Saturday, November 20, 2004

Since some of you expressed some curiosity yesterday about my date with Roman – and since he's given the okay to me writing about it in some greater depth – I suppose I could talk some more about that…
I knew he had a special surprise of some kind planned for this date in honor of my birthday. And I knew better than to take his mock-hints about Mexican wrestlers, midgets and trained llamas seriously. But I really had no idea what he had planned, and it's hard to explain why I enjoyed what he did so very much without first giving you some backstory.

You see, back when I was a teenager, and I was figuring out that gee, my sexual desires didn't line up with what the other kids seemed to get off on, the internet wasn't yet a part of people's daily existence. So it was a lot harder for a young person who was…questioning their sexuality, to find much evidence of a sexual world beyond very tame vanilla heterosexual monogamy. I was already a bibliophile, and in spite of what James Walker once said, I had occasionally found some vague intimations of who I might be by searching through books.

But the first real clue I ever had that there might be a culture that embraced me was…The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was sixteen years old. I went into the theatre at midnight with a group of friends, without really knowing what I was going to see. I watched the movie, and watched the strangely dressed people cavorting in the aisles, and I knew there was something there for me. As I watched Frankenfurter, that bitchy, dominant, omnisexual drag queen, wreak sexual havoc on Brad, Janet, and Rocky, I saw what I wanted. I wanted to be him: dangerously transgressive yet irresistibly sexy. And I wanted to fuck him, the hot hungry man/woman, with whom nothing would be too much or too far. I wouldn't have to explain what I didn't yet have words for - he would know who I was. He would know what I wanted.

"At the late night, double feature, picture show…
I wanna go…Oh ohhhhhhh…
To the late night, double feature, picture show…"

I went back the next weekend. And the next, and the next…
The idea of getting all excited about a rather cheesy B-movie with a few only mildly naughty sex scenes will probably seem quaint to the under 25-crowd. But you perverts from my generation – you know what I'm talking about. Back then, Rocky Horror was the only place, in a lot of smaller towns and more conservative places, where a teenager could go and be openly freaky without too much fear of reprisal. (Plus, it does feature the young and quite yummy Susan Sarandon running around in white cotton panties.)
That's how I came to be a Rocky Horror regular for several years. Yes, I was in the cast for some of that time. (I was Magenta.) Yes, I have the bootleg copy of it on video with Japanese subtitles, from back before you could buy it legally. And yes, I still remember all the words to the songs, and all the audience partici – (Say it!) -pation lines. I haven't been for years, but still, whenever I see a snippet of the movie somewhere, or hear the music, I smile, because I remember how it felt to finally find a place where I felt…at home. Roman and I have talked about this, and he understands perfectly. He's a Rocky Horror alumnus himself.

So when I sat on my couch with a blindfold over my eyes, and the sound of Tim Curry's rich, throbbing voice came to my ears,
"How d'you do,
I see you've met my,
Faith-ful handy-man…"

I threw back my head and let out a shriek that was part delighted laughter, and part disbelief that no, I couldn't possibly see what I thought I was going to see when I took off that blindfold. He didn't really – he couldn't have…
"Okay, you can take off the blindfold now," said Roman.
He did.
Whiteface makeup with dark drag-queen eyeshadow halfway up his forehead, lushly painted red lips, a long black cape and – oh, my – fishnet stockings and fetishdiva six-inch platform heels. Roman danced and pranced around the room for me in those high heels like he'd been punching the clock at the Lusty Lady forever.
"But by night I'm one hell of a lov-a-hhrr!" With a dramatic flourish, he threw off the cape to reveal a black satin corset with garters, a silky black thong, and of course, a string of white beads, just like the ones Frankenfurter wore. With the fishnets and heels – it was…perfect. Just perfect.
"I'm just a sweet transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania." When he shook his barely covered package in my face, I howled like an overstimulated small-town girl at her first Chippendales show.
And I was definitely overstimulated. This is what went through my mind - try to imagine them all flowing through your head in rapid succession, several times in a row.

Oh, my god, look what he did for me! Look at all the trouble he went through to do something he knew I'd really like! This is so sweet and special!

Oh, my god, look at his cock in those shiny stretchy underwear. That's fucking hot.

He's really good in those heels. He must have been practicing. And, wow, they make him look about seven feet tall. Oh, yeah, bend over, oh yeah - nice buttcheeks, baby…

What a sweet, thoughtful, special thing to do for me. What a wonderful, kinky, nasty boy he is. I think I'm going to have to fuck him raw.

I was saying some of this out loud, of course, in between catcalls and wolf-whistles and various other sexually appreciative noises.

"So I'll remove the cause - but not the symptom." As the music faded, he planted one high-heeled foot – (Where did he get those shoes?) on the couch between my knees.
"So," he said, panting just slightly, "want your other present?"
"There's more? Did you bring Rocky as well?"
"No, I asked (insert name of Roman's good friend), but he passed. Didn't want to bleach his hair blond."
I stared up at him. "Hair…Oh my god, that's why you look so different. You shaved off your beard!"
He let out a whoop of laughter. "That's why I look so different?"
I flapped my hand at him. "Oh, you know what I mean! But darling – your nice beard. You shaved it off – for this? For me?"
He smiled, his teeth gleaming whitely against the dark, glossy lipstick. "No big deal, it'll grow back."
"You are absolutely the coolest thing alive, did you know that? Okay, if there's more, bring it on."
He brought me a gift-wrapped package slightly smaller than a shoebox. I tore off the paper, opened it, examined the contents.
"Oh my. Well, look at these pretty things…" I stared at him, arching one eyebrow questioningly. "For tonight?"
He nodded.
"You're ready for this?"
He nodded again, giving me Frankenfurter's come-hither look.
"All right then, baby…let's go downstairs."
So we did, and there, dear readers, is where I draw the curtain. Because certain things that happen between a girl and her drag queen in the dark of the night should remain…private.

"Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me!
I wanna be dirty!
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me,
Creature of the night…"

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