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His legs were trembling slightly. This was the closest he had ever come to actually entering The Beachfront Bar. A few months ago he first drove through the parking lot. That time he hadn’t even slowed down. It was only on his sixth time that he had actually stopped– just for a moment. casting It was a long, slow path from the parking lot to the door amateur of The Beachfront. Shutting off the engine.... getting out of the car.... walking up the walk toward the bar.... each new step had taken weeks, but tonight he finally stood at the entrance. The Beachfront Bar was an openly gay bar. A large billboard across the front of the bar advertized a “Drag Queen Review” in huge letters. In smaller letters it announced that Thursday night was “Amateur Drag Queen Singer Night,” Friday night was “Amateur Drag Queen Imposter Night,” And Saturday was “Amateur Drag Queen Stripper Night.” Tracey knew that if he ever got up the nerve to enter any of those contests he could easily win. He had won many times before in the safety of his bedroom, singing into a pretend microphone while cuty strutting across the floor in his high heels and garter belt. His voice was excellent, but very high pitched for a man. His body was trim, almost petite. And his ability to mimic the voice and actions of Marilyn Monroe or Lily Saint Cere were astounding. Yes, he could win– if he were to enter the contest– if he were to ever actually go inside the bar. He started to turn around when a gentle voice spoke from behind him, “The closest door is always the most difficult to open, isn’t it?” Tracey turned and found himself looking into a rugged, handsome face framed with short, but curly blond hair. The blue eyes burned deep into his own. “Once you open that door and go inside, everyone will know your secret, won’t they?” the gentle voice continued. “Once you go inside, everyone will know that you are gay.” The man’s voice changed. It remained gentle, but somehow became more soothing. “That’s a hard thing to do alone” he said. “Why don’t we walk through the door together. Then we can sit and talk.” A strong hand took his and suddenly they were inside, together, sitting at a booth in the corner of the dimly lit bar. An amateur contestant was stripping on stage. She– he– looked radiant in the spotlight and Tracey could imagine himself going through the routine. Several heavily muscled young men in tight gold short shorts worked behind the bar while two or three more effeminate young men in high heels, black mesh stockings and corsets acted as “waitresses.” One of the waitresses– her name tag said Marti– came over to the table. The voice returned, “My name is Jeff. Let me buy you a drink and we can talk.” As Cuckold they sipped at their drinks, Jeff asked Tracey about his struggle to enter the bar and what it all meant to him. Tracey poured out his story. Time flew by and suddenly one of the barmen shouted loudly, “Last call. We close in fifteen minutes.” Could it actually be almost two am? Jeff held Tracey’s hand. “Why don’t we get one more round and then walk out on pussy the beach. I shivered. But just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. As the flood of knowledge hit him, he crumpled to the deck grasping his amateur head. I clasp casting her pussy lips together and roll them between my fingers, gently stroking and pressing them between my fingers. She shuddered, bucked her hips, screamed, and came. Joe smiled at her. I’ll skootch a little closer to Seth. Tamara led us back through the living room. “Lou go get the Cuckold camera set up.” Five minutes later with the camera rolling Terry snapped his fingers. Before I knew it the doctor was telling me that I could climb down and get dressed. She didn't want to say cuty anything else. Newlyn pussy was dumbfounded.