Of course, you go to the party

You wake up in your crappy apartment, and from the direction of the light streaming in through your window, it must be almost noon.

You're still sore between your legs from Manuel's lecherous attentions of last night. How could he have thought it was okay to just take you like that? Why did you let him?

Your whole studio is barely big enough for your bed. You don't even have a closet, but hang some of your clothes off an exposed pipe that runs across the ceiling of the tiny room. Looking up at them, it occurs to you that all your clothes were meant for your old male self.

You need to get some clothes to fit your new curvy, female shape. And you have almost $400 burning a hole in your pocket.

Four hours later you're hanging up your new wardrobe. You've purchased a couple of skirts, a couple of blouses, and a pretty cotton print dress that flatters your curvy body. You flop down on the bed, looking up at your purchases, and wondering what you're going to do tonight.

You're not scheduled at the club until tomorrow, so work is out. There's Manuel's invitation, of course, but you're not sure that it would be smart to go. Lots of men, liquor. Actually it does sound kind of good to you. "You would be very popular," he had said. You put on your new dress.

Three buses later you're walking down his street. This part of town seems kind of dodgy to you, and you can't help but notice that you're getting a lot of attention from the groups of Latino youths hanging out on the stoops of the houses you pass by. You avoid making eye contact and keep walking. You're almost there.

You walk up the driveway to a small white stucco house. Mexican banda music is playing loudly inside. Manuel greets you at the door.

"Becky! I was worried that you wouldn't come. I would have been very angry at you, you know! Come on in."

You follow him into a poorly lit living room. The floor is covered with a shag carpet that must have been white at some point. A mismatch of couches line the walls of the room, and the couches are all filled with middle aged Latino men. There is not a single other woman here, and you feel like every eye in the room is studying your every move.

You turn to Manuel, "Aren't there any other girls coming?"

He shrugs apologetically, "Of course, of course. Later, they are coming later. You know girls.. so much time to get ready, always late. Let me get you a drink."

You drift over to a corner of the room giving you a little space away from the men. In a moment he returns with a glass of something that looks and smells fruity. You take a sip.

"Wow, that's strong," you say, surprised at how much bite the drink has. You taste orange juice, pineapple and a lot of ****.

"We give you your money's worth here, chica," he says, winking at you. "Hey, hey, don't be shy," he says, taking your arm and leading you over to a nearby couch. "Meet Carlos and Luis. Boys, why don't you scoot over and give Becky somewhere to sit down."

They each slide towards the sides of the couch and you're left with **** than to sit down between them. Carlos you recognize as one of Manuel's friends from last night, but Luis is new. He's got a chin strap beard and mustache, and from the number of tattoos visible on his arms you're pretty sure that he was heavily involved in gangs at some point in his life.

Luis turns to you and says, "So Becky, Manuel tells us that you like Hispanic guys, right?" and he reaches out to squeeze your bare knee.

Not to be outdone, Carlos reaches out and grabs your thigh right above the knee, and tells you, "And let me tell you, girl, with a body like yours we are going to like you."

You nervously take a long sip off your drink. It does seem to help you relax a little. You just hope some of the other girls get here soon.

But, although a couple other guys show up, no women arrive. You keep sipping your drink, and whenever it gets low Manuel brings you a refill. You may be getting a little sloppy. At some point you realize that Luis's hand has worked its way all the way up your leg and is teasing at the edge of you thong panties. You'd totally make him stop if it didn't feel kinda good.

"I think it's time, now, don't you?" Manuel announces. Everyone in the room seems to be grunting agreement.

"Time for what?", you ask, slurring your words a little.

Carlos reaches over to stroke your hair, "Time for the piñata, girl. It's going to be lots of fun."

"Oh, a piñata," you say, "that does sound like fun!"