RANSVESTIA

the downtown area around one a.m. We were ushered to a table already partly occupied. There was a band playing and the dance floor was packed. The cigarette smoke stung my eyes and my ears were assaulted by the undisciplined sound of the band. I'd have left right away but I could see by Roy's excited face that he really wanted to get into the 'action.' Roy ordered some kind of drink but I couldn't hear him even though he was yelling into the waiter's ear. Two drinks appeared almost instantly, mine was some kind of Sling, as far as I remember, but I paid little attention to the drink because the floor was being cleared for the cabaret. The black group of singers had the place jumping in no time and there was no let up as a blonde girl singer, with obvious non-musical talents, followed. I was quite unprepared then for the club's main attraction. The lights over the audience suddenly went out and a solitary spotlight shone at the top of a small set of stairs on the stage. The band had switched into a steady blues-type beat music, sultry and aimed entirely at creating a sensuous atmosphere. "Katrina," a heavy voice gasped somewhere into a microphone. She parted the sheer curtains and stepped out into the spotlight. The grace and sensuousness of her performance riveted every eye on her so that her slow stepping down to the stage was accompanied by almost total silence.

Katrina wore a long, see through robe of dark brown silk. It was slit up to her waist. Her black hair was swept back into a tight knot, from which came a long, black pony tail. The diamond tiara that held her hair in place was matched by the sparkling from the bra and panties she wore which were only dimly to be seen through the silk. The out- line of her figure, however, was clear. She was thrillingly feminine in form. Her movements matched the insistent beat of the music, her hips swaying seductively as she unclipped the gown, and began her exotic dance. I suppose some people would describe Katrina's dance as a striptease, but I never would. Sure she removed her bra and her jewelry, ending up naked save for the g-string which covered her most private parts, but it was all done so sensually and artistically that there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Katrina was one of the most gorgeous women in the whole world—an epitome of femininity. Perhaps I wasn't the only one who wasn't convinced, much as I enjoyed and was titillated by her dance. But then I had been living with those grey eyes for more than three months. Yes, Katrina was, in fact, my roommate, Valerie MacMillan, alias Terry Evans.

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