Isn't She Lovely?

The face and grace of Miss Stephanie Wells

Okay, so it's confession time. Once upon a time, when I was a little gay boy growing up, I wanted to be a drag queen. Shocking, huh? [This is the part where you say "Yes!"]

Yes, there was a time when I was young and dumb and living in Nashville, I couldn't wait for Friday night to come around so I could pay my $5 cover and watch La Boy Le Femme, the cast of most glamorous drag queens ever to grace the spotlight. Ah, they were beautiful. And they were inspiring a young man to strap on some pumps, tuck his business inside himself, beat a wig, and lip-synch his way to stardom.

Now, back then the showgirls at the now-defunct Connection were simply amazing. Not campy, these girls were creme de la creme, style and glamour.

There was the pantomime rage of Miss Bianca Paige, the space-age beauty Judy Jetson, the legend Rita Ross, and the face and grace of Miss Stephanie Wells. Every gay man worth his hair gel knew the introductions by heart.

Well, I also had a roommate who secured a plush part-time job as the stage manager for the show, spending lots of time backstage and listening for beauty tips from the stars, such as "Cover Girl does not cover boy" and how to paint a face for the 99th balcony. And like Cinderella's mice, he picked up drag droppings and leftovers and brought them home for his protege.

There were many nights that we'd dive face-first into mascara, lipstick and Aqua Net. He'd set up the music and I would prance (well, in most cases, stumble like a linebacker) down our runway/hallway. We got sophisticated a couple of times, adding strobe lights and spotlights, and filmed our own videos. My alter-egos, Savannah Montgomery, Nikki Chablis, and the farmyard fantasy of Miss Laura Ingalls, were coming to life. My cover of "You're So Vain" was absolutely fucking fierce. My rendition of "Jolene" was heart-wrenching. My version of Tracy Chapman's "Mountains o' Things" was pure dramatic genius (even if it did err more on the side of tragic).

The time came to make my entrance into society at the annual Pride Ball. We spent literally weeks preparing, practicing, anticipating. My crafty roommate sewed my dress, a strapless silver lame number with a wine sheer wrap. We teased and beat a Reba McEntire wig to death, jacking it to Jesus. I poured entire paychecks into purchasing tights and pantyhose. We sculpted foam rubber to achieve a perfect hourglass shape around my ass, hips and boobs. I shaved my chest.

The night arrived, and we set foot into the Parthenon, and it was magical. Gracefully gliding across the marble floors beneath a 42-foot statue of Athena. And all was right with the world for a few hours, until I had pee.

I turned to fellow drag princess, and asked which one I should use, the men's room or the ladies'. He said, without pause, "Tonight, you are a lady, so use the ladies' room."

Oh so much easier said than done. I wasn't sure how that was accomplished. I hiked up my dress and pushed down seven pairs of tights and four pairs of pantyhose (all to smooth out the foam rubber on my hips and disguise the hair on my legs). And I sat on the toilet and peed like a girl.

After I had re-adjusted everything and it was no easy feat in the tiny stall, after four or five cocktails, I returned to my party. Only to realize as I was climbing the stairs that I still had several waistbands of my leggings wrapped around my knees. As I walked one more time across the marble floor, midnight must have arrived for Cinderella. The illusion started to fall apart. My right tit was falling out of my bra. My feet hurt in those damn heels. I had pantyhose binding my knees. The wig was hotter than nine shades of hell. I grabbed my roommate and we slipped away to the pumpkin. Before I even got to the car, my wig was off and I was out of those torturous heels. I was ready to burp, scratch, drink beer and free my penis from the confines of nylon.

That was 1997, and I haven't put on a dress since.

*I want to thank my friend Dradels for the great pic of Stephanie Wells. See, I did blog about you!