BJ at Throb Nightclub

I used to write stories based on my real life encounters as part of my 'True Story' series. I have decided to continue on in this vein in this true story of a nightclub encounter that happened last year.

Living in Darwin Australia there is only one venue where a crossdresser or transvestite can go really go out to and be guaranteed to be accepted and be safe, that is full of like minded souls and even has a drag show.

That place is Throb Nightclub and I go there on and off, usually in the cooler months of the dry season. I don't really go there to pull or hook-up; I go there because I can go out glammed up, drink, dance and meet people who are either LGBT or are LGBT friendly. Throb doesn't open until eleven o'clock and closes at four AM so it suits the nightlife crowd.

I had been starving myself since Thursday because I wanted to look good in the beautiful gown I had bought at Paddy's Market in Sydney a couple of weeks before. It was a red silk, ankle-length; long-sleeved, mandarin-collared, slit sided dress studded with diamantes and sequins. It was in fact a modern take on the traditional Vietnamese Ao Dai. These dresses are split on both sides up to past the waist, as Ao Dai are designed to be worn over matching loose trousers. I discarded the trousers and sewed up the side-splits so that they opened to the top of the thigh, making it into an elegant evening gown.

I was going to Throb nightclub on Saturday night and I had spent most of the afternoon getting ready after seeing my 'Saturday afternoon regular' Ron. Ron came around as usual at about one o'clock and I serviced him with a long session of fellatio followed by a sound fucking. I had shaved my body all overt and my legs and arms and had douched; my regular Saturday morning ritual so there wasn't much more to do other than surf the web, post in the TVChix forums, and answer the occasional text and email. My excitement was building and about nine thirty PM I started to get ready. I shaved my face again and took a nice long shower washing off the makeup I was still wearing from my encounter with Ron. Having not eaten there was no need to douche again and I didn't really intend to pick up anyway.

I laid out my red Ao Dai, red satin panties with a matching bra and satin-sheen sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. Stockings are impractical with the Ao Dai because it is split so high on both sides so I needed the sheer-to-the-waist hosiery to show off my toned legs and thighs. I selected my silver high-heeled sandals with a nice ankle-strap that I had bought especially to wear with the dress. I had debated whether to buy red high-heels but the silver heels accentuated the decoration on the dress and I intended to accessorise with silver jewellery and I though red heels would be just too much red. My pantyhose had sheer-toes and I intended to paint my toenails so the 'nylons and sandals faux pas' that appals so many fashion aficionados was moot as far as I was concerned.

I paid particular attention to my makeup applying concealer to any blemishes and along the line of my beard. I smoothed out the concealer and applied foundation, good quality Maybelline, one shade lighter than my skin tone as this suits me best. I worked the foundation all over may face and neck; the dress has a high mandarin collar so I didn't need to blend it down to my decolletage as I usually did. I brushed finishing powder all over my face and was happy with the result.

Next I went to work on my eyes, the next best of my features to my legs in my opinion. I carefully applied black eyeliner to my upper and lower lids, I applied it thicker than usual as I wanted that smoky smudged effect which I achieved using that little rubber stubby thing on the end of the eyeliner pencil. It looks like a pencil eraser and I have no fucking idea what it is called but anyway it did the job. Eyeshadow was a problem; I didn't want to use any red or pink shades, that would be too much red with the dress, and blues would clash. I compromised with a light mauve on my upper eyelids and dark purple on my lower lids; I needed striking eyeshadow and heavy black mascara and eyeliner otherwise my eyes would be lost with the bold red dress. I applied lashings of mascara and was happy with my eyes.

I highlighted my cheekbones with rouge; I needed to accentuate my cheekbones because of the high collar, and then I carefully applied the base coat of my favourite plum red Maybelline SuperStay 24hr lipstick to my lips. I sprayed deodorant on my underarms and perfume on my neck and decolletage; I wanted to smell nice and sexy.

Having finished with my makeup for now I slipped into my black satin and lace housecoat and took a break for a glass of wine and a cigarette while I painted my finger and toenails with ruby-red nailpolish to match my lipstick. I probably looked quite a sight as I sat on my balcony in full makeup but no wig wearing the flowing housecoat, sipping wine, smoking a ciggie, painting my nails; but to be honest I didn't give a fuck. I knew that none of the neighbours in the surrounding units knew me and I had got up to far more nefarious things on that balcony with some of my girlfriends and men friends.

Glancing at the clock it was closing half-past ten and time to dress. When I am wearing pantyhose I always wear my hose under my panties; they look and feel better. If someone sees up your skirt they see your nice sexy knickers instead of a pantyhose gusset with a seam running up the centre; it's just aesthetically better in my opinion.

I rolled up the legs of my pantyhose smoothed them on one leg at a time careful not to snag them, adjusting the toes and pulling the gusset into place around my waist. The tight gusset gaffed my penis nicely between my legs and I pulled on my red satin panties, as always the feeling was absolutely delightful as the satin panties slid up my hosed legs. I put on my brassiere and with no need for breastforms due to the high-collared gown; I slipped 'chicken fillet' silicon breast augmenters into the cups and adjusted them so it would look like I had nice small firm breasts under my gown. It would look stupid with Mae West falsies.

After some final adjustments to my hose, knickers and bra, I carefully stepped into the gown and slid my arms into the sleeves. I pulled it up and adjusted it and then fucked around awkwardly as I attempted to close the zip at the back. Having closed the zip after uttering a string of expletives as I contorted and wriggled to zip it up, I closed the catch on the back of the dress and the two small catches at the back of the mandarin collar. Men have no idea how hard we girls work to look nice for them!

Obviously the only suitable wig for the ensemble was my short black bob which I brushed out, pulled on, and adjusted until the fringe skimmed my eyebrows. I brushed it again and opened the drawer to my jewellery collection. I had already decided to wear my faux emerald collection set in silver. The necklace hung around my neck, the emeralds nicely accentuating the diamantes and silver sequins on the bodice of my dress. I put on matching drop earrings, bracelets, two paua shell rings on the fingers of my right hand and a large faux diamond ring on the ring finger and a silver lace-patterned ring on the little finger of my left hand.

I took my heels into the lounge to sit comfortably while I put them on. These shoes are designed to look good, not be comfortable and I knew from experience that I would have to careful walking in them. Not that it mattered as I would be driving to Throb and catching a taxi or a pedi-cab home (Darwin in the dry season is infested with backpacker-driven pedi-cabs blaring loud music and festooned with coloured lights. They seat two comfortably and are cheaper and more convenient than taxis for short stints around the city and its environs.) I buckled the shoes and carefully stood and tottered over to fridge for one last drink and ciggie before I left. I loved the way my dress split either side as I walked displaying my gossamer-glad thighs right up to just below my panty-line.

After my drink and cigarette it was now quarter past eleven and time to go. Throb would be open and I wanted to get there before a long line of revellers developed at the door. I took my small black Pierre Cardin knock-off purse and threw in lipstick, a compact, a small cosmetics brush, my cigs and lighter and in the zipped compartment some cash and my driver's licence (leaving all other forms of ID and credit cards behind). I took all of the extraneous keys off my key ring leaving only my car and apartment keys on the fob.

In the entry mirror I applied the clear-top coat to set my lipstick, bushed my hair again and sprayed myself liberally with perfume. The brush, lippy and perfume went into my purse. Gripping my purse I stepped outside of my apartment and pressed the down button for the lift. This is always the most nervous part of the evening for me. It's funny; I don't care if the people in the apartment blocks across the street see me but I don't want to clocked as a tranny by the people who live on the same floor as me; that would be just a little too uncomfortable. The lift arrived and it was empty; I have been in the lift before when people have boarded during the descent, and I have been amused by their various responses.

One couple stared at me obviously trying to figure out 'if I was or wasn't', two girls in their twenties complemented me on my outfit and makeup, and one rather intoxicated young man tried to chat me up and invited me to a party. None of them had any idea on what floor I had got on the elevator or even if I lived in the building and as Michele looks absolutely nothing like her male alter ego, I wasn't concerned.

As I said, in this case the lift was empty and no one boarded on the descent to the ground floor. The last tricky part is getting into my car without being clocked. It's parked in an open parking area with the numbers of the apartments delineated on the parking bays so if anyone was to see a tranny getting into my car, parked in my bay, a reasonable assumption might be that it is me. In the past I've had to pretend to fuss about with my makeup or just stop for a ciggie in the grounds while waiting for a neighbour or two to fuck off so I could slip into my car unseen. But once again I was fortunate and able to seat myself in the driver's seat and close the door without being clocked by a nosy neighbour.

I dropped my handbag on the passenger seat and unbuckled my right high-heel and kicked it off so I could drive safely. I quite enjoy driving around as Michele; its comforting sitting safely in the car watching the pedestrians walking the streets and I've also had the odd smile or wink from male drivers when stopped at the lights. I'll be honest and say I've also had the odd rude stare. I opened the security gates with the remote and exited my apartment block for the short, ten-minute drive to Throb.

My car is nothing special but Darwin is a small place so I do not park it outside of the nightclub. I usually park it in one of the side streets nearby or on Smith Street, which is the adjoining main street running parallel to Mitchell Street on which Throb stands, which is what I did that evening.

After checking the street was clear I switched on the interior light to brush my hair and check my makeup, then turned it off and buckled my high-heel. I took out a fag and my lighter, checked to see the coast was clear, and climbed out of my car, locking the door. I lit my smoke, for some reason it's a confidence enhancer, and I made my way down the dark street. Just before the corner there is a little area with a large fig tree set back from the pavement and as usual there were a couple of lads sitting under it drinking and smoking. They have never given me grief before, just the odd wolf-whistle and being dressed to the nines tonight I appreciated the wolf-whistle and catcalls.

At the corner of Mitchell Street the overhead lights lit the street and I could see the entrance to Throb with a small contingent of early arrivals congregated outside. I confidently sauntered up to the door and stubbed out my smoke in the large outdoor ashtray provided for customers. The doormen (bouncers if you like) were setting up the little roped area and red carpet that leads to the door and keeps the line of punters orderly and off the street when the crowd builds. They carefully check ID of the younger crowd and refuse access to the rowdy or the overly drunk. They are actually great guys and greeted me with their usual cheery smile.

Transvestites are welcome at Throb, it is a gay nightclub after all, but it also attracts the younger crowd looking for something a little 'softer' than the rowdy crowds at Lost Ark or Monsoons. The main attraction is the two drag shows, one at about midnight and with an encore about 1.30am. The shows are usually parodies of current theatre productions or have a fairytale theme and are high camp and very comedic. I daresay that having the odd non-performer but attractive transvestite in the nightclub can only add to its appeal. For that reason there is no cover charge for trannies and the gorgeous Tina Morecock, one of the 'showgirls', stamped my wrist and hugged me welcome.

The two flights of stairs leading up to the club can be a little daunting when wearing high-heels and I held onto the handrail to support myself. I smiled at the bouncer at the top of the stairs and made my way over to the bar.

Throb is not exactly a 'five star' establishment. It's your typical 'drink and dance til you drop' nightclub, dark, with disco lighting the only real form of illumination, beer and cocktail sodden carpet with vinyl seating along the walls and vinyl couches and formica tables facing the stage-come-dancefloor. It has a large horseshoe bar, unisex toilets and a nice little quiet lounge out the back where you can chat and canoodle, which only opens after the first show. It is charmingly named the Pussycat Lounge and has nice comfy lounges, dimly-lit table lamps on low tables and is one of the few places in the club that you talk without shouting over the disc jockey.

I sauntered over to the bar, sparsely populated this early in the night but would soon be three deep, and am greeted by the manager Steve who is talking to the delightfully gorgeous Vogue Magazine (a classy name for a classy lady), another of the showgirls. Vogue and I complement each other and engage in a little girl talk and I ask about the show. As usual, Steve shouts me my first drink, a gin and tonic of course. I make my way back to my favourite position on the couch near the head of the stairs so I can watch the punters come and go.

The first to arrive as usual are the groups of young girls who often out for a hen's night intermingled with more mature couples looking for something different and drawn by the drag show. There are quite a few regulars, gays, lesbians and straights, some of who I know and nod or wave to. Some younger straight guys who have been attracted by the younger girls follow these. Then there are some older mature straight guys, some of whom are self conscious about being in a gay venue and some of which I actually recognise from work.

The place was starting to get a little crowded and I made my way to the bar to get another G and T and was a little annoyed to find my place on the couch had been taken when I returned; but that's how it goes in a nightclub. I made my way over to one of the 'stand up' tables that are attached to some of the poles in the club and sipped my drink. I didn't mind standing because it gave me the opportunity to show off my dress and legs. Standing at these tables is a lot less subtle than sitting on the couch as they are in the main thoroughfare and I usually attract attention anyway but dressed in red Ao Dai with my long legs on display, my silver heels and striking makeup I become an obvious target for the adventurous.

I am used to being chatted up at Throb, often by genuinely interested guys and gals who are complementary of how I dress and of my lifestyle. I particularly like it when some of the mature ladies tell me they are jealous of how I look. And of course there are the punters who fancy their chances. I seldom take them up on their offers and will accept a drink and a chat but make it clear that is as far as it is going. But...I have on occasion taken up a nice gentleman on his offer of something more intimate.

I chatted with a couple I knew who I had met on FETLIFE; she is a domme and he a sub, we have discussed the possibility of a sexual encounter, but to this day we still haven't done it. I also chatted briefly with some of the other regulars but I actually prefer my own company unless I go there with Mikayla or Jade, two TV friends of mine. A couple of punters approached me but they were not my type or too pissed to even care about. Then I met Jerry!

When I first looked at Jerry I have to say I wasn't impressed. He's a bear of man with a beard, bushy brows and unkempt curly hair. He's big framed and has a bit of a belly. He was wearing cargo shorts and a sports shirt whilst gripping a stubby of beer in his huge fist and was staring intently at me. I was hoping he wouldn't come over but of course he did and then he surprised me. He was very articulate and well spoken and engaged me with interesting conversation. Jerry complimented me of course and made no secret of the fact that he was attracted to transvestites and to me in particular.

He bought me a drink and we found a nice dark corner to chat and canoodle. He was a good kisser and his whiskers tickled my face but not unpleasantly. As it was nice and dark and the management at Throb are tolerant of passionate public shows of affection I decided to give him a surprise and feel him up. I squeezed his hard thick cock through the material of his shorts and slid my tongue into his mouth. He gasped and I felt a smile on his lips as I kissed him.

"You're very naughty Michele," he laughed in my ear.

"And you love it," I smiled back.

His rough hand slid up my thigh and stroked my panties; I was worried he would ladder my pantyhose but god it felt so good having this rugged man handle me this way.

Carlotta announced that the show was about to start and to Jerry's dismay I broke our kiss, removed his and hand from my thigh and dragged him to his feet.

"We need to get in the middle of the room so we have a good view of the show," I led him through the crushing crowd.

The place became pitch black as the last of the dancers were kicked off the floor and the props dragged out and the show was ready to start. It was a parody of the musical 'Wicked' with Carlotta playing Elphaba, Vogue Magazine playing Dorothy and Tina Morecock playing Galinda, the Pussycats (a small troupe of sexy female dancers) and a couple of scantily dressed male models playing supporting roles.

Everyone was watching the show and cheering on the performers in the packed nightclub and I could feel Jerry pressing himself against my buttocks. So what was a good girl to do? I reached behind me and slid my hand up his baggy cargo shorts and found his hard cock and began to stroke him. Whatever he whispered in my ear was lost in the cacophony and I didn't really care; I knew he was enjoying me masturbating him while his hands played with my nylon-clad thighs and satiny buttocks.

It was quite exhilarating wanking off this stranger in the crowded room while everyone else was oblivious and I was still able to watch the show.

All too soon the show ended (Throb shows run for about 20 to 30 minutes max) and I knew the disco lights would come back on soon, so much to Jerry's dismay I removed my hands from under his shorts. I told him to get us some drinks while I saved us seats in the Pussycat lounge.