I’ll never forget one cold October night when a Fort Wayne blonde female illusionist was on stage. And the song? It was “I Bruise Easily” by Natasha Bedingfield. At one point, the performer locked eyes and serenaded me with whispered words. She looked delicate, and her eyes implored, Don’t hurt me.
Now I’m a butch type of guy. I like to look like I just tumbled out of my combine harvester and wandered into a queer joint by accident, but now that I’ve seen the shenanigans, I wouldn’t mind some action. I wear my ripped Wranglers, clompy boots, basic T-shirt and John Deere baseball cap. The vibe I shoot for is an aw shucks, “howdy ma’am” rough & rowdy farmer boy—handsome as all get out and strapping in a beefy “bear” muscular red-bearded sort of way.
So when this lip-syncing siren had me under her spell, I have to admit: I sort of lusted her. I didn’t care what I might find between her legs. Although, in truth, it would be an erect penis, which is fine with me.
Years ago, I saw this segment on 20/20 about crossdressers, and a kind dress shop owner—I think in Arizona—would open for business after hours for crossdresser-shopping only. Isn’t that nice? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about owning a high end dress shop in a bustling city and extending such accommodations. If you could have seen the glee on these gals’ faces—watching the twirl of a skirt in a three-way mirror, spotting a sparkling top and dashing over to grab it to take back to the dressing room. I loved that segment; it was a feel good piece. I wonder if I could find that anywhere. Lord knows somebody has that thing taped…