She was a he

I was recently divorced, 39 years of age and living in an
apartment in Sydney's inner eastern suburbs not far from
the famous red light district of Kings Cross.

After two failed marriages, I was footloose and fiance
free and as lusty as a rampant bull on speed. I chased
after anything wearing a skirt as long as it was female.
This is not say that I was homophobic. Far from it. I
have many homosexual and lesbian friends whose company I
enjoy but, like many heterosexual men, found the idea of
same sex encounters as somehow distasteful ( no pun
intended.) In other words, I didn't give a damn about
what they did together as long as they didn't ask me to
join in.

One night I took myself to Sydney's famous drag
spectacular, Les Girls, to enjoy dinner and watch the
performances of friends I knew in the show. I always
enjoyed these evenings for the gorgeous costumes,
outrageous humour and the great fun these talented people
projected. After the show, feeling a mite lonely and not
wanting to go home, I repaired to the disco above the
show lounge. Being a Saturday it was packed as usual
with gays, lesbians and heteros and the floor was jammed.
I danced with a couple of girls, neither of whom
responded to my approaches and settled on a stool at the
bar content to watch the action. It was while I was
downing my fourth ( or was it my fifth?) scotch that I
saw her. This beautiful young woman with auburn hair to
the shoulders, a magnificent figure and perfect looking
breasts that were not too large to be real and not to
small to go unnoticed. She had blue eyes and a full and
generous mouth. She wore a tight, sequined top that
allowed her nipples to show tantalisingly and a short
skirt that gave occasional glimpses of her thighs. My
heart missed a beat as I stared at her, drinking in her
appeal. She must have been aware of my attraction
because she glanced at me and gave a small but
appreciative smile and the slightest of nods.
Instinctively, I knew this was not the time to rush in