ALL NOVEL PART EIGHT: (18+) Unapproved Changes
Jamie reported to work two evenings later, prepared with a few more dances moves and a pseudonym. After debate, she and Alexandra had settled on “Jasmine Blackriver.” The first name was comically exotic in the fashion of stripper names, a little like Jamie’s real name, and vaguely ethnic in a way that she found resonant. Blackriver, though it sounded problematically close to an indigenous last name, was a literal translation of her own name, Kurokawa. If she ever found it necessary to discuss her tragic history as an unwillingly transformed man, Jamie decided she’d confess to being “George Howard,” a name that made Alexandra dissolve in laughter.
Working as an exotic dancer was both more fun and harder work than Jamie had imagined. To be fair, she had known intellectually that wearing platforms, dancing on a pole for half an hour at a time and being “on” in all sorts of ways for potential clients would be exhausting. But feeling it through her whole body by the end of a shift was another story.
The fun, fortunately, was spread throughout the experience. Much of the joy Jamie felt happened when her turn to dance arrived, twice a night. Each time, she lost herself in the routine. There was a certain rhythm that only existed between her and the pole, the music, and the crowd of people watching, and she was more and more attuned to it as she practiced, as she mastered new ways to spin and suspend herself. The feeling of mastery in her movements, of being so in tune with her shape and her muscles, was exhilarating enough that she sometimes laughed out loud. Her joy was infectious, and the dancers around her cheered her on and encouraged her, and she saw flashes of genuine smiles among the disaffected or hungry stares of the mostly male crowd of onlookers.
Jamie knew that her body had literally been made to dance—but had that extended to her mind as well? She felt unsure, in moment, about whether her intoxication with dance arose from her own self and experiences, from having been denied a connection to her body for so long, or whether it was somehow a mental side-effect of the magic and her changed destiny, the real version of what Carlo had called “behavior modifications.” Was there a difference?
The rest of what Jamie enjoyed about her new part-time job came almost entirely from camaraderie with her coworkers, not only the other girls but characters like Vijay and Pug, the two guys who traded off as lead security. They couldn’t have been more different: Pug talked constantly, cracked jokes and snarled at anyone he thought might be causing trouble, much like his namesake; Vijay was quiet and impassive, a huge presence that could stop a stray hand simply by looming.
The girls, each representing a different supernatural type as befit the theme of the club, were an even more varied lot. Few if any were fully inhuman, but most had a touch of the strange about them. Kira, an ethereal girl with silver hair, was clearly something otherworldly. She seemed to float through the halls, rarely spoke, and at some angles seemed to disappear, as if not fully tethered to this plane. Still, she danced a classic burlesque striptease regularly, complete with stripping gloves off and whirling tassels; the style suited her statuesque curves.
The others were a little less exotic, which reassured Jamie. Aya was small and dark with pointed ears and horns that grew from her hair and had the “cute little imp” market cornered, though she was clearly adult enough to know what she was doing. Lisette had some sort of fire-type powers, and like Jamie was a newbie on the job, so she was still learning; she had settled on doing a performance that involved spitting balls of flame into the air and juggling them, but was still getting the hang of it—leading to several close calls and singed wardrobe.
There were several others, including one with wings kept them folded flat against her back until she wanted to show them off (her name escaped Jamie), and another, Vella, with bark-like patches on her pale green skin, who misted herself with a spray bottle every fifteen minutes. She absolutely did not get along with Lisette, for obvious reasons.
The customers were another story entirely. They ranged from tourists who came to gawk at oddities in the supposed “portal capital of the world,” who rarely parted with any money at all, to groups of businessmen who were showing off for each other and were a steady source of tips and lap dances, which pretty much every dancer agreed to as a mainstay of their income. Neither type of customer was particularly interested in Jamie, simply because she looked too “normal,” although her dancing sometimes earned her small bills tossed on the runway or stuffed into her thong. The other girls noticed this and most of them tended to include her if the more extravagant clients wanted a private session with more than one girl.
The men in those sessions asked her the most questions—the ones in a group renting time upstairs in the VIP room, as opposed to people talking to her as she walked the floor. There were some guys in any given group who weren’t as into the “exotic girls,” or who were downright afraid of them. They often came to talk to her instead. When they asked what her deal was, she demurred and told them she was the victim of a curse but was too ashamed to say what kind. The blushing tease act seemed to get some of them interested, but the tactic had a drawback—some would get upset if they found out “she used to be a guy,” which was the stuff of all her worst nightmares as a trans girl. Jamie told herself that was a big part of why she avoided lap dances—the fear of transphobia—but there were more dimensions to her hesitance.
As her probationary period wound to a close, she discovered a third group of patrons who were drawn to her: regulars. Some weren't there to see any particular girl, but frequented Noxx as a place to find warmth and companionship. They were often lonely, shy men hoping to start some kind of relationship, even a purely financial one, with any girl who might accept them. The dancers complained that these guys saw them as “low value” girlfriends who were too unusual to find love; of course, most of the girls were in relationships, though Jamie hadn’t heard many details.
Jamie didn’t mind talking to the lonely guys, even when they stared too long at her breasts or ass. She could understand them, to some degree, and they sensed it, or just treated her like a guy who happened to be in a curvy female form—which, after all, was her cover story. And if they treated her like eye candy… well, hadn’t she agreed to become a dream girl? Not theirs; if she belonged to anyone it was to the artist who drew her.
Ralph, a middle-aged schlub who dressed like a salesman, was fond of probing her story and asking her about how it felt to be a girl. He might have been the type of person, or perhaps the exact person, who Carlo had been thinking of when hoping she’d act awkward or humiliated. He kept asking her to talk about what she’d lost, how it felt to be ogled and objectified, and she did her best to weave some elements of truth (she’d formerly been training for a demanding physical job) with the “George” persona she’d been treating like an amusing role, though she’d managed to make it more subtle as time went on.
“It’s strange,” she confessed to Ralph, who was staring at her over the rim of a whiskey tumbler. “i can control whether guys stare at me based on what I’m wearing, but it’s also a feeling of losing control, right? Walking a tightrope, since there’s always the unspoken threat of violence.”
He lifted her finger with one chin. What a creepy way to respond to someone talking about fearing male violence, she thought. But he has a question to ask her, and he was the paying client. “What would you do to get back to your old life? To reclaim what you’ve lost?”
I would cut off my left pinky to never have to think about it again, she thought to herself. Out load, she answered, “I guess… this. Dancing, wearing almost nothing.” She pulled at a strap of her filmy bodycon micro-dress, the bodice stretched tight over and under her breasts. “I’m trying to find the quickest way to earn money so it can… all go away?”
He leaned in closer, his greying stubble thrown into sharp relief by the cone of one of the lights over the bar. Ralph’s breath smelled like whiskey. “So, Jas... what if you let me take you home and fuck you? Bend you over, show yourself to me like an animal and get piped for an hour or two.” Jamie did not think any sexual encounter with Ralph would last an hour. “Then I’d pay you… how much to pay off your whole dowry? To get you turned back into a guy?"
Jamie gulped, not having considered what the price was supposed to be, but suddenly aware of how much money she could make; perhaps enough to pay first and last months' rent on an apartment? "I mean... any amount would help, Ralph. But I'm not a—even for thousands of dollars, I don't think—"
Ralph laughed. "I'm joking, kid. I'm not that flush, and besides... I think it'd be a shame for the world to lose a beauty like yours. I couldn't pay for that. Haven't you considered just staying a girl? That fiancée of yours won't wait forever..." Jamie tried not to let her scowl show. He'd been playing with her, and she blamed herself for being surprised at all. For some men, the interaction between women, sexuality and money was more about a power trip than anything else. She gritted her teeth through the rest of their interaction and went home as soon as she could.
***
Alexandra found Jamie sitting on the edge of the bed they shared, her head in her hands. She dropped her bags immediately and rushed to her side. "Baby! What happened, are you okay?" Alexandra spent too much of each day worrying whether Jamie would finally encounter something that was too much, too violating, too far over some kind of line.
Jamie just sighed. "I don't know. Maybe? I'm kind of just... trying to figure everything out." She handed Alexandra a piece of paper. "This was slipped under the door when I got here." It was a notice from Alexandra's school informing her that she was violating housing policy by having a second person living there and stating a two-week deadline for her guest to move out.
"We should call Gail. She mentioned that loft, right? They needed a fifth roommate...." Alexandra's wheels were spinning. There was some way to salvage the situation, surely. But Jamie just took her in her arms.
"I'll figure something out. You know I'd rather move in with you." Jamie explained everything else that had happened that day; Alexandra, as usual, was in favor of violent revenge on Ralph and anyone else who'd looked at Jamie the wrong way. (Jamie kept having to explain that looking at her in sketchy ways was most of what she got paid for.)
"Surely you're not thinking of... uh, expanding to a new kind of sex work?"
Jamie shook her head. "The offer wasn't even serious. He was jerking me around. But... I feel like I should be trying to pick up lap dances. Cultivate some serious clients, you know? And... I could try using booth #3."
The third booth in the back hallway of Noxx was where the girls who did provide "extra contact" gave lap dances. Whether intentionally or not, the camera in that room was positioned so that it was easy to conceal physical activity if a client was seated in the right place—and just as easy for Carlo and the other staff to claim plausible deniability.
Alexandra took Jamie's hands in hers. "You promised not to go over your own boundaries. I mean... only you can decide what those are, but I don't want you getting hurt, physically or otherwise."
Jamie nodded and looked her in the eye. "I won't. But I feel like... maybe it's important to see where those boundaries are. Not just for the money, but so I can get a handle on... where I stand in all of this."
"All of what?" asked Alexandra.
"You know," Jamie waved airily around her. "Gender. Sex. Bodies. That stuff."
"Oh, is that all?" smirked Alexandra. "So... who are you thinking? Sebastian?" Jamie nodded. Sebastian was one of her other most faithful regulars and was clearly smitten with her—to a degree that she might feel bad about exploiting if it was outside a context that was supposed to be clearly about money. That, and it wasn't exactly Jamie who Sebastian had a crush on. Although he was much younger than Ralph, and seemingly better off—he dressed well, and Jamie suspected he worked in the tech industry—Sebastian was similarly obsessed with Jamie's story, asking her for details of what it was like to be a girl, to have been transformed. He frequently got excited, and intense, when she gave him details, though she usually demurred before talking too dirty to him.
"I think... if I give him what he wants, some sort of detailed account of what it's like to... be me? He'd for sure go for a private session. And I think I can handle him. Honestly, he's pretty harmless and sweet." From past descriptions, Alexandra knew Jamie meant that Sebastian barely talked and mostly stared, which she'd never considered a sign of harmlessness. But it wasn't as if she could hover nearby to protect her girlfriend. She sighed.
"Is there any way I can help you prepare? I mean... lap dance moves, anything like that?"
Jamie shook her head. "I don't think I need any moves for this one. Mostly just my imagination, and... nerves of steel? I'm not sure exactly what it's going to be like." She lay her head in Alexandra's lap. "Just be here with me, right now. You know me in ways that nobody else does, love. That's what I need." Alexandra kissed her sweetly, and the night folded them in a soft embrace.
***
"Like I was saying the other day," Jamie said, staring Sebastian in the eyes, "it didn't happen all at once. I wasn't sure if it was even real at first. But then I noticed my chest was softer... rounder."
"You had breasts," declared Sebastian. His accent was faint but noticeable, although Jamie hadn't been able to place it. Despite the intense air conditioning in the club, Sebastian's olive skin was already beaded with sweat.
"Just little ones at first," admitted Jamie. "But they felt so different than having my old chest. I mean, even when you're not working out, pecs are still muscle under a layer of fat, and even small breasts are kind of... the other way around. I could jiggle them." Jamie demonstrated by cupping them in her hands and bouncing them, slightly. She was perched on the arm of a low, faux-leather armchair in the third private booth.
So far, it was just another lewd conversation, but her every nerve was aware of where they were—the place where girls got the club's clientele off, usually with their hands or mouths or by rubbing up on them. She took a sip of her drink, the second that Sebastian had eagerly purchased for her—just a cranberry juice and seltzer, her usual.
"Tell me about your nipples," asked Sebastian. He was gazing up at her with those big amber eyes, a little like a puppy dog; something about his air reminded her of a high school reporter. It hadn't taken much convincing to get him in here; they'd been talking, once again on the topic of "what is it like to be transformed" and she'd simply promised to tell him the whole story. Jamie delicately peeled forward once of the lace cups of her bustier, letting her left breast pop free. Sebastian inhaled sharply.
"They got big and sensitive right away... although at first they only really grew when I did this." She rolled her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, teasingly, while still looking into Sebastian's eyes, which were wide open and glistening with excitement. She gasped a little for effect, then let him see how she pinched the tip of her nipple; it made her tingle all over as her sensitive flesh engorged. His breath quickened.
"And then later, your breasts grew?" he asked? His breath was ragged. Jamie chanced a look downwards—his pants were bulging noticeably, though he didn't seem to realize it himself yet. She shimmied a little bit, moving her exposed breast closer to his face.
"Yes... all of a sudden, actually. I was... at a friend's house, watching her draw some sketches, and suddenly they felt heavy. Both of my breasts were swelling in my hands, I couldn't stop them. Every time my heart beat, they swelled more, like I was being inflated. They felt so enormous, they still do. This big...." She squeezed one of them. "You... you can feel if you want to, Sebastian."
She'd looked him in the eyes again, and hadn't noticed his hands fumbling below, at his waistband. When she looked down, he already had his cock out and in one hand, gasping for breath, stroking himself. "Oh god—" she yelped, unprepared. Sebastian's dick was large in contrast to his thin frame; its girth was impressive regardless, although Jamie didn't have all that much experience. Bigger than mine, she thought. It sported a bulbous head like a plum and was overall the color of a bruised apple. It was throbbing, and the shaft was coated in a thick sheen of pre-cum. Jamie felt dizzy, unable to tear her gaze away, but panicked as well.
"Sebastian—" she started to say. "Oh god, I'm sorry. "
He froze momentarily, looking wide-eyed and fearful as well. Then she ran from the room, hearing his guilty apology float after her.
***
She'd gone back long enough to make sure Pug and Vijay didn't give Sebastian any trouble; she couldn't make eye contact with any of them and asked to go home early. Carlo had a "no questions asked" policy for certain circumstances, invoked at a nod from Vijay, who then walked her to the subway station.
"You okay?" he asked. It was about as much as he usually said. She nodded mutely, and thanked him; his large, impassive presence, never prurient or overly curious about the girls, truly was a comfort. Then she made her way back to Alexandra, waiting with hot chocolate and tender care.
"I'm going to try again," she told her girlfriend after a couple hours of downtime. Alexandra protested, but Jamie insisted she'd only been caught off guard. "And I don't know... I guess it brought back some weird memories. I have to think about all of this some more, but I don't think I can do that by running away." Alexandra looked unhappy but didn't try to sway her further.
The last thing Jamie saw as she drifted off was her girlfriend, drawing studiously in her artist's chair. That sight, too, was a comfort.
***
Jamie saw Sebastian come in as she was finishing a routine on the pole, spinning around in a carousel pose that she'd launched into quickly enough to get several rotations. She scissored her legs a few times for effect and came to rest in a position she'd fashioned after the kneeling seiza used in Japanese meditation and martial arts. She bowed, one arm keeping her suspended with one foot hooked around the pole as well, then dismounted.
Not long after, she approached Sebastian cautiously. "Hey... I'm sorry about yesterday."
He was already waving her hands to negate the whole idea of her apology. "No, no. Miss Jasmine... I should be the one apologizing. What I did was... inexcusable." He was clearly in distress; she hadn't been sure if he'd show up this evening at all, but now she got the impression that maybe he'd come just to apologize. "Please," he was saying "I wanted to know if you're alright."
Jamie was perhaps too nonchalant in demeanor; she wasn't truly alright, not one hundred percent. But she suggested they get a drink, and placed her hand on his, carefully.
"Sebastian... that wasn't about you. I just... I just wasn't ready."
"Of course not," he continued in the placating tone. "I know this must all be... very new for you. You aren't like these others." He waved condescendingly at Aya and Vella, who were performing a duo number on the side stages, tossing a ball of witchfire back and forth. The notion that she was somehow purer than her colleagues rankled Jamie, but she smiled softly instead.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But... I wanted to say that... it's helpful to talk about it with someone who's interested. And um... I don't mind if you, you know... if you need to..." She thought about the shape of his cock, which had the intended effect she'd been looking for; she felt her cheeks redden. She looked up at him. His eyes were wide, hopeful.
"Really?" he said, "I mean, that is... you wouldn't mind telling me more about what happened to you?" She nodded and took him by the hand. Luckily, the third booth had just been vacated. She scanned the seats; there didn't seem to be any mess, although the thought of using this booth was always a little bit squicky.
When Sebastian was seated again, she knelt on the floor before him. He looked like a startled rabbit.
"Where were we....? I was telling you about how large my boobs got, right?" Jamie tried to sound casual.
Sebastian's voice was anything but. "Y- yes. And I was wondering... by that point, had anything else changed for you?"
Jamie's gaze roamed up and right, towards the ceiling. "All my body hair had fallen out, early on. I didn't have that much in the first place; I used to be a swimmer. And then, my waist...."
"Tell me about your waist, please. What did it feel like?" Sebastian said, so she continued.
"I wasn't fat before, you know. But when my waist started to change shape, it was like... like being carved away, as if I was a statue. That, and it felt like something was squeezing me, a vice or a giant hand. I heard my ribs crack, they must have shrunk or compressed too... but it didn't hurt, just a kind of nauseating, twisting sensation." Sebastian was breathing more quickly again. She took his hands in hers and rose on her knees, coming between his. "Do you want to feel? I really do have a tiny waist now. Maybe you can even put your hands around it." She guided his hands to the sides of her waistline; his fingers were trembling.
Jamie decided to take the initiative; she could see he was already as stiff as he'd been yesterday. "Let me help you with that," she said, and reached for the button above his fly. She undid it slowly and deliberately and lowered the zipper on the front of his trousers, pulling them down until she felt the tip of his cock brush against her hand. She looked up at him, making eye contact.
With shaking hands, Sebastian pushed his pants over his hips to the ground. He wore boxer shorts underneath, though his cock was visibly throbbing beneath them. She felt a strange sense of awe; she'd touched her own cock many times when she'd had one, but this man's dick was now a challenge to her, something she had to deal with properly. With great care, she wrapped her fingers around it. Sebastian's shaft hardened into a rock-hard cylinder in her palm.
She stroked it gently with one finger. His skin was hot and smooth, his pubic hairs soft and curly. She bent down and kissed the tip of his cock, just on impulse. "Is this okay?" she asked quietly.
His voice sounded like it was straining to remain calm. "Yes—yes! Please... keep talking?"
She spit on her other hand and began to massage her saliva around his crown; she worked it into a slippery layer with her fingertips. "Okay," she said finally, "I want you to tell me something, as I'm touching you this way." She paused to lick her lips. "Do you want to be a girl? Like me?" Jamie stroked his shaft slowly with her fist as she spoke. Her heart was pounding so fast in her chest that she wondered if he could hear it, but she kept her pace steady, her grip rotating slightly, rubbing the outer layer of his skin against the rigid, engorged tissue beneath.
"Um..." was all he said.
"It's okay," she whispered. "There's nothing wrong with that." She squeezed him harder; she could feel the veins pulsing beneath her touch. "You can tell me, because... because that's why I'm like this. I wanted it." She leaned forward and kissed him, hard—not on the mouth but on his cock head itself. When she drew away from him, she could taste his pre-cum on her lips.
"Yes..." he said hoarsely. "I've wanted to be a girl for so long! I just... I can't talk about it, but..."
"That's good," Jamie replied. "You can tell me. Close your eyes." He did as she asked, and she continued running one hand up and down him, cupping his balls with her other hand.
"If you'd always been a girl," whispered Jamie, "and maybe you have been.... what would your name be?" She ran her tongue along the underside of his cock; he shuddered and moaned softly.
"I'd like to be called 'Tina,'" he gasped. "I think that sounds nice."
"Tina," she exhaled. "That does suit you. I'm going to call you Tina... and as far as I'm concerned, you're a girl."
Tina gasped as Jamie's nails raked her flesh lightly. "Tina.... do you feel me stroking your clit?"
"My... my...?" she said. "You mean my...?"
"Shhh," said Jamie. "Your clit is beautiful. And when you want it to, it can compress, hiding itself away in a hood, but still staying so sensitive." She felt her own clit throb at the thought. Jamie leaned forward and pressed her lips to Tina's clit; she sucked gently and felt it swell beneath her tongue. As she swirled her tongue around its tip, she gripped firmly at its base, pumping.
"Oh fuck!" cried Tina, bucking her hips. She grabbed Jamie's hair—or rather, she clutched at the ends of Jamie's ponytail with both fists, trying to pull her closer. Suddenly Jamie was gagging, but the gag reflex passed as soon as she pulled away from Tina's sex.
"That's right," said Jamie. "It feels good, doesn't it? And when you want it, down here...." her hand traced a line down the middle of Tina's folds, below her clit. "Your lips can open up, change their shape.... like mine, wet and puffy..." She couldn't finish the thought, because Tina stiffened and groaned loudly, then spurted a string of cum onto Jamie's face and neck. Jamie gaped, once again unprepared, and Tina just kept on spurting—her cum dousing Jamie's breasts and shoulders; Jamie found herself swallowing some of it, while the rest dripped off her chin and neck. It didn't taste bad, to Jamie's surprise; rather salty and sweet.
***
Although she hadn't quite expected things to get so intense, Jamie at least knew where the stash of wet wipes was kept in booth three and managed to clean things up so as not to completely disgrace herself in front of her coworkers. Tina looked as if she'd been through one of the most intense experiences of her life, and wanted to know when they could talk again.
"Soon," was all Jamie could say. She had a lot to process on her own. The most awkward part of their interaction was payment, of course; Jamie felt the need to explain that she really was working this job to pay the bills, not to reverse her transformation, and Tina pressed five hundred-dollar bills into her hand. She tried to protest, to no avail. Making her excuses, she hurried away.
What had come over her? Jamie thought. The night before, the very sight of that same set of genitalia had sent her into a dizzy panic. Tonight, though—she had liked it. Even before she knew she was going down on another girl, she'd felt a kind of predatory hunger, an instinct to clamp her mouth over her client's crotch and provide... good service? Was that it? Or just lustful hunger? Was it because she truly was the gayest of the gay girls, able to sense Tina's innate femininity and drawn to it? She snorted. Mystical sexual orientation wasn't something she gave a lot of credence to.
Tonight's shift had been an extra-late one; Alexandra was asleep when Jamie slipped in. The light was on at the artist's table, shedding a soft glow across the small bedroom and the curvy, slumbering form of her girlfriend, clad only in a big white t-shirt. She's so gorgeous, thought Jamie, and so talented. As she quietly pulled her boots off, Jamie glanced at the sketches on the first page of Alexandra's sketchbook. Jamie again, in a variety of everyday poses: laughing, smiling, eating an apple. Jamie smirked. Why was Alex drawing her so much, still? Just affection, or a study for a magical burin drawing to get her to be happy and eat apples more?
She flipped to the next page and stopped in shock.
Alexandra had done a whole series of erotic drawings of Jamie; in each one, Jamie was portrayed with a cock in front of her face. In some pictures, she held one in both hands—in others, she was sucking on it, in various poses. Jamie teasing the length of a shaft with her fingers, cupping testicles, playing with foreskin, flexing her tongue around the rim of a cock head. In every portrait, her expression was hungry, lustful. In one, streams of cum splattered across Jamie's face like rain, and she looked beatific, like a saint receiving communion. The whole series could have been titled "Jamie Kurokawa Can't Get Enough Cock."
Jamie stared at the last picture; it was of Jamie kneeling on all fours with a cock lodged firmly between her lips. Her ass was pointed back towards Alexandra's viewer, her cunt on glorious display. Did her hips look wider, her body curvier? Jamie looked down nervously at her own body; still the same.
She was reeling, her heart hammering. What was going on? Had Alexandra somehow turned her into—what exactly? An eager cocksucker? A closeted bisexual slut who got off on sucking dick? That sounded like Alexandra: she had always loved turning people on to new experiences and feelings they might not have known were possible. But... how could she have done this without telling her? How could she have drawn Jamie in her sleep again? Was there any other explanation?
Her mind roiling, her eyes tearing up, Jamie grabbed her bag and coat and slipped back out of the dorm room, into the hallway, then out of the building, out to the shadows of the city in the tiny hours of the morning.
