I'm just a...

There are certain things you think about when your face is planted between the open thighs of a lover, last night as I hungrily bit and kissed Dancer’s firm thighs I found myself thinking. “Oh crap! I’m so ruining my eye make-up! Tambo worked so hard on that too!” Of course by this time it was really too late. The damage had been done, my fishnet stockings torn. Dancer and I were well beyond caring about anything beyond the other’s impending orgasm. Perhaps I should back up a bit, no? Dancer’s place in my world and my heart is a unique one. I dare say that I would move heaven and earth just to see her smile. Her upcoming birthday presented an opportunity to do just that. I wanted to give her something good. More than just an item from a store, I wanted to give her an experience. Something memorable. Something sexy. Something, as we jokingly call it, to “blog home about”. Now I had an idea, a thought of something that might be just that thing. As with most of my antics, my first stop was to discuss it with Tambo. “So um honey, I have an idea for what I want to do for Dancer’s birthday” “Yeah?” “I want to dress in full Rocky Horror Picture Show drag and serenade her as Dr. Frankenfurter” What she did next I believe will firmly cement her place in history as the greatest, most supportive poly partner ever. “Cool! Can I do your makeup?” Next thing I know, she is on google pulling up a half dozen different costume ideas and asking me questions like, “Do you want to do the dinner scene Frank or the Time Warp scene Frank?” “Pearls, we will need to find some pearls…” “And where the hell will you get the shoes?!”

Good question. So how does a 6 foot, 215 pound boy transform himself in to the sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania? Why with a little help from my delightfully devious friend Sunday at Salon De Sade. She did not even bat and eye when I told her I needed a corset to fit my wide boy hips and pair of 6 inch platform heels in men’s size 12.

Costume secured, makeup planned, and date set I was now committed.

To pull this off, I would need to fully embrace the “Go Big or Go Home” mindset. For the next few weeks I practiced walking and dancing in heels. Funny how wearing a suit of armor helps prepare you for that sort of thing. Of course Galahad firmly disagrees with me on this and says that I just have a natural talent for it. The unbelievably supportive Tambo drug me from one makeup counter to the next, sitting me under the lights and testing out foundations till she found the perfect shade of 1974 baby blue eye shadow. Having seen Rocky Horror something like 100 plus times, I already knew every word of it by heart. However for the week before the big day I listened to the soundtrack non-stop till I could practically match Tim Curry’s breathing while he sang.

When the fateful night did finally come, all Dancer knew was that she was to be sitting on her couch at the desired hour, ready for anything. My house, the other hand, was a flurry of activity. As Tambo calmly applied the eye makeup, placing a reassuring hand on my knee to keep me from my nervous fidgeting, Galahad loaded my car with the tools of the evening. Spare clothes, boom box pre loaded with my song, makeup remover, and the enormous bundle of roses I would be giving her as well. Was I nervous? Nervous would be an understatement. Corset laced, lips appropriately luscious, and fishnets donned my transformation was now complete. I was him, strutting across my living room; my shoulders took on that sexy roll that only man in platform heels can muster. I smoldered and damn did my legs look good in stockings! Wrapped in my long cloak as I drove to Dancer’s home I’m sure I drew more than a few disbelieving stares, but who cares when you look this good. Walking up to her door, I placed the tiny box containing a blindfold on her doorstep and then slunk back into the shadows as I placed a call to her cel. “Go to the front door, open it and take the box. Leave the door unlocked…good now open the box… sit down and put it on…” When we finally fell to the floor in sweat covered exhaustion, my make-up was all but destroyed. I looked a bit like Tammy Fay Baker after a hard night of drinking. Dancer, limbs and torso covered in smears of pancake makeup, looked as if she had been sexually assaulted by a mime. Happy Birthday Dancer