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I'll never know quite how he convinced me to do this. My assumption is that it was two-tenths my own willingness, three-tenths his constant insistence that I'd "be good at it" and five-tenths of that twelve year old scotch he plied me with the night previous. Regardless of the actual proportions, I was now sitting in the dressing room of the Pink Martini staring into a mirror while waiting for the cue from the house manager.

I suppose I should explain a bit more of the back story.

Laran and I had been hitting it off well. It eased the unquenchable lust we both had for Toby by being able to take it out on each other; in multiple locations and at multiple times. Didn't hurt that being a stripper he had a body that wouldn't quit even if you forced it into early retirement. Remarkably, I found myself less jealous than I thought I would be. Sure, Toby's girlfriend related how much she loved it when he would come home and ravage her after a night of work but I assumed that was just a comfortable lie. I mean, honestly, if you could have me over the pick of the Martini's audience, I'd peg myself as the runner-up every night.

Not to Laran, though. Man did things to me after a show that even make me blush remembering them, and also make me thankful I don't pop a boner in quite the same way as most others do. One time, he introduced me to slit-sissoring. The two of us grinding groins with our lips locked tightly, hands groping and clutching against each other, squeezing every square inch of each other's bodies. My whole lower half was tingling until, with a wry smile, Laran everted and started slamming into me like a beast. Just over and over and over and o -...

Ahem. Sorry. Anyway! One thing I've always been a little shy about is my body. Sure, back in college I was on the swim team and chiseled like a reptilian Adonis. However, that was ... quite a few years ago and since then I had been lucky to grab a few laps at the local aquatic center between bouts of working, sleeping and dreading working. Laran insisted that I was still smoking hot and, bless his heart, I let him regardless of my own feelings when I saw my reflection after I rolled out of bed.

Still, he wouldn't let up. He knew full well about my thing for body hugging clothing and often got me new outfits for special occasions. Flattered as I was, every time I tried in on in my bathroom, with the door locked of course, I'd look in the mirror and see my love handles or the start of a stretch here or there in my scales. My six pack had faded into the obscurity of my belly scales and my pectorals were, in my mind, just a wistful memory of what it was like to be buff.

Maybe I am too hard on myself. After all, I'd landed Laran and honestly never been happier. He was always a sweet guy to me too and maybe that's why I clung to my body issues. A sense that he was just spending time with me out of some misplaced pity, some need to save me. Maybe that's why I never took the time to feel jealous because some small, petty part of me expected him to just walk out the door one day when it was clear I was too broken and not come back.

Well, that escalated quickly.

Low self esteem isn't something you ever seem to really fix; you just do a little better each time. I'd wrapped up mine in a veneer of vague assholishness at work and routine at home. Glance in the mirror a few less times during the day and that specter of doubt won't have a chance to remind you that you just went up a pant size last month. Try not to think too hard when you've shoving Tas-tee Rancor brand lo mein down your snout as you rush back to the counter from your thirty minute respite at work and you won't wonder if you'll live to regret it the next day.

Protip: you will, and not just from the fat content.

Still, Laran was a sharp guy and he knew the direction this was heading. Likely he heard the same sorts of sob stories before from guys desperate to make a connection at the club. Some of them might even have been real, in-between the ones just looking for an excuse to catch a close up of those fine, azure hindquarters. He gave me an ultimatum on our six month anniversary in the form of a present.

It was a three layered affair. Perhaps "layers" was too generous of a term, though. Laran knew I liked superheros, both from the unreasonably hot physiques and equally tight outfits. In the box he presented me was one such outfit. The top layer, what little there was, comprised a few pieces of smoothed fiberglass "armor" pieces. A breastplate, reaching only to the bottom of the ribcage, a pair of boots with shinguards that stopped just below the knee, articulated gloves with a forearm guard and finally a v-shaped waist section with attached codpiece. Beneath that was a slim, spandex suit without sleeves in a silky black. Lacking sleeves or legs reach much further down that the middle of my thigh, I had to quirk an eyeridge. Finally, a black and gold embroidered tailjock. With just barely enough fabric to cover my slit it then wrapped around my tail in a cuff to leave everything else completely exposed.

Needless to say, I was a bit flabbergasted.

"Are we going to a sexy superhero party?" I asked, picking up the bodysuit and holding it over my chest.

"Nope. That's you outfit for tomorrow."

"Why? What's tomorrow?"

"Audition night at the Martini."

My eyes went wide as the fabric fell from my fingers. "W-w-what?"

Laran placed a hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him, panic etched into my face. "Taz, hon... You need a confidence boost. I can't keep standing here and listening to you bad mouth yourself."

"But ... can't I just climb a mountain or go see a inspirational coach? There's one at the convention center."

"There is?"

"I don't know, but usually that's the case. I think they live there. Point is, please don' t make me do this." I quivered my lip in a desperate attempt to guilt him out of this scheme.

"I won't make you do anything. You've been wanting to do this since day one."

I blinked, taken aback by the statement. "Whadda mean?"

"Toby, me? Working at that shop? Wearing what you wear?" Laran kissed the tip of my nose gently, "you want to be noticed. Desperately. You're just too chickenshit to admit it. And, I'm not going to let you do what you've always done and sit on the sidelines. I care about you too much."

By now my tail was pushing a deeper purple, "care? You mean?"

"Yes, you fucking dunderhead." He playfully shoved me in the chest, "I love you. At least, I'm pretty damn sure of it. But I've been through too many guys who freak out in the end because of what I do or how I look. I'm not going to put myself on the line again, unless you're willing to as well."

There it was. Plain as day. I'd always appreciated Laran's candor before, though now it was considerably harder to swallow. I could have something serious with a great guy, with a rocking body and all I had to do was get up in front of a couple hundred people and strip down to my skivvies.

It was at this point that I think I fainted.

Yeah, I know. Not the best reaction to professed love. Problem was, I'd built up my little fantasy world. I was the loner, the hard up guy who never got any and never got anywhere either. I had my stories, which I've shared often, but they were always one shots; way stations that I passed all too frequently. It was likely because he knew me so well, too. I did envy Toby and it was part of why I found him so smolderingly hot. I'd learned from working in my store that anyone can had a drop-dead gorgeous body, particularly the ones who don't have two brain cells to rub together, but the confidence and the raw sexyness were the things that stuck with me. It was what I wanted to be, wanted other people to see when they saw me.

Which brings me back to where I began; dread painted on my face like too much makeup and a seemingly ridiculous outfit hugging every one of my curves. I was struggling to be okay with what I saw in the mirror and trying to find that confidence I'd been lusting after. That's when Laran nuzzled my cheek and told me I was next up.

Fear keeps us from doing what we want. It holds us back and tells us it's easier to play it safe than take a risk. Watching Toby, glistening with oil and musk, stepping off the stage and giving me the biggest grin I'd ever seen on him, helped to push through that. He smacked my butt on the way past, enjoying my lingering look before nodding and saying the one phrase I held onto all night, "knock 'em dead, stud."

That said, once my feet were on stage and the barely visible outlines of the audience were thrown into stark contrast to my well-lit presence, fear reared up like a bucking bronco ready to bust down the fence and run wild.

Sorry, I lean a little heavy on the metaphor when I get antsy.

I started the routine off simple; a slow, steady strut to the end of the stage with a dip down as I ran my hand from my inner thigh down towards my calf. Arching my tail slowly and steadily to give those behind me a good view of what was beneath. A few short catcalls from the group brought a smile back onto my face as I settled in.

Sliding my hand back up I began to move in a slow serpentine fashion, hips rocking to and fro with a flick of my tailtip as punctuation in time with the music; hands trailing along my hips and up my sides. Closing my eyes I waited for the beat, the four staccato stikes of the drums and to each I gave a firm hip thrust forward towards the audience. A couple more cheers rose out of the crowd and a few calls to take more off.

Turning slowly, leaving my tail hiked just enough to see the cleft of my rear through the tight garment, I reached down and grabbed the armored codpiece, lifting it off with a click before thrusting my rump back and hiking my tailtip up to my shoulders. Waving it around for a moment like a trophy, I casually tossed it to the side where one of the stage hands scrambled to grab it.

Rocking my hips back and out, I slowly began to turn back to face the crowd, running my claws up along my firm, flat belly to the base of the chestplate. Hooking my fingers beneath it, I lifted it smoothly off with a click before glancing down to my chest with a faux surprised expression and covering my pectorals with an arm for just a moment to tease.

By now, I was well into it. I barely even remembered how scared I was at the start. After all, if you're already naked under spandex, there's not much more that people can see so why not enjoy it?

The gloves came off next, literally and figuratively. Pulling off each in turn I made sure to rock star it up before tossing them over my shoulder. By now I heard a few stifled noises from the back of the audience. It was clear someone was enjoying this nearly as much as I was.

Next came the bodysuit. Laran had it specially made with snaps, Velcro and plenty of durability. Hiking my leg up on the riser at the edge of the stage, I slid a clawtip into the nearly invisible zipper and pulled down slowly, arching my back and pushing my hips forward. Once I reached the point right above my slit, I bunched the body suit in my hand and yanked. Fortunately, everything worked properly, though in retrospect, ripping the costume open on its first appearance would not have been an auspicious omen for the night.

Holding the wadded up bodysuit in one hand and splaying my fingers over the extremely skimpy tailstrap remaining, I gave a couple of quick thrusts in time to the beat before throwing the suit over my shoulder. Slowly, I began to grind myself against my hand, letting the fabric work over my sensitive slit. Getting this far had already revved up my engine but I had a little biological trick I wanted to try for added spice.

As my breath began to quicken, I could feel that familiar heat in my slit. I was pushing close to the edge already. I trailed both hands down to my thighs, holding just back on my need to evert. Gripping tight, I bought my hips back just a little before thrusting them forward and tensing just right to let me slide out. The tailstrap, meant for a slitted reptile, strained against my endowment as it filled out the skimpy garment. A little glisten on my slitfluids on the turgid flesh was visible to those on the sidelines as the whole pouch tented to accommodate my arousal. A strangled cry rose from the back of the audience as the rest let out a gasped cheer.

I slid my hands back to my firm rumpcheeks, squeezing them as I arched back and let my tail slide between my legs. Sliding my hands forward, I lifted below my erection, pressing it towards my belly as everyone in the front row got a good look at how little the garment actually covered. Leaving my tailhole just barely exposed and the smooth line of flesh between it and my slit on full display, I finished with two particularly lewd strokes along the straining underwear before the music stopped and the lights dropped down.

As the adrenaline began to leave my system I leaned back forward, steadying myself on my feet. The applause rippled through the audience as the DJ finished my music choice and follow-up exit. I stumbled back behind stage, panting with a raging hardon to a rather surprised and bemused Laran. Before I could say anything in my defense, he pulled me close, pressed his lips to mine and what little strength I had left flowed out of me.

Would I do it again? Oof. I'm not a hatchling by a long shot and I nearly threw out my back that time. That said, I'm pretty sure I'd give it another shot if I had the right motivation.

I could get you a couple of tickets, if you're interested.