Terry scrolled through the latest job listing for the umpteenth time. He was getting nowhere. He was out of money and had to apply to something, anything, to keep his unemployment benefits coming. Too bad the job market was red-hot. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up delivering packages or flipping burgers. He was a guitarist, dammit! Sure, the band had broken up a couple years back, but that didn’t mean it was time to throw away his dreams. If he could just hold out a little longer, he’d get the band back together...
With a sigh, Terry clicked “submit” on the application for the computer programming job. That was his little strategy: Only apply to jobs he was certain he’d never get. Terry knew as much about computers as he did about brain surgery but, as far as the Unemployment Office was concerned, he was “putting his resume out there.”
What next? He scrolled down and sniggered at the next listing: Specialty Exotic Dance Club Seeks Feminine Entertainer. Visit Website for Details.
Hey, he thought, An application is an application...
***
“You can’t hire me! I’m a man!”
The woman who’d introduced herself as Madame Clairmont grinned. “That’s the point, honey. Our customers are a little kinky. Actually, they’re a lot kinky. Didn’t you visit our website before applying? They don’t want another pretty young thing up there. They want something...different.” She walked slowly around Terry, eyeing him up and down. “And I think you’ll do just fine.”
He shook his head and folded his arms. There was no way in hell he’d be stripping for a crowd of horny men. “No way. I thought you’d just toss my application in the trash. I’m not doing this.”
Madame Clairmont’s hand was on her hip, her manicured fingers tapping impatiently. “That’s all right, Terry. This is still a free country. I’ll just notify the Unemployment Office that you declined a full-time position.”
Terry gaped at her. He needed those unemployment checks, dammit! He had rent to pay, groceries to buy, and a guitar he hadn’t been able to afford to fix. 
Madame Clairmont ran her fingers through his long brown hair. “Are you certain you won’t reconsider? Because you’d make a lovely girl with a little effort.”
“What?!”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not like we’ll castrate you or anything. It’s all act. A performance! You put on some makeup, a bikini or lingerie, and shake your money-maker. You’ll keep your cock and balls for as long as you want them, I promise.”
“A bikini? I don’t have tits. And I don’t want them, either.”
She shook her head. “Terry, Terry, Terry... I can assure you, that won’t be a problem.”
“And why not?”
“Well, for one, have you seen how far the prosthetics industry has advanced? You’ll have a rack to die for, honey, and it’ll look as real as if you grew them yourself. And with the right padding around those skinny hips... Mm, girl, you’ll be a hit. Our customers will eat you up.”
Terry’s heart was hammering. Was he really considering this? “H-How much is the pay?”
Madame Clairmont’s grin broadened. “That really depends on you, honey. Now, come with me and we’ll take your measurements. Your training begins tomorrow at eight in the morning-sharp!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Terry said, and followed her into the dark at the back of the club.