The last day of our trip to LA, so we decided to treat ourselves to some hot male go-go dancers in West Hollywood. One of those all-male nightclubs, where women aren’t allowed. I am definitely not a cock-blocker for the guys, so it just pisses me off when I’m excluded from the fun. Alas, a plan was needed to gain me entry into this bastion of gay delights.
Arm in arm with Robert, we saunter up to the door. He, in his usual hotness. I, looking like a sexy hooker in very high heels, or just your usual tranny. I love to work the crowd like a diva, which makes me such an excellent tranny in disguise. A real cock being the only difference between me and my soul sisters.
Once at the door, I get a few uncertain looks. “Are you a real woman”, the doorman asks?
Grinning ear to ear, I tell him, “You can feel for yourself, but you might be disappointed with what you find.” Robert’s mouth falls open at that, but hey, what have I got to lose except my entry into Sodom and Gomorrah. The stakes are high here, so I go for broke.
I’ll never know whether the doorman was straight and liked what he saw, or whether he thought I was a hot tranny. But he assured me he would not be disappointed, and in we went to enjoy the night.
Like a fish in water, I was truly in my element. Surrounded by LA’s finest homos grinding and dancing to the beats from the DJ, with no less than 5 go-go dancers on platforms low enough to reach the goods hidden in their tiny jocks. The LA gays are waaaay hotter than the Dublin homies, and the dancers covered the gamut in sexual tastes. My favorite was a seriously kinky looking tall and tattooed blond god. He looked like he could take a serious fucking, and I was aching to put my strap-on to good use. Robert would just have to suffer for my horniness later……
To secure my place amongst the beautiful men, we made our way over to the tranny corner. They tend to hang in packs, so I joined the group of girl look-a-likes to avoid being discovered for my naughtiness. I can out-diva them all, so no worries of holding my own amongst the group. Robert is afraid of trannies like some children are of clowns, such a fierce looking group of women we were. He stuck with us though, one of the tranny groupies, so to speak. Some men just love a hot tranny like nothing else, so I had to be on guard.
In the same way that some men want to squeeze a woman’s tits, some men love to squeeze the tranny junk. Trannies have lightening fast karate chop hands to swat away any unwanted attention, but the attitude is just as important. The cost of discovery for me was to get kicked out of the club, so I got my head bobbing side to side with my hand held out like a diva stop sign. “Don’t touch my junk” and “Hands off the chica-fajita” were the phrases du jour, along with the lightening hands. Robert says no one could actually take me for a tranny, but no one rained on my parade.
It was all worth it in the end. We danced the night away with all the fabulous men and fucked like bunnies until the dawn. It’s good-bye to LA for now, but the memories will last forever. And I finally got to try out my new strap-on.
Why not read one of my short taster novels.
Femme Fatale: Slave to My Nature Series eBook: Robert India: BUY FROM KINDLE STORE
Svetlana in Heels: A short story about the power of beautiful feet eBook: Robert India: BUY FROM KINDLE STORE