“Do you Really want to hurt me, do you really want to make me cry?”

I love that song line. I don’t  remember exactly where I was when I first heard Culture Club. I was fascinated with Boy George. I knew sort of that he was a man but didn’t understand the femininity. I know it was the eighties and I was surely drinking heavily and consuming street drugs freely as I did. I loved all of the pageantry and costumes of the decade of my adolescent and teenage years. Madonna and Cher were reigning queens as they still are, and gender roles in bands were confusing. I am listening to the eighties station on Sirius for a little way back feeling. It’s starting to sound like the oldies station.

I don’t have many pictures of me in those years. Maybe some rogue school pictures and some silly ones of me and TripleEx. I am sure I didn’t even own a camera. I can honestly say there wasn’t much I needed to remember. Getting to school was a daily essential in my life, that was all that was consistent. I lived for the times and days I was able to wear sliced up jeans with white tights underneath, I shaved the underside of my head – I am way too much of a pussy to shave the side like I wanted too.

Unfortunately, I also rocked a wet spiky looking mullet thing for a season. It was awful. I wanted to be glamorous like Kathleen Turner or Sophia Loren.

In the early nineties, I remember seeing RuPaul on t.v and falling into that familiar fascination with the feminine man I had felt when Boy George (who is not the same as Ru) came onto the scene. RuPaul is gorgeous and to this day, even in a fine tailored suit his beauty is unmistakable and divine. He was all glamour and big drama. It wasn’t until, brace yourself – I am so naive; The Crying Game and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil that I really believed a drag queen even had a penis.

Summer 1998, I was hanging around with a shortish man who was happy to take me out, letting me drink and take pills freely. The coupling of the two of us was a joke in both of our minds, I am sure we each needed something from the other. Aside from him giving me his scripts for benzos and always making sure I was safe when we were out – he had a thing for trannies.

{Having privy to this little detail makes me giggle on the inside to this day}

I had a roommate who was tiring of my lifestyle and I was beginning to fall apart again from the booze, this guy was a welcome distraction for a bit. It wasn’t a sex thing – I wasn’t his type.

It was the end of my heavy drinking and he married a woman not long after this season. For the record, he made sure I was safe in the way that – three of us would go out; me, him and a 6 foot 5, quiet lovely black man. Nobody fucked with me. I wandered around the streets of the city freely. I knew my friend liked trannies because my bodyguard told me.

The little guy brought me to pee one night in a fetish bar – unbeknownst to me until I was knee-deep in “dirty bar drag ladies”. There were no RuPauls to be seen. The image stuck in my mind for days, I was so disappointed with my first drag encounter I needed to let some of the girls know.

Often times when drunk I would find myself giving the same speeches with lots of drama and body language, that I bore people with today. Fine-while no longer drunk when I give these speeches today I am still wearing a costume of some sort of dress and platform shoes.

During the wee hours of the night of my big “conversion speech”, it was 85 degrees and very humid. I remember my hair driving me insane. Giant mass of very dark crazy big, too long hair. I was bee boppin around the center of the city with my very large friend moseying about twenty feet behind me when I ran into two hookers. Both trannies and I tried to make them my own.

Of course, I immediately had to make sure they took me seriously – so I challenged them to push ups. A pretty picture imagining my drunkin bobble head doing sets of drunken calisthenics on the sidewalk with two men dressed as women who give blow jobs for money. It is one of my funnier nights.

After I was assured they really were men by their ability to 1. Blow me away with push ups – and note: I do them awesomely. 2. They did most of them one-handed.

Now I could begin to talk to them about how they could glam up. They didn’t have to do dirty things with dirty people. They could clean up, be pretty and be better at what they were. We all chatted and talked and laughed and sat on the sidewalk like old girlfriends. Maybe we were invisible as a group of freaks because the police never bothered us for all our nonsense on a busy corner in the middle of the night on the wrong side of the street.

{You get that I love strangers now don’t you? Rick Springfield was wrong, strangers are the best people to talk to!} 

My large bodyguard just sat on the sidelines and I have no idea what he thought. Like I said he was quiet.

I woke with one of the worst hangovers of my life the next morning. Moving my head at all felt like a risk of catastrophic injury. Here I lay sticky on a couch too small for my body at eleven am. I was on the clock at work. I had managed to punch in but my dress was wrinkled with sweat and still on my body not my work clothes. Nicely done.

Ignorance is bliss. I think this often. As I age and experience more people, more Internet -I realize that I’m an Internet infant.  Stumbling upon more porn -ya I’m new at that too.

I have only recently come across tranny porn not long ago. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. It has been over a week and I am less upset now and okay with it. I was only initially disappointed because I hold everybody to the standards I have learned on Drag Race from Ru and all his amazing guest judges. I was surprised at so many of the images. Not only were these ladies so beautiful and looked seemingly so polished – I saw some of the biggest penises ever.

Right. The penises. That must have been what my little peculiar friend was looking for. Can’t really blame him. I on the other hand prefer my ladies to be glam and tucked if I may.

My birthday this year is supposedly one of those milestone birthdays. I am not a fan of the birthday so much. Birthing hurt a lot and I now pee like a hyper seventy five-year-old. This year is special to me as it has been such a year of growth. I have tackled, encountered and challenged myself eye to eye to give it my everything and be as honest and genuine as I could. I can honestly, wholeheartedly with humility and just a little pride say I succeeded with flying colors. I couldn’t have done it without daily encouragement from my best girlfriend and business partner Miss Carry. This May, she is giving me my fancy Drag queen party in Vegas for my birthday. I hope everybody acts like a lady.

Copyright © 2011-2012. Eggs.Smoke.Sex. All rights reserved.

Words and images on this blog are copyrighted and not to be reproduced in any way without my express permission in writing. Please contact me with any queries at cognitive-ly@live.com

2 thoughts on “Queen

  1. Wonderful points altogether, you simply gained a brand new reader. What could you suggest in regards to your publish that you just made a few days in the past? Any positive?

  2. Vegas would definitely be the place to go see some Queens, but you should really plan a trip to San Francisco for Gay Pride (July). Oh, and hey, I’m out here too! *winky suggestive face*

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