"I believe that there are truly very few men out there who have not magined dressing up as a woman, at least once.

Can’t you recall that afternoon when you were alone, mom was out shopping, your girlfriend or room-mate was out working or your sister as was at school? You were home sick and your curiosity led you into their boudoir or closet. That dress which society forbid you to wear became a temptation too great to resist.

Wouldn’t it be fun to act like a woman just for a little while?

 

Well, my story begins at a little off-off-off-off Broadway theatre. A friend was leaving town and referred me as his replacement. Acting had always been my dream and I set up an interview with the owner immediately. I was informed by my friend that the plays produced at this little playhouse were of a risqué nature. All the more fun, I thought. The owner, a short, rather top-heavy woman in a mumu, took an instant liking to me. She asked me to stay after the interview and watch the play that was currently running. It had something to do with female wrestlers. I watched the performance that evening and I was mildly amused. However, by the end of the play, I was rather tired, having spent almost nine hours in the dim, dark and oppressively small theatre. When I was getting ready to leave, the proprietress stopped and ask me to stay. She wanted me to see how she really made the money which kept the little theatre in business.

It was not the income from the three dollar admission fee for the performances: it was the income from the after-hour social club, aptly titled Fantasy Arena. Around ten-thirty that evening the fun began. The owner removed her mumu and revealed a leather harness and thigh high boots underneath. Tina Turner aside, this was not a pretty sight on a fifthy-year old woman. She re-opened the doors and the regulars began to arrive.

 

 

I was always interested and curious about deviant sexual practices. Well, my curiosity was answered that night; the eighty-year old man in tit-clamps, the two Hassidic men in chastity belts (sans yarmulke, of course), the truck driver begging to be the owner’s ashtray…

Exhausted and stunned into the silence by the audience – participation stage show,

I decided it was definitely time to leave.

The owner intercepted me at the door. She said those magical words. "How would you like a job? I can guarantee you at least eighty dollars a night… I need another ‘mistress’. You’re attractive, very slight, pretty face…Who’ll ever know that you’re not a woman in these lights?"

And no one did. In my eighteen-hour bra upheld with a body harness, a tight black skirt and fishnets, I became the answer to every bartenders. I just worked as a barmaid with a whip. My employment was terminated after only a week. On the last night, we were raided by the Alcoholic Beverage Control team and arrested for serving liquor without a license. I was in court for a year before getting off on a disorderly conduct charge. During my time as a mistress and as a woman, I developed a strong empathy for women - it takes a lot of work, you know.

So now, two years later, whenever I get that urge to dress like a woman, I go to West 19th Street and contemplate the padlocked doors with a deceptively innocent marquis above, ‘La House 51’, and remember my experiences.The strange story that I, myself, can hardly believe.

And, you know, I never did get paid."

 


Devon
Spring 89

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