...become a stripper! (a chance for a job)

You look around, the shady, slightly creepy atmosphere of the joint, the leering, horny faces of the men – not even as bad as they would become once the evening got later - and the dancer who follows Candy – Jewel, you think, is her name - on stage giving her all. To the thumping beat of Rock Star from P!nk. Why he hell does the universe seem to think you could possibly want to work here? It’s just about the most demeaning job you could get. Using your body to get strange men horn by rubbing their crotches with yours to get them off without touching. Having them fully in your control, turning them into weak cock driven pathetic little boys who do all your bidding and give your their last money just to have the honour to get close to your treasure grotto that they’ll never be worthy enough to actually touch. It’s…

“You’re right, I thought I'd try again to get a job here. I really want to dance here!”

You feel like standing outside of your bod and looking at yourself. Why did you say that? But then – it might most definitely help to get in touch with your inner female in case you will want to break the curse and become a man again. Just in case. What? Of course you do! Even though you catch yourself - you haven't thought about being a man almost the whole day now…..

Candy’s glaced eyes become bright and vivid again as the universe adjusts itself to your – a little unexpected choice.

“Cool. I don't know you that well, but I really think we got along well last time you tried. I’d love to work with a nice gal like you, some of the girls are really mean bitches.”

You smile.

“Think I got a chance this time?”

You wonder how this reality made you fail last time.

“Definitely. The boss really liked your moves but we had full roster. Since then three girls left, Pearl got pregnant, Kitty married and Thumper got a job as escort girl. Real classy one, though.”

“So you have thee openings, huh.”

She giggles.

“I do, but I don't know what that has to do with the job!”

She laughs out loud at her own joke and you smile.

“You didn't have a stripper name last time… you can't go up there and all yourself Lexi Jordan.”

You touch the gemstone around your neck. Haven't thought of it in along while, or the old hag who gave it to you, this whole affair had gotten so overwhelming. You've gotten used to the warmth it gives off whenever you make a choice that leads you deeper into the rabbit hole, find it – strangely reassuring by now. You look at it and it has notably changed colour from blue to purple. It seems to think you settled well into your life as a woman. Might as well honour the creator of this whole

“Gypsy.”

She giggles again.

“I thought we’re not using that word any more.”

You blush.

“You think it’s too…”

She laughs out loud.

“Relax Gypsy, neither the boss nor the guests are exactly the most politically correct target group. He’d probably not hire a girl called … you know… the N-word. Unless she’s actually black and did it as an act or self empowerment, or something, but I don’t think he’ll check your genealogy for this one. You nod.

“Alright, the boss is in his office, I'll tell him you're here, he’ll want to see you dance on stage.”

Your eyes widen.

“Now? On stage? There are guests!”

She frowns at you.

“Uh. Yeah? Just like last time. Did you forget? The boss always does auditions in front of a real audience how else would he know if you’re up to it?”

You gulp.

“Sure. Sorry, silly of me. I just kinda… zoned out, I guess…”

She kissed your cheek.

“Don’t be nervous Gipsy, you were great last time, you can rock that!”

You nod gratefully and watch her naked ass as she walks through the door marked “staff only”.

After a few moments, the boss steps out of his office and eyes you. Intensely. Like a cattle merchant eyeing a cow.

“You've been here before, right?”

“I… guess so…”

Not that you remember it, you were a man at the time it’s supposed to have happened….

"You girls all start to look the same after a while. But Candy tells me you were good. And Candy's got an eye for the goods and a nose the business. If I ever let a girl fill in for me!”

Candy giggles.

“Alright… Gipsy?”

You nod.

“I’m gonna need your real name if I hire you, we run a legit business, but for all intends and purposes other than the IRS and your social security that’s gonna be your name then.”

“Sure.”

“Tiffany‘s almost done…”

You look up at the stage at the girl just peeling out of her g-string.

“You’re next. Persuade me and you can take a shift tomorrow.

You gulp. This is all happening awfully fast. You were a man a week ago, are you seriously auditioning to become a stripper right now?

Seems that you are, the music fades out, Tiffany grabs her schoolgirl uniform and the banknotes strewn all over the stage and walks off amazingly gracefully in her heels.

The boss takes the microphone form the DJ/announcer guy.

“Gentlemen, we have a special treat for you, a new girl, never before on this or any other stage as a professional dancer. Be gentle, it’s her first time!”

Laughter from the men around the stage

“A round of applause for – Gypsy!”

You walk up the stage, your knees a little shaky. You're feeling insecure all of a sudden – but surprisingly not because you're about to get naked in front of a crowd of horny, leering men but because you wonder if your everyday clothes are appropriate for this stage. Hell, you look sexy in them that's for sure it’ll do. But… you were never a great athlete as a man, clumsy and not elegant. Certainly not a good dancer. Wheat the hell makes you think you can actually pull this off as a woman?

Well. Candy remembers you doing well. So in this reality, you actually passed that test…. If that's the case you really need to stop thinking and let your female body and grace take over. Hope your best this body has built in muscle memory and more feeling for rhythm than your male one did.

The music starts. Lady Marmalade. A strip classic. Candy giving you a thumbs up.

You feel the rush flow through your body as you look into the audience. Leering at you greedily. Every single one of the men down there wants to fuck you, everyone would pay to have you and none - that's the best part - can. You love the feeing of power it gives you to slowly start moving your sexpot body to the music and get them riled up and exited, longing for something only you have the power to give them. And you won’t! Serves these pigs right!

The thought that you were one of these pigs less than a week ago only enters our mind for a split second. Being on this side of the club is SO much better - you felt like a big men, waving small banknotes around and whistling at the strippers, but you were pathetic. Powerless. Weak. THIS is the place to be to have the power in this joint. The thought of that makes your pussy wet and with the rush of excitement, your body finally takes full control.

Your hopes are fulfilled, your body knows exactly what to do. You move to the music gracefully, like you've never done anything else and you smile at how awkward and silly you looked as man whenever you tried to move to music. Now you feel like flying, carried by the beat of the song. Dropping your clothes to it comes as natural to you as the rest of the dance – your body is a work of art and showing it - even if only to those pathetic pigs in the audience – is a holy mass. And worship you they do, almost drooling, some with their hands on their crotch, others just staring wide eyed. Banknotes fly to the stage when you get down to your underwear and when you show them your perfect C Cup tits.

When the song reaches it finale, you drop your panties, hiding your treasure chest behind a hand as you kneel down bend back and finally spread your legs to the cheering and whistling and money throwing of the guests. You smile. For the first time you see this as it is. It’s not a place for men to get what they want. This is a temple of feminine beauty and strength where inferior men worship strong and ethereal goddesses by scarifying the only things of value they have - their money. And later if they sacrifice even more money and their far less valuable semen, but only into their own pants to not soil the holiness of the female. You can't believe you were ever so weak and pathetic as these men. And right now… you find it hard to think about the fact that you're actually trying to go back there… You pick up the banknotes lying around on stage, and your clothes, not bothering to put them back on as you go to the boss. You no longer have any doubt you want this job, it’s not "stripper", it’s a celebration of your own body and beauty and femininity. You need this as long as it lasts.

“Did I persuade you?”

You look at the big man smiling. He grins back at you.

“Nice show. Yeah, you almost got me. We need to – talk about the details in - private. Into my office.”

He turns around to go to the back room but you hesitate. You have little to no doubt what he means with taking over the details. Legit business or not his still is the red-light district, you’re sure deals between men and women are sealed not with a handshake...