Tammi

My calves are shredded. Being Greensboro’s only transvestite Hooter’s waitress takes its toll. I take advantage of my little feet and muscular legs by wearing 3″ stilettos while the other girls clomp around in tennis shoes. My high-set nipples occasionally jump out at the customers in the push-up bra, and my naturally long eyelashes are a perfect platform for the largest fake lashes. My wig, makeup and manicure are flawless and I have the tips to show for it. But what makes me truly devastating are the frank and beans downstairs under my skin-tight orange shorts, where a camel-toe is expected. The general response is either hilarity or revulsion.

Billy Yow and Doug Adkins dropped by a few days ago, so now I’m working nights in a champagne room at one of their joints. They don’t know my real identity, so everything is copacetic, so far. Brad Riddleberger has shown up a few times and surreptitiously shot video of my pole dances. Thankfully, nature and a lifetime of exercise have afforded me the body of a fifteen-year old on steroids. I’ve received offers to do porn, but the plumbing doesn’t suit my taste, NTTAWWT.

Apparently, they have a studio outfitted with A/V equipment stolen from the Guilford County courthouse. So far, they’ve produced only Spanish titles, but are hot to get into the English-speaking tranny market. I’m holding out for more money, but have some real competition from a fetching lass named Josephine G.