© Nick B 2008

Now for those of you who haven’t heard of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, where the hell have you been? It was released in August of 1975 here in England, September in the States, so you’ve had plenty of time…

It starred Tim Curry and Susan Sarandon and was penned by Richard O’Brien, who has been seen in lots of things since like Ever After, Flash Gordon, Spiceworld, Dark City and Dungeons and Dragons to name but a few. That is of course aside from playing Riff-Raff in his own creation.

And for those of you who really don’t know, it’s about… Just go see it. There’s lots of cross-dressing, lesbians, bisexuals and singing–oh and Meat Loaf’s in it.

My thanks as ever to my ever faithful editor for Gabifying this. Thanks Gabi

...On with the story...

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The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Or

How to put a really strange twist on a really good time…

Or

Absinthe makes the hard grow longer…

***

I didn’t know about the Rocky Horror Picture Show until pretty late on. I had heard the album, without knowing where it came from, but hadn’t seen the film. As a result I missed what all the sly grins were about that passed between my friends.

“Have you seen this?” asked Martin, whilst playing the soundtrack.

“No, but I’ve heard a lot about it.”

That was a lie. A stone cold lie. I knew nothing about it other than there was a guy in it called Frankfurter or something similar. It wasn’t until much later that I happened to see the video on sale in a second-hand shop and bought it on impulse.

“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed upon watching it.

The idea that all these people were cavorting around in drag–I mean, sexy drag that got me somewhat hot under the collar–was just a bit more than I was expecting.

The music was good though–catchy.

“What’re you watching?” my then girlfriend, Sue, asked.

“Rocky horror,” I replied, giving the film its pet name.

“Ugh! You don’t actually like that do you?” she asked, looking as if she was about to throw up.

“Well, it’s a lot of fun. I don’t think it’s supposed to be taken seriously.”

“Bloody weirdoes,” she spat and left the room.

“Perhaps, but the music’s good,” I offered, lamely.

The video was then consigned to the bottom of the pile and largely forgotten about.

Fortunately, she and I didn’t last too much longer as a couple. With hindsight, I have a feeling that her finding out that I actually enjoyed a film about a man dressing up in women’s clothes and prancing around singing “I'm just a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania.” was at least a contributory factor.

It was nearly true. I did like the idea, but my more sensible side–as I thought at the time–still had serious reservations.

Seeing Tim Curry on the screen being as outrageous as he was–and apparently getting away with it, was a turn on. However, I will admit, it was more than a little disturbing.

As I said, the video then got moved to the bottom of the pile and didn’t get taken out for some considerable time, but meanwhile, I had some sorting out in my head to do…

We all fantasise don’t we?

Whether it’s a simple fantasy like that house in the country, driving or owning a Ferrari or winning the lottery–perhaps it’s a sexual fantasy like going to bed with Sasha Alexander, Summer Glau or Jewel Staite. We all have them.

Mine however seemed to centre on being a character in the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I didn’t mind which one–as long as it wasn’t Christopher Biggins or Meat Loaf. Frank, Columbia or Magenta would have done–even Janet, dammit.

After Sue left, I’m afraid I rather descended into a fantasy that almost exclusively ended up with me being either Magenta or Columbia, though I never did dress the part. It was much too much for me to get ladies underwear–especially the sort that was worn on that film.

***

Sara’s arrival in my world was to be a real eye-opener. We met in the pub and it was lust at first sight.

Goody-two-shoes she was not. I don’t think I had ever met anyone as uninhibited as her and it was just so good.

She would tell me what she wanted, which took the guess-work of whether she was enjoying herself or not, out of the equation. I sometimes got step-by-step instructions, which far from detracting from the mood, upped it by several notches. She was actually the one who stopped me biting, nibbling or blowing in a girl’s ear.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded.

“I thought you like it–girls like it, I mean,” I replied.

“Why?” she asked, looking completely bemused.

I didn’t know, but that was another Playboy myth shattered.

By about day three of our relationship, I actually started to loosen up and began improvising, purposefully not doing what she asked and things started to take on a really interesting twist.

Who says learning isn’t fun?

One evening whilst out and about, we bumped into a few of her friends, some of whom were straight, some gay, some bi and others–well, I could only surmise that they were undecided.

We were told that the local cinema was putting on a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the weekend and it was half price entry, plus a free drink if one went ‘in costume’.

“You coming, Sara?” asked Nigel. “Ben wants to go and you know what he’s like once you get him in stockings–don’t even mention the corset.” Nigel’s lisp put him directly into the category of gay as far as I was concerned. The big giveaway though was the way he and Ben went everywhere arm in arm, so it wasn’t much of a conclusion to jump to.

Sara looked directly in my eyes and asked “Would you like to go?”

Knock me down with a feather, why don’t you? I thought and didn’t know which way to look. I know I had become a heap less inhibited in the short time I had been with Sara and had harboured these dirty, dirty, fantasies about–well, you know; but to suddenly go out on a Saturday night in stockings, suspenders, basque, makeup, heels… and panties of course. Sweet silky panties…

Anyway, I thought that was pushing boundaries.

“Um, can I get back to you?” she asked of Nigel and I know she mouthed something because Ben looked straight at me and did that nodding thing accompanied by an “oh”.

I knew exactly what that meant.

“It’ll be fun,” she said, batting those long eye lashes at me, whilst running her hands up my naked leg when we were at home.

“It’s alright for you, you don’t have to go in drag,” I said, worried that if she tried any harder to talk me into it, any reasons why I shouldn’t go would just melt away anyway.

“It’ll certainly be fun afterwards…” she said in a very seductive way and finally, what little resolve I had left crumbled.

***

By Saturday afternoon, I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. I didn’t know which way to turn, what to do or what to think. I must have lost pounds in nervous energy just thinking about ‘later on’.

“Relax,” she told me and whilst I would have liked nothing better, I didn’t see how I could. I was nervous at the best of times and right now, this time couldn’t be termed as ‘best’ in my opinion.

“Look, once you’re ready, no-one will recognise you anyway. I think you’ll make a good girl… and you know what good girl’s get, don’t you?”

There was no getting away from her line of reasoning or persuasiveness.

The “anyway, you promised” kind of sealed it.

I was being told to bathe and given a pink razor.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“Your legs, chest and under your arms–oh and anywhere else that might be covered in that rug.”

“What do you mean, rug?”

“You look like a bear and even though this is just a bit of fun, no girlfriend of mine goes out looking like that.”

Girlfriend? I thought. That’s taking it a bit far.

Regardless of her thoughts on the matter, it had been the best week of my life so far and if it meant I needed to make a fool of myself for a couple of hours, I thought that was a fair exchange.

I set about performing my ablutions and shaving in places where I never thought I would be shaving–some places extremely carefully.

It took ages and I mean ages. By the time I’d finished, the bath water was cold and it looked as though I was sitting in a door mat.

The blasted razor kept clogging, which was why it took so long and by the time I was done, it took nearly as long to unblock the plughole and clean the bath as it had to shave. The result though–even if a little amateurish–was something else.

I had only ever felt soft smooth skin from the toucher’s side–I mean from touching someone else’s smooth skin, but this time the feeling was doubled, if not quadrupled. Not only could I feel smooth skin beneath my fingers as I touched myself, but the skin I was touching responded differently too.

Once out of the bath, I wandered into the bedroom, a towel wrapped round my waist, where I found Sara in her outfit for the evening. She wore a corset that was black with deep red trim, seamed black fishnets and a G-string about the size of a postage stamp. It was just as well she shaved down there. To finish it all off, she had killer heels which made her taller than me.

“Let me see,” she said and I let the towel go. Only problem was, she looked so good in her outfit that the towel wouldn’t fall away as planned.

“Look ma, no hands,” I said, trying to brazen it out.

“What are we going to do with you?” she asked and laughed.

The idea of putting on girl’s clothing was by now a reality as Sara dressed me in an outfit almost identical to hers–except the G-string, which without boasting wouldn’t have stood a hope of containing what I have–regardless what you’re thinking.

I immediately started having problems keeping my mind on what we were doing and not on the item that was trying valiantly to chew its way out of my panties.

“This is the third time,” she remarked casually.

“Sorry.” I just blushed three shades of crimson and wobbled off to the bathroom.

Several seconds later, I returned.

“Can we get on now?”

“Look, I said I was sorry. It’s just…” I began, wondering how I could put into words the fact that one move in those panties with the stockings and… Oh bother, not again.

“Thank God we don’t have to be there until midnight,” Sara said, shaking her head and sighing.

We sat around for about half an hour after we’d finished readying ourselves and the closer it got to our going, the more nervous I became. Sara disappeared and came back with two small glasses containing blue liquid.

“Drink this,” she instructed. “It’ll make you feel a little less edgy.”

“Dutch courage?” I asked.

“Polish.”

“Near enough,” I replied with a grin. “Down the hatch.”

I poured the drink down and nearly choked.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked, sounding like I was talking with a mouth full of sand and gravel.

“Absinthe.”

I had no idea what the hell that was, but after about ten minutes, I really didn’t care.

There I was, sitting there in a pair of four inch heels, fishnet stockings, a black and red corset filled with chicken fillets as Sara called them with enough makeup to stock a beautician business.

All the while I sat there, Sara was coaching me on how to sit, how to walk–which yes, did require me to stand and become ambulatory. Granted, it wasn’t an easy task, but I found it fairly straightforward if I didn’t actually think about what I was wearing and just walked.
Anyhow, this was just supposed to be a bit of fun, so mistakes were allowed.

***

We ordered a cab for about eleven that would take us to the cinema. I wasn’t ready to be seen all over town in this get up and despite seemingly having lost my inhibitions, thanks to the peculiar polish drink, Sara wasn’t prepared to take any chances.

The cab driver was complimentary–I think. He asked where us ‘ladies’ wanted to go and I took it as a compliment. I think that was the wisest thing to do as had I got all “I’m no lady…” about it, it would just have led to more questions and embarrassment. As it was, Sara seemed pleased.

We arrived at the cinema and made our way to the lounge to lots of cheers from people we–or rather Sara–knew and even those we didn’t. I did my best not to look too self-conscious and after another snort of Absinthe, which Sara had brought in a small bottle, I really didn’t care–at all!

“My, my, my,” Nigel said, sidling up between us in his Cher-alike outfit. “You two look scrummy enough to eat.”

“Later darling,” Sara retorted, chuckling.

I think my colouring more closely resembled the piping on my corset after that remark–something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oooh, look who just can’t wait,” Ben added, giggling.

We had a few drinks, which could have been a mistake on my part, considering the absinthe, but I managed to hold it together and I have to say, I really got into it.

I experienced more hands on my arse and other parts of my anatomy than a lavatory door-knob and really didn’t mind–once I had got over the shock of realising that it wasn’t Sara who was doing it most of the time–or even a girl, though often it wasn’t that easy to tell.

How I managed to hold it together when she was flirting with other Magentas, Franks and Janets is beyond me, but I figure I was flirting with just about everyone anyway. It seemed to be the way of it–especially in our group–or should that be grope?

Finally, the witching hour arrived and without thinking I said “Let’s go see what’s on the slab.”

My rendition of ‘Touch-a, touch-a, touch-a touch me’ nearly had me exploding on the spot, with both males and females getting into the touching and I LOVED it.

I hadn’t forgotten the promise that Sara made before and was hornier than a horny thing on horny night in horny-ville, finding the constriction in my panties almost crucifying, but the wait was part of it.

Our group left the cinema and the sexual tension was just about palpable. I had grown used to the outfit and didn’t even give it a second thought as we walked home, many of the group sloping off to get it on in the privacy of their own or anyone else’s home.

Eight of us remained and as we neared Sara’s place, we were stopped by a gypsy woman. None of us even considered what she was doing out at three in the morning trying to pedal lucky heather, but I suppose the surreal extended beyond us.

“Luck ‘eather?” she asked.

I was too high on adrenalin and alcohol to think twice and offered to buy a sprig, taking a fiver out of my bag.

“Ooh, miss, you’re too kind,” she crowed.

I was flattered.

Strangely, not because she thought that the five pound note I had pushed into her hand was a lot, but because she called me miss. This elicited much chortling from the others and she drew me towards her.

“I think that kind of price deserves a wish, don’t you?”

I was a little shocked and just smiled at her.

“What is your wish,” she asked.

I didn’t take long to come to a decision.

“I wish this week wouldn’t end. It’s been such fun I could do it over and over.”

The assemblage cheered and I grinned at them a bit bashfully.

“Done and done. You’ve been most kind,” she said grinning back at me, a twinkle in her piercing blue eyes.

I tucked the sprig of heather into my cleavage and we finished our journey, piling into Sara’s ostensibly for coffees, but it soon turned into something much more than I could have bargained for.

I didn’t think I was capable of many of the things I got up to and I’ll leave that to your imagination, but suffice it to say, I don’t think I will ever be hung up on mine or anyone else’s sexuality again.

***

It was light by the time Sara and I curled up together in bed and crashed out, but when I woke, I found myself in my own bed and all traces of the makeup, the clothing–some of which I kept on at Sara’s request–were gone and so too had the shaving. I was back to being a walking rug.
I was baffled.

There I was as if none of it had happened and I spent the rest of the day in a complete daze, trying to work out what the heck was going on.

Later I went out, more through lack of anything better to do than any other reason.

“How’s it going, Greg,” asked Martin.

“Oh, so so. You know. I’m a bit off today. Either I had a very strange dream or something really weird is happening.”

“Get this down your neck,” he said, passing me a pint. “That’ll take your mind off things.”

Like I said, I was a bit out of sorts and later on, probably two or three beers later, I found myself alone at the bar when I saw someone I thought I recognised. I went to introduce myself.

“Hi, I’m Greg,” I said in my politest voice.

“Sara,” she replied. “Do I know you? You seem awfully familiar.”

I realised there and then what was happening. I’d been having this sense of déjá  vu all day and whilst I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it then, now all was becoming clear.

Well that was the first re-run and since that time, I have lost count of how many times I have been back. It’s a bit like Groundhog Day, but over a week.

Sometimes I realise that repeating the same week ad infinitum isn’t healthy, but when I get to the part where the old gypsy woman asks if I’d like to make a wish, I cave in and ask for the same again, please.

One of these weeks I’ll pluck up the courage to move on, but all the time it’s a blast, why try and fix what ain’t broke?

Fin
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