Handbook: What to Do if You Get Stuck in Vegas

Chapter 1: How To Traumatize Your Heroine

Sometimes you do not expect many things to happen. Other times...well, other times it's just fucked up.

Like now.

If you asked me to tell you what is going on, I would have to say I have no goddamn idea.

Some months ago if you had told me I would be stuck in a stall dressed as a drag... I ain’t gonna lie, I probably would have believed you.

I might have even told you I'd look fantastic in dress and heels.

The thing is, right now I’m dressed as a woman with makeup and wig, in a stall, with my (manicured) hands bound together behind my back and my (high-heeled) feet bound too, sitting on cold tiles. And I have no idea how I got here.

Hell, for all I know I might be in a place where there are bathrooms for bacon. I mean, pigs.

I start kicking my feet, thinking all this isn't fair, when my heels come off. Amazed, I try to reach for them, but my skin-tight dress makes it impossible for me to move. I'd scream if possible, but a stylish scarf is muffling any sounds. At least its’ silk so its soft.

I start moving up and down my hairy legs, the ones my kidnapper didn't bother waxing to make me look like a prettier drag, and loose the bounds around my feet.

Delighted, I try to rise from my sitting position but my toe hurts so much I fall again flat on my ass. Annoyed, I try to flip myself, but instead my front ends up against the cold floor, my face squashed against the tiles and my ass sticking up into the air. Oh, and legs spread eagle-wide.

The new position allows me to notice my rude kidnapper didn't bother putting me any boxers.

No, I won the lottery: I have a thong.

And that is how my savior finds me: ass sticking up, face squashed, wig half on half off, and flashing her a show of my thong-encased privates.

Yeah, of course she screams.

Faster than I thought possible; I have my legs closed and flipped onto my back. Of course my hands are now squashed, but its better than flashing my goods, don't you think?

I stretch my neck to get a better look of my savior, a girl or another drag from the sound of her scream.

She (or he) is petite and slim, crazy curly blond hair that seems to be either a wig or really can't be tamed. Her (or his) eyes are a light brown, followed by a possibly plastic button nose and full lips (that can perfectly be made of her/his butt's fat). Her (again, or his) skin tone is a light creamy color, and her clothes are fit snugly yet not whore-ish.

To me she seems like a very beautiful girl, but seeing as none of this is usual, it could be a really pretty transvestite. Or alien.

"Oh my God, who are you?" the quite-possibly-a-man girl screeches, coming over to me and untying the silky scarf from my mouth. Since I have a great view of her rack, so far they look real. And soft.

Then again, she could have been a very fat man with boobs and he had a liposuction but asked for his boobs to remain for his future drag career.

I realize I’m being paranoid, but hey, stuff like this happens to me every day. Though not quite as weird. They normally involve dogs in tutus and women with 90% testosterone. Oh, and bald.

"I... am pretty sure I was a man. At least I looked like one last time I checked," I say, (thankfully not plucked) eyebrows pushed together in confusion.

"So you’re not a drag?" he-she inquires.

"Well, I hope not. You?" I ask, and he-she bursts out laughing.