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Little Sissy Tippytoes

"Queen Mary, she's my friend;
Yes, I believe I'll go see her again."
Bob Dylan
"Just Like A Woman"



As is true of young soldiers everywhere, I hung out with a bunch of
guys from my platoon, since those were the people I spent most of my time
with, and felt closest to, aside from my folks back home. It seemed
that the goal in life of all the guys in my barracks - again, like
most soldiers everywhere - was to earn weekend passes, so we could
go off-base and let what little hair we possessed down. In our case,
we liked to go into DC, to drink in all the bars where young secretaries
or college girls congregated. Of course, we never wore our uniforms;
but, even in those short-hair days, I'm sure our haircuts identified
us as GI's. It didn't matter. We were for the most part too shy and
too awkward to hit on most of the girls we met, anyway; but, we liked
being around them, so we continued to go to the clubs where they hung out.

One night, however, one of the guys said he had an interesting
place he wanted to show us. So, about five of us piled into his car
(some of us lowly GI's actually did own cars!) and, with a couple
of six-packs, picked up at an off-base package store, safely stowed on
the floor in the back seat, we set off for this mysterious place our
barrack-mate had planned for us to visit.

It turned out to be a club, located at 14th and Irving Sts. in
Northwest DC, called "Bob-In." I remember thinking at the time that
it should have been called "Bob's Inn," or something like that. But,
I don't recall seeing any burned out tubes on the neon lights over
the front door of the place; and, I definitely recall the name "Bob-In."
Perhaps it was more years ago than my memory can accurately handle.

Anyway, after we parked the car, the five of us sauntered
into the club, and found a table near the bar. Once our eyes had
adjusted to the dim lighting, we began to notice something odd. There
seemed to be only guys in the place. Somewhat puzzled, we asked our
buddy, the one who'd brought us there, what the hell was going on.
"Can't you figure it out?" he asked. Slowly, depending on the extent of
our own individual naivete, the lightbulbs began to click on in our
brains. This was what, in those days before "gay" meant something other
than "jolly" or "merry," was known as a "queer" bar.

Well, we were all pretty steamed. "Hey, what's the deal?" we all
protested. "We ain't interested in this shit! Let's go over to
"Maggie's" at Tenley Circle and check out the chicks!"

But, our host merely put his index finger across his lips and
said, "Sshh. You ain't seen the good part, yet."

Sure enough, about a half-hour later, as we were just getting
started on our second pitcher of draft, the door opened and in walked
these two "ladies." Even rubes off the farm like us, even rubes
off the farm who were working on a Friday night drunk, could tell
that these two "ladies" were not female. No way. Our eyes were
bulging so far out of their sockets, they looked like saucers. The two
drag queens swished by us without a word, without even a glance, as
I recall, and our disbelieving eyes followed their sashay until the
guy who'd brought us said, in a stage-whisper, "Quit staring, you
guys! Somebody might take offense!"

A little chagrined, we returned to our pitcher. But, for the next
hour or so, until we'd finished the beer, we stole sidelong glances
at these two alien - to us, anyway - creatures, unable to believe such
people existed.

It was such an unnerving experience, we all decided to visit the
"Bob-In" the following Friday night, to confirm that what we had seen
the previous Friday actually had occurred. Sure enough, these same
two drag queens appeared in the entrance, and slowly paraded the
length of the bar, swishing and sashaying, and looking over the
clientele as though they were queens inspecting their royal guard,
or, more likely, the local peasantry. And again, we were rendered
speechless, completely amazed by their self-confident, assertive
brashness.

This night, we had finished two pitchers before the two queens
put in their appearance. Shortly after they had arrived and performed
their promenade from the entrance to the back of the room, and we had
all stared in wonder and disbelief, just as we had the week before,
I realized I had to relieve myself. So, I got up and headed for the
restroom. When I opened the door, I was shocked to discover one of
the drag queens was in there, bent over the sink, fixing - his? her? -
her makeup. She was a short, thin Negro with beautifully clear chocolate
skin, and heavily processed hair, either that, or a carefully styled,
high-quality wig. I'm not certain breast augmentation surgery was being
performed routinely yet for men who desired to become women. Sex
reassignment surgery was not even a topic in the news at that time. But,
I remember this person had what appeared to be breasts, and they were
perfectly proportioned to her body. Except for the baritone voice
and the exaggerated mannerisms, she might have been able to pass as
a woman in any environment. As I stood there, doorknob in hand, staring
at her, my mouth wide open, my jaw dropped down to my chest, I
realized that, by any measure of the word, she was gorgeous. She
simply looked at me in the mirror; then, smiling this spectacular smile,
turned her head and said, in a husky voice, "Just give me a couple
of minutes, Sugar. I got me a date, and I gotta look good, baby."

With that, she went back to work on her face. My mouth sort
of flapped up and down, but no sound came out. I just backed out the
door, and waited outside, hands trembling, face bathed in a cold sweat.
Finally, she emerged from the toilet, gave me a wink and a smile,
and swished off to join her "date." The encounter probably lasted
no longer than 30 seconds. I proceeded to do my business and return
to my table, where I begged the guys to pack up and leave.

We never returned to "Bob-In," or at least I never did, anyway.
I was thoroughly shaken by the brief scene which had occurred in
the men's room with what, in retrospect, I realize now was a lovely,
well-turned-out drag queen. I'm not sure if she was a prostitute
and the "date" was actually a customer, or if she actually had
a male lover. Whichever it was, this person was excited and hopeful,
like anyone getting ready for a date would be.

For a long time I buried my memory of that experience until, at a point
several years later, I found myself in a relationship that was rapidly,
disastrously, dissolving. I had learned she was carrying on an affair
behind my back, and this knowledge made it nearly impossible for me
to become sexually aroused by her. I was just too angry to maintain
any interest in her. I contented myself, as many sexually frustrated,
celibate-against-their-wishes-men do; I masturbated. But I noticed
that my masturbation fantasies were beginning to take a strange turn.
I would envision myself dressed as a woman, being undressed by a handsome,
well-endowed man (me) and, stripped to just my garterbelt and stockings,
being ravished until I would at last erupt in a truly mind-blowing
orgasm. One afternoon, as I was experiencing this fantasy for the
umpteenth time, I was shocked to discover the female me no longer looked
like me, but had suddenly become the drag queen I had encountered so
long ago at "Bob-In." Needless to say, I was quite upset by this whole
weird scene.

But the fantasy persisted. I began picturing myself in stockings and
garterbelt until, no longer able to resist the pull of the forbidden,
I visited a Frederick's Of Hollywood at a nearby mall, and purchased
these items, along with a battery-operated, penis-shaped vibrator.
I took my purchases home, went into my bedroom, and stripped naked.
I put on the garterbelt; the feel of the garter straps against my
naked thighs produced an instant erection. I was sweating, nervous and
apprehensive about what I was doing. But, I persisted. With shaking
hands, I pulled the stockings up my legs, discovering the unbelievably
sensual feel of the shimmery nylon against them. I was nearly crying,
I was so aroused. I lay on the bed and took the vibrator in my hand.
I smeared some Vaseline jelly over it, and then, raising my nylon-clad
legs off the bed, and spreading and bending them, I proceeded to
introduce the vibrator to my ass.

Never, ever had I done anything like this before in my life. I was
so nervous I was shivering. My body was covered with goosebumps. Slowly,
with lip-quivering anxiety, I pushed the vibrator into my rectum. It
hurt like hell, and I immediately lost my erection. But, I persisted,
and finally it was seated all the way. I flipped the switch at its
base, and instantly, it began to hum and vibrate inside me, tickling
my prostate. My erection began to return, and I aided it along with
excited manipulations. Finally, openly sobbing by now in the realization
that I was a "queer," and my soul was lost forever, I came. Huge spurts
of hot, milk-white sperm splattered over my chest. I thought it would
go on forever. But, it finally ended, and I turned off the vibrator,
and pulled it ever so slowly out of my ass. I lay there on the bed
totally spent, scooping my cum onto my finger and then licking it off.
It tasted salty. I wanted to vomit. Instead, I began to weep and I lay
there sobbing until at long last I cried myself to sleep.

Was I "queer?" If I was, I didn't want to know it. I avoided any and
all sexual stimuli for the next several weeks. But there was no avoiding
the power of my u*********s. Night after night the image of that
drag queen in the bathroom at "Bob-In" haunted my dreams, until, once
again unable to resist its lure, I succumbed to temptation and had
another "session" in my bedroom.

After that, I decided to explore the possibility that I myself might
have transvestite tendencies. I began wearing panties and pantyhose
under my trousers. I even wore them to work. Finally, I got up the
nerve to try dressing up all the way. I went to a local store where I
purchased a dress, a "gift for the wife," as I told the clerk. I hoped
the size was right. I would be too embarrassed to return it if it
weren't. I also purchased a pair of high-heels, and a slip. Then,
stopping at a d**gstore on the way home from the mall, I bought some
lipstick and rouge.

I got all my purchases home, and, trembling all over in nervous
anticipation, went into the bathroom to shower and prepare myself for
my "coming out." I even shaved my legs, for the first time ever.
I then went into my bedroom and put on my panties, garterbelt and
stockings. These were familiar friends by now, and I felt comforted
by their touch against my naked skin. The stockings especially felt
wonderful against my shaved legs - what a difference removing my
leg hair made!

Then, I carefully put on the slip and the dress (it fit!), and stepped
into the shoes (they fit, too! Good guess!). I went back into the bathroom
where I carefully applied a little rouge and lipstick. Then, I walked
into the living room, trying to sway my hips the way women do. I walked
around awhile, then tried sitting down and crossing my legs, the feel
of the skirt against my nylon-encased legs definitely interesting.
Then, I walked down the hall and into my bedroom where I stopped before
the full-length mirror attached to my closet door. I took one look at
myself in the mirror, and burst out laughing. Boy, did I look ridiculous!
I felt stupid and silly. Quickly, I tore off the dress and slip and
shoes, tossed them in a garbage bag, and, after removing my makeup and
putting on my regular clothes, took the bag out to the dumpster where I
threw it away without a second thought.

I eventually got rid of the garterbelt, stockings and panties, too.
But I never got rid of the haunting image of that captivating
drag queen I had encountered so long ago. Once in a while, just for
fun, I'll conjure up her image and treat myself to a great
self-administered orgasm.

But, I don't wear ladies' undies anymore. Perhaps I've just grown
too old and tired for that kind of forbidden excitement. I know I would
be greatly embarrassed if my wife ever caught me playing such games.

I'll never forget those incredible orgasms I would have in my bedroom,
my vibrator humming gaily away in my asshole. And I'll always remember
that little queen with the great big smile I met so many years ago.

Long may her flag wave.

LST

* * * * *

I'm sitting here talking to the attorney they've assigned to me,
trying to make him understand all that has happened to me in the past
six months. But it's hard, because I'm not even sure I understand it
very well, myself.

I know how it started, though. God, what a nightmare that was. I
had met Sandy at a downtown bar called Vinnie's. A bunch of us guys
had signed out to go off-base after dinner. One of my barracks mates,
Chuck Simmons, owned a beat up old '61 Fairlane, and he had said
he was going into DC because, "Tonight's the night I'm gonna dip the
wick! Payday's gonna bring the payoff! Yessirree!"

So four of us piled into Chuck's car and headed off down Arlington
Boulevard into the city, making a little detour at a 7-11 to pick up
a couple of six-packs to make the ride a little more enjoyable.
Before long we were crossing Key Bridge and heading into Georgetown.
But that wasn't our destination. That was where all the rich college
k**s hung out, and we were just a bunch of young GIs, too poor and
too low-class to try mixing with them. No, we were headed downtown
to 14th St., where all the working class k**s went to dance the
twist at Benny's Rebel Room, or drink endless pitchers of beer while
enjoying a pizza at Vinnie's.

That's what we did that night, went to Vinnie's. The line was too
long trying to get into Benny's, and we wanted to find some girls
fast. DC had a midnight curfew on alcohol and we didn't want to waste
one single minute standing in a line outside a bar that was actually
more expensive to drink at than the Georgetown hangouts we had passed
by.

So there we were in Vinnie's, sucking down the pizza, waving our
schooners and singing "Volare" at the top of our voices, when in walked
Sandy with three other girls. You know that scene in "West Side Story"
where Tony and Maria meet for the first time at the dance at the
settlement house? And everything but them is sort of blurred into a
hazy shadow? Well, that's what it was like for me when I first laid
eyes on Sandy. It was like the whole world disappeared and there was
nothing else and no one else but her.

One of the guys stood up and, bold from the beer, invited the girls
over to join us. For one heartstopping moment, I thought they were
going to put their noses in the air, turn around, and walk right back
out the door. But, miracle of miracles! They came right over and stood
waiting while we scurried about locating empty chairs to set around the
table for them. And then, oh, sing my heart! Sandy took the chair next
to me! I was so nervous I nearly dropped my pizza and spilled my beer.
But I managed to pretend an outward calm, and introduced myself, even
remembering to wipe my pizza-sauce smeared hand clean before taking
hers in one of those nerve-wracking handshakes where you don't want
to squeeze too hard for fear of making her think you're a brute, but
you don't want it to be too soggy, either, or she'll think you're a wimp.
So, you just sort of shake her hand up and down, and hope for the best.

Evidently, my best was pretty good, because before you could snap
your finger, we were having a great conversation, with lots of laughter,
and I found out she wasn't dating (how could such a beauty not be
taken?), and she was a secretary in a Government agency, and she had
been recruited while she was in high school in Johnstown, PA. The whole
time we sat there, I pretended to be just as cool as could be, but I can
remember my feet wouldn't stay still, and sort of danced up and down the
entire evening. Sandy discovered that I didn't have wheels, which was a
big handicap for me, since that meant either I would have to arrange a
double date, or we would have to take a bus (what a damper that idea
was!) if we were going to see one another. But, then I found out one
of her roommates had a car, and didn't mind loaning it to Sandy once
in a while. Terrific!

So we were able to begin a relationship. She didn't mind at all that
I was a broke and lonesome GI soldier-boy from Kansas. That surprised
me, actually, because I figured girls who came to DC to work were
looking for husbands who had the potential of being bigshot government
officials somewhere down the line. Her response, after she got over
laughing, was, "Hey! I'm only eighteen years old! I want to have some
good times before I start planning the rest of my life!" She was truly
the answer to my dreams.

And we did have some great times. We would visit museums, which were
free. We would go to the movies, which were inexpensive. We would buy
dinner at a hotdog stand. Ours was a very affordable romance. But,
there was a dark cloud in the middle of it all, and it loomed ever
larger the deeper our relationship became. The cloud, of course, was
sex. I wanted it. She would tolerate a semblance of it. I wanted to
go all the way. She wasn't even willing to take the first step.

We would sit in movie theaters, my arm d****d over the back of her
seat until it began to get tingly and numb. At a strategic moment in
the movie, usually when she was engrossed with the action on the screen,
my hand would snake down over her shoulder and come to rest on her
breast. Ever so gently, she would place her hand over mine, then
nudge it away from her breast. I would sit there, saying nothing, tears
of frustration forming in my eyes. When we would sit in her roommate's
car, parked at the curb outside her apartment building, I would try
unbuttoning a couple buttons of her blouse. If I couldn't feel her
breasts, hopefully I might at least get a glimpse of her cleavage.
No soap. She would squirm, mutter "No," and push me away while she
buttoned herself back up.

My campaign of attack at the other end was just as fruitless. Once,
I actually was able to slide my hand all the way up her skirt to the
top of her stockings. We were kissing, and my tongue was in her mouth.
She bit down so hard on it, I thought she was going to draw blood.
I was gasping and moaning, but she wouldn't let go. Finally, I got the
point, and pulled my hand out from under her skirt. As soon as my
hand hit the cool air, she let go of my tongue. I could barely speak,
and couldn't taste anything the rest of the weekend.

Needless to say, I was totally frustrated. And blue. I was getting
nowhere, and my horniness was beginning to affect me. I even started
whacking off in the shower, a dangerous thing to do, as the other
guys would laugh at me if they caught me. I almost didn't care, to
tell the truth.

Finally, I guess I'd had enough. I began inventing excuses for not
going into town on weekend pass. And I found ways to avoid returning
Sandy's calls. I didn't have the courage to confront her with my
frustrations; I reasoned she probably already knew, and didn't care.
Eventually, I started hanging out at the on-base beer hall, a sort
of dive for the social misfits who had nothing better to do. I would
drink myself into a near-stupor, then stagger back to the barracks,
where I would collapse into my bunk and sleep until reveille formation
the next morning. I would stand in the formation, barely aware of what
was going on, hoping someone would simply guide me to the latrine
so I could stick my head under the faucet and wash the cobwebs out of
my brain in time to make it to breakfast.

* * * * *

One evening, just after the day's training had finished and Retreat
had been sounded, bringing to a close the business of the day, Chuck
and another friend, Alvin (Big Al), stopped me on the way back to
the barracks. They fell in, one guy on either side of me, and Chuck
threw his arm around my neck. "Hey, podner," he exclaimed, "Long time,
no see. Where you been keepin' yourself?"

"Oh, around," I mumbled.

"You and Sandy quits?" he asked.

"Yeh, I guess so," I said. "I just get too frustrated when I'm with
her. Y'know?"

"Man, I know just how you feel. I had the same experience with her
roommate, Betty."

"The one with the huge bazooms?"

Big Al laughed.

Chuck said, in a low, confidential tone, "Lemme ask ya something,
Stevie. What the hell is the point of having big tits if you ain't ever
gonna let anybody touch 'em, or even look at 'em?"

Big Al continued laughing.

My face took on a pained expression. Chuck looked at me sympathetically.
"I see you know what I mean, little fella," he said. "You've been put
through the same wringer, huh?"

I looked at the ground. "It got so bad I just couldn't go back there
anymore. I was afraid I was going to end up doing something stupid,
like r****g her or something."

He patted my shoulder, and we walked some more in silence. Then, all
of a sudden, he poked me in the ribs with his other hand. "Hey!" he
shouted. "You ever had your cock sucked before?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked at him as though I were looking
at a Martian. "Whaaat?"

Big Al laughed again. Chuck leaned over until his mouth was almost
wrapped around my ear. Very softly, he said, "You heard me, short buddy.
Have you ever had your cock sucked?"

"No, I can't say I have. So what?" I retorted.

"Me and Big Al here know a place where you can get it done. And I mean
by a real pro."

I was curious, but I didn't want to betray myself, so I acted sort of
detached and cool. "Oh, yeh? Like I said, so what?"

He stared right into my eyes. "Whaddya mean, so what? C'mon. Ain't
you even a little bit curious to find out more?"

"Listen," I said, "I can't even get Sandy to let me play with her tits,
let alone have her do something like that. So, the answer to your question
is, 'No, I've never had my cock sucked.' OK? And I'm not too curious to
find out more, either."

Liar.

Chuck took a step back. He nudged Al, and said, "Listen to this, Big
Al. There's a guy here among us who ain't interested in bein' an
All-American one-hunnerd-percent male. You ever hear of any guy who didn't
want a blowjob?"

Al laughed again. "Even queers want blowjobs, man," he said.

I had to laugh at this comment, stupid as it was. "Ok, ok," I said.
"So where are these babes, and how much do they charge?"

Chuck threw his arms out wide. "That's the beauty of it, little guy.
The chicks I'm talkin' about practically give it away. I'm tellin' ya.
You gotta see it to believe it."

Al said, "Yeh, we're gonna go meet 'em after dinner. Wanna come along?"

My big prospect for the evening was a movie and another sloshing drunk
at the beer hall. "Ok, what the hell," I said. "I'll go with you."

Both men slapped me on the back, and we continued on to the mess hall,
where we ate dinner with a hundred and fifty of our most intimate friends,
then went back to the barracks to shower and change into civvies for our
big night on the town.

Once again, there we were in Chuck's car, tooling down Arlington
Boulevard, two sixpacks on the rear seat under my tender loving care,
heading for the bright lights of downtown Washington. We took the
Whitehurst Freeway past Georgetown, then headed down K Street for 14th
Street. Only, when we got to 14th Street, instead of parking at the
downtown clubs, Chuck turned left and headed uptown. We drove several
blocks until we had left the downtown part of 14th Street behind us. Now,
we were entering that part of 14th Street that divided black and white
DC. On one side were neighborhoods that were primarily Negro, filled with
rowhouses converted into apartments, and small businesses, and liquor
stores and nightclubs. On the other side were primarily white-owned
apartment buildings whose occupants pointed their interests in the
direction of upscale 16th Street, lined by single-family houses and
churches and embassies. For a young white boy from semi-rural Kansas, it
was an eerie experience to see real segregation in person.

The club we were headed for was located on the black side of 14th
Street, on U Street, in the middle of the block between 13th and
14th Streets. It was called Queen Mary's, and it had very little to
recommend itself to outsiders. It looked as though it had been built
into a storefront which once might have housed a small business,
perhaps a drycleaner or a repair shop of some sort. It was narrow, not
at all like a nightclub would look. But it was also very deep, extending
from the street perhaps a good two hundred feet. Just inside the
entrance, on the right side, was a bar that accommodated about a dozen
stools. Behind the bar was a short, thin Negro man wearing a white
apron who I assumed was the bartender. In those days in DC, there was
some sort of ordinance that required anyone drinking an alcoholic
beverage to be seated. You couldn't even carry your drink around, but
had to have a waiter or waitress do that for you. So all bars had to
have stools. Stupid, huh?

On the left side of the entrance was an area in which there were a
few tables, each of which could accommodate four people. Beyond the
tables, against the wall, were booths for four, extending all the way
along the wall to an open area in the rear of the club which was where
people could dance. Against the back wall was a jukebox, which, as Chuck,
Al and I entered, was blaring away. I think it was either Otis Redding
or James Brown singing. The volume on the jukebox was turned up so loud
we couldn't hear any conversation, even though we noticed, as our eyes
grew accustomed to the dim, smoky interior, that the place was pretty
full.

At the entrance, we were met by an enormous black man, who must have
been at least six-feet three, and built like an NFL football lineman.
His skin was of that deep black color, almost shiny black, that hinted
of a shade of dark purple. He evidently was the maitre d', or the bouncer,
or something like that.

Chuck and Al greeted him warmly. "Hey, Teddy, how's it hangin'?" They
shook his hand and patted his shoulder and joked with him for a minute
or two. Then, they both turned to face me, and Chuck said, "Hey, Teddy,
we want you to meet our little buddy, Stevie. He's the guy we been
telling you about."

Teddy, who towered over my five-foot, eight-inch slender frame, had a
surprisingly gentle voice for such a large person. He took my hand in
his, and it was warm and almost soft, and said to Chuck, "I'm pleased
you finally brought him along, my friend." Then, turning to look directly
in my eyes, he said to me, "Welcome to Queen Mary's. I hope you enjoy
yourself tonight. Perhaps we shall become good friends."

His English was not at all like that spoken by the Negro GIs in my
outfit, guys who had been drafted off the farm or out of the tough
inner cities of the southeastern US, places like Birmingham, or Atlanta.
Teddy spoke in an almost formal tone, with very precise diction like an
English person, and softly, gently, as I had mentioned.

After the introductions, he invited us to find a seat in the fairly
crowded room. We located an empty booth about two-thirds of the way
into the long, narrow room, and took a seat. A waitress who had been
standing at the bar picked up her tray and headed toward us. She was a
white girl, with that pale white skin that is so white it seems like
marble, with a hint of blue in it. About the time she reached our booth,
I was at last able to make out shapes in the semi-dark interior.
Suddenly, I realized there was something odd about the waitress. She
stepped up to our booth, pulled her pad and pencil out and asked, in
a distinctly masculine voice, "What can I get you fellows?"

My eyes bugged out of my head and my jaw felt like it was going to
drop all the way to the tabletop. Chuck, just as cool as a cucumber,
said, "How about a pitcher of draft, and a bowl of popcorn, Robin,
baby?"

The waitress made a sound like, "Hhmmmhh. Baby, hmmm?" Then she
said, "Be right back. Just relax."

I turned to Chuck and whispered, sort of loud, "Chuck! Did you
notice that waitress? I think that's a guy dressed like a girl!"

Both he and Big Al began to laugh. Then, Chuck leaned back to me
and said, softly, "You're right, little fella. It is a guy. Pretty
neat, huh?"

I could hardly breathe. "What kind of place is this, anyway?"

But just then, the waitress, Robin, came back with a pitcher and
three mugs, and placed them on the table. "Be right back with the
popcorn," she said, in a husky baritone. She turned towards the bar,
and I was struck by how female she looked from the rear. Her long,
pale-blonde hair was done up in a French twist. Her pinched-in waist
flared quite nicely to form perfect hips, and her bottom was rounded
into two soft globes that tapered into long, slender legs. From
behind, you would never suspect she was anything but a woman.

My eyes were popping out of their sockets, and my mouth was working,
although no words were coming out. "What the fuck's going on here?"
I finally managed to spout.

Chuck said, "Didn't I promise I would take you to a place where you
could get the premier blowjob of a lifetime?"

Somewhat hesitantly I responded, "Yehhh," so it ended almost like
a question: "Yehhh?"

Big Al leaned over. "Just wait and you won't be disappointed."

We sat drinking our beer and munching on the popcorn, talking small
talk the way guys will do in a bar. Since it was my first visit to
this particular place, and since I'd already been shocked by the fact
that the waitress was a guy, I continued to look around, trying to
size the place up. Well, it was definitely a weird place. Most of the
clientele were guys, and I swear I saw a couple of 'em kissing at a
table across the room. But, as I mentioned, it was pretty dark in there,
and hard to see. A couple of girls had come into the bar, and they
were really goodlookin' chicks. But something seemed not quite right
about them, too. Maybe I was just spooked by the fact that the waitress
was a drag queen. Anyway, one thing about this whole strange scene
began to worry me a great deal. I discovered that whenever the waitress
walked by our table, or whenever I gave one of the "girls" the once over,
my penis would get rock-hard.

* * * * *

Finally, the waitress, Robin, came over to pick up our empty pitcher
to get it refilled, and Al grabbed her arm. "Hey, Robin," he said, his
voice a little slurred from all the beer we'd consumed, "You remember
last week, the guy we told you about? And about the blowjob?"

Robin, who had eventually remembered Chuck and Al, brushed Al's hand
off her somewhat muscular-looking arm, and said, "Yeh, I remember. And,
guess what? A ten buck tip is still required."

Chuck, without hesitating, pulled three ten-dollar bills out of
his wallet and set them on the table. "Great, baby. Here's a tip from
each one of us."

Robin looked over in the direction of the door, where Teddy stood,
silently watching our table. She held up her index finger, then held
up three fingers. I noticed Teddy hesitate briefly before nodding his
head, almost invisibly. Robin bent over the table, retrieved the bills,
and started walking over to Teddy.

When she bent over, I couldn't help sneaking a peek at her cleavage
(Cleavage? On a guy?) which was evident from the low cut of her
waitress's uniform, a tight-fitting dress with short sleeves and a
skirt which reached only about halfway from her waist to her knees
and was flared out because of all the stiff crinolines under it.

I wondered how the hell a guy could have tits. It certainly appeared
she had breasts, anyway, and my penis was by now painfully stiff,
imprisoned in the confines of my jeans. I though I was going to blow
my wad right there. What was happening to me?

Robin handed the three ten-dollar bills to Teddy. He nodded slightly
in our direction, while Robin turned around and started across the dance
floor. She disappeared through a door in the far wall, next to the
blaring jukebox. Chuck arrived at the same door a few seconds after her,
and he, too, disappeared inside the little room. They were gone for
about ten minutes. Then, the door opened and Chuck stepped out, a big
shiteating grin on his face. Robin was fooling with some loose strands
of hair and adjusting her skirt. She stopped about midway across the
dance floor and crooked her finger toward Al. He immediately jumped to
his feet and nearly ran across the floor, making himself look like a
big idiot. Robin was real cool, though. She just turned on her heels
and disappeared through the door, leaving Al to pursue her, foolishly
dashing through the door into the darkened room on the other side of it.

Another ten minutes passed, and the door opened again. My erection
was really hurting by now, and my forehead was sweating. There
was perspiration running down my sides from my underarms, too. My lips
were quivering slightly, and I nervously chewed them. Robin stepped
into the opening and crooked her finger at me. Rubbing my thighs, I
stood up, knees shaking, and began to cross the floor to where she stood
beckoning me. Suddenly, I realized Chuck and Al were walking with me,
about a step-and-a-half behind me. I turned my head to see what was up,
but Chuck just sort of motioned for me to keep walking. Finally, nervous
as hell, knees knocking, I reached the door. Robin beckoned me through.

The door, as it turned out, opened into a small room that had a
metal-frame cot, much like the one I slept on in my barracks. There was
also a sink over in the corner, with a mirror hanging above it on the
wall. Al was leaning against the sink, a small smile on his face. He
winked at me. Robin, who, now that I was standing next to her I realized
was an inch or two taller than me, pointed to the bed. Hands sweating,
forehead wet with perspiration, I managed to cross the room to the bed
and sit down facing her. By now, Chuck had crossed the room and was
next to Al, leaning against the wall. Both men were watching Robin and
me intently.

Robin immediately knelt down in front of me and reached for the zipper
of my jeans. Involuntarily, I shifted my legs. She looked up at me, a
grin on her face. "First time?" she asked.

Nervously, I gulped and tried to respond. No sound came out. All I could
do was swallow hard and shake my head in the affirmative.

Robin kept grinning. "That's all right, Sugar. I'm not gonna hurt you.
Just relax and enjoy yourself." I tried to smile back. I was nearly ready
to start crying. Gently, she pulled my zipper down and reached her soft
hand (soft hand? On a guy?) into the fly of my GI-issue boxer shorts.
The instant her fingers touched my prick, it wilted. It just shriveled
up into nothing. Robin looked puzzled. She looked over her shoulder at
Chuck and Al. "What's the deal, you guys? I thought you said your little
friend here wanted a blowjob."

Chuck said, "That's right, baby. We promised Stevie a premier blowjob.
Ain't that right, Big Al?"

Al shook his head up and down, a big, foolish grin on his face.

My face was so red and hot I thought I was on fire with a fever.
Robin seemed lost in thought. "Hmmm. Well, you guys paid for a blowjob.
Maybe something can be arranged." She stood up, then sat down next to
me. She took my hand in hers. Then, suddenly, she placed my hand between
her legs and shoved it up her skirt. My eyes popped open like balloons
inflating. My God! She was a guy! She had a huge penis and it was hard
as hell! And nearly as hot as my burning face.

I tried to jerk my hand away, but Robin was stronger than I was.
She wrapped my fingers around her pole. Then, she leaned over to whisper
in my ear, as soft and gentle as an ocean breeze, "Get on your knees in
front of me, Shorty, and don't let go of my pecker."

Chuck leaned forward and said, "Need any help, Stevie? Robin?"

Robin smiled up at him. "No, it's ok. Everything's cool." She looked
into my wet eyes. "Right, Sugar?" Her hand gripped mine like a vise.
Slowly, I slid off the bed. Now, I was on my knees. Robin spread her
legs to accommodate me, so I could kneel between them. With her free
hand, she lifted her skirt. Her penis was long and slender. She laid
back on the bed, pulling me forward so I was now positioned over her
groin. Gently, she placed her free hand on the back of my head, and
nudged me towards her cock. The tension in the room had become unbearable.
I don't think any of us were breathing at this point.

Slowly, my head descended until I was less than an inch away from
the crown of her cock. I could see the opening of her dick. It looked
as big as the entrance to a small cave. My lips were trembling. I held
them as tightly closed as I could. Robin continued to increase the
pressure on the back of my head. Suddenly, my lips touched the tip of
her dick. I didn't dare open my mouth. I tried to push my head away,
but Robin's strength and grip were too great for me. So, I pursed my
lips and complained, "Mmmpphhh!! Nnggngg!"

Robin, in a soft, seductive voice, simply said, "C'mon, soldier boy,
open wide for Robin."

"Mmmpphhh! Nnggnngg!"

Robin continued to press against the back of my head. Her penis was
burning my tightly-sealed lips. Manfully, I struggled to pull my head
away. Finally, after about a minute of this combat, Robin relaxed her
grip. She looked up at Chuck and Al. "I guess he's not quite ready,
fellows," she said. "Sorry."

Chuck and Al just shuffled their feet, each one a little chagrined
by what they had done. Robin stood up and gently helped me to my feet.
Angered by what had happened, I started to walk over to the door.
Robin grabbed my arm to hold me back.

"Wait a second, pal," she said in her normal, masculine voice, "I
don't want there to be any hard feelings between us. Ok? I mean, I
certainly meant no harm."

I thought about her words for a few seconds, then said, "Well, all
right, I guess. Sure. What the hell. No hard feelings." I stuck my
right hand out to shake hers.

Gently, she took my hand. Then, suddenly, she brightened, and
a big smile covered her face. "I know what!" she exclaimed. "I'm gonna
give you a little present. Something for you to remember me by."
And before I could say, "No, thanks," she had undone her garterbelt
and was quickly removing it, her stockings still attached. She pulled
off her shoes and finished taking her nylons off. Then, she bunched
the whole package up in her hand, and placed it in mine.

"Whenever you take these out, think of me," she said. "Ok?"

Chuck and Al were grinning. I grinned too. "Oh, ok. Yeh. Sure."
She stepped forward, and before I could turn away, placed a kiss on
my cheek. Her lips were soft and warm and a little moist. She opened
the door, and the three of us stepped through it. Quickly, we crossed
the dance floor, past the rows of tables filled with people, and
headed to the exit. Teddy still stood at the entrance, towering over
everyone. "Leaving so soon?" he asked us.

Chuck said, "Yeh, Teddy, well, we gotta get back to the base."

Teddy replied, "Sorry to hear that." Then, he looked straight at
me. "Come back again," he said. "Perhaps we can become better acquainted.
Maybe even become good friends."

Chuck and Al both said something like, "Sure thing, Teddy." But I
knew his remarks had been directed at me, not at them. I gave him
a puzzled look as I walked through the doorway. He simply smiled and
offered a half-bow.

* * * * *

I was so unnerved by my experience at Queen Mary's, I could barely
comprehend what had occurred. All the way back to the base, I sat in
the back seat, idly fingering the garterbelt and silky hose Robin had
left attached to it, trying to make sense of my actions. I had come
within a fraction of an inch of placing Robin's penis in my mouth.
I had never before in my life even considered doing such a thing. Yet,
I had been that (!) close to permitting her to slide her cock between
my lips.

Chuck and Al were in the front seat, each drinking a can of beer,
both engaged in quiet conversation as the brightly-lit clubs lining
14th Street passed by in a blur. Neither one mentioned what had taken
place in the back room of Queen Mary's, and I was grateful for that.
Every so often, one of them would direct a comment to me. But it soon
became apparent to them that I wasn't interested in conversation, so
gradually, they stopped trying to include me.

I just wanted to think. I needed to understand something about what
had happened. I was still too shocked, I guess, to make sense of it,
because no rational thought entered my mind. I sighed, deciding I'd
have to try to figure it out later. For the rest of the ride home,
I sat quietly in the back seat, Robin's gift soft between my fingers.
When we got back to the barracks, I put it in my footlocker, hiding it
between some uniform shirts. Then, I simply crawled into my bunk,
exhausted from the night's activities, and immediately fell asleep.

The next day, trying to feel normal again, I guess, I called Sandy to
invite her to a movie. Although not as enthusiastic-sounding as in the
past, she nevertheless accepted my invitation, and we made plans to
meet at the theater near her apartment building. At the appointed time,
I arrived, and was surprised to find Sandy already waiting. I took her
in my arms, and gave her a kiss, then held both her hands between us.
We chatted amiably for a few minutes, then joined the short line waiting
to buy tickets. We entered the theater, stopping at the concession
stand to get some popcorn and candy, then stepped into the darkened
viewing room. We let our eyes get adjusted to the darkness, then
slowly made our way down the aisle to find two empty seats. We had no
trouble locating two seats in a middle row, the theater being half-
empty at such an early hour. We continued to chat as we waited for
the movie to begin. Before long, I could feel my old sense of longing
for Sandy returning. I looked at her sitting beside me, her slender
frame, her pert little breasts perfectly proportioned to her
diminutive size, her dancer's long, shapely legs. Quietly, casually,
I let my arm d**** over the back of her seat, without making contact.
I didn't want to alarm her, or make her nervous in any way.

The movie began, and we stopped talking as we concentrated on the
story unfolding before us in the darkened room. After awhile, I could
tell my arm was beginning to fall asleep; it was starting to tingle,
and my thumb and fingers felt numb. So I let it begin to slide over
her shoulder and descend, ever so slowly, toward her breast. It seemed
to take forever, and I had by then lost track of the story; but,
eventually, my fingers arrived at her protuberance. Slowly I began to
apply pressure, to allow my fingers to sink into the soft flesh just
above the cup of her bra. She didn't react. Emboldened by what I took
to be her silent approval, I slowly slid my fingers over her cup and
pressed - gently! - against her whole breast. For a second, she allowed
my hand to remain in place.

Then, suddenly, she stood straight up and turned to face me. Without
any warning at all, she slapped me soundly on my cheek. Then, she stepped
into the aisle and began to walk up to the rear exit. Stunned, I sat
there for a moment. But, then, I gathered my wits about me, and raced
up the aisle behind her. "Sandy," I half-whispered. "I don't understand.
What's going on?"

She pushed through the exit, then walked purposefully toward the lobby.
Over her shoulder she said, in an angry tone, "I told you before, I'm
not interested in that sort of thing. Can't you just leave it alone?
Can't we just be friends?"

I followed her out to the street, pleading with her to stop and talk.

Once out on the sidewalk, she finally did stop, long enough to turn
to me and say, "Stevie, it's obvious you and I don't agree about what
our relationship means. I think we'd better call it off right now."
She turned on her heel, and began to walk toward her apartment building.

I followed a few steps behind her. "But, Sandy," I cried. "It's
only natural that when a guy likes a girl the way I do you, he's going
to want to touch her and get intimate. It's the normal thing between
boys and girls."

She stopped and turned to face me. "I don't care if it's normal or
not, you jerk. I don't like it. And I don't have to take it, especially
from a little twerp like you. Now, get lost!" And she turned and fled.

I was so shocked by the vehemence of her words, I didn't give pursuit.
I just stood there, hands in my pockets, tears in my eyes, and bade her
a silent farewell. The bottom had just dropped out of my world. I was in
free-fall.

I caught the bus back to Arlington, getting off at the entrance gate.
I nearly missed my stop, I was so preoccupied with my misery. Sandy had
really put me down hard. I couldn't get over her final insult - "You
little twerp." Was that all I was? A twerp? Had she only strung me
along all these months, even though deep down inside she regarded me as
some sort of nobody? Was this how the guys in my barracks felt, too?
I knew they liked to call me "little fella," and "little guy." But I
had always thought they said this in an affectionate way. Maybe like
Sandy what they really meant was that I was just a little nothing, a
jerk deserving of nothing but their secret contempt.

Feeling pretty low, I entered the barracks. The place was empty. It
was Saturday night, after all. Probably everyone was out having a good
time. Except me, of course. I was so down, I thought I'd never climb out
of the hole I was in. I decided to drown my sorrows in a couple of
pitchers at the beer hall.

When I got there, the place was jammed and full of smoke and the odor
of beer. I didn't see anyone I knew, so I just went up to the counter,
got a pitcher and a mug, and found an empty seat in a corner of the room.
As I sat there drinking, I kept thinking of my misery and pain. I was
convinced that the whole world saw me only as a sawed-off, worthless
jerk, a little nobody, a nothing. The more I drank, the more convinced
I became of the truth of that opinion. I deserved what I got, I felt.
I was filled with self-loathing. I drank a second pitcher, and most of
a third. Then I got up to take a piss, and nearly passed out. I decided
I'd had enough, and staggered out of the beer hall.

I could barely negotiate my way back to the barracks, I was so drunk.
I kept tripping over bumps in the sidewalks and falling down. My pants
were torn, my knees and elbows were sc****d up, I could hardly see where
I was going - I was a mess. I got back to my barracks, and found my way
to my bunk, where I collapsed in a drunken heap. I lay there on the bed,
watching the ceiling spin around like a top above me. Finally, I had to
throw up, so I managed to stand and stagger into the latrine at the other
end of the room. I was in such a pitiful state, I threw up all over
myself before I got to a toilet. I managed at last to crawl over to a
bowl and stick my head inside, where I let it hang until I could no
longer feel my stomach heave. Then, I stripped off my smelly clothes
and washed myself at the sink. I would have taken a shower, but I was
afraid I might slip and fall in my current state of drunkenness. I
stuck my pants and shirt in a toilet and flushed several times until I
was satisfied all the vomit had been washed off. I did the same with
my t-shirt and shorts. Then, dressed only in my brown Army-issue socks,
I staggered back to my bunk, collapsing again in a heap. I lay there
for a long while, thinking of Sandy and my thoroughly fucked up life.
Then, slowly, thoughts of Robin began to enter my mind. Robin had been
nothing at all like Sandy. She had been friendly and had seemed
genuinely interested in being intimate with me.

I slid over to the end of my bunk and opened my foot locker. I fished
around inside it until I found the garterbelt and stockings Robin had
given me. I held them up to my nose, trying to recapture her scent.
Then, I gently rubbed them, pretending that her legs were still encased
inside the soft, silky hose. I wanted to feel her flesh inside them.
But, of course, she wasn't here for me to do that. In my drunken state,
I reasoned that, if my legs were in them, I could rub them and it would
feel just like Robin, which would be just about as good as actually
having her there beside me. Convinced of the solid logic of my thinking,
I put my foot into one of the stockings. My God, that felt wonderful!
No wonder women like to dress up and put this stuff on! This was fantastic!

Quickly, or as quickly as I could under the circumstances of my
drunken state, I finished pulling that stocking on, then slid the other
one on my other leg. I could feel my two legs rubbing together, and
the feeling of nylon against nylon was electric. I had an erection that
seemed to stretch all the way to the ceiling. I managed to sit up, the
room beginning to spin again and threatening to cause me to fall over.
I circled my waist with the garterbelt and clumsily managed to close
the clasps. Then, I stood, weaving all over the place, and secured the
garter straps to the stocking-tops. Then, I came. In huge, gushing
spurts, I came, all over my bunk. I felt like I had died and gone to
heaven. I was so overwhelmed by my climax, I simply fell onto my bed,
not caring that I was lying in a puddle of cum. I lay there for a while,
luxuriating in the sensuous silkiness of the stockings. After several
minutes, while I rubbed my hand up and down my leg, gently scratching
myself through the nylon, I was amazed to discover my penis was starting
to stiffen again. Through my barely-focused eyes I watched, utterly
fascinated, as my cock slowly rose off my groin and began to twitch
and straighten out. But the beer and the post-climax cooldown overtook
me at last, and I passed out on the bunk, my semi-erect penis gently
swaying back and forth.

* * * * *

A flash of light, a hand smacking my bare bottom, a voice thundering
in my ear. "Hey! Stevie! What the fuck are you doin', little guy?
C'mon, wake up!" Laughter. Another flash of light. Where's the thunder?
Is it raining? What - ? My eyes finally opened, slowly coming into focus.
I looked above me. Chuck and Big Al's faces were staring down at me. Their
grins were spread across their faces, and they were both laughing. Chuck
tapped my chin with his hand. "Stevie! Stevie!" he said, "Get up, little
fella. You want the rest of the guys to see you?"

"Huh?" I grunted. "See what?" I struggled to sit up, the room was
spinning, my head felt like it had been split wide open by an axe. I
looked down the length of my naked body. Oh, shit. Big Al was standing at
the foot of my bunk, aiming a camera at my nylon-clad legs. He was leering
at me with an evil grin on his face. The camera clicked, synchronized to
the flash of light that momentarily blinded me. Then I heard Chuck's voice,
"C'mon, Stevie, get that stuff off and get dressed before other people start
coming in and find you."

I wanted to cry, I felt so embarrassed. And I was still too drunk to act
rationally. But, my two buddies managed to get me unhooked from the
garterbelt, and pulled the stockings off my legs. I opened my footlocker,
stuffed the incriminating evidence down in the bottom, and pulled out
a clean t-shirt and pair of shorts. After I put them on, I sat back
down on the bunk, letting my head fall into my upraised hands. I groaned,
feeling miserable, embarrassed, done for.

Chuck seemed sympathetic. He sat down beside me and said, "Boy, I'm
glad we decided to come back early. I can only imagine what might have
happened if some of the other guys had gotten here ahead of us."

"Yeh," chimed in Big Al, "some of those guys woulda beat the shit
outta you. I know that for a fact. They hate queers, man."

I lifted my head to look at his leering face. "Queer? What?"

Big Al responded, "Hey, it's ok, man. You got nothing to worry about,
as far as I'm concerned. I mean, we ain't gonna say nothing to anybody,
are we, Chuck?"

I looked at Chuck, who now seemed to be thinking very hard about
something. "Yeh, yeh, right," he said. He was rubbing his chin with his
hand and staring hard at the floor. He turned to me, and said, "Uh,
excuse me a minute, Stevie. I wanta talk to Al for a minute. We'll be
right back. C'mon, Al."

Chuck stood up, and the two men walked to the other end of the room,
disappearing into the latrine. I continued to sit on the bunk, nearly
doubled over in shame over what had just occurred. My head really
hurt. I was paralyzed, unable to think clearly. Several minutes later,
my two buddies emerged from the latrine and walked back to where I sat
dejectedly holding my head in my hands. Chuck stopped, but Al kept
going, opening the door at my end of the barracks, and stepping out
into the cool night.

"Where's Al going?" I asked Chuck.

"Oh, nowhere. He's just going to make a phone call."

We sat in silence for several minutes, neither one able to look at
the other. I suspected that Chuck was as embarrassed for me as I was
for myself. He didn't know what to say, but he was too good a friend
to walk out on me, leaving me alone with my torment. After awhile,
Big Al returned, closing the door softly behind him, turning to face
us with a big grin on his face. He walked over to my bunk, and sat
down beside me. I was now sandwiched in between my two closest
friends. Chuck leaned forward and said to Al, "Well, what did he say?"

Al made a fist and thrust it out in front of him, sticking his thumb
straight up as he did so. "He dug it!"

I looked first at Chuck, then at Al. "Who dug what? What're you two
talking about?"

Al said, "C'mon, Stevie, we're gonna go for a little ride. We got
some business to discuss with you."

I looked at Chuck. "What's going on, Chuck?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, waving his hands in front of him. "Nothin'
for you to worry about, little fella. Let's get in the car, and we'll
talk about it there."

I was still out of it, and, besides, they were much bigger than I.
So, not knowing what else to do, I fell in between them, and we walked
together out to Chuck's car. I got in the back seat while Chuck and Al
took over the front. The car roared to life, and Chuck pulled slowly
out of the parking lot, driving carefully through the alleyway and
then through the gate. Once again, we were headed down Arlington Boulevard
toward the bright lights of DC, visible off on the distant horizon.
As usual, Chuck stopped at a 7-11, and Al went inside to buy a couple of
sixpacks. He got back in the car, rifled through the glovebox looking
for a "churchkey" can opener, and cracked open a beer. He reached over
the seat and handed it to me. "Here ya go, little buddy," he said.
"A little hair of the dog."

I took a large swallow of the cold beer, then said, "Ok, what're
you two up to? Where are we going?"

My two friends exchanged glances. Finally, Al turned and leaned over
the seat. "Well, Stevie," he began, "it's like this. We figured that
your visit to Queen Mary's must have jarred something loose from your
u*********s mind."

Chuck interrupted, "Yeh, Stevie, you know, like some sort of buried
memory, or something psychological like that."

Big Al continued, "We figured that seeing that waitress triggered
something in your brain that made you want to put them stockings and
that garterbelt on."

Chuck interrupted again. "Or maybe it was when Robin put her dick
against your mouth. Maybe that's what started it."

My fuzzy brain was beginning to clear. Maybe it was true. Maybe "a
little hair of the dog" did bring you back to sobriety. I stared at
the two guys in the front seat. I couldn't believe my ears. I took
another large swallow of beer. Maybe if I got drunk again, this
nightmare would disappear.

"What're you two talking about?" I asked.

"Well, you know, putting on those stockings and garterbelt, and
then creaming all over yourself like that," said Chuck. "Why else would
you do something like that, if you didn't have some sort of curiosity,
or maybe even a predisposition to experiment like that?"

"I was drunk," I retorted. "I was feeling sorry for myself. Sandy
broke up with me tonight. The deal with the stockings was just my
drunkenness." I was trembling. What if they were right? Oh, shit.
Perish the thought.

We drove for awhile in silence, until we got to 14th Street and
headed uptown. I had a sense of grim foreboding about this trip.
"Where are we going?" I asked. "Are we going back to Queen Mary's?"

Al said, "Yeh."

"Well, I'm not interested in going to Queen Mary's," I said.
"That place has nothing at all for me. It's just a bunch of perverts,
doing their pervert stuff. Why don't you pull over to the curb and
let me out? I'll catch a bus back to the base."

Chuck, in a tone of voice that sounded sincerely sympathetic, said,
"No can do, little buddy. Al called Teddy and told him what we'd
found. He told Al to come over right away. He's expecting all three
of us."

I took another large swallow, finishing the can. Al opened another
one and handed it to me over the back seat. Suddenly, the car had
grown hot and stuffy. I was sweating, and finding it difficult to
breathe. I took a huge swallow of the beer.

"Why'd you call Teddy?" I asked. "What's he got to do with this?"

Al said, "Well, we figured it this way. Suppose it was true. Suppose
you did have tendencies toward Robin's way of living. Until tonight,
nobody knew, not even you. But then, there you were, sprawled out
on your bunk, wearing only those stockings and garterbelt, rolling
around in your own cum. What're we to think? We're not experts in
this sort of thing. So that's what we figure. Let's get an expert's
opinion. That's why we called Teddy."

My eyes filled with tears. "Aw, fellas. You can't do this to me.
C'mon. It was just because I was drunk. I'm not like that. You know
that. C'mon. Let's go home."

Chuck said, again seeming to be sincerely sympathetic, "No can do.
I'd never forgive myself if I didn't give you this opportunity to
learn about your deepest desires."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I wailed. "What deepest
desires? My deepest desires right now are to go home, go to bed,
sober up in the morning, and get on with my life. Now, let's quit
fooling around and go home."

Instead of turning around, Chuck actually speeded up. Before long,
we were turning right at U Street, and I could see Queen Mary's up
ahead on the right. I began to tremble. What was happening to me?
Chuck pulled over to the curb and cut the engine off. He and Al
opened their doors and started to get out. Chuck looked in the back
seat, where I sat frozen, determined not to move.

"Aw, Stevie," he said, "you don't want to be difficult about this.
You know Al has pictures of you. And you know he'll just get a huge
laugh out of showing them around to the other guys. You don't want
that sort of humiliation, do you?"

"What choice do I have?" I responded. "Either that, or go inside
Queen Mary's and be forced to do whatever their pervert imaginations
dream up for me? What kind of friend are you, Chuck?"

"Hey, Stevie, it's like I said. For all you know, I might be doing
you the biggest favor anyone's ever done you."

"Yeh, sure. Some favor."

Al leaned in the window. "Here comes Teddy. I guess your choices
just dropped to none." He grinned at me, an evil, taunting grin.
I continued to sit in stone-faced silence, trying not to look at
either Chuck or Al. But, then, the rear door opened, and Teddy was
suddenly climbing into the car to sit beside me. He said, in that
precise English, his voice soft and gentle, "I did not expect to
have the pleasure of your company again so soon, my friend. Come.
Let us go inside and become better acquainted."

He loomed over me like some sort of huge monolith. Al was right.
My choices were no longer available. I sighed in defeat, then followed
Teddy out the rear door. The four