

     "Bull!" Sam repeated, clasping his arms roughly around his chest,

then moving them hastily when his breasts got in the way.

     "Well, if you won't learn how to take care of yourself, I don't

care if you get pregnant," Gwen said tightly.  "I just hope it isn't

with Tom.  He'd feel obliged to marry you, and he deserves much, much

better than you."

     "Hmmmpf!" Sam exclaimed.

     Gwen now burst into tears.

     "Get out of my house!," she shouted.  "I don't want to see you

again."

     "I didn't want to be here in the first place," Sam retorted, as he

angrily stomped out the front door, slamming it behind himself.

     Gwen was running, in tears, towards her bedroom as Sam left the

house.

     Sam stood on the door stoop, taking deep breaths.  He was more

than angry.  He was angry that he was here, angry with Gwen, and angry

that he was in this body.  He was also angry that his clothes were so

revealing, and angry at all the women who had brought him to this

condition.

     As he cooled down a little, still on the door stoop, he decided he

needed a drink.  Then it dawned on him that he had no money. 

Frustrated, he decided just to walk away and let these women find

themselves another play toy.  He began walking down the driveway.

     He cooled down even more as he was walking, and realized that he

had even left his purse on Gwen's sofa.  He had no money, no

identification, and nowhere to go.  He was stuck in this female body,

dressed like a hooker, and walking in one of the most affluent suburbs

of the city.

     He looked up to see a police car passing slowly on the street.  He

saw the officer looking suspiciously at him.  He turned and walked back

to Gwen's doorstep.  All he needed was to get arrested as a hooker, he

thought.

     He sat on Gwen's door stoop, and his anger changed to despair.  He

realized that he had no hope at all of getting back to his old self

without Gloria's help.  He also realized he'd made Gwen mad, and Gwen

had probably been the most helpful of the women in the group.  She

would probably have Gloria give him the final dose now, he thought. 

Heck, she might even do it herself and be happy taking her revenge. 

With these thoughts, he bowed his head an began sobbing, for the first

time since he'd cried since he had been a little boy.

     He was still crying when the door opened softly.

     Gwen stood at the doorway and said gently, "Come inside Sam."

     Sam followed her, still sniffling.

     "Sit here," she directed, in her no nonsense tone.  "I'll call one

of the others to come get you."

     Sam could see the tracks on her face where she'd been crying

through his own tears.

     "I'm sorry, Gwen," he blubbered through his tears.  "Please, don't

be mad at me.  Can we try again?"

     Gwen looked at him in surprise.  Sam seemed so dejected, sitting

there crying, and so sincere.

     She put her hand on Sam's cheek, gently.

     "Sam," she said softly, "you hurt me terribly.  I should give you

your final dose now, but I can see your really are sorry."

     "Come into the bathroom," she directed, "we both have to repair

our faces."

     They went into the large bathroom, where Gwen took a wash cloth

and washed the tears from Sam's face.  Then, she washed her own face,

and took him by the hand back into the living room.

     As they settled into their previous positions, Gwen said, "I am

disappointed in you Sam.  And I'm still angry and hurt.  I'm too upset

to continue teaching what you need to know, but I'll try."

     "Have you taken your pill today?" Gwen asked.

     Sam looked over at her.  He had not taken one of those birth

control pills.  He had no intention of needing them.

     "No," he admitted.

     "Sam," she said softly, "you must take one of those pills every

morning.  You never know when you will need them, what with rapists

around, or maybe just the right man comes along."

     Sam had never considered the possibility of rape before.  He had

never had to think too seriously about that in the past.  Rape was

something that only happened to women.

     As he was thinking, Gwen had gone into the kitchen, and now

returned with a tumbler full of water.

     "Take your pill now," she said.

     Sam fumbled in his purse, finding the bag from the drug store.  He

opened it, and saw a plastic container with twenty eight pills arranged

in a circle on it.  The pills pushed through the foil backing.  He got

one, and took it with the water Gwen handed him.

     Gwen took the tumbler back to the kitchen while Sam was looking in

fascination at the pill container.

     "If you remember nothing else," Gwen said softly, as she reseated

herself on the chair, "remember that your body wants you to give it a

baby.  You can trick your body with the pills, but it will still try

and get you pregnant."

     "Now," she continued, "we have made a mess out of our time

together this morning, and you have to be at Darlene's in a few

minutes.  We have just about enough time to get there."

     As they got into Gwen's car, Sam said softly, "I really am sorry."

     "I know, dear," Gwen said.  "I won't do anything hasty, but you

better not let this happen again."

     They drove to the dress shop in silence, each deep in her own

thoughts.



                             First Fitting



     When Darlene met them in her shop, Sam noticed that several other

women were present, looking over clothes hanging on racks or bolts of

fabric stacked on tables.  Most of the women were in pants, and they

were mostly young.

     "Gwen, Sam!" Darlene greeted them cheerfully.  "You are right on

time, but I am afraid I am a little behind.  Sarah Brewster added two

more bridesmaids, and I'm still fitting them."

     "That's OK, Darlene," Gwen said, with a small smile on her lips. 

"Do you mind if I use your phone?"

     "No," Darlene answered, "go right ahead.  Use the one in my

office.  You know where it is.  In the meantime, I'll take Sam into the

fitting room.  We'll be in the same one we used the other night."

     "Fine, and thanks," Gwen said, as she went off to Darlene's

office.

     Darlene took Sam into the curtained cubicle where he'd been put

into the strapless dress on Saturday.  Cindy poked her head through the

curtains, greeted Sam, and disappeared again.

     "Ok, Sam," Darlene said, "take your dress off and get up on the

pedestal."

     As Sam was disrobing, Darlene leaned through one of the curtains,

returning with some material on a hanger.  

     "You made quite a hit at The Game Cock," Darlene said cheerily, as

Sam stood on the small platform.

     Sam thought back to Saturday, and had to smile, despite himself.

     "Oh," Darlene said, "I didn't realize you were wearing a bra. 

You'll need to take that off so I can fit you properly."

     Sam took the bra off, throwing it to the couch where he had laid

the dress.  His breasts got chilly as they were exposed to the air, and

his nipples stiffened.

     Darlene laughed a bit, as she began wrapping the fabric on his

body.

     Darlene draped the fabric in various ways, putting pins through

the material every so often.  She was humming to herself as she stood

to examine her work.

     Just then Susan walked into the cubicle.  If looks could kill, Sam

would have been dead.

     "Darlene," she said sweetly, "do you mind?  I need to talk with

Sam for a moment."

     "Certainly," Darlene said, as she tactfully went through the

curtain.

     There was steel in Susan's voice as she began, "How could you?"

     "You hurt Gwen deeply," she continued.  "I have half a mind to

stick this into your fat butt right this minute."  She produced the

hypodermic from her purse.

     "Susan!", Gwen's voice was raised as she stepped into the cubicle.

     "Sam apologized," Gwen said.  "Yes, I am hurt, but I think she was

sincere.  I don't think you need the needle."

     Susan looked at Gwen, fiercely at first, then softening.  She

looked at Sam again.

     "Young lady," she had the steel back in her voice, "you are very,

very lucky to have Gwen here to defend you."  She placed the syringe

back into her purse.

     "If I EVER hear even a hint of that type of thing happening again,

not even Gwen's pleading will save you from the final shot," she

continued.  "Do you understand me?"

     Sam, the cold feeling of dread receding from his stomach, said

contritely, "Yes, ma'am."

     Susan wrapped her arms around Gwen's shoulders as they both walked

out of the cubicle.  Darlene stepped in a moment later, and began

fussing with the dress again.

     A while later, Susan and Gwen returned, both laughing, obviously

in better spirits.  They both took a long look at Sam, still on the

pedestal under Darlene's ministrations.

     Sam wanted to shrink into the background, but he was the center of

attention in the small room.  He surely did not want Susan or Gwen any

angrier than they already had demonstrated.

     "Darlene," Susan said, "that is lovely.  Can you do one like it

for me in that powder blue I like.  I think I want the walking slit in

the back though."

     "Thank you, Susan," Darlene mumbled, her mouth full of pins.  "I

think so.  I have your measurements on file, but we'll still need to do

a final fitting.  How about the same time as you bring Sam back?"

     "Sounds good to me," Susan laughed, "and don't swallow those

pins."

     Gwen considered the dress now draped over Sam's body.  It had

various reddish sequins all over the strapless bodice and midriff,

continuing in a v shaped pattern down his belly.  A pale pink silk

fabric fell to the floor in a straight skirt.  She knew it would have a

high slit in front when it was done.

     "It IS lovely," Gwen said at last.  "but I don't want to have the

same dress as two others.  Maybe if you could do a red one, with

spaghetti straps, and maybe a chiffon overskirt."

     Darlene stopped working on Sam's dress and took the pins out of

her mouth.  She ducked into the other room for a second, and brought

some material back with her.  She wrapped some fine net-like fabric

over Sam's waist, letting it fall to the floor.  The pink of the skirt

fabric showed through it, but it looked somehow more elegant.  

     "I think so," Darlene said, looking at what she had done.  "I

think a few chiffon roses on the overskirt would be nice too."

     "Yes, yes," agreed Gwen eagerly.  "Can you do it?"

     Darlene laughed, "Certainly.  Would you like to come in with these

two for the final fitting?"

     "Sure," Gwen laughed.  "It's only money, after all."

     The three women giggled, as Sam stood uncomfortably in front of

them.

     Darlene began unwrapping Sam's body from the fabric and said, "I

think I've got all I need for today."

     The women again laughed.

     "I should think so," Susan exclaimed.  "You started with one gown. 

Now, you'll be making three."

     Sam was finally unwrapped, and stepped over to the couch to get

dressed.  He picked up the bra.

     "No," Susan ordered.  "Put that in your purse.  You have been a

bad girl, and you'll have to go bra-less for the rest of the day. 

We'll see how you like it when the men in the mall notice your breasts

jiggling."

     Gwen, Susan and Darlene laughed as the mental image painted itself

on their minds.

     Sam, uncomfortable at the prospect of drawing that kind of

attention, reluctantly put the bra into his purse.  Then, he slipped

into the blouse and skirt.  He could feel his breasts exploring their

new found freedom under the blouse, and his nipples hardened with the

fabric brushing over them.

     "Sam and I need to go over to the mall," Susan said as the three

left the dress shop.  "Will you join us, Gwen?"

     "No," Gwen said.  "I better check in with Lois."

     "OK," Susan responded.  "We'll see you later."

     "Come along, Samantha," she continued, her voice hardening to show

that no discussion was in order.

     Sam followed Susan out to the street, walking down the sidewalk to

her car.  Gwen went off in the other direction to hers.

     Sam felt his breasts bouncing under his blouse.  As they passed

several men on the sidewalk, he became quite aware of their stares at

his chest.  He flushed.

     Susan had managed to park about a block from the store, so Sam's

discomfort did not last too long.  They got into the car, and Susan

drove to the mall they had visited Saturday.



                         Getting a Few Things



     Sam dutifully followed Susan into the mall, afraid to do anything

that might anger her.  They walked down the long walkway, finally

arriving at a store with several bridal gowns in the show window. 

"Bridal Glamour," read the large sign over the doorway.

     Sam wondered what they were doing in a bridal shop, but did not

ask.  He was afraid of angering Susan again.

     Susan led him toward the rear of the store, past the racks of

bridal gowns, and bridesmaid's gowns, to the area marked,

"Accessories."

     "I think some full length gloves," she said to the clerk who had

come over to them.  "Do you have them in a pale pink?"

     "Certainly," the salesgirl replied.  "What size?"

     "I don't really know," Susan admitted.  "They are for Samantha

here."

     The clerk took a tape measure, and measured Sam's arms and hands

in several places.  

     "Just a moment," she said.  "I'll get a pair from the back."

     The salesgirl returned with a long, white box, which she was

opening as she walked up to them.  She withdrew a pair of long, pink

gloves, and began unbuttoning the small buttons, which ran from the

wrist to the top.  She took Sam's hand, place it in the glove, and

buttoned it up over his arm.  The glove reached up to the midpoint of

his upper arm.  It also fit like a second skin, very tightly around the

hands, then loosely around the arms so that soft wrinkles showed all

along the arms.

     "I think that's perfect," Susan said, looking critically at the

glove.  "Do you have a pair in blue lace?"

     "I think so," the salesgirl said.  "Dark or light?"

     "Light," Susan replied, "in a 6."

     Susan's gloves fit snugly all the way up the arms.  

     "Perfect," she said.  "We'll take both pairs."

     Susan paid the girl with her card, and led Sam back out into the

mall.

     "Now, we need some jewelry," she mused.

     They walked down the mall to a jeweler's store, Sam self-

consciously aware of the stares his chest was garnering.

     In the jeweler's, Susan began looking into all of the display

windows.  Sam followed suit, having to admit to himself that some of

the items were quite pretty.

     Susan looked somewhat perplexed by the time the salesman came over

to them.  He looked at her as if to ask what she wanted.

     "I was looking for something in rubies," Susan said.

     "I have some nice ones over here," he said, leading her to a

counter next to the wall.

     "Susan!" a loud man's voice proclaimed.  An middle aged, balding

man, who had obvious trouble pushing away from the dinner table, walked

down the aisle behind the display counter.

     "Maurice!" Susan responded in kind, smiling broadly.

     "That's all for now, George," Maurice said to the salesman. 

"Susan is one of our best customers.  I will take care of her myself."

     Sam could barely hear him mutter, "Don't worry, you'll get the

commission."

     "Now, Susan," Maurice beamed at her, "what can I do for you

today."

     "I think rubies," Susan said.  "Um, it will be a formal affair,

and the dress is light pink."

     "I have some lovely things," Maurice said, "but in the back. 

Would you follow me, please?"

     "Certainly, Maurice," she replied, placing her arm on the man's.

     "Come along, Samantha," she said over her shoulder.

     The rear of the jewelry shop was not an open store room, like many

stores had.  There were three comfortable looking chairs placed in

front of a considerably smaller version of the display cases in the

front.  The case was lined with black velvet, and held only three large

gold and diamond pins.  Even to Sam, these pieces were quite beautiful. 

They had obviously found the quality place.

     Maurice seated Susan in one of the chairs, then repeated the

process to seat Sam.

     "Rubies," he murmured, turning to a large vault on one of the

walls, behind the counter.

     He entered the walk-in vault, returning in a minute carrying a

black box.  He placed the box on the counter, and opened some

fastenings.  The sides dropped away, revealing some fine jewelry on a

dark green velvet background.  Several necklaces, bracelets, pins and

pairs of earrings were revealed, with a number of different sized

rubies set in gold.

     Susan leaned forward, picking up some pieces, disregarding others.

     "These are not quite what I had in mind," Susan said.

     The jeweler silently moved the box to one end of the case, and

went back to the vault.  He brought out a second box, which he opened

like the first.  The velvet was black.  There were fewer pieces

revealed, but the stones were larger.

     Susan again began to finger through the merchandise.  She stopped,

holding an earring.  It had a fair sized ruby, surrounded by diamonds,

set on a gold setting, and another, larger, ruby surrounded by diamonds

on a single link below it.  She held it up to Sam's ear.

     Susan looked critically at the earring, turning her head one way,

then the other.

     "You know better than that, Susan," Maurice chided, laughing at

the same time.

     Maurice picked up the matching earring, and came around the

counter.  He took the earring from Susan, and turned his attention to

Sam.  He gently removed Sam's studs.

     "Just been pierced recently," he observed, "but it looks healed

well enough to handle these."

     He put the ruby earrings through the holes in Sam's ears,

fastening them securely at the back of the lobes.  He then went in back

of the counter.

     Susan looked at Sam's ears critically again.  She had him move is

head several times, so she could get a better view.

     Maurice returned to Sam with a mirror, which he held up so that

Sam could see how the earrings looked on his ears.

     "I think they will do nicely," Susan said, finally.

     "Now, we need a necklace," she continued.

     She began sifting through the display items again, as Maurice

removed the earrings from Sam's ears, replacing them with the studs. 

He got a small box from under the counter, and placed the earrings in

it.  Then, he turned his attention back to Susan.

     "Just a moment, Susan," he said, returning to the vault.

     He brought out a box containing only a half dozen items.  One

necklace had a line of rubies, alternating with diamonds down the

center, and a line of diamonds on either side of that, all the way

around the gold setting.  A larger ruby, about the size of the drop

ruby on the earrings, was attached in a pendant to the center of the

necklace.  This ruby, set in gold, was circled by it's own line of

diamonds.

     "It's perfect," Susan cried, as Maurice held the necklace up for

her inspection.

     "Not quite yet," Maurice again chided, as he came behind Sam,

draping the necklace around his neck.

     "Susan," Maurice cautioned, "you know better than to pick fine

jewelry without seeing it where it wants to live."

     "However," he continued, looking at Sam's neck now, "I think you

were correct this time."

     "I love it," Susan cried in joy.  "Now a bracelet."

     Maurice put the necklace aside, and held up a bracelet.  It was

simply a series of rubies, set like the pendant on the necklace,

attached on a gold link chain.  He placed it on Sam's wrist, then,

after a moment's hesitation, put the necklace back on Sam's neck as

well.

     "They were designed as a set," Maurice said.

     Susan was speechless, seeing the jewelry adorning Sam now.

     "We'll take them," she said, offering her card to Maurice.

     "They do look quite stunning," Maurice offered, as he removed the

jewelry from Sam.  

     The jeweler got a black box, lined with red velvet, from beneath

the display case.  He arranged the jewelry inside, and placed it in a

small paper bag.  He took Susan's credit card, and made out the

receipt.

     "Oh," Maurice said, as if he had just recalled something.  "Are

you still in love with that powder blue, Susan?"

     Susan laughed, "Of course, Maurice.  I'm afraid you know me too

well."

     "Well, wait just a moment," he said laughing.

     Maurice gathered up the boxes from the counter, and went into the

vault.  He returned with a small box.  He opened it in front of Susan.

     "These are the finest blue diamonds I have seen in a long time,"

he said to her.  "Try them on."

     Susan unfastened her own earrings, and placed the diamonds in her

ears.  The simple gold setting contained a cluster of the small,

sparkling gems on the earlobe, and a drop pendant of a much larger

stone, also set in gold and surrounded by even more of the smaller

stones.

     Susan sucked in her breath, as she looked into the mirror offered

by Maurice.  Even Sam was impressed.

     "Oh, I just have to have them," she said to the jeweler.

     Maurice placed the earrings into another black box, as Susan

replaced her earrings.

     "There is no one else in this city who could wear those and do the

credit you do them," Maurice said, beaming broadly.  "In fact, I

thought of you when I got them."

     The credit card was produced, and charged, once again.

     Maurice walked with them out into the main store.  He turned to

Susan and asked, "And when am I going to make that special ring for

you, Susan?"

     Susan laughed, "I think you will just have to hold on for a while

yet, Maurice."

     Sam and Susan walked out of the shop, and turned back up the mall. 

As they passed a shoe store, Susan suddenly stopped and led Sam inside.

     The saleslady was on top of them as soon as they walked into the

door.  "Is there anything I can do to help you ladies?" she inquired.

     "Those gold evening shoes in the window," Susan began.  "Do you

have a pair to fit Samantha here?"

     The saleslady walked to the rear of the store, the others

following, until they got to an area with hard plastic chairs set

around it.  She seated the women, and took up a device to measure Sam's

foot.  Satisfied, she went into the back room.

     She returned carrying several shoe boxes.  She took a pair of

shoes from one, and placed it on Sam's foot, then did the same with the

other.

     "Stand up and see how they feel," she said.

     Sam stood, and almost fell over.  The heels were at least four

inches high, and the shoes held on his feet by a single thin strap of a

gold lame material just above his toes and the pressure of his heel on

the gold lame covered back of the shoe.  He recovered his balance, and

took a few awkward steps.

     As he sat down again, he was about to say the heels were too high

for him to manage.

     "They will do just fine," Susan interjected, before Sam could say

anything.

     The saleslady took a pair, in silver this time, from another box,

holding it up for inspection.

     "I think the gold will work better," Susan said definitively.

     The saleslady took the re-boxed shoes to the register, where Susan

paid for them with her credit card.

     The left the store and walked out of the mall through the big

department store on one end.  Aileen's was a short way across the lot,

and Susan began going in that direction.  Sam followed.



                              The Waxing



     Aileen greeted them as they entered the door, with cheerful

greetings and hugs.

     "Is Becky free right now?" Susan inquired.

     "I think so," Aileen replied.  "Let me check."

     She returned a few minutes later with Becky in tow.

     "I think Samantha needs a full waxing," Susan told Becky.

     "Sure, no problem," the cosmetologist said.  "Come on in to the

back room and I'll fix her right up."

     Sam had no idea of what a wax job was, but the gleam in Becky's

eyes gave him a clue that he wasn't particularly going to enjoy it.

     Sam and Susan followed Becky to the back room.

     "Oh," Susan said, when they were alone.  "Samantha has not been a

very good girl today, so you don't need to be as careful as usual."

     Becky laughed as Sam began to turn red.

     "You did say the FULL treatment?" Becky inquired.

     As Susan's nod, Becky turned to Sam, saying, "OK, Samantha.  Take

off all your clothes."

     Sam looked around in fear, but the steely gaze Susan was giving

him made him begin to strip down.  He hesitated at his panties, but

Susan pointed her finger at her purse, and Sam took those off as well.

     Becky positioned Sam on a table in the center of the room.  It was

similar to the one in Lois' office, though probably more suited for

massages.  Sam lay down on his back.  Becky rolled him over.

     Becky took an implement, and began spreading a warm, somewhat

sticky substance all over the back of Sam's legs.  She then appeared to

rub them for a minute, and turned him over onto his back.  She repeated

the process on the front of his legs.  As she did the rubbing, Sam

could see that she was pressing strips of paper into the sticky stuff.

     "OK, spread your legs to the sides of the table," Becky ordered.

     When Sam complied, Becky spread the wax and paper all over his

pubic hair, and down between his legs.  He felt the wax near the

opening to his vagina, but not on the lips.

     "Stretch your arms over your head," Becky ordered.

     Becky put the stuff on his underarms as well.

     Becky rolled him back on his front, and pulled sharply at one of

the strips.

     Sam yelled, feeling the paper, wax and hairs from his legs being

pulled off.

     "Oh, quiet down, crybaby," Susan laughed.

     Becky kept pulling the paper strips off his legs, then rolled him

over, and pulled them off the front side.

     She started to grab one of the strips on his stomach, when Susan

suggested she save that part for last.

     Becky nodded, and went to the underarms instead.  The pain Sam

felt was even greater than on the legs, and he involuntarily yelled as

she pulled the first strip off.

     Susan and Becky just giggled, while Becky kept pulling the strips

off.  Then, she went back to his stomach.

     Sam though he was going to pass out as she pulled the strips from

his pubic area.  He thought he was in an Inquisitor's torture chamber

when Becky removed the strips from the looser skin between his legs.

     It seemed like an eternity, but Becky was finally done.  She began

rubbing some kind of lotion all over the areas she had waxed, and

massaged it into his skin.  At last she stood back by Susan.

     "I enjoyed that," Becky smiled, then she left the room.

     "Get dressed, Samantha," Susan ordered.

     Sam put his clothes back on.  They felt strange going over the

freshly waxed areas.  

     They left the beauty parlor, again to the hugs of Aileen, who gave

Sam a dirty look before hugging him, and walked over to Susan's car.

     Sam knew he that Susan was still angry with him, and tried to

apologize.  Susan was silent all during the drive to the apartment.



                            The Coming Out



     At the apartment, Susan led Sam directly to the bedroom and

ordered him to strip completely.  Sam complied hastily, especially

since she was taking the hypodermic from her purse and returning it to

it's spot on the dressing table.

     Susan went to the closet and returned with the pink print dress

Sam had been looking at that morning.  

     "Put this on," she said.

     Sam started to put his panties back on, but Susan stopped him.

     "Just the dress," she ordered.

     Sam slipped into the dress.  He could see all of the features of

his body clearly outlined under the thin fabric.  

     Susan got the shoes they had purchased earlier out of their box,

and gave them to him to put on.  Then, she led him into the living

room, carrying his purse with her.

     She had him sit on the sofa, saying, "Sit there."

     Susan went into the kitchen, and some telephone calls.  Sam

couldn't hear what she was saying.

     "Get your purse, and come along," Susan directed, leading Sam down

to the lobby of the building.

     "Sit here," she directed, pointing to a hard chair.

     Susan paced, looking out the glass doors every few minutes.  At

last she apparently saw what she was waiting for, and motioned Sam to

come to her.

     They walked out of the building, and Sam was surprised to see a

city cab in front of the door.  

     As Sam got into the rear seat of the cab, Susan leaned over to the

driver and said something in a low voice.  She handed him some money,

then turned and went back to her apartment.

     The driver said nothing.  It would have been difficult for him to

carry on a conversation through the glass partition between the seats,

but cabbies have a way of circumventing that problem.

     Sam recognized the route they were following downtown, and off

towards one of the less respectable areas of the city.

     They pulled into the parking lot of the Booby Trap, and Sam's

heart sank.  He'd been uncomfortable enough in this bar last night with

Tom, and he was acutely aware that he had nothing on under his dress.  

     The cabby pulled right up to the front door, and opened the rear

door for Sam.  He walked over to the doorman, who went inside to get

someone else.  The doorman returned in a few moments with the manager.

     The cabby and manager had a few words.  Then, the cabby pointed to

Sam with a flick of his hand.  He got back into the cab and drove off.

     The manager came over to Sam, his gaze quite obviously on more

than Sam's face.

     "You must be Samantha," he said.  "Susan called about you, and we

were waiting for you."

     The man took Sam by the arm, leading him into the bar, and to one

of the tables in the lighted area.  Sam was well aware of the leers he

was getting from the men already there, and began to flush.

     "We will be ready for you in a bit," the manager said, beckoning

for a waitress.  "In the meantime, have a drink."

     The manager walked away as the waitress brought one of those red

"ladies drinks" over for Sam.

     A couple of women were dancing on the stage, and Sam looked at

them for a while.  Somehow, the dancing did not seem to be as

stimulating as before his transformation.  He found himself mentally

comparing his breasts to the dancers'.

     He was watching the dancers when some guy slipped into a chair at

the table.  Sam didn't know him.

     "Hi, there, pretty lady," the guy began.  "I'm George, and you

look lonely."

     Sam was familiar with the introduction.  He's used it himself on

many occasions.  He kept watching the dancers, though he had no real

interest in their routine, and ignored the newcomer.  He knew from

experience that many women did this to discourage men.

     The guy sat for a while, then left, disappointed.

     Sam was relieved, and turned back to the table.

     As Sam looked around the bar, he noticed a number of eyes meeting

his.  Actually, looking closer, he noticed the eyes looking at his

chest.  He reddened.

     A short time later, Greg stumbled over to the table.  As last

night, Greg had obviously been partying for some time already.  He

pulled a chair right up next to Sam.

     "Well, hello again, sweetie," he slurred.  "I see you are back

again."

     "Glad you dumped that guy Tom," he continued slurring.  "Maybe you

would like a real man for a change."

     As Greg was talking, Sam felt his hand come to rest on his knee.

     Sam was also familiar with this line.  He would have laughed at

the "real man" part, but he was too scared.  He tried to ignore Greg.

     Greg didn't discourage that easily.

     "How about you and me getting out of here," he said, "and going

somewhere more private.

     Greg's hand was now sliding up Sam's leg, toward the groin.  Sam

switched his crossed legs, but Greg's hand just continued on the new

leg as he'd been doing on the other.

     Sam was trying to figure out how to discourage Greg, and

particularly to get the hand off his leg before Greg got somewhere

sensitive.

     Greg kept right on talking, and feeling Sam's leg.

     In spite of himself, and his dislike for the situation he now

found himself encountering, Sam felt his nipples stiffen.  He felt them

pushing at the thin fabric of the dress.

     Greg moved his hand off Sam's leg, but continued talking.  He

pulled the hand up, and touched Sam's breast with the back of the hand,

seemingly by accident.

     Sam knew it was no accident.  He had done it before, though not

for quite some time.  He was disgusted, but his nipples got harder,

betraying his conscious mind.

     Greg picked up his beer, and began gesturing wildly.  Suddenly, he

lost control, and the liquid splashed all over the front of Sam's

dress.

     Sam drew his breath in quickly, as the cold beer contacted his

skin.  He automatically started brushing the excess liquid off his

front, when he noticed that Greg was now openly staring at his bust.

     Sam glanced down, shocked to find that the thin fabric had not

only welded itself to his breasts, but had turned transparent as well. 

He turned a deep red, seeing his breasts with the tell tale hardened

nipples standing out so plainly.

     Sam was in panic, but he did not know what to do about it.  He did

not even know where the ladies room was in this place.  Even with all

the time he'd spent here as a man, he did not recall ever having seen

the ladies room.

     Sam felt a soft hand on his arm, as a waitress pulled gently.  He

got up, and followed her.  She led him through the stage door, and the

ladies room, immediately behind it.

     Sam smiled his thanks to the waitress, who was now disappearing

back into the bar.

     Sam went into the ladies room, and was shocked.  The ones he had

been in with the women of the group were clean, fairly airy places. 

This one was tiny, and dingy.  There was one stall, and a mirror over a

sink about three feet in front of him.  A paper towel dispenser hung on

the wall, and the walls were covered with graffiti.  In fact, the only

way he could even tell it was for women was by the coin operated Kotex

machine hanging on the back of the door.

     Sam grabbed a hand full of paper towels, and tried to dry himself

off.  He got a lot of wet towels, but the dress was still plastered to

his body, so he went into the stall and just sat on the seat.  Maybe it

would dry off quickly.

     He was sitting there as someone entered the rest room.  He heard

the clicking of high heels, much like his own shoes, walking across the

small room, and trying the stall door.  He knew he would have to come

out, dry or not, and let the woman inside.  He was recalling the

urgency of when his own bladder filled.

     He got up, and opened the door.  The woman, dressed in a strapless

evening dress, looked at him in astonishment as she quickly moved

behind him and into the stall.  He heard her giggles as she began to do

her business.  

     Sam stood in the small area, waiting for the woman to finish.  He

fully intended to hide in the stall when she was finished.  Just then,

another woman came into the room, again staring at Sam's wet dress.

     Sam knew that his hiding place was out of the question now, but

going back into the bar was also not an option.  He pretended to fix

his face as the women exchanged occupancy of the stall and the first

one left.  He recognized many of the women who kept trickling in as

strippers.

     He walked out of the rest room, finally deciding he would get no

privacy in that place.  He just stood by the door, not daring to go

into the bar again, and not wanting to explore the unknown realm of the

backstage area, especially in his exposed condition.

     He stood there for a long time, and felt the fabric of the dress

release his breasts.  He put his hands to the dress, and found it was

still damp and clammy, but had regained some of the minimal cover it

was supposed to give.  At least his whole bust line was not fully

exposed now.  Steeling himself, he went back into the bar.

     As soon as he walked into the darker area, the manager came up to

him. 

     "Oh, there you are," he said lightly.  "I thought you had gotten

lost."

     Sam did his best to smile at the man.

     The manager, took his hand, and led Sam back through the back

stage door.  They continued past the ladies room.

     An older woman was seated at a small table inside the back door.

     "ID," she demanded curtly.

     Sam fumbled through is shoulder purse, finally pulling out the

laminated card.

     The woman looked at the card, and grunted, "OK."

     "You can put your purse in the bins over there dearie," she

continued, and wait in the room as the top of the steps.

     She had a feeling of not wanting to take any nonsense, so Sam did

as he was directed.

     The manager led him up a flight of two or three steps, and into a

room filled with mirrors.  It was brightly lighted, and Sam saw a half

dozen women here, either fixing or applying makeup.  The manager sat

Sam on one of the chairs in front of the makeup tables.

     "Wait here," he said.

     A few minutes later, a woman came in carrying a tray full of

cosmetics, brushes, and other things Sam was not familiar with.  She

stopped right in front of Sam, placing the tray on the counter.

     "Just sit still," the woman counselled.

     She began putting makeup all over Sam's face.  Then, she worked on

his hair for a while.  Finally, she got up to leave.

     Sam looked in the mirror.  The face looking back at him was

definitely female, but the makeup sharply defined various areas of the

face.  The lips were a much darker red now, and the cheeks.  His eyes

were now outlined in black, and had blue all over the lids.  Even the

skin tone was different, not unnatural, but contrasting starkly with

the made up areas.  He did not like the look.

     He looked around the dressing room, and noticed the other women

were made up very similar to himself.  It did not console him, since he

recognized two of them as strippers he had known previously.

     A different woman came into the room.  She looked around, then at

Sam.

     "Samantha?" she queried.

     "Yes," Sam replied automatically.

     "Come with me."

     Sam followed the woman into another small room.  This one was not

filled with mirrors, though it did have a full length one on the wall. 

It held two vinyl covered couches.  The woman led Sam to one of them,

and had him sit down.

     "Just wait here," she said, smiling.

     "Someone will be along when we're ready."

     With that the woman left Sam alone in the room.

     Sam sat by himself for a few minutes before another woman came

into the room.  The other woman sat on the other couch, and picked up a

much used magazine she found on the seat.  It was one of those men's

magazines that Sam had liked so much.  The woman was looking at it in a

bored fashion.  She dropped it back on the seat a few minutes later.

     "First time?" the woman asked.

     Sam felt a sinking sensation.  He now knew what all this

preparation had been about.  Susan, in her anger, had arranged for Sam

to do a striptease here, in front of all the men in the bar, many of

whom Sam knew from earlier.

     He tried to compose himself, and choked, "Yes, it is."

     The woman looked at him, with some degree of amusement in her

eyes.  

     "Don't worry, honey," she said.  "It isn't all that hard."

     A man stood in the doorway, pointing at the woman.  

     "Your turn, Lily," he said, and the woman followed him.

     A few minutes later, the bar manager came into the room.  He

joined Sam on the couch.

     "OK, " he began.  "The rules are simple.  Go on out on the walkway

and begin dancing.  Make sure you keep going toward the far end, so you

cover the whole walkway.  As you are dancing, strip down.  Make sure

your clothes fall on the floor of the stage.  If you don't watch them,

some of the customers might not give them back."

     The manager smiled, and continued, "After you are unclothed,

finish dancing to the song, and dance through the next one.  Then,

collect your clothes and come backstage."

     " Any questions?"

     Sam was in shock.  He was too stunned to ask any questions at any

rate.

     As the music began again, the manager said, "You're on."

     Sam numbly followed the manager until they were standing behind

some heavy curtains.

     In a distance, Sam heard the bar announcer saying something about

a special treat.  A new girl was going to entertain them, and they

should pay attention, and be appreciative.

     The manager held the curtain back and gently pushed Sam onto the

walkway stage.  It was impossible to see the audience from under the

spotlights illuminating the stage, but the loud whistles and cat calls

left no doubt that the audience was out there.

     Still numb, Sam stood for a moment, then let his body begin moving

to the pulsing beat of the music.  

     Already on stage, he couldn't figure out how to get out of this

mess.  Sam began fumbling with the buttons on the front of his dress.

     Sam slid the dress off his shoulders and let it lay in a heap on

the floor.  

     He continued moving through the hypnotic beat of the music.  He

still was not fully aware of his surroundings.  In fact, he missed the

slight pause as one song changed to another.  All he could recognize

was the pulsing beat.

     In his daze, and still moving to the music, Sam stepped out of the

heaped dress, and around the stage.  The music seemed to drive him.

     At long last, the spotlights dimmed, and he ran to pick up his

clothes and go back stage.  

     Hhe could now see some of the nearer faces in the crowd.  

     Greg was seated in on of the chairs right next to the stage. 

Actually, he was half standing and whistling at Sam.

     He got another shock when he recognized Tom, Susan, Jane, Lois,

Gwen and Carol, all seated in seats next to the stage.

     Somehow, he managed to get his dress picked up, and get backstage.

     He was still in a daze when the lights came back up, and the bar

announcer began talking.  He heard the sounds, but the words were not

making any sense.  He heard a drum roll, and some loud whistling and

cheering.  He felt a hand grab his dress and some fingers on his back,

propelling him through the curtains.  

     The push caused him to stumble a bit, and take several steps to

try and regain his balance.  He found himself about halfway down the

runway.  The thunderous applause, cat calls, and whistles did not

register to him.

     Once again, the hypnotic beat of the music propelled him around

the walkway.  At last the lights dimmed, and he managed to get off the

stage.  He was led back to the small room where he had waited on the

couch, and the manager indicated that he should get dressed.

     When he was dressed, they went down the stairs, and out the stage

door.  The manager hugged him, and kissed him wetly as he walked out.

     "You are welcome to dance here any time," the manager whispered.  

     From the bright lights in the backstage, even the lighted area of

the bar was too dark to see.  He felt a waitress take his arm and lead

him to a table.

     Greg was at another table now, holding Renee, the one who had

danced on Tom's table the other night, in his lap.  He pointed to Sam,

gave a thumbs up gesture, and went back to paying attention to her. 

The group he'd seen from the stage were sitting at this table.

     Sam turned a very bright red as he recognized them, and realized

that they, as well as all the other patrons of the bar had seen him

stripping in public.

     They all laughed at his sudden modesty attack.  Tom put his hand

over Sam's and patted it gently, as if to say that everything would be

fine.

     In a few minutes, the group left the bar.  Sam, on Tom's arm now,

heard the whistles and cat calls as he was leaving the bar.  He was not

sure whether they were directed at him or the dancers, but flushed more

deeply as he suspected the answer.

     Everyone piled into Tom's car, and they drove off to the suburbs,

giggling and laughing.  They pulled up in front of a big house Sam had

not seen before.  He could tell it was big, but it was too dark to make

out any details.

     Tom unlocked the door and led the party into a large living room. 

The women seated themselves, pointedly leaving a love seat open for Sam

to sit on.  

     As they got situated, Tom was laughing, "Sam, you have a nice

body, but I don't think you'll ever make a living as a stripper!"

     Sam turned even redder as the whole group laughed.

     Tom and Susan went to the kitchen to make coffee, and the mood

subsided.  

     Gwen came over to Sam, and kissed him.

     "It's OK, Sam, dear," she whispered.  "I forgive you."

     "But I think you need a bath," she continued.  "You smell like a

brewery."

     Just then Tom and Susan returned with the coffee.

     "I think you may have learned your lesson, Sam," Susan laughed.

     The whole group laughed, as the tensions and anger of the day

seemed to melt away.

     Tom sat down next to Sam, and put his arm over his shoulders.  He

squeezed tightly, then raised his coffee cup.

     "To the cutest stripper at the Booby Trap," he toasted.

     The others lifted their cups in response to the toast.

     Sam turned a deep red.

     The women began talking amongst themselves, and Tom leaned over to

whisper in Sam's ear, "They are having a dance at the Country Club on

Saturday.  Would you like to come with me?"

     Sam was shocked again, but whispered, "I would love to, but," and

his voice trailed off.

     "No problem," Tom assured him.  "The others agreed that you could

come with me already."  He squeezed Sam's shoulders tighter.

     After coffee, everyone went back to Susan's apartment.  They all

sat, as Sam was told to make coffee.  As he served it, Susan told him

to go to his room.

     Sam heard the door lock behind him.  He just lay on the bed,

listening to the voices in the other room for a while, unable to make

out what they were saying.  Then he drifted off to sleep.  They had

never returned to call him back.







            ((c. 1990, W. Eastburn.  All rights reserved.))



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