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Center Stage By Melissa Blake He tried to scream out as the process to change him began. Little did he know that within several minutes, the life he led would cease to exist. If only he hadn't held the coin. If only. He doubled up, racked in pain as he felt his body begin to conform to his wishes. His pulse and breath quickened, his chest heaving heavily. His hands reached for the edge of the bed as he stumbled across the bedroom. The pores of his skin began to sweat profusely, his body's internal temperature climbing higher. The metabolic changes were taking place rapidly. Within each cell of his body, the helixes of DNA were chemically restructuring, rewriting the new codes for his existence. His skin burned as he collapsed onto the bed. Stinging sweat poured into his already burning eyes. The first notable changes began to appear. With every passing second, his body hair retracted into the pores from which it came. His eyes widened as he witnessed his once hairy body, become smooth to the touch. He watched in horror and his once strong hands began to shrink. Calluses were smoothed away from his masculine fingers. The width and length of each finger dwindled rapidly, leaving small, slender, dainty hands. Each nail lengthened from the tip, stopping at close to an inch. His breathing grew faster, deeper. His mind racing in confusion and bewilderment. His grunts grew louder, still unable to speak or cry out. Each bone began to soften as if becoming flexible and more pliable. He squirmed, teeth clenched, as his spine began to compress. Tissue matter seemed to burn away as his body was losing mass quickly. Through tear stained eyes, he could see his legs change. His feet knotted up, as the bones grew smaller, as his legs grew much longer and slender. Years of scars from childhood disappeared without a trace. He could hear the audible cracking of his restructuring through his screaming thoughts. Inch by inch, his torso compressed and dwindled. Lying in the fetal position, it was a symbolic image of his rebirth. His beautiful legs stretched out on the sheets as he writhed in pain. Within moments, he was soon staring from behind longer bangs. His shaking hands pulled the growing locks in front of his face. His once sandy-blonde hair had become a deep brunette; cascading locks fell around his ears and cheeks. His lips and ears stung sharply as he pulled his hand away. He wanted to get up; he wanted to know what was happening to him. No sound came from within him, unable to make any sound with any volume. His hands reached around his shrinking neck as if he were choking, as if something were choking him. He lay on his back, knees bent, his groin opening wider, his manicured hands gripping his throat tightly. Suddenly, he felt as if someone had kicked him between his legs. Growing bone began to widen his pelvis slowly. Lifting his head, he could see the side of each hip push outward, creating future room within his body. His rear end filled out further, rounder, firmer. The arch of his spine increased, pushing his butt out further. Each love handle melted away, he could feel the skin tighten and pull in towards his waist. His transformation was only half over. His hands tried to reach down there. They tried to save it. His efforts failed. He would soon realize what he was becoming. Something was changing within his lower extremities, changing shape, changing function. His genitals seemed to move lower down, stretching further back, until almost parallel with his anus. His testicles were the first the go. He shook in intense pain, as each organ pulled itself from within his scrotum through an opening into his abdomen. They stretched upwards and outwards, separating from each other and growing apart. Each of its lifelines growing fuller and opening up into a larger tube, separating from the testicle into something new. His penis stirred restlessly, waiting for its chance. Its outer skin glistened with moisture, becoming a deep pink in color. Its head started to balloon slowly, as the wrinkles and foreskin became seamless with his shaft. His eyes rolled back into his sockets in shock, as his once proud manhood, began to retreat into his groin. It seemed to deflate and pull upwards, the head of sex beginning to blossom within the void of his pelvis. His penis had turned inside out between his legs, becoming the lining and new passageway for his sex. The head became fist sized, resting between his two new ovaries and fallopian tubes, mounted atop a new vagina and cervix. The leftover scrotum lined his new opening and created the small bud of a clitoris. A new urethra opened just above his vagina. Each of his ovaries filled with eggs, the sperm within him, transformed also. A mound that was once full of pubic hair thinned out considerably, leaving a thin, neatly trimmed patch. With each heaving breath, his chest and nipples became tenderer. His chest had shrunk considerably. Each nipple became larger and more erect, increasing in circumference. Suddenly with each breath, they began to expand and push outward. Tissue materialized from underneath his skin and began to fill up his chest. Within several moments, a pair of very perky breasts sat atop his chest. They were just the right size for his new figure. His voice broke in a sudden, primal grunt. His mind flashed as the sound was foreign to him. His deep grunts replaced with a high-pitched wail. An alien voice resonated from within him. Although still unable to speak, his conscience knew his voice was that of the other gender. His face burned with the transformation. Each cheekbone lifted higher, a small curved nose, his new doe eyes peering from below long, black lashes. His glands had all changed, pumping estrogen through his bloodstream. His new body was ready to start its first second of life. His blood was no longer the same, DNA was no longer the same, hormones, chemicals, genitals, physical features and feelings, no longer the same. Within seconds, it ceased. Her new body complete. For the first time, she saw herself from across the room. The reflection in the full-length mirror, stared in disbelief at her. Leaning up, she swung and sat on the edge of the bed, her naked body sore from the process. Through choking sobs, she looked at her the reflection. What stared back was a beautiful, extremely leggy, woman. She was close to six inches shorter than before and looked to be 10 years older. Her hair cut in a short bob that rested just above the nape of her swan-like neck. Each ear pierced once. She held each breast in her slender hands and cried softly. Her mind flashed about what was to become of her. She would no longer stand to use the toilet, her monthly calling card that signaled her gender, the void between her legs that would now receive instead of give, the clock inside her that ticked away and begged to give life. She threw her head in her hands and covered her face, this was a dream that she wouldn't wake up from. She was the opposite sex in every sense, a fully functional, childbearing, woman. The world seemed to spin around her as she lay on the bed and shut her eyes. Her bedroom seemed to morph right in front of her. Furniture and belongings changed, walls shifted, rearranging themselves into some new order. Once again, it ceased. She opened her eyes and looked around to find and place completely foreign to her. The silence was pierced by a blaring car horn from outside. She rose and inspected the new room in disbelief. Everything that was previously hers was gone, replaced by a more feminine setting. What was once black lacquer, was now polished oak. She looked into the mirror and back down again at the dresser and noticed photos and keepsakes that had her face in them. Panicking, she ran out the bedroom door and into an apartment that had never been seen before. And it was then, when she looked out the living room window, that she knew where she was. New York. It was too much to take in at once. A new body alone was enough to make a person insane. Plopping down on a sage green sofa, she hit something with her ass as she sat down. A purse... her purse. Studying it intently, she dumped its contents into her lap. The usual, gum, lipstick, tampons, a wallet...her wallet. "Who am I? Who the fuck am I?" she asked herself. Carefully opening the flap was a trick with longer nails. She pulled the license out, her jaw dropping. "Stacey Daniels, age...32, 5'8", 125 lbs, sex...female" Then she noticed the pass. An ID badge of some sort and flipped it over. It was her picture, and underneath displayed the words "Stacey Daniels, Rockefeller Center, Radio City Music Hall". "Oh shit...I can't be a..." The thought began to sink in. She knew what she did for a living, and her body was built for it. Her legs, her figure, her looks. "I'm a Rockette. I'm a Radio City Rockette. Jesus." She sat stunned, staring at the legs that got her the job of a lifetime for any dancer. Her jarred memory flashed the theatre, New York. "Oh no...the wish. I wished I could be in New York with friends. That wish...oh shit." She quickly shot off the couch and ran to the refrigerator. Tacked up onto the freezer door, were multiple photos of her and the other girls. Backstage, onstage, party shots. In a daze, she ran her fingers over the photographs realizing that she could no longer deny the fact that she was a dancer. She picked up one shot in particular, a photo of herself, dressed in a sequined, white satin leotard, perched atop 2 1/2" heels, in a classic Rockette pose. She muttered to herself as she backed away into her living room. She turned and stared out the window at the New York skyline, the sprawling urban mass that she had only visited a handful of times. It had seemed so distant only moments before. It was late November as she looked at a calendar posted on the side of a kitchen cabinet. The apartment felt cold and her embarrassment heightened as her nipples became erect. She sighed slightly as each finger examined her breast. She hurried into her new bedroom to find something to wear. Their weight brought on new sensations, as her body was unaccustomed to the mass that shifted her gravity. With each step she took, she could feel them bounce and sway, tugging downward on her chest. The emptiness of her crotch felt so strange, her once dangling manhood, now streamlined and flat. She spent the morning exploring every nook and cranny of the apartment. Most of it was spent in her bedroom, taking inventory of her new life. She opened the drawers of her dresser to find very feminine and classy lingerie, accessories, workout attire, all of the typical things a woman would have. The closet held the rest, tops, bottoms, skirts, dresses, shoes, and sweaters. Her bathroom sink was cluttered with all of her makeup, perfumes, and candles. She studied photographs and mementos and tried to understand who she was and the people around her. All of these things belonged to her. She stood in the middle of the room, again peering at the woman in the reflection of the mirror. With every move she made, the image mimicked her. Her fingers traced her tummy and grazed the edges of her groin. Reaching back, she felt her new sex for the first time. Her hand trembled as she probed her opening. Each finger gently parting her lips, exploring further. Seeing an easier way to see herself, she pulled her hand away and ran to the bathroom. Rummaging through her personal effects, she found a hand mirror and proceeded back to her bedroom. She sat on the bed and held the mirror between her legs. She gulped hard, as she saw the new equipment. Each nail traced her lips. She found her vagina, her new urethra and clitoris. The physical feelings were so new and alien to her, she was feeling them for the first time. Her finger probed her vagina, sinking in deeper and deeper, surprised at how far back she was reaching. It felt good, her fingers wrapped in soft warmth and moisture. Somewhat ashamed, she pulled her finger out. The feeling was good, but it was new. She didn't know how she was going to manage. Her curiosity increased as she thought of having sex, but quickly dismissed the idea of being with a man. The fact that she was a virgin hadn't registered in her mind yet. She wasn't gay, but for a moment, questioned her own sexuality. Rummaging through her dresser drawers, she found a pair of plain panties to wear and pulled an old sweatshirt out of the closet. They felt odd, being so form fitting next to her skin. Her head began to ache, as she ran her hands through her hair, like a bad hangover. Suddenly, as if the wind were knocked out of her, her mind flashed visions and memories. A very small section of thoughts and experiences filled her within seconds. A vague memory of her life, like a distant dream from years ago, came rushing at her. It was, she thought, the audition for her job. She could barely recall the experience, only knowing that she was there and where the studio was. A sudden knock at the door made her nearly jump out of her skin. She cautiously walked to the front door and peered through the peephole. She could see a young, blonde-haired, woman standing there with her gym bag resting on her shoulder. Stacey paused. Again, another knock. "Who...who is it?" she stammered. "It's me silly, open up" She paused again. "Wh...who?" "Um, Heatherrrrrr. Come on Stacey, open up, we're gonna be late" Nervously she opened the series of locks that bolted the door shut and cracked open the door. Heather, she guessed was probably in her early thirties, like herself. She was a cute girl, she thought. And they stood there looking at each other. "Geez, Stace, what's wrong?" she asked judging by the look on Stacey's face. "Go get dressed girl, we gotta go" "Go, go where?" "Rehearsal, forgetful Jones. You sure you're okay?" "Um, yeah" she stuttered. "Just a little out of it today." "No kidding, now go, hurry up." Her heart quickened its pace; a lump in her throat. The reality of her new life was rearing its head. "I need, need your help Heather." "With what?" "Something to wear." "You gotta be joking, you can't pick something out for yourself to wear?" "I, uh, wanted you to pick out something cute for me to wear. I, I just want to look good, you know for practice?" Heather sighed. "Oh, alright. Come here." She opened up the large, right-hand drawer of the dresser and started picking through the folded stack of workout wear, stopping about halfway down. "Here" she said, throwing the leotard on the bed. Stacey examined the purple leotard, with skepticism. She started taking off her clothes in front of Heather and began to step into the leg openings. To her, unconsciously, it seemed natural. "Whoa, hold on there speedy" interrupted Heather. "Don't forget these" she said throwing Stacey a pair of nude tights. "Oh." stepping out of the leotard. Effortlessly, like doing it a thousand times before, slid into the hose. She passed each nylon-covered leg, through the openings and up her body. Reaching behind her back, she zipped herself in and adjusted the turtle neck collar. Heather pulled out a jogging suit and gave it to her, while she dressed Heather loaded up Stacey's gym bag. Water bottle, towel, heels, etc. "Ready?" Stacey examined herself in the mirror and was content on her look. She pulled her tennis shoes on and proceeded to follow Heather to the door. "Your purse?" "Oh yeah." grabbing her purse. As they both made they way across town, Stacey began to bring up the events in her mind. It was as if some of the things she had done were natural, like dressing in front of Heather, the tights, knowing what keys fit into which lock. She couldn't explain it. As she walked, she could feel her hips sway somewhat. It wasn't the usual way she walked, and she found it difficult to walk in any other fashion. 'What the hell is happening to me?' she thought. She stayed by Heather's side the whole way and let her navigate their way to the studio. She took in the sights around her as they continued to walk. Buildings and people seemed to pass by her in slow motion. And again, her head seemed to ache. With each step, her walk, more feminine; she tended to glide down the sidewalk. The migraine began to worsen and she paused in mid stride to catch her breath. "Stace? You okay?" She held her hand to her forehead. "Yeah, yeah...I just have a lil headache that's all." "Don't worry, we're almost there anyways. I'll give ya a couple of Advil once we get upstairs, kay?" Stacey nodded slightly and tried to attempt a smile at Heather. The girls passed through the doors leading upstairs to the studio. Her heart seemed to race again. They both trotted up the stairs, with Stacey behind her following every twist and turn. She could see the bright lights streaming through the double doors. She stopped in the doorway and caught her first glimpse of her new home. The hardwood floors seemed to stretch 25 yards across the large room, striping laid down for placement along the length. Beautiful framed photographs hung opposite of the mirrored wall from past years and a piano sat to the left of the doors. She could see the rest of the girls, probably around 30, milling about and talking with each other. Following Heather, she laid her bag against the far wall and turned to Heather to mimic her actions. Reaching down she pulled out the tan, character heels. Like Heather, she zipped off her jacket, and slid off her pants. Examining the heels in just her stocking feet, she watched her friend step into each heel and buckle the strap across her ankle. Stacey proceeded to follow her lead and soon found herself two inches taller with legs till no end. She looked across the room into the mirror, stunned by her looks. Her legs and hips, so pronounced. She rested her hands on her hips and seemed to admire her image, if she had still been a guy, she would have had a hard on in a second. The headaches were becoming more frequent, but less painful; another small one again. Heather caught her holding her hand to her head and pulled the aspirin bottle from her purse. Stacey gulped in down with a big swig off of her water bottle and thanked her. She took off her watch just in time as the choreographer instructed the girls to take their places. From this point, Stacey felt as if in a dreamstate. She glided across the floor towards the middle of the group. Since she was taller, she would be closer to the center of the line, the shorter girls onto the outside, to give the illusion that they were all the same height. She studied the instructor and seemed to listen intently at her instructions. She stood and watched as the woman went over the routine and made sure that everyone did not have any questions. It was then that Stacey's body seemed to take control over her mind. She heard the piano start up in the background and looked straight ahead, transfixed on her figure in the mirror. Without any mental effort, her body seemed to move by itself. She wasn't frightened by the feeling, but almost relieved, in a sense. And then she started the routine, each arm outstretched. Her body twirled around, her legs, sashaying side to side. She would walk forward, legs and hips swaying seductively, effortlessly, never noticing that this was her first time ever wearing heels. Her arms would be at her sides again, palms outward, her knee cocked slightly in, and then back up. And then the trademark sign, of the Radio City girls. The girls then moved together, close together in a line that stretched the length of the studio. Stacey felt her legs began to come up and kick waist high. This occurred for several repetitions. Then each leg stretched out to each side, a step back, then forward. Waist high kick again. The step repeated. On the last repetition, each girl sashayed forward, each knee coming up high, then a small hop that announced the world famous kick. Stacey felt her long leg, out stretch and rise upward, she never realized how limber she was now. She could see the toes of her heels rise past eye level, as she kicked, how her smooth and flat crotch didn't inhibit the movement of her legs, her breasts supported. She was in absolute awe, as she stared at the beautiful creature, high-kicking, in the mirror before her. And then the kicking stopped, as each girl, including her, stepped back, then forward with one hand on her hip and the other outstretched over her head, with her right leg out. She was frozen in place staring wide-eyed at herself. How was this possible, she thought. "Nice job Stacey." the choreographer commented. She managed a weak smile, and looked down at herself and then back up at the mirror. She felt preprogrammed like a robot. Suddenly, she was doing things and acting in ways she never had before even dreamed of. Slowly, things were entering her mind to make her Stacey Daniels, a woman and dancer completely. They practiced the routine and several other new ones for the rest of the day. She felt exhausted from the workout that it had given her. "Okay ladies! Listen up. Only two more days until your first appearance. Sooooo, tomorrow, same time. On Friday, ten o'clock, dress rehearsal. We'll talk more about that tomorrow. Anyone have any questions? Good. See ya tomorrow!" Both she and Heather stood together, packing their things, and got dressed. They made their way downstairs and through the doors that spilled out onto the street. She sat and walked with her hands in her pockets thinking about what had just occurred. Stacey said nothing for at least a block until Heather spoke up. "Good job back there. She really likes you, that's besides the fact you're an incredible dancer." "Thanks...you really think so?" "Yeah, yeah, I do. I knew you'd be okay. You're just a little scatterbrained today huh?" "I guess so," she lied. "I wasn't feeling myself today" Stacey commented sarcastically. "Apparently. Ah, don't worry, we'll go get a drink tonight. Maybe that'll clear things up." she smiled. "We will?" "Sure, Wednesdays always. Besides, I'm buying tonight." "Twist my arm why don't you?" She touched Stacey on the arm as they passed by her apartment building. "Pick ya up around 9, okay?" "Sure...nine." and she watched her new friend walk away down the street. Stacey trudged up the stairs to her door and put all the right keys into the right locks once again, and it amazed her how she did it once more. She threw the keys onto the kitchen counter and fell onto her bed laying her gym bag on the floor. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, running her fingers through her hair. "Oh God why?" she said softly. "How and why did I end up like this?" Once more a sudden migraine grew from within her. This time floods of memories came over her. Childhood memories of being a little girl filled her head. She could see herself at her first ballet recital. The image of her new parents first appearing to her. The memories continued faster and more intense than ever; her high school and college memories, old roommates, boyfriends. She shook at the recollection of old lovers, for her sexuality had remained unchanged by her transformation. She winced at the idea for a moment, then the flood of clues receded. She got off the bed, stripped off her clothes, unloaded her bag, and decided to take a shower. It was late in the day and she could see that darkness had completely set across the city. She looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand; it was already 7. Knowing now where the linen closet was, Stacey grabbed a towel and climbed into the shower. The hot water felt so nice after that workout, she thought and let her back face the nozzle as she stood there. With one hand on the wall, she reached with the other, between her legs. Her fingers again traced the unfamiliar lips of her sex. In a swirling motion, the tip caressed her clitoris and she felt the waves of pleasure begin to build within her. Her hand reached back further as she bent at the waist, her finger finding the passageway to her body. Again she dug deeper into its recesses and she moaned at how good it felt. Pressing deeply on the inner walls, she gasped as she hit the spot. Over and over, she pressed deeper, harder, thrusting her fingers even more. She stopped suddenly, overwhelmed by the new sensations, realizing for the first time that she was a virgin. She had no remembrance of being with men. The physical feelings of being a woman had built up even stronger this time, and she couldn't deny that she was starting to like them. She really thought that Heather was cute. Any guy would love to be with her, yet she was feeling no attraction to her whatsoever. As much as she wanted to, it was becoming harder and harder to think about women in the same way. The feelings of having sex as a man, were soon becoming more distant to her. It was more difficult to remember the old feeling of having a penis or having a stiff erection, the bounce of her breasts as she walked kept reminding her of what and who she was. Stacey sat down in the shower and let the water run over her head and body. She pulled her hair back from her face and pulled her arms around her knees. Her inner thoughts and questions firing quickly; "Is this who am I for the rest of my life? What's become of me, or my family, or the rest of my life? Do I exist anymore, anywhere in this world? What is my new family like? Why?" She mustered the strength to rise and turn off the shower. She dried quickly and wrapped a towel around her body and hair, like she had seen her friends do before in her previous life. Sitting down at her vanity, she studied her face. The preprogrammed actions began to take over her mind again. She looked into her hands and saw the familiar pack. Birth control pills. She swallowed it back before questioning the action. Without having to think through any of it she began to get ready for a night out. She applied lotion on her legs and body and towel-dried the rest of her hair. She sat and applied her makeup like she had done it a thousand times. Stacey began to let her body take control and let her mind watch. Her skilled hands painted her face beautifully. Her eyes lit up and she finished the last touches on them. Her longs lashes batted at her quickly and she smirked at her work. Blow drying her hair was quick and effortless since it was a shorter do. Taking off the towel, she walked to her dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of black panties and a bra. After stepping into her underwear, she hooked her bra from the front and spun it around pulling up the straps onto her shoulders. Piece of cake, she remarked, pulling a pair of black fishnets from another drawer. It was only 8, and she decided to wear a white, stretch shirt, with French cuffs for now. Strolling around in the apt in her stocking feet, she poured a glass of cabernet for herself and lit several candles. She looked at the skyline again, back at her apt. She felt everything around her becoming more familiar. Waltzing into the bedroom, with wine glass in hand, she pulled the stiletto boots from the closet and chose a short, black miniskirt. "How the heck did I decide on this outfit? Hmmph" she said to herself and went about her business. After pulling on the skirt and zipping up the four inch boots, she placed a gold hoop earring in each lobe, and placed a bracelet on her wrist. She sprayed perfume onto each wrist and traced her full lips in color. It wasn't soon afterward, Heather knocked on the door. "Wow girl, you look hot!" Stacey blushed somewhat and couldn't decided if it was a compliment or not at this point. "Well, I just wanted to make sure that guys knew I was available." Stacey remarked. "Oh shit. Did I just say that?" she thought to herself. "What the hell made me say that?" "It definitely makes an impression." Heather laughed. "You ready to go?" "Yeah." she shot back, grabbing her purse. Heather hailed the cab as they both stood on the street corner. Stacey got in first and swung her long legs in the taxi. Every movement she made seemed so fluid and natural; the way she walked in four inch heels, the getting in the seat easily. Heather closed the door and gave the driver the club name. They both strutted in, confidently and took two seats at a table next to the wall. "What are you ladies gonna have?" asked the waiter. "Long Islands, make that two." piped up Heather. "I don't..." Stacey started. She didn't drink liquor, only beer, but now the thought seeming more attractive. "Never mind, yeah make that two." "Maybe you should have four. It'll get rid of whatever's making you weird." giggled Heather. Stacey grimaced at her and pulled a cigarette from the gold case in her purse. Lighting it, she sat back, crossed her legs, and stared around the room, then suddenly realizing she didn't smoke. A flash in her mind, made it feel right, and continued a long drag as she surveyed the scene. A long scan of her eyes stopped when she noticed something. She could see the bartender conversing with a gentleman at the end of the bar, then turn and look at her. A bill exchanged hands between the two and she caught his gaze. He smiled at her just as the waiter approached the table with the drinks. "Excuse me miss, the gentleman at the bar over there," pointing in the direction, "would like to buy you a drink. Would you like one?" "Yes she would." interrupted Heather. "Make it another Long Island, thanks." "Will do" "I uh..." stammered Stacey "Oh shut up, you need to get laid." laughed Heather Stacey felt fidgety and could feel the lump in her throat at the thought. "How would you know?" she shot back. "Well, for one instance, that outfit." "What about it?" "You could launch a thousand ships with that get up, besides didn't you tell me the other night about your dry spell?" "I did?" "Remember it plain as day." "Then, I...uh...guess I did." she said ashamed at the thought She sipped on her drink and from time to time, caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye. She found she couldn't drink like she used to. Two days ago she could pound a half rack and still be able to do a field sobriety test with no problem. Now, two drinks later, she was starting to feel it. Her pulse and breath quickened as she saw him get up and make his way over to their table. She came face to face with him. He was probably in his mid-thirties, tall, darker hair, chiseled features, and could tell by his clothes, that he wasn't lacking for money by any means. A small headache, not that bad this time, the alcohol seemed to numb it slightly. She was the first to speak. Her voice seemed to come out on its own. "Hi." she said smiling, losing control of the will to fight. He smiled and spoke to her. "Hi, I, I wanted to know if you wanted to dance." he said leaning over. "She'd love to!" offered Heather. Stacey shot her a look but found it difficult to stay mad. She got up and followed him to the dance floor, the music's pulsating rhythm, seeping into her. She was starting to lose her inhibitions minute by minute. Her hips began to move with each beat, the dancer in her coming out of its shell. She could feel her ass gyrate and groove. Another wince of pain in her head. Her arms moved closer to his. Her eyes moved downward from his face, scanning his body, unknowingly fixating on the front of his pants. She couldn't fight, there was no need to anymore. She was a heterosexual woman. The desire to be with a woman faded from her thoughts rapidly and the need to be with a man taking over. The thought of him in her began to well up inside her, mentally and physically. There would be no hesitation or second guessing her thoughts. She wasn't able to betray her sexuality anymore. She hadn't any idea of what her body was capable of and she wanted to take it for a test spin. Thoughts of once going down on a woman now turned to having her mouth wrapped around a pulsating rod, the ideas of oral sex reversed in her mind. The wetness between her legs was becoming apparent to here. She concentrated on his pelvis as his hands rested on her hips. The combination of alcohol and a sex drive were taking its toll. Her body needed cock. She needed to be filled. "God, he's soooooo cute" she thought to herself, smiling at him on the outside. The music stopped and she held his hand, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She took him by the hand back to the table and mentioned to Heather to go find a dance partner so they could have a moment alone. "What's your name?" she asked sitting down with a cigarette. "Mike." "Good to meet you Michael." she said smugly. "I'm Stacey." They sat and talked for what seemed like forever; about life; jobs; bars and clubs. It was Stacey who asked the question. "You, uh, want to get outta here?" "Yours or mine?" "Yours" And by morning, she was no longer a virgin. "So...tell me everything!" "His name's Mike and he's incredible. Talk about a perfect night" "Yeah, let's just hope he calls you." "I'm not worrying" "You do it?" "About four of fives times." Stacey grinned. "It was wonderful." "Liar" "Jealous, aren't you?" "Hell yeah!" Heather laughed Stacey walked with Heather, somewhat sore and hung over, from her first experience. It was something she couldn't describe in words, so much different as a woman than a man. The feminine side in her began to show more; they way she talked and communicated. She was starting to remember faces and places, names and phone numbers, but the reminder of the fact she used to be male, hadn't left her yet. She still retained much of the memories of her previous life. The maleness in her seemed to melt away with each passing hour and it had only been a couple of days and she had already come this far. After rehearsal she checked hung her costume carefully for the following day and placed her top hat on the counter. They were doing a television special for something she loved. It would be another appearance as a Rockette. The anticipation was great as she milled around the dressing rooms, checking out her space and making sure that she had all of the things that she would need for tomorrow; makeup, extra pantyhose, etc. She sat at her vanity space and peered into the mirror. She brushed her hair out of her face and sat silently. This is what she was destined to be. "If you could have told me a year ago, that I'd be sitting here in Radio City Music Hall, wearing tuxedo tails and pantyhose, and to top it all off, as a woman and Rockette, I probably would have died" she whispered softly to herself, laughing. Alone in the dressing room, she sat silently as Stacey Daniels.