My 21st birthday as a drag queen

by Sean

My best friend and I had it all planned. Go to the casino, sit down at a poker table, excuse ourselves, and come back as a fabulous drag queen.

I had to wait till twelve bells tolled, just so it could all be legal, but getting to Atlantic City took us almost that long anyways. We went to the Taj poker room, isn't the most fabulous poker room in the world (try the Borghata), but they serve the strongest drinks.

And I needed a couple. A few even.

We changed right in the Taj's swanky bathrooms. I put on my stuffed C wonder bra and a curly blonde wig I had lying around. To round out the ensemble I tucked, put on a pair of lacy silk panties, black tights, strappy sandals, and finally squeezed myself into a swanky see through sequined dress. He was wearing your traditional naughty schoolgirl outfit complete with pink pigtails. Doing our makeup was wonderful, because old men would walk into the bathroom, take one look at us, and walk right back out.

We walked back to the poker tables flanked by the Atlantic City police, The New Jersey State Troopers, and Casino Security. Which was great! We wanted to get SEEN! I don't think they had a problem with us being in drag, they were just afraid we were two stick up queens. Which is why we didn't rag on the men in uniform TOO much.

Boy were we ever a distraction! We flirted, nagged, and embarrassed the straights right out of their money. Once we had made three thousand, we called it a night.

My friend made his money before I did, and had found a spot in the casino where his phone worked. He was texting when an older gentleman came up to him and asked to use his phone. My friend obliged. The old guy was obviously talking to his wife (he stood close enough that my friend could hear) when the guy reached out and grabbed my friend's tit! My friend stood there laughing, getting fondled while the guy said his I love yous. The closet case eventually hung up, and the guy said, "I've got a big dick. Twelve inches."

Not wanting to be impolite, and wanting his phone back, my friend said, "That's a little much for me." And held his hand out like a doorman who wants a tip.

The guy put the phone in my friends hand but didn't take his hand off, "Maybe it's not that big. Maybe it's only eight. But it's got a nice head."

My friend grabbed his phone and his hand away, gave the guy quick head in the bathroom stall, and came and told me the story. We left the casino and went to sleep on one of our friend's couches.

I was woken up by my friend's phone ringing. He's sprawled out on the couch with his skirt half way off, one stocking on, still in make-up but with his wig off, and I'm sure I didn't look any better. I knock him and tell him to answer his goddamned phone. He grunts. I open it and hold it next to his ear. He grunts again.

"Who?" My friend says. "No. Who?"

A mask of realization appears on his face. "OOooooohhh. No, I don't even know Johnny, he just used my phone. But listen lady, I can promise you he's not with another woman." And closed his phone.