Jon marched onto the set, thrusting out his chest, wiggling his behind, trying to emphasize how tough he was. The last thing he wanted was the casting director to regret putting him in the role of the prison guard, so he worked it. Not that he had to work it very hard. The clothes, for the most part, did the talking. With every squeak of his vinyl skirt, with every click of his heel, he exuded machismo.
As he walked he kept his eyes open for women, the famed women of Girl World. Famed, but illusive, he thought to himself as he passed a small crowd of cross-dressed men, making sure not to make eye-contact. From what he understood, these women would do anything, wear anything, act like anything for a man. If only he could meet one, he'd have it made. Especially after all the changes he'd put his body through.
Approaching what looked like the active set, Jon adjusted his top, making sure that his breasts were fully on display. They wouldn't have given him such a small top if they didn't want people to see his chest. Probably going for that 70's feel, he thought.
"Excuse me," he asked meekly, approaching a man in the director's chair, "I was told that I was supposed to be here."
"Finally!" the large moustached man threw up his hand, "Our slut-du-jour has decided to join us!"
Jon blushed. He didn't like to be late, inconveniencing everybody, but it sure was nice to show up to work on his first day and already have a nick-name. A skinny bald man with a deep tan holding a clip-board took Jon by the arm and led him in front of the camera. The lights were bright and hot, as was the sun. Even though they were outside, they were filming an interior shot. What looked like a room with one wall and the ceiling cut out was right in front of Jon. Stark grey walls, and what looked like a concrete floor with a drain in the middle greeted his eyes. The only furniture present was a hospital gurney against the wall.
"In this scene you're playing Helga DeCock," the skinny man said, "Head prison guard at Shawspank prison. You have a new prisoner coming in, Mr. Johnson Biggie, and you have to conduct a strip search. Make sure that no weapons get into the prison."
Jon grinned. Helga DeCock. A good, manly name. It sounded like something a professional wrestler would choose.
"Anything else, sir?" he asked.
The man sighed, "You whores are all the same, aren't you. You never read the script. Just remember, you're in charge."
In charge. Jon could do that. He looked at the huge man standing just off the set in an orange jumpsuit, eager to show them what he could do.
"Action," yelled the director.
If it was action they wanted, Jon thought, it was action they'd get.
