A Glimpse of Panties.
It was Saturday, about mid-afternoon, when Joe called. “Dave, I hate to bother you, but the jukebox sounds like shit, and I’m expecting a good crowd this evening. Do you think that you could look at it?”
Joe was a good friend of mine who ran a bar. When he decided to buy the place he was a little short of cash, and I bought into and owned a part of it. Joe had an old AMI jukebox, that I had found and rebuilt for him. Since it was a 1959 model J, there just weren’t a lot of people around who knew how to work on it.
“Tell me a little bit about the problem,” I said, “is the sound distorted?”
“Yeah, and it isn’t as loud as it should be. Could you come over and look at it today?”
“Ok, but no guarantees that I can fix it before tonight. I have plans for tonight, and I need some time to get ready,” I added. I didn’t say what my plans were or why I needed time to get ready. I suspected that Joe knew that I was a transvestite, and that tonight was a meeting of my local TV/TG club.
When Joe called, I had already enjoyed a long bubble bath, and had put on a gaff, panties, bra and camisole. If I were going to go the Joe’s place, it didn’t make a lot of sense to change my underwear, so I just put on a pair of jeans and a loose sweat shirt, and grabbed my tools and some parts which I might need. I decided to take a spare amplifier with me, in addition to my other stuff, “just in case.”
When I got to Joe’s place, I listened to the ailing jukebox, and decided to start with replacing the stylus. “Joe, when’s the last time you replaced the stylus?” I asked.
“Don’t know. You should know, since you did it.” he replied.
“Okay, I’m going to start with the stylus, since that is the easiest,” I explained, “you need a new one anyway. It’ll only cost you $15. Replacing a stylus is relatively easy, and I was done in about five minutes.
I selected a record. It sounded just a bad as before. “Well, the easy fix didn’t do it,” I said with a sigh. “Now we’ll have to try something else.”
“Help me get the jukebox out from the wall,” I asked Joe, “I’ve got to get to the amplifier compartment, which is on the back at the bottom of this sucker.” We moved the jukebox out about six feet, and I noted with dismay all of the garbage that was on the floor where the jukebox had been. “Don’t you ever move the box and clean under it?”
“Every once and a while,” Joe said defensively.
“Could you get a broom and do it now? I may have to lay on my stomach to access the amplifier, and I don’t want to wallow in this garbage.”
When the area was cleaner, I moved my toolbox and the spare amplifier behind the jukebox. “I don’t want to have to get up and down, so I’m going to need your help handing stuff to me.” I said.
I decided to look at the amp with the jukebox on, to see if all the tubes were on. When I squatted down, my jeans dropped in the back and my shirt rose, exposing the waistband of my panties.
“Interesting underwear,” Joe commented.
“Well, when you called, I was in the middle of getting ready for tonight, so I just threw on the jeans and shirt and came here,” I explained, “I didn’t want to have to start all over.”
“I think that I am just going to replace the amp, and I’ll take your amp home and fix it. I’ll be back later and put your amp back in and take my amp back home,” I explained. I replaced the amp, turned the jukebox back on, and it worked.
“You’re good, even if you dress funny,” Joe said. I just scowled in return. “Just joking,” Joe said with a smile, “let me buy you a beer.”
While sitting at the bar, I explained that I was a member of a transvestite and transgendered group that met every other week.
“How come you never asked to meet here?” Joe enquired. “You know that we have a party room in back that might meet your needs. I can even have some food brought in.”
“I wasn’t sure how you would feel about us being here,” I responded.
“I feel great when I hear the cash register ringing,” he said with a big smile.
I talked it over with others in the group, and we decided to have a 50's party at Joe’s bar. I had fixed Joe’s amp, and I decided to swap it out on the night of the party. So, there I was, in a circle skirt, blouse and heels, laying on a blanket this time, behind the jukebox. I smiled at the comments made by patrons of the bar, about a cute chick fixing the jukebox.
After that, Joe said that I would be welcome at any time, dressed or not. I took him up on that, and every time I went to the bar, I went dressed, sometimes joined by other members of our group. The group started meeting at the bar, and it became known as a TV/TG friendly place, much to Joe’s pleasure in the increased business, all resulting from a glimpse of a pair of panties.
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