Everyone Is a Drag Queen

When you really think about it, all of us are drag queens, especially the recently retired Pope. Seriously, big gold hat, flowing white dress, red shoes? Who the hell are you fooling? And your home! How many illegal immigrants does it take to clean all those stained glass windows, not to mention all the paintings of bodybuilders touching each other on the ceiling and walls? Where do illegal immigrants to Vatican City come from? Armenia?

Pope Hitler being no exception, all of us are drag queens. You may not wear a dress (although you may be wearing your wife’s panties right now), but whatever uniform you are wearing is your drag.

By the way, DRAG means Dude Resembles A Girl. It is from Shakespeare, and I learned that on Rupaul’s Drag Race, and if Jujubee said it, it has to be true. But for our purposes, Drag represents any costume you wear for a specific occasion.

There is painter drag. Nicely fitting, white painter’s pants that hug your butt just so with all those fabulous hoops and pockets, white T-shirt, and white hat.

I have often wondered why painters wear white. If I were a painter, I would wear rainbow colors in a psychedelic pattern, so when the paint splattered on my clothes, no one would know. I am the world’s worst painter. You wouldn’t believe I have OCD and put everything in its place and keep a spotless home by the way I paint. When I paint a room, it looks as if a blind man with Parkinson’s disease completed the job. I paint over outlets, light switches, windows, small dogs. I once painted a kitchen orange, including the ceiling, and when a neighbor walked by and peaked into my window, she called the fire department. They kept telling me the shade would get darker with each coat of paint, but it just got flamier and flamier after five coats. The room kept getting smaller, too.

There is corporate drag. Dark suit, blue shirt, print tie. You don’t think it is drag? Take the print on that tie, and make a shirt out of it. Would you wear that? Did you know a necktie is just an evolution of what was once a napkin meant to catch the food that fell from your mouth? That is why my best linen napkins are actually silk neckties. Remember in the 1970s when men wore scarves? Neither do I – it was before my time. I saw it on a retrospective of the Tonight Show on PBS. Now there is a style I would like to see return. The question is do you knot it on the right or left, and what is the significance?

Construction drag is among my favorites. Cut off shorts, suede boots, no shirt, and a hard hat. Need I say more? Find yourself an Indian and a cop, and you have a nice boy band.

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. No matter what you do for a living, you are in drag. Get over it, especially if you are a drag queen.

Being in drag carries into your social life as well. You have club drag, bridge game drag, Mah Jongg drag. What is Mah Jongg drag? Big Aquanet hair, theatrical make-up with lipstick on your teeth, a black top with gold lame and applique, more gold jewelry than Mr. T, stretch pants, and rhinestone encrusted reading glasses. Not unlike how I dress for the grocery store.

And all you straight daddies out there, you have golf drag! Oh my God, the most dreaded drag of all. Curiously, the most macho heterosexual on the planet, who wouldn’t be caught dead in any color but blue or black during the week, will spend five hours on a Saturday, driving a subcompact, electric convertible with a striped canvas top, chasing a little white ball, wearing pink and yellow plaid pants, a pink shirt, a yellow hat, and adorable two-tone yellow and white golf shoes with tassels. For them, Hartmarx still makes Sansabelt slacks – those beltless wonders of polyester, which show too much bulge, sit too high on the waist, and give every man who wears them a wedgie.

Your social life morphs into your sex life, and then you have a whole new world of drag, especially if you are into leather. I have never understood leather drag, especially the ubiquitous harness. What exactly does the harness do? Esmeralda, may she rest in peace, wore a canvas harness when I walked her, but she wanted nothing to do with BDSM. While I have seen my fair share of leathermen in harnesses, I have never seen one with a leash attached. Anytime one had a leash, it was attached to a collar.

Another thing I don’t understand is why the leather is necessary. I am perfectly happy being handcuffed to a bed in a nice cotton-poly blend. It’s wrinkle resistant and machine washable. I don’t need a collar to eat out of a dog dish. The food tastes the same without the drag.

I will never forget my last trip to the Eagle to see their Halloween costume contest. There were at least twenty men wearing harnesses and dress pants. So, you came directly from the office. While you remembered to pack your harness, you somehow forgot your jeans or leather pants? I work in a government building, so my first thought was what happens when that thing you are wearing under your suit beeps? This being DC, I am sure this happens at least a dozen times a day in any given federal building.

That evening, the costume contest was called off because they couldn’t figure out who was in costume and who was dressed for a typical night at the Eagle. Another thing about leather drag I don’t understand is that most if not all of it is intended for the bedroom, so why are you wearing it to a bar? That would be the equivalent of my wearing a black lace Teddy to Ruby Tuesdays.

Did you just get a visual?

One of the hats I wear is editor of Gay erotica – a job I have been doing for almost eight years. During that time, I have done my share of research. I either consult an expert, or if I can’t find one, I do my research hands on, and I really enjoy my job. For example, for my military BDSM collection, I consulted with a friend who was former military and a Dungeon Master. The things I learned just from interviewing him were enough to fill two volumes.

For the book on prison love, I spoke to several friends; apparently, I need a better class of friends. For the book about cowboys, I attended a few rodeos, and I studied up on Cowboy drag. The team sports book was the easiest since I attempted to play team sports all my life, and I have worn my share of pads, helmets, and cups and sometimes actually on a playing field. Also, there isn’t a Gay man on the planet who doesn’t own a jock strap.

I need to pause for a second. To all my Gay friends of a certain age: if you put on a jock strap, and you can no longer see the straps as they are hidden under the folds of your ass, that means you can no longer wear a jock strap. For me that moment arrived on August 21, 2009, at approximately 2:53 pm. That is why my friend Charles still has not received a picture of me in a jock strap.

The next book we are compiling is a collection of short stories on wrestling fantasies. I have quite a few friends who are into wrestling, so I thought this would be easy, but wrestling is something you have to do in order to describe the action – much like Mah Jongg, which can be just as competitive. There is a scene in On Tuesdays, They Played Mah Jongg, where they are talking to each other while tossing and picking up tiles and playing an actual hand. Since I know how to play Mah Jongg (my friend Marlene would argue otherwise), I was able to map out the game, seat the girls correctly around the table, and write the scene accurately.

Wrestling is one of those Gay fetishes that is extremely butch. Guys all sweaty, grappling and choking and punching. There is a lot of grunting and body slamming. They yell at each other and call each other names just to make their opponents more aggressive. There is no equipment in wrestling. Just muscle and skill. Nothing is more masculine and testosterone filled than wrestling.

I need a cigarette … where was I?

I started to go down my list of wrestling friends, which is much larger than I realized and found one who actually performs as a professional wrestler as well as wrestles men in his basement for fun. I asked him if he could show me some wrestling moves, so I could properly write a wrestling fantasy story as well as edit those that are submitted.

He asked me if I had any gear. For those who don’t know, gear is what you wear when you wrestle. It usually consists of a singlet or a Speedo. Some wear boots, but that is only if you are into the professional wrestling fantasy. I told him I didn’t have any gear.

I was starting to feel like a drag queen with no red pumps. Funny how when I did drag, I had plenty of gear. Now I just wanted someone to wrestle with me, and I needed gear.

He then asked if I had a Speedo, Lycra, spandex, or a singlet. Spandex and Lyra are a privilege not a right, and I never earned that privilege; I doubt if I could find a singlet in my size in the ready-to-wear section at Lane Bryant; and the last time I wore a Speedo, I was a member of the Jewish Community Center swim team – the Stingrays – and I had no right to wear it then, not to mention now!

So I informed him that I had no gear, and his answer was, “This won’t work.” That was it. No lesson.

Oh my God! How Gay is that? I can’t even take a wrestling lesson unless I show up in drag? These guys may be the most macho of all the Gay men, but they are also the biggest queens of all! I forgot to mention that all of these guys have a singlet or Speedo fetish. They are more excited about the gear than the match.

Before you ask, he wouldn’t even entertain the notion of naked wrestling. What would the ancient Greeks think of him? They would be proud of me because I even offered to provide the olive oil.

If you require drag to achieve an orgasm, join me, follow me, get on my email list and buy my books: www.miltonstern.com.