A brief remembrance – by Ari F

Late November, mid morning and no heating in the club beyond two small electric stoves in the common dressing-room. It’s just a rehearsal, but the wool sweater cannot be worn any longer. Although it has comforted me for a while, the flesh –most especially, in legs and buttocks– is tingling and tight with goosebumps.

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In ten minutes we will be all hot and blushing, even sweating. What a change! … No more cold until after the session (the showers are icy; the floor and the walls, and the water!) The streets at midday or early afternoon will be still cold too. And then, though well wrapped from head to toe, and somewhat recovered, I will be aware I am hungry; but too tired to have lunch; I have barely slept the night before (same job: a public function, and afterhours, another, private one, so better go straight home and climb to bed. Sleep four hours…

Some of us (I for one) will have some dinner; others won’t, either because their freezer is empty for lack of time to go to the market, or because they are on a strict diet: a bucket of water, a dietetic candy bar and vitamin pills that will burn inside the belly for hours.

As for diets… that girl here, pretty as she looks, healthy as she is, has to lose weigh soon if she wants to keep the job (she is tall, but sixty-four kilos and a pair of fleshy thighs –and medium-sized tits, not seen in the pic– are not competitive in this harsh business; she is doomed to starve, and she gladly will; the alternative being to walk the streets…, which is like hell itself, much like she already knows — like we all, more or less, know).

The sweaters use to be loans from a boyfriend or a male relative; they are long and often heavy (with a zipper in front, to be taken off without messing up the hairdress and makeup) and cover the bottom and half of the thighs. The one in the pic above is not an exception; just pulled conveniently up for the photo. But the girl depicted, like every other one at rehearsals and most of the shows, does not go bottomless. She wears two layers of underwear: a colourful, chic thong and an invisible, thigher underthong, sometimes plugged behind (yes, just there) and keeping some delicate bits tucked inside the body, and the bigger bit pressed against the perineum and backwards, between the buttocks. Sometimes, these girls use strips of sanitary napkin and adhesive tape, especially when the back supporting-hole is already occupied by some fancy –fox-like or bird-like or bunny-like– tail. How “lucky” are they to look so cute and foxy…, just like toys in a showcase, ready to be singled out and picked and, probably, hired.

Dancing while plugged this way is not really uncomfortable. Just ominously arousing for the repeated moving and thrusting of the plug against the most sensible point trans-girls have. They rarely show visible erections, but may leak, drip a bit and sometimes spurt, unawares, out of the thong and stuff. Not at all pleasant to keep on dancing –legs up and open, etc.– with some fluid coming down the legs. Even worse: if this happens beforetime, it is much more difficult to do again when truly required and expected, in the second part of the shows (not always; but some are live-sex shows). Starletes are paid also for that; to do that in that moment, after having exhibited a surprisingly aroused wink ready to respond to the interactions prescribed by the scripts and choreographies. Thanks God, in spite of everything, the public likes to see those incidental apparitions of fluid (and the previous and/or simultaneous blush on the girls’ faces), and sometimes applaud it. If so, the unfortunate over-aroused performer is dispensed, whatever she does or does not later on.

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Show-girl at work, fancily illuminated

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Some of them drink alcohol before functions, all of them take vasodilators (it’s really difficult, most often naturally impossible, to get horny upon a stage while standing up, moving fast, feeling strained and tired and sometimes breathless… Even less easy to come over, either. In fact, this can be a big issue. Aside of the problem explained, showgirls performing sex on stage have also a personal life, mates with which they make love and have some real pleasure… They usually do not renounce to this for the sake of readily coming at work… You renounce to sleep, and often to eat; you renounce to read and study (no time left!), but you do not become celibate at home to be more easily milked publicly by some colleague… And then, like I have already said, it is not as difficult to squirt during rehearsals, with better mood, no audience and much less stress.

All of this means just lots of stress; and also bodily fatigue, on top of the cold and, from time to time, the real frustration of being treated like cattle. Some exotic breed much solicited, but many times despised and abused; rarely regarded as sensible –and always quite fragile– persons. Salaries are fair at least, and starletes are told all the while that they are fortunate…, but, in the end, which is their fortune? … The only one that I can think of is not having to walk the streets…, or better said: not as often and as dangerously as other trans-girls everywhere (instead, they are taken in some taxi to a hotel or to private parties in their bosses’ apartments and/or their clients’ homes).

I is not an easy life. It is, quite literally, a fucking life.

To make the caption in the pic below more complete and explicit, I will say: Late night starlet – Early morning toy – Midday & afternoon ghost – Screwed girl all around the clock – Someone striving for a decent home and a loving family she won’t ever get.

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