... watch my BFF on stage! (a chance for romance)

You look around. You like this place from this side of the stage, but you can't imagine to stand up there, letting men see your very inner self - metaphorical as well as – well yeah, very literally. The men around the stage leering at the dancer who followed Candy – Jewel, you think, are pathetic, pitiful. Men really are pigs, all of them alike.

You blush hot red as you remember yourself sitting in that exact same seat as the men who’s now shoving a single small banknote into the dancer’s g-string, not even trying to hide the bulge in his pants as he sits back down, the night before your life – drastically changed.

You’re glad the dimmed lights on the audience won’t show your blushing face. You have so little respect for these leering pigs and so much more for the girls working so hard every night to entertain them with their bodies. You look at Candy and for the first time really see her not as the object your desire, not as your favourite sex puppet you pay for rubbing her pussy against your crotch until your tiny dick squirts pathetically into your pants, but as a woman - strong, independent, self relying, beautiful woman going her way and using these abject men to make her way in life.

You feel a warmth inside your body remembering that she might remember you as her friend an not the embarrassing men who she got money out of.

“Of course I came to see where my BFF works, I want to know all about your life, after all!”

You hope BFF doesn't go to far – you never had a female friend as a man, but you now feel how desperately you missed one as a woman these last days. All the sex you've had is nice and all, but you now that you said that sentence you suddenly feel how this body and persona are more than a sexpot nymph. You feel the need to connect with someone on an emotional level that's totally new and you never had a s a man. Or maybe you just repressed that because it's totally gay for a man to look for such bondings, right. You sigh. You were such a stupid, man. Why would you even want to have that back.

But you do, right? That’s still the goal. Right?

You touch the jewel around your neck. Haven't thought about it or the hag who gave it to you in a while or becoming a man again. It has notably changed colour from blue to red by now… You shake your head. Look at Candy.

Her glazed expression has gone now that reality has adjusted itself your your choice

“Cool. thank you, Lexi, you’re the best friend I ever had!”

She hugs you – again. You still get excited by the pressure of her tits against yours but you also feel a warmth that goes a lot deeper than pressing a hot, naked girl's body against yours.

“You know almost everyone else I know dropped my like I'm radioactive when got this job!”

She leans her head against your shoulder. You you feel her cheek getting wet. Shit, she’s crying.

“I love this job - the money I make and the attention I get, and having those creepy guys under my thumb, letting them do whatever I want and have them pay Me for it… and I'm really good at it! But the other girls can be total mean bitches, I can't seem to make any new friends here and all my old ones don’t answer my calls. Except you!”

You put your arms around her and feel absolutely no temptation to wander down and feel her ass. All you want right now is hold this young strong, beautiful woman in your arms and console her.

“It’s alright… Clara.”

You frown. She doesn't object to you calling her that, so it IS her real name. How do you know that? She certainly never told you when you were a man. Usually only other people's memories change to adjust to you being woman, not yours. But then this change never created a friendship bond that must have run long and deep, and if you didn't know her name if would break this reality.

“I’m there for you. Always, You know that.”

And you mean it. She’s still a hot young woman who turns you on enormously and you'd agree to fuck in a heartbeat if the asked you to. But she also is - and has been for years, you remember that clearly, now - your best friend you share everything with.

You remember that as well as you remember the other timeline in which you were a disgusting pig to her when she exploited your dirty male urges for your money as she had every right to. It's a bit confusing but you can manage the two minds.

“Thank you so much Lexi”

She kisses you on lips, and the memories clash again – you as a man who would have given a month’s salary to get such a kiss from your favourite stripper and you as a girl who slept over at your best friend Clara’s place in High School where you two practised kissing before her first date with a boy. How she cried in your arms when her first time after the prom was a disaster as the boy had no clue what do to – and neither did she. How she got her first orgasm with another person when you stroked her gently to prove to her it wasn’t her fault that he came in less than a minute and she didn't get anything out of it. How you two went shopping sexy outfits and practised dance moves before her audition in the sleazy strip joint in the even seedier part of the red-light district than this one to have enough money to get away from her oppressive religious family as soon after her 18th birthday as possible.

She smiles at you and you smile back.

“Of course, Clara.”

She puts a finger on your mouth.”

“It’s Candy in here. I REALLY don’t want any of those perverts to hear my real name!”

“Shit. Of course, Sorry.”

Yeah, giving those men anything else but the little kick they pay for would be stupid.

Pigs.

She wipes her eyes.

“Look at me, crying my eyes out like a school girl.”

She chuckles softly.

“You’re here to see me dance, am, I right?”

“Well. If you don’t mind.”

“’Course not. I love to dance for someone for once who appreciates my moves for that they are and not just because the make my tits wiggle.”

“And your boss doesn't mind female guests?”

She shakes her head.

“We don’t get many, but a few now and then. As long as you get the two drinks minimum it doesn't matter if you're male, female of anything in between!”

You nod and take the seat she offers you – you know it well, you sat here often as man. Best view in the house.

“I’ll be back on stage in about 30 minutes. And three more times, tonight. You don't have to stay all night, of course, I don't mind if you…”

You shake your head.

“I’ll wait and take you home, girlfriend. I think you need company tonight, hm?”

You kiss her still slightly wet cheek.

“I love you Lexi.”

“I love you, too, Can… no, that sounds wrong!”

You whisper into her ear and make her sigh.

“I love you, Clara.”

She kisses your cheek back and walks backstage.

You muse about how you would have killed someone as a man. For Candy to tell you she loves you when she rode your crotc.

Which would have been pathetic. This - felt so real and so deep and only grave you a little tingle in your nethers that doesn't compare how warm it makes you feel emotionally to know this woman – your best friend - honestly meant it.

You look up to the stage. You still like women sexually, too, and appreciate female beauty so you have no problems watching the strippers perform. You do feel aroused by them, but you feel it’s on a whole other level. Their shaking tits and asses and spread pussies - you notice you get a lot more views of pussies as a woman, as if they enjoy the exotic feeling of teasing a woman – is still hot and exiting, but what turns you on even more is the innate strength you feel in these women. They know they're hot and desirable and they are not afraid to use it to their advantage. You suddenly understand the power dynamic in this room, now that you're woman. You used to think the men have all the power as they bring in the money, but they're weak, pathetic, useless. Nothing but pitiful worshippers at the altars of feminine grace, beauty and strength. They’re the ones being used and exploited by these women. They're the one leaving this place weaker, who lost their money and their juices and their dignity after a night in here while the women win strength and power and grace ever time they allow them the privilege to pay for being allowed to worship these females.

You sigh. The show of these amazing women subjugating these weak men and take from them what they want is so much more exiting than everything else you ever saw in this joint as a man. You get wet and feel an almost sadistic pleasure when you see the mischievous smile of one of the dancers counting the banknotes she just got from a 3 minute tap-dance on a pathetic, overweight bald man who now sits in his seat, spent, wasted, like a used tissue paper, his pants sticky on the outside with the precious juices of the Goddess who just rode him and his own sordid cum on the inside.

You lean back into your seat.

You feel the warm glow on your chest from the hag’s jewel and you shake your head at these disgusting creature and focus your attention back to the graceful nymph on stage.

Eventually your best friend steps onto the stage, eyes only on you – she throws you a kiss – until the music starts and she focuses in all on herself, her dancing a celebration of her grace and inner strength.

She sways sensually to Joe Cocker’s “You can leave your hat on” a slow number after her energetic dance that you saw the end of a while ago. Professionally, she gives all the men in the audience the feeling she dances for them, but you’ve been here often enough as a man to know the difference between the looks she gives to the average audience member and one she particularity sets her eyes on. And that one, today, is you.

Despite all the memories that have flooded you about yours and Clara's friendship, you’re not yet 100% sure as to whether she’s serious about that. You remember the shared sexual experiences of experimenting as BFFs that you have, but the feelings have not quite caught up you the memories yet. Of course you feel exited by her dance, she was your favourite stripper when you were a man. So like your cock used to grow hard when she danced at you, you now feel your pussy tingle and moisten. Your new body clearly gets exited by your hot friend, but you can't be certain how much of this is really your female self or just reminiscences. Nor if Clara feels that the playful explorations of your teenage years were serious enough to open the door for more.

You shake your head. No use pondering that now, you just lean back and enjoy the lithe body performing on stage gracefully, like a fairy, enchanting you. You try to blend out the leering and jeering men in the audience you feel – not jealousy, you know no man, especially not THESE men could ever get as close to your BFF as you are, but contempt. These pigs aren’t worthy to see your Clara naked, let alone get hard over drooling over her. She's a work of art, an image of feminine power, a goddess, performing for her worshippers grovelling at her feet. No man is worth of her presence. Including your former self, you think in a flash of self recognition. You used to be one of these pathetic worms who disgrace Clara's dignity with their boar like presences.

Your mood doesn’t get better when Clara doesn't come directly to you after her dance, but is called over top a guest. You watch your friend perform a lap-dance for him, her graceful, elf like body writhing ion this fat, sweating pig’s lap. But you laugh out loud as his face contorts after less than a minute of her perfect ass grinding into his crotch and with an absolutely pathetic grunt he cums into his pants. Clara puts the 50 bucks she just made into her panties, kisses his cheek and walks over to you, still topless.

“Well, that went fast.”

You grin and Clara smiles her bright and happy smile back.

“If I have better things to do, I can make pretty much all of these guys cum this fast. They're not exactly the crown of sexual experience, most. 50 bucks for a minute of work.”

She pats the note on her panties and you grin. The fact that you were in that chair and, yes, didn’t last much longer than that guy, not a week ago don't bother you much any more. You're not a pathetic man and you deserve Clara's presence.

“The deserve it!”

You lay a hand on your friends’ soft thigh as she sits next to you.

“You were great up there. I had no idea striptease can be so… sensual and graceful."

You're not even lying - despite being a regular here, you never saw the dancers with the eyes you do now. Sexual, of course, very stimulating to you in this body or any other, but more than that you appreciate the artistry, the skill, and the grace in the performance. It's an art, not a cheap wank off scenario.

“Thank you, Lexi. That means a lot to me. You don't get much feedback other than the cheering and whistling, and I feel I'd also get that if I just stood on stage and dropped my clothes.”

“Men are pigs!”

You both nod knowingly.

The next half hour you talk. You have ‘t talked to a woman - anyone – like this since – forever. Men don’t talk like this. Deeply meaningful, as well as funny. You never had a friend you felt this close to.

This goes all night – it’s a long, winding, deep, interesting, meaningful enlightening conversation, interrupted by Clara's dance number and one or two lap-dances.

Despite this highly stimulating conversation with your best friend you also never take your eyes off of her, on stage and on your table, she’s perfectly comfortable staying topless all the time and the look of her bare tits and tight G-string makes you feel – very good all evening. Another thing you can do as a woman. Control your excitement, enjoy it on a low level and not be bothered by it like you were by your boner once you had a cock. It makes you scoff. Alexander was a firm believer in the opinion that women are too emotional and can't control themselves. Now that you’re a woman, you can't help but laugh at how ridiculous that idea is. The emotions you allowed yourself to access as a man were a shallow pool, easily whipped up by superficial feelings like anger and pride. And utterly uncontrollable as soon as your little dick got hard. In your three days as a woman, you dove into an emotional depth you couldn't imagine as a man. Not because you didn't have it, you're certain in hindsight, but became you ever allows yourself to have them, you’re not sure if this emotional ocean you have at your hands comes automatically with this body or if you encountered it because you were too overwhelmed with your new life to set up borders exploring it. One way or the other, you're also learning how much more comfortable you are with controlling them. You’re not overcome by short lived storms in your emotional pond, you smoothly sail this ocean, able to explore and enjoy a breadth and width of inner life unbeknownst to Alexander. And sexual excitement as you feel it now, doesn't immediately break all your restraints, it enhances all feelings, improves all emotions instead of overruling them. If your inner life was a painting it would be a Van Gogh now, vibrant, flowing colours of all shades imaginable, forming a perfect whole. While Alexander was a Mondrian. A few primary colours, ordered in neat little boxes. With the one Red square of horniness outranking all others.

You have a very different opinion today about which gender is more emotionally unstable than you did a week ago. And you must know, you have something to compare.

Eventually you take Clara home after her shift.

You spend a very pleasant rest of the night in front of the TV watching an episode of the favourite show of yours – the show about the four women in New York and the sex lives… You definitely remember - not hating it, you just never watched it as a man - why would you? But you also distinctly remember all the long girls’ nights with Clara in front of the TV watching it. It’s a great show!

When it ends it got really late, so you kiss your friend goodbye. On the lips, intimately. Not passionately like lovers, but definitely with more emotions - and tongue - than just two friends. You leave her flat confused and exited – you’ll definitely wank over her picture in your mind tonight. And you are determined to figure out how exactly your best friend feels for you, you can’t go on like this, ping term.

You shake your head. Hardly long term, anyway, you're gonna be a man in a few days again, right? Yeah.

And lose this absolutely amazing, perfect friendship.

Yeah, totally worth it. Totally.