Date: Thu, 30 Aug 2007 09:58:44 -0400
From: D C <deanechris5@msn.com>
Subject: The Female Impersonator

The Female Impersonator
By Deane Christopher

Email: deanechris5@msn.com


Preface: Magical High Heels: A Primer


	The following story is set in my Heels Universe, in which a magical
pair of high heels allows a man to become an anatomically correct female on
an elective part time bases.  For those who are familiar with how the heels
work, please feel free to skip down to the story itself.  However, for
those who are either unfamiliar with how the heels function, or wish to
reacquaint themselves with the particulars, I offer the following summary.

	As a hobby, Zebulon and Valentina Castigetta produce magical,
U-throated, black kidskin pumps.  Zebulon (Zeb), a retired shoemaker,
actually manufactures the stylish and ever so petite feminine footwear,
while his wife, Valentina (Val), a gypsy witch, imbues the stilettos with
the magical wherewithal necessary to temporarily turn a male into a female.
During the process of investing the heels with the metaphysical wherewithal
to turn a man into a woman, Val charges them with the prime directive to
enrich the life of the intended recipient.

	Castigetta fashioned heels can be identified by a small-stylized
'Z' stamped into the heel cap of each pump.  Once a pair of their rather
unique high heels comes into the possession of the intended recipient, Val,
an avowed voyeur, employs a crystal ball to keep abreast of what is
transpiring in the recipient's life.

	While the manner of delivery tends to vary with each recipient,
once the target beneficiary takes possession of the magical pumps, the
heels begin to exert a subliminal, yet ever so compelling inducement to for
the recipient to try the extremely petite and distinctly feminine footwear
on.  When the male recipient finally gives into the seductive lure of the
heels and tries to cram his manly feet into the into the constrictive maw
of the heels, he is both shocked and surprised to find that shoes, though
snug, do indeed fit comfortably.  In fact, in most cases the recipient
quickly comes to the realization that the heels are the most comfortable
shoes he has ever worn.  Having put on one shoe before the other, generally
speaking the recipient also becomes aware of the fact that the pump gracing
his foot is noticeably larger than the shoe he has yet to don, while the
heel shod foot is a good deal smaller than his unshod foot.

	Once the recipient dons the heels, he begins to take note of the
fact that his male oriented clothing is beginning to radically, fluidly and
progressively change into clothing more befitting a female.  For instances,
even as the recipient dons the heels, the shocks he is wearing will be
magically transmogrify into nylons anklets; anklets that will in turn begin
to flow sensually upwards towards his groin.  In like manner, long before
the recipient becomes aware of the fact that he is in the process of become
a bona fide female: sweatpants might be changed into nylon/lycra leggings;
men's jeans, into flattering, body-hugging and decidedly female designer
jeans; trousers into either a pair of women's pants or some instances, a
skirt.

	Starting with the feet, femininity will flow upwards, progressively
transforming the male recipient into a woman.  In doing so, the heels will
use the gentleman's own conception of feminine perfection as the basic
blueprint for the finished product.  That is to say that it if a six foot
four Caucasian male recipient has a 'thing' for petite Asian women, the
heels will initially transform him into a petite Asian woman.  Succinctly
put, the recipient will be sexually transmogrified into the physical
personification of his own wet dreams.

	Age, racial affiliation, height, complexion, body type, eye color,
hair length, styling and hue, not to mention vocal inflexions are but a few
of the physical attributes that can be altered during the recipient's male
to female transformation.  However, the heels' magic has two criteria that
govern an individual's temporary sexual reassignment.  The first of those
is that the female that the recipient transmogrifies into must be
beautiful.  The second, as a woman, the recipient's age must fall within
the span of average woman's menstruation cycle.  That is to say that the
heels will not allow the recipient to change himself into either a
pre-menopausal girl or a post-menopausal woman.  Added to that, though most
recipients come to learn of this unique aspect of the heels' gender
targeted magic through happenstance, they find that they have gained the
ability to assume the physical characteristics of any woman that is: one,
beautiful; and two, of an age that falls within an average woman's child
bearing years.

	Though it is easily manageable, there is one particular aspect of
the heels' magic that new recipients find to be most disquieting.  For
every unit of time that a recipient accrues as a female while wearing the
heels, he will spend a like amount of time as a woman once he removes them.
For example, if a recipient were to spend an hour wearing the heels, once
he removes them, he will spend another hour as a female before he changes
back into his old manly self.  This accrued penalty time is generally
refereed to as Residual Girl Time.

	Though many recipients remain ignorant of the fact, starting with
the recipient's inaugural stint as a female, the heels begin a leeching
process which slowly replicates the magical wherewithal that Valentina
Castigetta has imbued the heels with within the metaphysical makeup of the
recipient himself.  That is to say that after using the heels to log a
considerable amount of time as a member of the fairer sex, the recipient
gains the inherent ability to change himself into a female without having
to avail himself of the heels' magical potential.  In like fashion, once
the magical potential has been fully replicated, the recipient, should he
elected to do so, can completely negate the pesky Residual Girl Time he has
accrued during his stint as a female by a mere conscious wish to do so.  By
the same token, once the heels' magical potential has fully replicated
itself, the recipient will find that he has also gained the ability to
alter his female persona and accompanying attire to suit his whims.

	Should a recipient of the magical high heels marry, the magic to
change oneself into a member of the opposite sex begins to replicate itself
within the metaphysical makeup of the recipient's spouse as well. This
additional replication process requires a physical link in order to
download its metaphysical machinations.  Though any form of physical
contact will serve as a link for the replication process, the primary link
is through the act of sexual intercourse.  Generally, this trickle-down
metaphysical process takes several months to complete.  It also should be
noted that given the fact the magic's prime directive is to enrich the
recipient's life, the spouse's magic abilities would remain forever
subservient to those of the recipient.  That is to say that even though the
recipient's spouse could wield the magical potential that resides within
her, the heels recipient's preferences would always carry more weight than
would his wife's.  For example, should the recipient's wife wished to
change herself into a reasonable facsimile of Jenny McCarthy, but the heels
recipient has something more in the line of a Victoria Silvstedt in mind,
the recipient's spouse, whether she liked it or not, was going end up
logging some time as Victoria Silvstedt's body-double.  By the same token,
if the heels recipient finds the prospect of serving as the female while
engaging in heterosexual sex with his transsexualized wife abhorrent, his
spouse will find herself unable to change herself into a male whenever such
intimate and compromising situations present themselves.



Story: Heels & The Female Impersonator




	Aware that he was cutting it short, Thomas Carlson walked into the
vestibule of The Ridgeline Resort's rustically cabaret and asked to be
directed to the manager.  A few minutes later, having introduced himself,
the cabaret manager, one Ms. Pamela Jordan, unable to hide her amusement,
laughingly scoffed, "You're kidding me, right?  There's no way a big burly
guy like you could make it as a female impersonator.  I mean, you look to
me like the kind of guy that runs around with a Harley sticking out of his
ass."

	Though he knew it was a hard sell, Tom assured Pamela Jordan that
he was indeed a female impersonated, adding in the next breath that he was
there to fill in for their headliner who he understood was unable to
perform due to a nasty cold.

	"Yeah!  Right!" Pamela Jordan scoffed.

	Feeling as if she had been dupe by the booking agent in New York,
Pamela was becoming increasingly agitated.  She was also keenly aware that
there was no way she could secure another act on such short notice.  "And
just how are you ever going be able to pass yourself off as a female with
that Fu Manchu mustache of yours?  Or, is it a fake?"

	"No, it's the real deal alright.  And as for passing myself off as
a woman, I would say: that's my problem." Tom tersely replied.  "Look, I
know that I don't look the part, but I really am a female impersonator.
And, if you give me half a chance, I'll be more than happy to prove it to
you.  In fact, though I'm just getting started in the business, I happen to
think I'm might be the best female impersonator there ever was.  So, here's
the deal.  If you like my act, you pay me.  If you don't like my act, don't
pay me.  It's that simple.  No hurt.  No foul.  There's no risk on your
part."

	Since she was up against the wall so to speak when it came to the
evening's entertainment, Pamela Jordan did not have a whole lot of choice
in the matter.  It was Thomas Carlson or nothing.  "Okay.  You've got
yourself a deal.  But, you do realize that you're late.  You were supposed
to be here a couple hours ago."

	"I'm afraid that couldn't be help.  There was a bad pile up on the
interstate..."

	"Whatever..." Pamela cut him off short.  "What can I do to expedite
things, because you supposed to go on in twenty minutes."


+ + +


	Though she pissed and moaned about it the whole time, Pamela took
it upon herself to helped Tom carry in his prop and equipment cases.  "Just
these four case?" she was incredulous as she reached into Tom's van and
picked up two of the cases.  "You can't be serious.  Where are all your
costumes?  I mean, you do wear costumes don't you?"

	Hefting the case he was carrying in his left hand, Tom casually
replied, "Yes, I do wear a lot of different costumes and if you must know,
they're all in here."

	"Okay.  So where are all your wigs?  I mean, given that you're
practically bald, it's more or less a given that you've got have a whole
bunch of wigs."

	"Don't need 'em."

	"Oh, This I've got a see..." Pamela, thinking that the booking
agent in New York had pulled a fast one on her, was seething with anger, so
much so that her sarcasm was showing.

	Pamela, using a side hallway, led Tom backstage.  "I guess you
would like me to close the curtains?"

	"Actually, I would prefer that you leave them open."

	"Okay.  It's your funeral.  Now, is there anything else I can get
for you."

	"Yes.  I would like a chair, armless if you have one.  And, I would
also like to talk to whoever handles your lighting and sound."

	"That would be Mel.  I'll see if I can find him for you..."


+ + +


	In an effort on his part to look like a stagehand, Tom was dressed
all in black.  Black shirt.  Black pants.  Black shoes.

	With Mel's help, he plugged his dual deck CD player and mice
transponder into the stage's sound system.  With that done, Tom next used a
small remote control unit that would reside in the palm of his left hand
throughout his performance to test out the set up.  Thanks to Mel, the
system worked like a charm.  He then gave Mel an overview of what he look
for in so far as the stage lighting was concerned.  Mel, having worked with
a lot of entertainers over the years, seemed to grasp what Tom wanted right
off the bat.

	Hefting two of the three unopened cases, Tom then nonchalantly
walked out on the stage and began to assemble the several props he would be
using for his act.  The first unit he erected looked like an ultra-modern
chrome arbor, in that it consisted of two gauzy panels stretched across two
almost identical inter-connecting tubular seven by seven frames.  What
differentiated the rear frame from the front frame was the battery of
mini-strobe lights that were mounted on the rear frame and were direct
towards the inside of the gauzy panel mounted on the arbor's frontal frame.
This was done so as to create a pulsating silhouette of anyone passing
between the arbor's two parallel panels.

	Once that assemble was complete, Tom quickly put together a coat
stand and placed it to the side and a little to the rear of the gauze
paneled arbor.  With that accomplished he move to stage left where he
collected his as yet unopened case and the chair he had requested that
Pamela provide him with.  "Okay, Mel!  It's time to get this show on the
road.  So, when I get back out there, I want you to bring down the house
lights and hit me with a spot."

	Placing the chair stage center and the case he carried on the floor
beside it, Tom stepped out of his shoes and began to unbutton his shirt.
Once unbuttoned, Tom casually remove his shirt to reveal that he was
wearing what appeared to be a glossy black, long sleeve nylon/lycra
pullover, something akin to the kind of shirts that bicyclists and runners
sometimes wear.  Needless to say that the audience had become intrigued at
this point in the proceedings, with many of them left to wonder just what
in the hell the nut-job on stage thought he was doing.  Having taken care
in placing his shirt on the chrome coat rack that he had erected only
moments before, he next unbuckled his belt and unzipped his zipper.  Though
some in the audience gasped as he began to remove his pants, it soon became
apparent that he was wearing a pair of nylon/lycra running tights
underneath them.  Placing his pants on the coat rack, Tom unhurriedly
walked back to the chair and sat down facing the expectant audience.
Having taken a protracted moment to scan the audience, he reached over and
opened the last of his four cases.  From its innards, he extracted a pair
of extremely petite, to be almost child-sized, stiletto heeled black kid
leather opera pumps.  Holding them up so that the audience could see them,
Tom thumbed the remote to activate the all but unnoticeable mini-boom mice
that ran along the line of his left jaw.  "Small, aren't they?" his voice
boomed out over the cabaret's sound system.

	"Mel!  Do you think that you could bring my mice down a tad?  We
certainly don't want to blow out anyone's eardrums tonight.  Yeah!  That's
a lot better."

	"Alright...  As I was saying, they're awfully small aren't they?
I'll wager that they're to small to fit most, if not all of the women who
are here tonight.  However, if there are any ladies present who would like
to try to see if these heels of mine will fit you, please, feel free to
join me up stage."

	After a lot coaxing on his part, one woman, and a very petit woman
at that, took Tom up on his offer to try on the pumps.  However, though she
gave it her best shot, she was unable to force those dainty and diminutive
feet of hers into the open maw of the heels.

	Having tried and failed, Tom, stating that he wore a man's size
twelve in shoes asked the woman if she thought that he might have more
success donning the heels than she had.  Of course she emphatically
declared that there was no way the pumps would ever fit him.  However, even
as the woman from the audience was making that declaration of hers, Tom
placed the heels on the floor in front of him and adroitly slipped those
manly size twelve's of his into first one and then the other of the heels.

	"Well, isn't that something folks!  They fit!  But, then again, I
am a professional."

	With that, Tom asked the audience to join him in a big round of
applause as a means to thank the woman for being such a good sport.  Then,
as the applause began to dwindle down, he directed her to return to the
table where her husband awaited her.

	Squatting, Tom closed the case and taking both it and the chair,
set them alongside the coat rack so that they were out of the way.
Returning to stage center, Tom began to pace back and forth as he launched
into a very tongue-in-cheek explanation as to why he became a female
impersonator in the first place.

	"Good evening ladies and gentleman.  My name is Tom Carlson and I
am female impersonator.  Now, I'll grant you that I probably don't strike a
lot of you as the kind of guy who normally goes it for this kind of work,
but it's like they say: if the shoes fits..."

	Standing backstage besides the cabaret's light and soundman, Pamela
Jordan gasped in amazement.  "Mel, are my eyes deceiving me, or are his
legs starting to look a hell of lot more like women's legs then they did
just a few minutes ago?"

	"Well..." Mel thoughtfully replied as he twisted two of the dial
potentiometers on his light-board, bringing down the blue lights bathing
the rearmost section of the stage and bringing up the red ones.  "If your
eyes are deceiving you, then so are mine.  Because from where I sit, I have
to say that his legs sure look like a pair of women's legs to me.  Wow!
Did you see that, Ms. Jordan?  I'll be damned if his beer belly just up and
flatten out!"

	"Yes, you're right..." Pamela could not believe what she was
seeing.  "It most certainly did at that.  Did you also notice that his
waist is no where near as big as it was and added to that, his hips have
widened widen considerably."

	"Will you get a load of his ass!  I here to tell you, Ms. Jordan.
I've seen a lot of asses in my life and that ain't a man's ass."

	"What can I say, Mel, save to say: when you're right you're right.
I have to agree.  That isn't a man's rump.

	Having forgotten all about his light-board for the moment, Mel,
mimicking a good portion of the cabaret's equally astonished audience,
gapped open mouthed.  "Oh, my God!  I'll be damned if he isn't growing
boobs!"

	At that point in the proceedings, Tom extracted what appeared to be
a scarf sized piece of glossy black nylon/lycra fabric from the waistband
of the running tights he was wearing.  Shaking it out, he located the
bag-like garment's hem.  Then, employing both of his hands, he quickly
pulled the hood down own over his head.  "Ladies and gentleman, there's no
need to panic.  Trust me!  While I maybe a female impersonator, I'm not
into bondage or S & M, or for the matter, anything that's overtly kinky.
The hood just allows me to put the finishing touches on my makeup.  Or, you
could say, it allows me to my face on..."

	As Tom said that, he thumbed the remote that resided in the palm of
his left hand and so triggered the first track of the CD he used throughout
his performance.  Instantly, the music used for the overture for the movie
2001: A Space Odyssey began to play over the cabaret's sound system.  Then,
just as the well-known melody reached its crescendo point, Tom reached up
and yanked off the hood she was wearing.  As she did so, cascades of golden
tresses fell about her shoulders, framing that angelically face of hers as
it did so.

	Even as the stunned audience began to respond with a rousing amount
of applause, Pamela Jordan exclaimed, "Oh, my God, Mel!  She's beautiful!"

	"Yeah..." the soundman wholeheartedly agreed with his boss's
assertion.  "And she's got a body that won't quite.  But, as fantastic as
she looks, who the hell is she supposed to be?  I mean, she doesn't look
like any celebrity that I know."

	Before Pamela had a chance to respond, Tom addressed that very
point from center stage.  "Ladies and gentleman, let me introduce myself.
I'm Tammy, Tom's feminine alter ego."  Pivoting to her right, Tammy began
to circle back towards the open archway on the arbor's left side.  As she
did so, she continued on to say, "So, without any further ado, what do you
say that we put the petal to the metal and get this show on the road?"  And
with that she stepped behind the arbor's gauzy front panel.  As she passed
within, her body broke the infrared beam that in turned triggered the
battery of mini-strobes, which in turn created a pulsating silhouette of
herself.  By doing so, the audience could monitor her progress as she
swiftly passed through the arbor.  Though she entered the arbor in the
guise of her feminine alter ego, Tammy, she exited the arbor as the
spitting image of Shania Twain.

	Pamela Jordan, having actually met the real Shania Twain on several
occasions in the past, could not believe her eyes.  "Damn!  I don't have
the faintest idea how he did that, but he sure the hell looks like Shania."

	In the next moment, Tom, keying the second track on his CD, proved
that she not only looked like Shania Twain, but sounded just like her as
well, as she launched herself into a seamless rendition of Shania's song,
'Man! I Feel Like A Woman'.

	As the song ended, Tammy in the guise of Shania, with an energetic
bow and a wave to the appreciative audience, jauntily looped back around so
as to re-enter the arbor, passing this time from right to left, instead of
left to right the way she previously had.  Exiting on the arbor's other
side a second or so later as Marilyn Monroe.  "Oh, my!" the Marilyn double
sensually cooed.  "This isn't right.  I'm supposed to be doing Whitney
Houston right now, not Marilyn Monroe.  I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen.  It
seems I made a mistake.  So, with your permission, let me correct that
little faux pas of mine right now."  With that said, Marilyn, with a wave
of goodbye, turned about and headed back into the arbor only to emerge as
Whitney Houston; who proceeded to awe the audience with a flawless
rendition of 'The Greatest Love Of All'.

	Dolly Parton, singing 'Here You Come Again', followed Whitney, who
was in turn followed by Tina Turner, who wowed the crowd with a driving
presentation of Credence Clearwater's 'Proud Mary'.  Then, much like
Marilyn had earlier in Tammy's performance; Catherine Zeta-Jones put in a
quick cameo appearance.  Britney Spears was next up, singing her hit,
'...Baby One More Time'.

	Thoroughly enjoying the show himself, the cabaret's light and
soundman mused aloud, "This certainly is one hell of a show."

	Pamela Jordan, who was not only thoroughly impressed, but also at a
complete loss as to how to explain what was taking place on the stage, had
to agree.  There was no doubt about it.  Thomas Carlson was, hands down,
the best female impersonator she had ever seen.

	"Do you have any idea how he's doing it?"

	"No, Mel.  I'm afraid I haven't a clue.  In fact, given how dead-on
his impersonations are, I'm not sure that he really isn't a woman.  I mean
to tell ya!  For my money, he's got these women down pat."

	Mariah Carey, signing 'Hero', replaced Britney on stage.  At the
conclusion of song, just as she was about to pass behind the arbor's front
panel, Mariah stopped, turned to the face the audience and said, "Ladies
and gentleman, I ask you to please put your hands together and welcome the
one and only Madonna to the stage.  A moment later Madonna bounded out of
the arbor other side, and playing the enthusiastic crowd for all it was
worth, sang her hit tune, 'Like A Prayer'.  Faith Hill was the next to put
in an appearance, singing her song, 'Breathe'.

	At the conclusion of her song, Faith Hill took a moment to address
the audience ere she, in her turn, surrendered the stage.  "Ladies and
gentlemen, and those of you who have yet to figure out just which of those
you happen to be, it is my pleasure to give you the one, the only, Cher!
With so many songs to chose from, Cher opted to sing her 'We All Sleep
Alone'.

	Then, to conclude her performance, Tammy, a Celine Dion look-alike,
sang an impeccable rendition of Celine's amazing song; 'It's All Coming
Back To Me Now'.

	Taking a well-deserved bow at the conclusion of her number, Celine
darted back into the arbor only to emerge once again as Tom's feminine
alter ego Tammy.  Taking another bow and thanking the audience profusely,
Tammy, employing a magician's slight-of-hand trick that she had worked very
hard to master, plucked the black nylon/lycra hood seeming out of thin air.
Saying that it was time to go, she donned the hood, taking special care to
ensure that all of those golden tresses of hers were neatly tucked up under
it.  With that attended to, Tammy adroitly stepped out of the heels.
Demurely, with all the grace and charm of a lady, she squatted and picked
the stilettos.  Then, with those so dainty and diminutive pumps dangling
from her right hand, Tammy stepped off the stage and began to casually
stroll about the tables where the cabaret's patrons sat wondering what was
to occur next.

	Even as he brought up the house lights a smidgen, an astonish Mel
muttered, "Ms. Jordan, by any chance did you get a good look at her hands
as she made her way off the stage?"

	"Yes, Mel.  I sure did," an equally perplexed Pamela Jordan
replied.  "And I take it that you took note of the fact that they looked
like a pair of man's hands rather than woman's hands?"

	"Yes, ma'am.  I sure did."  Mel, bringing up the house lights
another notch or two, could not take his eyes off of the black clad figure
that weaved a random path about the tables.  "I'll be damned!  Her boobs
are gone."

	"Yes," Pamela Jordan concurred with her soundman.  "And it appears
that he's getting her beer belly back."

	"How the hell's he doing it?" Mel felt compelled to ask the obvious
question.

	"It beats me, Mel.  But, I've got to admit that our Mr. Thomas
Carlson has himself one hell of an act."

	Having allowed the audience a slightly obstructed view of the
better part of his transformation, Tom briskly made his way back to the
cabaret's stage.  As he manfully bounded onto the stage, he reached up and
yanked off the hood, revealing to one and all that he was once again the
man he had started off the show as.  The audiences, aware that they had
seen something that bordered on the phenomenal, exploded in another round
of rousing applause.

	Responding to the accolade he had juts received Tom once again
thanked the audience.  Then, as if in an afterthought, he continued on to
say, "Ladies and gentleman, while I thoroughly enjoy being the man I was
born to be, I have to admit that there are times when I relish the erotic
thrill I receive out of being a woman.  So, with your indulgence, I think I
would like to spend the rest of the evening as Tammy."  Having said that,
Tom placed the stilettos on the stage and without wasting a moment, easily
slipped one foot, followed immediately by the other, into the inviting maw
of the heels.  Briskly, with those heels of his clicking and a clacking, he
circled back and re-entered the arbor.  A second later, Tammy, this time
wearing an extremely sexy tease-to-please cocktail dress, emerged from the
arbor's opposite end.

	With a wave to audience, Tammy said, "If anyone is interested in
obtaining an autographed montage photograph of me in the guise of all the
absolutely fabulous divas I portrayed in tonight's performance, I'll be out
in the lobby for the next half an hour or so.  So, please, feel free to
come out and talk to me..."

	An hour and a half later, using the excuse that she had to get
backstage and repack her equipment, Tammy ended the last of a long line of
conversations she had been engaging in with members of the cabaret's very
appreciative audience.  Catching Pamela Jordan's ear ere she made her way
backstage, Tammy said, "So, what'ya think?  Did you like my act well enough
to pay me for it?"

	"Oh, definitely!" with a smile broadening on her face, Pamela
pleasantly replied.  "In fact, I intend on getting a hold of your manager
first thing tomorrow.  I want to book you in here as soon as I can.  But
you are planning to stay the week out, aren't you?  Or, at least until my
present headliner starts feeling well enough to perform?"

	Tammy, saying that she needed the exposure, replied that she would
be more than happy to continue to fill in for the ailing headliner on the
condition that Pamela would put her up at the resort for the duration of
her stay.  Assuring Tammy that she would be more than happy to fix her up
with accommodations, Pamela suggested that after she attended to a few
matters that required her attention, that the two of them have a nightcap
together at resort's rustic taproom.


+ + +


	Having taken a sip of her fuzzy naval, Pamela placed her glass back
on the coaster and inquisitively asked, "Look, just between us girls,
Tammy, how'ya do it?  And where the hell is your partner, Tom?  He wouldn't
be laying low in your van right about now, would he?"

	"Well..." Tammy warily began her replied.  "To answer your last
question first.  I can assure you that Tom isn't hiding out in my van.  The
truth is that he's sitting right here in this booth across from you."

	"Yeah!  Right!" Pamela smirked as she took another sip of her
drink.  "And you really expect me to believe that you're him?"

	"Actually, I don't give a damn what you believe," a tuckered out
Tammy gruffly replied as she sampled the pina colada that she had ordered.
"Tell you what!  If you want proof, I'll give you proof," she continued on
to say as she slipped her feet out of the heels.  "When I tell you to
blink, blink!  All right?  Blink!"

	Pamela did as directed only to see Thomas Carlson, wearing the
black nylon/lycra pullover, sitting across from her in the booth.  "Holy
shit!  How the hell did you that?"

	Having answered the very same question many times before, Tom
simply replied with the truth.  "Magic."

	Disbelieving what had just occurred, Pamela countered, "You're
shittin' me, right?"

	"No.  I'm not.  And to prove that I'm not," Tom, turning his palms
upward, extended his hands across the table, "take my hand in yours and
when I say blink, you blink just like you did before.  All right.  Ready.
Set.  Blink."

	Pamela did as directed only to find that when her eyes popped
opened, she was grasping Tammy's soft and femininely structured hands
instead of those manly and callous mitts of Tom's.  "Oh, my God!  You're
a...  You're a...  You're a..." Pamela, unable to express herself, lamely
stammered.

	"A girl," Tammy, taking pity on Pamela, congenially offered.

	"How?" a thoroughly flustered Pamela managed.  "How did you do
that?"

	"I told you.  Magic!"


+ + +


	Though the pub closed its doors promptly at two, Pamela and Tammy,
having found that they enjoyed one another's company, continued their
conversation for another hour or so.  Though they were both reluctant to do
so, they decided that they had best call it a night.  Making sure that the
both the pub and the cabaret were locked, Pamela showed Tammy to her room
and bid her a goodnight.

	The next morning, a somewhat bleary-eyed Tammy woke and after a few
minutes of indecision, reluctantly changed herself back into her natural
male alter ego.  Once dressed, Tom headed off to the resort's restaurant
with the hope that he might still be able to get breakfast rather than
something from the lunch menu.  Luck was with him.  Though it was just a
little after eleven, his waitress informed Tom that he could still order
from either the breakfast or lunch menus.

	While he sipped his coffee waiting for his meal to arrive, Tom was
startled when a familiar voice inquisitively intone, "You look a little
lonesome sitting here all by yourself.  Do you mind some company?"

	Looking up into Pamela Jordan's eyes, a pleasantly surprised Tom
replied, "No.  Please do."

	Though their conversation was a little strained in the beginning,
by the time the two of them had finished with their meals, Tom and Pam had
managed to re-establish the upbeat and free-flowing exchange that they had
enjoyed the previous evening in the resort's taproom.  Pam, saying that she
had a few things that she needed to attend to first, but that it would take
her no more than an hour to do so, suggested that if Tom were up for it,
the two of them could spend the afternoon together.  Tom, having never been
to the Poconos before, readily agreed.  On Pam's suggestion, the two of
them spent the better part of the afternoon traipsing around Bushkill
Falls.

	As their afternoon together progressed, so too did their
relationship.  What started out as a casual friendship began to deepen into
something else.  Acting on the realization that she was sexual attracted to
the burly female impersonator, Pam found that she could no longer restrain
herself.  Taking a calculated risk that he might harbor the same sort of
feelings that she did, as the two of them stood on the boardwalk admiring
one of Bushkill's secondary cascades, Pam reached over and gasped Tom's
hand in hers.  An hour later, having retraced their steps so that the two
once again stood gazing up at Bushkill Falls proper, Tom upped the ante as
he enfolded Pam in his arms and kissed full on the lips.

	That evening, Tom put on another stellar performance, wowing the
audience much as he had the night before.  Afterwards, much as they had the
pervious evening, once the cabaret had closed its doors for the evening,
Pam and Tammy relocated to the resort's taproom for a nightcap.

	Playfully, Pam seductively cooed, "You do realize that given what
happened this afternoon, you won't be sleeping in your room tonight."

	Tammy, pretending to not understand what Pam was implying,
playfully teased, "I'm not?  How come?"

	"Because, silly, after that kiss this afternoon, I decided that
tonight you will be sleeping in my room."

	"Oh..." Tammy, playing the part of the dumb blonde to the tee,
coyly responded.  "So, where will you be sleeping?"

	"Right next to you, silly?  I think that you and I need to see
where this new relationship of ours will take us."

	Getting deadly serious for the moment, Tammy felt compelled to ask
what was the crucial question for her, the question that could make or
break what could foreseeable become a truly wonderful relationship.  "One
question, just who do you want to sleep with?  Tammy?  Tom?  Or, one of
those woman that I impersonate?"

	"Dose it matter?"

	"Yes!" Tammy, wanting nothing more than to make love to Pam, wasn't
pussyfooting around.  For some reason that she couldn't quite fathom, Pam's
answer was the most important thing in the world to Tammy."

	Know that the time for kidding was past, Pam reached over and
taking both of Tammy's hands in her own, endeavored to speak as
forthrightly as possible.  "To be honest with you, Tammy, I want to sleep
with both you and Tom.  You see, after a lot of soul searching I have come
to except the fact that I'm bisexual.  And because I am, you my dear are
the answer to my prayers.  As for getting it on with a number of the women
you impersonate, I hadn't given any thought to that particular aspect.  But
now that you mention it, as kinky and perverted as it might sound, it might
be fun at that."

	Aware that she may well have upset the proverbial apple cart, Pam
ended her rather protracted answer by asking a question of her own.  "So,
have I passed your litmus test?"

	"Actually, Pam, while I might be the answer to your prayers, you
are without a doubt the answer to mine.  You see, while I've always dreamed
of getting it on with another woman, you know, while I'm a woman myself,
I've never actually had the opportunity to do so.  In other words, if all
you were looking for was a lesbian relationship, that would have been
perfectly fine by me.  However, the fact that you are bisexual surpasses my
wildest dreams, you know, as in it's the icing on the cake, so to speak..."

	"Icing..." Pam impishly mused.  "Now that's a rather novel idea.  I
mean, as trite as it might sound, I've tried whipped cream a few times, but
I've never tried icing..."


Epilogue


	Six months later, Pam quit her job at The Ridgeline Resort to
become Tom's personal manger and booking agent.  Four months after that,
while Tom was performing out in Lake Tahoo, the two of them tied the knot.