How I Learned to Love Drag

by Laurie S.

Young Sean is an up and coming comedian. He lands a regular spot on a hit comedy television show. Ecstasy has an all male cast. Guess who has to play the female roles?

The story, inspired by the Kids in the Hall, was written in 2002.

1

"How about doing a sports interview?" I suggested. "We could have hockey's dirtiest player doing a tell-all about how to inflict pain without taking a penalty."

"Yeah," Ted agreed. "The bad guy could demonstrate all his dirty moves on the interviewer. Like an elbow to the face."

"The slew foot move to knock a guy off his skates," Mark added.

"The ever popular crosscheck the guy into the goalpost maneuver," chipped in Dave.

"What about the can opener?" Mark offered. "You put your stick between the legs and catapult the guy into the boards — or over the boards into the players' bench."

"How about the old hook the stick between the legs and jerk up trick," I added. "We could call that the contraceptive cuff."

"Why not the crotch kiss?" Dave asked. "Or the ball buster."

"Those names are great," Ted said, "but crotch kiss sounds cute."

"Yes, there are a lot of dirty hockey plays," Scott said. "I wonder why they
don't teach these moves on Coaches Corner?"

"Well Coach Don Cherry might go for it, but the host, Ron McLean, wouldn't," Mark said.

"Oh Hockey Night in Canada can't do intermission clinics on dirty tricks, there's enough violence in kids hockey as it is," Aaron said.

There was a brief pause.

I asked, "How about a fight between the interviewer and the player?"

"Ron McLean's a part time referee," Mark added. "He's all for eliminating fighting. That would be perfect."

"Yeah, plus our Canadian audience would eat it up," Ted said.

I guess I was a little apprehensive my first day on the job, but at the same time delighted and excited to be joining a successful show. In fact, as opportunities go, it was one of the best!

ECSTASY was a smash! It was a ratings hit and well liked by the critics too!

So why was I concerned? Well, for one, I had big shoes to fill. Steve Perry, the comedian I was replacing, had left for greener pastures in the US. MAD TV wanted him - and he jumped at the chance for even bigger exposure. After all, when one compares Canada's Comedy Network to America's Fox Network, you're talking about ten times the audience. Not to mention a whopping increase in salary.

My day had begun with my arrival at the Comedy Network's studio, located in an industrial area of Burnaby, a suburb of Vancouver. A place of perpetual rain in the winter, Noah saw less precipitation when it rained for forty days and forty nights.

An architectural eyesore, the television studio fit right in with the other 1960s vintage warehouses because that's what the studio was before it was converted a few years ago - a car parts warehouse.

So when I walked through the side entrance on a bright sunny July morning, I almost had the feeling I was in the wrong place.

But the Comedy Network office actually looked decent. It looked like a real place of business - high tech communications equipment, track lighting, solid oak furniture, and hardwood flooring. And thankfully, it was air-conditioned.

An attractive receptionist welcomed me. After exchanging greetings, she buzzed the producer on the intercom and then she led me down the hall to his office.

"Ah, Sean Davidson, good to see you."

"Hello Ted," I replied as we shook hands.

Ted Walters, fortyish, short, bespectacled, casually dressed, friendly and fatherly, kind of reminded me of Rick Moranis in Honey I Shrunk the Kids.

"You're looking good," he said. "You're looking fit and trim. And that big grin on your face tells me you can't wait to get started."

"Thank you. I am really looking forward to this."

"Well, let me introduce you to the other guys," Ted said as he looked at his watch. "We've got a bull session scheduled to start in a few minutes."

"A bull session?"

"Brainstorming meeting. We dream up skit ideas for the next show."

Ted took me into another part of the cavernous building.

***
In a large, well-appointed meeting room were the other core people. Director Aaron Spacek - they called him the Space Cadet. He was a thirty-something irreverent free spirit. He looked like Pee Wee Herman on steroids.

There was long, tall, dark, rugged looking, boy-next-door Mark Mitchell. Next to him was Dave Poole. He was a baby-faced blond, six feet tall, with a slender build. Then there was Scott Calvin: dark curly hair, kind of pudgy, a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a perpetual smile. All of the guys were in their twenties. And from what I'd seen of their first year of ECSTASY, they were bloody comic geniuses!

Kicking around ideas for the skits followed simple brainstorming rules. Create. Innovate. Contribute. Build. Don't reject anything.

I could see why Ted called this a bull session.

So far we had dreamed up a reality show parody, an Attack of the Clones doppelganger, a hockey player interview, and now we were exploring a teenage girl's sleepover party.

"The pajama party gets us to explore our feminine side," Scott proclaimed. "You know the women want men to be more sensitive."

"Besides the viewers want to see us in drag," Mark added.

"Well, we'll have to discuss boys," Dave said.

"You always do," Scott teased.

"What of it," Dave shot back.

"I love a forceful man," Scott squealed. "Especially real bruisers."

"Teenage girls talk about the four Ms - makeup, music, movies and men," Ted offered, trying to get the discussion back on track.

"Shopping too," I added.

With the look of a battle-hardened parent, Ted announced, "And they complain about the restraints put on them by their age, by parents, teachers, a limited allowance, and boys."

"Yeah like why shouldn't I be able to communicate on the Internet with my girlfriend and talk to her on the phone at the same time?" Aaron whined.

"That's perfectly reasonable since we don't have video phones yet," Ted said. "Girls have the right to hear and see their friends — even if it ties up two phone lines."

"Yes. The rights of the child should supersede those of the oppressive adults," Dave agreed.

"Maybe we could have the girls play with their Barbie dolls while they strive for the same rights as adults," Scott suggested. "A good juxtaposition."

I finally saw my chance to speak. "That would be the new anatomically correct Barbie - and Ken too. The girls could play with the dolls and we could show the dolls copulating and the girls masturbating."

That brought a smile to their faces.

"Could we make the dolls bend properly?" Ted asked.

"It's too bad we couldn't have animation to perform that trick for us," Aaron complained.

"Claymation Barbie," Dave suggested.

"Did you know that some Canadian schools have senior students take care of baby dolls as part of their curriculum?" Ted asked. "It's to teach parenting. You know, the usual situation is if the student leaves the baby unattended, it starts to cry."

"That's got some possibilities," I interjected. "A frustrated male student can't get the doll to stop crying, so he sticks it in his locker."

"Yeah. And he gets a failing mark because the doll dies," Dave said.

"How does the doll die?" Scott asked.

"It's a computerized doll," Ted said. "You know that Japanese technology. If you don't give the doll attention, and feed it some formula, it dies. The doll's computer chip senses movement and water."

"So if the doll doesn't stop crying, we could have the doll shaken to death by the frustrated student," Dave said.

"Or the doll could be kidnapped," Mark suggested.

"Wait a minute. Are we talking about the pajama party now, or are we talking about a whole other skit?" I asked.

"We can decide that later," Ted said. "We're still brainstorming."

"If we have the pajama party, I think we could get some adorable costumes," Scott suggested. "The cuteness quotient could be pretty high."

Mark spoke up. "Yeah, the girls could be painting each other's toenails."

"And tattoos," I suggested. "And maybe on the television, they could be watching videos of their favorite wrestlers."

"Yes, watching wrestling while painting on henna tattoos while they smoke crack cocaine," Mark said.

"While they have lesbian sex," Scott added. "That could be our big finish."

"Oh no, do I have to kiss Scott again?" Dave deadpanned.

"You wish," Scott retorted.

"Now girls, stop making those catty remarks," Aaron reminded. "Please kiss and make up."

Scott stood up and embraced Dave. Scott planted a big wet one right on Dave's lips.

"You guys kill me," I said with a shake of my head.

"Hmm, pajama parties just aren't the innocent sleepovers they used to be," Ted observed. "Parents used to get upset when their kids had a pillow fight."

2

Coming from standup comedy, I was used to performing on stage in front of a live audience. ECSTASY didn't for a number of reasons. We could tape at various locations. We could do as many takes as needed. There was less time pressure. Costume and
makeup changes with a small cast became manageable.

Actually all the performers would have preferred a live audience's reaction. But the producer and director didn't need the extra pressure.

The outfits and sets or locations for the first show were pretty easy - a hockey rink, a girl's bedroom, a national park for the Survivor parody, and a school. The Attack of the Clones idea was put on hold. Due to budgetary considerations, the girl's bedroom was the
only set constructed. The other skits were shot on location.

But the costumes and makeup were something I was not accustomed to as a stand up comedian.

For the pajama party, all the guys had to get into drag. I didn't know what to expect.

Daniel Roberts was the head makeup artist. Of medium height, slim, effeminate in demeanor, he was almost your stereotypical gay makeup artist. His long dirty blond hair was tied into a ponytail. He wore a light blue smock over faded khaki pants.

After shaking hands and the usual first meeting greetings, he directed me to what appeared to be a barber's chair.

"Honey," Daniel said, "the makeup for your character will be pretty light. We're going for the look of a young teenage girl. So we want a natural look. Lip-gloss maybe, longer lashes, a bit of contouring to give you a more girlish look, a medium length wig. With your skin coloring, we might as well go with your natural blonde hair color."

Daniel stood back for a moment. "Your eyebrows need to be thinned."

"Wait a minute," I interjected. "You're not really going to pluck my eyebrows, are you?"

"Oh no, heaven forbid! I'm just going to use a little glue and covering makeup to give the eyebrows a thin girlish arch. No plucking or waxing," said Daniel as he gave me a reassuring touch on the forearm.

"Hi Daniel, who's this?"

I turned to my side in the direction of the voice. An absolutely gorgeous young Asian girl walked toward us.

"Hi May," Daniel said cheerily. "This is our new cast member, Sean Davidson."

I stood up to meet her.

She surprised me by embracing me, giving me a nice warm hug. Wow! It was like a jolt of electricity! I tingled all over! Then she gave me those show business kisses on each cheek. I did my best to reciprocate.

She smelled nice — the clean fresh scent of Ivory Snow. And she looked terrific! Lightly made up, with just lipstick and a touch of mascara, her skin was flawless. A gorgeous smile with a Colgate ad gleam. She had that look of perfection that made you think of
angelic beauty.

May stood about five foot seven. I'd guess her weight to be at perhaps 120 pounds. She was model thin, but she radiated vitality. May wore dark slacks, a pinstripe black shirt and a leather vest. I noted, like many Asian girls, she was not endowed with much of a bust.

"May Cheung is our wardrobe magician," Daniel said.

"From what I saw of the show last season, you two did great work."

"Thank you," May said. "You are most gracious, Sean."

"In fact, didn't you guys win Genie Awards for makeup and costume?"

"Yes, you're right," Daniel said proudly.

"I'm impressed," May said. "You really did your homework."

I smiled. Actually Ted Walters, our producer, had mentioned that fact when we were chatting earlier in the day. I thought it best if I kept my mouth shut at the moment.

May pulled out a tailor's tape and measured my neck, chest, waist, hips, sleeve length, and pant inseam. Again, there was her scent of Ivory Snow.

"So you have a 14 1/2 inch neck and a 33 inch sleeve length. You probably take pants with a 30 inch waist and a 32 inch inseam."

"That's right." I nodded in agreement.

"You've got a pretty good figure for a girl too," May remarked.

"Come again?"

"You're 35-28-36. That's pretty good for doing the roles in drag. We'd hardly need corsets. And the padding for your boobs would round you out quite nicely," May said with an admiring look.

'Oh no,' I thought. 'I don't want to be teased about my girlish looks again.'

"That will be a great asset for this show because you'll probably be in drag every week. You've got real potential."

"And I can make her face look beautiful," Daniel said. "She's a natural."

My face must have expressed doubt.

"You'll see," Daniel assured, as he sat me back in the barber's chair. "When we're done, your parents will think they have a pretty teenaged daughter."

My parents - what would they think?

They'd probably disapprove.

After high school, instead of going to university like most of my classmates, I tried the tough world of stand up comedy.

I started hanging around The Laugh Resort on Portage in downtown Winnipeg when I was in my senior year.

After seeing some good comics, many middlin' to average, and some absolutely dreadful performers, I got up the courage to give it a shot. I worked hard at writing a monologue, gathering the best jokes I'd heard during my lifetime, rehearsed and memorized the
whole routine. On a Monday open mike night, I took my shot.

Though really nervous, as skittish as a cute teen boy in a penitentiary, I told my well rehearsed opening lines.

Surprise! Surprise!

I got some laughs.

I remember one of my old jokes was, "We live in dangerous times. Why some people even fear you can catch AIDS from a mosquito. Those people are really sick. Who in their right mind would even think of having sex with a mosquito?"

"Did you know that the bear featured in Winnie the Pooh, the A.A. Milne children's book, was named after Winnipeg? That's not so great for promoting tourism. Hear the name Winnipeg and immediately bear poo pops into your head…and under your foot."

And one of my old jokes was used by Mike Myers in Goldmember. "What's long and hard and full of semen?" Pause. "A submarine."

"The difference between mononucleosis and herpes is all a matter of approach. You get mono from snatching kisses . . . and herpes from kissing snatches."

In retrospect, I know they sounded juvenile, but it was my first time. And as an 18-year-old, potty humor and sex jokes held my attention.

Gaining some confidence from an encouraging start, I seemed to hit my stride about midway through the monologue. Then I got a little too cocky. I tried a little interaction with the audience. When that fell flat, I got heckled. But, when I stuck to the planned routine, I recovered. And when I finished, I got a little better than polite applause.

Nevertheless, I was hooked! The adrenaline rush of performing — it was addictive!

Two weeks later, with a revamped monologue, I tried again. The second time was much better! It was a true success! Intuitively I knew what to do! It was so good that the club manager offered to pay me to make my third appearance!

Within three months, I was a regular comedian on the Southern Manitoba comedy circuit.

My parents were dead set against it, thinking I was a totally unrealistic dreamer. A career in show business?

To my parents, becoming a comedian was insane. Too risky! So few people became big stars in show business. On the other hand, getting a university education, getting into a profession such as law, medicine, engineering, or even teaching, was a real career - a
guarantee of a comfortable lifestyle.

But they didn't understand my passion for comedy. The rush I felt when the audience loved me! How I fed on the applause!

Being a comedian was what I needed to do. It's what I lived for! I didn't have a choice. The pull was an overwhelming force!

When I announced I wasn't going to university, my parents thought I was Anakin Skywalker crossing over to the Dark Side. I became Darth Vader. My mother and father kicked me out of the house.

So, having little choice, I joined the evil Empire.

I spent five years on the fringes of the universe, traveling to the far-flung outposts of the Canadian comedy club circuit. Honing my craft, building a reputation, hoping for a break.

ECSTASY was my shot at stardom. And redemption.

3

Shooting the pajama party skit was incredible fun!

The pink nightie, the fake boobs, the painted fingernails and toes, the blonde wig and makeup put me into the character.

And Daniel was right. If my parents had seen me, they wouldn't have recognized me. They'd have thought I was a sweet teenage girl.

Aaron 'the Space Cadet' Spacek, our director, gave the guys room to innovate and create. There were key lines we had to do, but the other guys were masters of improvisation. When they went off on an unscripted tangent, you just had to go with the flow.

So if the script direction said 'feel yourself up' as you watch the wrestling video, what the hell would you do?

I let my comedic instincts guide me. I began by looking down toward my breasts. Then I reached up with my right hand and began to massage my breasts through the pink soft cotton nightie. The camera could see the tops of my fake boobs revealed by the medium neckline. Then I moaned lightly. With my left hand I reached down to my crotch and touched my faux girly parts. Actually, thankfully, I was wearing a tight gaff that would not
allow my male member to spring to life.

Then I said, "Isn't the Rock a real hard body?"

"Yeah, he's the bomb! Wasn't he great in The Scorpion King?" Dave/Darla asked.

"It would be great to shoot a love scene with him," I added as I massaged myself more vigorously.

"Who cares if he takes steroids to get those incredible muscles?" Scott/Sue asked. "He looks perfect! What a hunk!" Even though the makeup, wig and pajamas gave Scott the look of a sweet angelic teenage girl, her spirit was possessed by a sex-obsessed devil.

"I wonder if steroids make you sterile?" I asked.

"Isn't that why they're called steroids?" Dave/Darla asked.

"You silly girl, they're not called steroids for that reason," Scott/Sue remarked.

"Then why are they called steroids?" Darla asked.

"I don't know," Scott/Sue said. "They just are."

"I wonder . . . Do they shrink the testicles?" Mark/Marlene asked.

"Ooohhh, gross!" Sue squealed.

"What a shame! What a sham!" Darla screamed! "Not the Rock."

"Is that what those commercials mean by erectile difficulties?" I asked. "It turns a guy to mush."

"A guy goes flaccid," Darla whispered.

"Oohhh, gross!" Marlene squealed.

"I wonder what it's like to hold a guy's erection in your hands?" Sue added.

"I think it would be like holding a Popsicle, only it wouldn't be as cold," Darla whispered.

"Yeah, you'd lick and lick and lick," Sue interjected. "And eventually it would wear down."

"But I hear that Viagra makes you go all night!" I enthused.

"You mean a guy can keep erect all night?" Sue wondered.

"Like the CN Tower," Darla giggled. "The biggest erection in the world."

"Imagine stickin' that up your notch!" Sue cried.

We all laughed and giggled.

"I wonder, how big can a guy's piece get?" I asked.

"There's a guy, Jim, at school. I heard he has a big one," Sue said matter of factly.

"How do you know that?" Marlene asked.

"His nickname is Stud 'cause he's built like a two-by-four," Sue whispered.

"A two four?" I asked. "I don't get it. Isn't that a case of twenty-four beer bottles?"

"You know a two by four, like one of those thick wooden beams used in construction," Sue said.

"Oh."

"That's true. He's big. I slow danced with him once. And I could feel it. He was so big! I felt like a vampire impaled on his wooden stake!" Darla squealed.

The other girls squealed too.

"No really, without the fake Buffy the Vampire stuff, how did it feel?" I asked.

"Like really dreamy!" Darla paused for a second. "Steamy!! Creamy!!! It seemed to fit perfectly like a round peg in a round hole."

All the girls screamed! I rolled over on the bed in laughter. 'A round peg in a round hole. Well duh!' I thought.

"Maybe he just stuck a cucumber down his shorts!" Marlene suggested.

"Guys don't do that!" Sue said. "Do they?"

"The guys on football teams do," I said. "They wear big shoulder pads and, in their pants, they wear plastic jocks."

"That's just so their little Jimmy's don't get hurt," Darla assured. "But there's no way Jim stuck anything in his pants!"

"How do you know?" Marlene asked.

"I know 'cause I felt it. It was hard, but it wasn't a fake hard. Not like a dildo."

All the girls shrieked!

There was something surreal about the whole experience. Never had I had a conversation like this in my whole life. Here we were trying to top each other with outrageous comment after outrageous comment.

"Excuse me," I said. I ran in the direction of the bathroom. "I gotta go pee pee."

"Poor Sean, she must have got too excited," Sue said. "She must be all wet!"

Then they all laughed at my departing butt.

Then Aaron yelled cut.

We reassembled. And we tried to improv another take.

Later the best cuts would be aired.

4

It had been a long day of working.

From a morning script writing session for our version of the Survivor reality show to the afternoon in makeup and then shooting the pajama party skit, I had certainly earned my keep.

As I sat in the dressing room, May Cheung came over to give me a hand. Dressed in that amorphous blue smock, a long tan skirt and leather sandals, she looked absolutely delectable. It wasn't the clothes - it was her face. The kind of gorgeous visage you see on
the cover of fashion magazines.

It wasn't hard for her to sense my interest in her.

"My oh my, don't you look scrumptious," May said in a breathy voice, as she gave me a gentle hug.

Again that exciting tingle shot through my body in response to her gentle touch.

When she stepped back, I examined the reflection in the mirror. Looking back at me was a pretty teenager. Framed by a pageboy 'do, my face had a fresh innocent angelic quality. The pink cotton nightie wasn't like Victoria's Secret lingerie, but it revealed enough of the shapely bust, slim waist, bubble butt and long shapely legs to look sexy. "Hey, I really do look convincing, don't I?"

"You do. But you'd better stop admiring yourself or you'll end up with an unladylike bulge in your nightie," she giggled.

"That would be embarrassing," I said, "although I could always claim that it was you who turned me on."

"Thank you . . . but you know, you really do have potential as a sexy female impersonator. Why I bet if we went to a lesbian nightclub, the girls would find you irresistible."

I laughed at that comment. "Yeah, until they found out my little secret. Or should I say big secret?"

"Oh you guys," May said as she gave me a gentle slap on the upper arm. "You always claim to be well equipped. But remember, I'm the one who provided you with the gaff for this costume. You got the S/P size - for small/petit."

"Would you believe S/P for stupendous pecker?"

May giggled. "Dream on . . . Okay, enough macho posturing. C'mon, we have to get you out of this costume . . . Let's get the wig off first."

She reached up to my head, felt for the elasticized band under the hair, and lifted up. Then she disappeared into a storage room off my dressing room and placed the blonde wig on a long white Styrofoam wig stand.

I removed the nylon wig cap. It freed my trampled down blond hair and let it breathe. Objectively speaking, I'd say it looked like I was having the ultimate bad hair day.

"Okay, lift your arms high above your head. Let's get the nightie off."

I complied with her instructions, and then I remembered that I had nothing on but my flesh colored Jane belt and my false boobs.

As May patted my slender waist, she said, "With a little dieting and some exercise, we could really make you one of those Ab Tronic infomercial models," she joked.

"Fortunately I have one of those fast metabolisms. I can eat at buffet restaurants all week and not gain a pound."

"Well, you know if we give you a training corset and we exercise your gut, we could probably get you down to a twenty-four inch waist."

"Are you serious?"

"Sure. Why not? You'll be getting into drag all season . . . We might as well get you to look your best. And Daniel's not the only one who thinks you've got great potential. You're a natural. I think drag works best when the audience sees an absolutely stunning, sexy, drop dead gorgeous girl who they can't believe is really a guy."

"Thanks for the compliment." Wow! I looked at my reflection again. Could I be that kind of girl?

Even without a long blonde wig, I still looked attractively girlish. Of course, the big boobies helped alter my self-image.

"You know Dave, Scott and Mark got into drag frequently last season. But I think you could always tell they were guys in dresses. Typically the guys' faces are a little too square, or their jaws are too strong, or their noses are too big. Their shoulders are broad and their legs are too muscular. But you don't have those flaws. You look real. Not just real. With the proper wig, makeup and clothing, you look stunning."

I angled my head and tried to strike a sexy pose. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," I purred.

May laughed. "Another week and you'll have diva attitude too."

Turning away from me for a moment, May quickly hooked the pink cotton nightie on a hanger and hooked it on a clothes rack.

"You've given me something to work toward . . . But I'll have to talk about those slimming plans later. Right now I've got one concern. How do I get these damn things off?" I asked May as I looked down at my impressive bosom.

"Just grab them and rip." May smiled. Then, with a playful pat on the arm she said, "I'm kidding. You're going to need an adhesive remover."

May opened a drawer beneath the makeup counter. Then she held up a plastic bottle that held a clear chemical solution.

"I hope you're not allergic to liquid crystal Kryptonite, Supergirl."

That comment out of left field caught me by surprise.

May took a few puffy cotton balls from a plastic bag on the top of the counter. After removing the cap to the adhesive remover, she soaked the cotton balls in the clear chemical solution. It didn't have a harsh or unpleasant scent. May squeezed the damp cotton balls around the edges of the false boobs.

"It will take a few minutes. Once the edges are saturated with the adhesive remover, we can peel back the edges of these false breasts. Then, as we gradually expose more and more of the backside of the boob to the chemical, we can pull a little more off a little at a time."

Again there was the scent of Ivory Snow. And her touch set off that tingling sensation again up and down my whole body. I'd have to reread those Laws of Thermodynamics from my high school Physics book to figure out what the hell was happening to me. Or
Great Caesar's Ghost! Maybe I really was Linda Lee and maybe it was crystal Kryptonite!

"Please let me do that," I said as I tried to pull the false boobs off. The breast flesh below looked red and very sensitive. "I hope I'm not allergic to these chemicals."

"The redness is normal. Your skin hasn't been exposed to air for several hours. So far we haven't encountered any strong allergic reactions to these particular chemicals. But everyone is different. The redness should disappear by morning."

As we waited for a few moments before I could peel off the final vestiges of the adhesive, May disappeared for a minute.

When she reappeared, she had a corset in her hands.

"Oh, oh. I've got a bad feeling about this," I mumbled to myself.

"Here Sean," May said in a cheerful voice. "I want you to put this on right now. And, even when you go to bed tonight, I want you to keep this on."

"Besides causing me great discomfort, what good will this corset do?"

"Like we discussed before, the corset will train your waist. If you want to do some really incredible impersonations of those beautiful singers and actresses, this will help give you that to-die-for fabulous figure."

"Well, I guess you're the expert."

We hugged each other. She was so damned sexy. Her body seemed to fit my contours perfectly.

"You know May, I was just wondering." 'Ah, what the hell,' I thought to myself. 'Just go for it.' "How'd you like to go out on a date with me sometime? I mean, I know it's strange of me to ask right now, dressed as I am, but I think you're really sexy."

She answered with a sensual open-mouthed kiss!

Wow!

5

"How is it you get the glamorous drag role?" May asked.

"Well, Ted Walters said he hired me based on my performance at the Montreal Comedy Festival. There I was doing some impressions. Vocal impressions. A little Jim Carrey, Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump, Austin Powers, and some musical impressions like Bruce Springsteen, Britney Spears, Shakira, and, since I was in Quebec, Celine Dion."

"So that's why you're doing Britney Spears."

"Yeah. But I never got into drag before. In a one-man comedy routine, you don't have time to switch costumes - never mind the makeup. At most, you can slip on a wig or a hat quickly to change characters . . . How about it? Can you and Daniel transform me into Britney?"

"Yes, certainly. The clothing shouldn't be a big problem. The makeup - you'll have to ask Daniel. I know he's the best damn makeup artist in the business. He'll get it to work. But how well can you do Britney Spears' voice?"

"It's not my best impersonation. But it's not bad."

"Which song will you do?" May asked. "I need to know so I can get the right costume together."

"I think we'll be doing Baby One More Time."

"Let's see. If I recall correctly, you'll need a gray sweater, a dark skirt, a white blouse that will be tied together to show some bare midriff, a dark red bra, knee sox, and tennis shoes. The hairdo should be pretty simple - blonde pigtails, pink ribbons and those puffy feathery light pink what-you-ma'call-its."

"Yes. You've got a pretty good recollection of the video. I'm impressed."

"Wardrobe's my vocation. I pay attention to costumes."

***

While the discussion with May went well, the script writing session didn't go quite as smoothly.

Back in the spacious meeting room, Ted Walters handed out copies of Baby One More Time. The lyrics had been downloaded from the Internet. Also, he gave us a copy of a script from the TV series Alias.

First, everyone looked over the words to Britney's song.

There was a boom box in the room. Aaron opened a plastic CD case, then inserted the Baby One More Time disc into the compartment and pressed the Play button.

We all listened to the song intently.

I jotted down some ideas onto the lyrics page as the music played.

Dave tapped along with the beat while I hummed the melody.

"Hey!" Scott said. "This could be pretty funny. What do you think of this concept? The song is about child abuse. 'Hit me baby one more time.' "

"Perhaps," Ted said. "If we change the lyrics a little, it's got potential."

"Instead of child abuse, maybe we could have Britney addicted to gambling," Dave suggested. "She'd be asking the dealer to hit her hand with another card." He paused for a moment. "Nah. Forget I said that."

"How about Britney in a football helmet?" Mark smiled. "It could be the new theme song for the WNFL."

I spoke up. "How about Britney with an abusive boyfriend?"

"That's probably the most obvious slant," Ted agreed.

"There are probably a lot of people out there who are a little sick of Britney's popularity and would like to smack her," Scott said.

"It's not that it's deserved," Dave said.

"It's deserved," Scott countered. "Her sexy outfits belie her virgin status. She's the ultimate cockteaser."

"Any immensely popular singer always goes through that kind of backlash," Dave maintained.

"Let's get back on track, guys," Ted said. "I think we should go with the abusive boyfriend angle. Who besides Sean wants to work on the lyrics?"

"I'll do it," Dave said, "since I actually listen to her music."

"You've got no ear for music," Scott taunted, "since all of Britney's songs sound the same."

"I'm not the only one who listens to her music," Dave said.

"Yeah all the young teen girls and preteen brainless 'droids do too."

"I'm in good company then. Children aren't as pretentious as some adults I know."

"You know Britney is the ultimate phony. At her concerts, she lip synchs the songs for heaven's sake."

"It's only because she does those energetic dance routines," Dave claimed.

"Okay, enough," Ted said. "Let's split up the other work. How about the Alias parody? Are you up for it Scott and Mark?"

"Sure. I'd be glad to work on it," Mark said.

Scott nodded his assent.

Dave and I got up and walked down the hallway to go work in Ted Walters' office. Unlike the classroom-sized meeting room, Ted's office was a quarter that size, but at least there was a window, even it was a skylight. Sunlight just seemed to help re-energize me.

Being under a tight time constraint, we didn't waste any time. We agreed on the abusive boyfriend concept. So we set about altering the lyrics to create a bad dude boyfriend.

We looked at the first verse and the chorus.

BABY ONE MORE TIME

Oh baby, baby
How was I supposed to know
That something wasn't right here
Oh baby, baby
I shouldn't have let you go
And now you're outta sight, yeah
Show me how you want it to be
Tell me baby 'cause I need to know now, oh because

Chorus:
My loneliness is killing me
I must confess I still believe
When I'm not with you I lose my mind
Give me a sign
Hit me baby one more time

We chipped away at the lyrics and came up with our own sick version.

Oh baby, baby
How was I supposed to know
That something wasn't right here
O baby, maybe
You shouldn't have called me a ho
And now I don't wanna fight, yeah
Know now I don't want you to be
The death of me 'cause I bleed tears of woe, oh because

Your beatings are killing me
I must confess I don't believe
How could I be so out of my mind
Deaf dumb and blind
Hit me baby one more time

I popped the karaoke version of the song into the CD drive of the stereo system in Ted's office. Then I tried out the phrasing in my best Britney singing voice.

As Dave listened with an expression of amusement on his face, I wondered about the incongruity of the whole situation.

It must have looked really strange to hear such a high voice coming out of a guy.

After singing the revised lyrics of the song, I thought it wasn't half bad.

But Dave came up with another idea. "How about we take Britney in her school girl uniform and have her dance with Michael Jackson!"

"In his Thriller leather," I suggested. "Michael Jackson could be Britney's bad dude boyfriend."

"Or maybe instead of Thriller we could use that Michael Jackson song I'm Bad. We could change it to I'm Sad, I'm Sad." Dave sang the 'I'm Sad' part to illustrate the switch. "Now wouldn't that be an odd couple — Michael and Britney . . . Although both have done Pepsi commercials."

"Right. They both could sing 'We're the Pepsi degeneration.'"

"This pairing has a few possibilities."

"Gee, you know Dave, you were right about how every megastar singer goes through a period of backlash . . . You don't want to get into the child abuse theme with Britney's song, do you?" I asked.

"It's tempting. But I don't think we should kick Michael Jackson when he's down. Besides, we don't want fantasy to mirror real life too closely. We want to go for some laughs — not lawsuits."

"Too controversial, eh?"

"I think so - even by our show's standards."

I kind of liked Dave's sense of right and wrong.

6

May lived in one of those high-rise apartments in Vancouver's West End.

When I drove up in my new silver Toyota Celica, she was waiting at the front door.

She wore a summery brilliant white cotton dress and sandals. It was appropriate for the hot humid weather.

As was our usual custom, we hugged and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. That little gesture put me in a confident mood. Was it just me or did all guys read a lot into an innocent little embrace or a kiss on the cheek?

I opened the car door for May and walked briskly around to the driver's side.

"I like your car." May smiled. "Is it new?"

"Yes. When I got the new gig with ECSTASY, I celebrated with a little shopping spree."

"So do you like fast sports cars?"

"It's no Ferrari, but this will do. She's got a 1.8 liter 4 cylinder engine putting out 180 horses, with a 6 speed manual transmission. And is it ever smooth!"

"Boys and their toys."

I thought about peeling out of the driveway, but somehow I sensed that May wouldn't have been impressed.

Spotting my CD storage case, May asked, "What kind of music do you like?"

"Well, right now I've been listening to Britney Spears and Michael Jackson because of that skit we just did. But Shakira and Shaggy and J Lo or whoever's popular or whatever comes on the radio. Anything that rocks."

"I love Shakira. When I hear Whenever, Wherever, I feel like getting up and dancing!"

"Me too."

"Her music video is absolutely incredible! And she's got a great look."

"I like the fact that she writes her own songs too. She is so talented."

May looked at me for a moment. "Have you ever thought of impersonating her?"

"Hmmm, I wonder if I could. I think I can do her voice pretty well."

"Don't worry about the look. Daniel can do wonders with the makeup and wigs."

Thinking about two amazing transformations, I said, "I know. He's the best."

A few minutes later, we were approaching Stanley Park from the Georgia Street entrance. To my right, across the calm waters of Coal Harbour, near Deadman's Island, we could catch a glimpse of totem poles of the First Nations. Then I could see hundreds of yachts moored at the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club.

Stanley Park, named after a former Governor General of Canada, claimed to be one of the largest urban parks in North America. An evergreen oasis, over a thousand acres in size, it was the crown jewel of Vancouver.

As it was about a quarter to five on a Sunday, some of the families that had spent an afternoon at the park had left. Finding a parking spot wasn't mission impossible.

I had chosen the Prospect Point Café on the recommendation of Dave. Located on a high promontory, it had an outdoor patio, with lots of shade trees. Straight ahead of us, dominating the vista, was the elegant Lion's Gate Suspension Bridge, spanning the entrance to Burrard Inlet. Beyond that was scenic West Vancouver and Grouse Mountain. Below us was a bicycle/roller blade and pedestrian path. A magnificent stand of huge fir, cedar, and hemlock, stretching to the heavens, stood behind us. To the west was English Bay or the Georgia Strait, separating the mainland from Vancouver Island. The skyline of downtown Vancouver lay to the east, and in the distance, through the haze, were mountains such as snow-capped Mount Baker. The Pacific Ocean and the hot humid weather created an idyllic summer atmosphere.

We both ordered long tall ice teas. May opted for the Mandarin chicken salad. I tried the garden salad and a club sandwich.

"I loved that Britney Spears/Michael Jackson skit," May said. "You guys put so much energy into the dancing!"

"Thanks. But your costumes and Daniel's amazing makeup really made it come alive!"

"What a concept! Michael Jackson and Britney Spears together."

"I'm so glad that Ted Walters called in that choreographer, Julien Allard, to help with the dance steps."

"It was funny. Right behind the camera Julien's doing those dance steps. And while the audience believes you're looking at the camera, you're copying Julien's movements, step for step."

"I hope it will look like I knew what I was doing, although I think Dave had the harder dance routine to learn. Michael Jackson probably set the standard for music video choreography."

"And finishing with Michael Jackson wrecking that Pepsi vending machine. That was so funny!"

"I don't know how the set crew came up with that mock up so quickly. The work that everyone associated with the show does is just incredible. You guys really do earn your Genie Awards."

"Thanks . . . How did you guys ever come up with the idea? Was it because of the Pepsi commercials?"

"Sometimes I'm not really sure where the ideas spring from," I admitted. "I mean, I can't speak for Dave, but when an idea pops into my head, it's intuitive. It can come from anywhere. It's like a snippet from a music video, a scene from a commercial, a byte
from an interview or a magazine article - there are all these different sources. It's like the ingredients to a cake. You combine many different elements. On their own they may be tasteless. But when the cake comes out of the oven all done, it tastes great! And it's like magic because the dough, the flour and the yeast and the baking soda don't taste good on their own, but when you combine them with nuts and cherries and chocolate, the whole thing is transformed. It's like alchemy. Lead gets turned into gold."

"And that rich chocolate cake gets turned into fat — for most people. Except you."

"Oh, I've been trying to lose that weight to get my waist down."

"Have you been using the corset?" she whispered, aware that the people sitting nearby might think it odd.

"Yes. Every night I wear it to bed, faithfully. And I do those stomach toning exercises you showed me."

"You'd better if you want to do some of those other amazing girls."

"Yes. I've noticed that the female singers, like Christina Aguilera or Shakira, if they're going to be megastars these days, they have to look gorgeous. They have to have a to-die-for body, they need to produce a slick, energized music video with lots of eye candy, and they require a pure voice that can soar above the heavens. Oh, and it helps if the songs have a pounding beat, a great melody, and memorable lyrics."

"A piece of cake."

"Exactly."

***

After dinner, we wandered down to the sea wall.

May suggested we wait for the Stanley Park Shuttle, a tram to transport visitors around this remarkable verdant ecosystem.

Fortunately, our timing was perfect. Within a minute, we boarded the public people mover and headed east and then south along the seawall.

The curious thing about the water on any side of Stanley Park, in spite of the heat and the humidity, was that the Pacific Ocean stayed relatively cold at this latitude.

Nevertheless some beach adventurers braved the waters.

The seawall pathway stretched for almost nine kilometers around the peninsula that was Stanley Park, although we were not going to ride or walk along the entire trail. After hugging the seawall along Burrard Inlet for a stretch, the shuttle dropped us near
Lumberman's Arch.

I held May's hand as we strolled down a trail away from Burrard Inlet, Vancouver's Harbour. We passed by a wonderful, picturesque, miniature railway. I had had a fascination with railways when I was a kid growing up in Winnipeg, as our city was
known as the Gateway to the West. I made a mental note to try this ride on the next visit.

Vancouver Aquarium, the home, until a few years ago, of Killer Whales, intrigued me. "Free Willie!" I joked as we passed the tank that once held these magnificent feeding machines. Beluga Whales were now the star attraction. All the present tenants of the
aquarium were species native to the area.

As we strolled through the grounds, May and I talked about many things: our families, where we grew up, what we studied in school, what we enjoyed doing, and, incredible as it may seem, our philosophies on life. Yeah, spiritual stuff. Like Monty Python's The Meaning of Life plus Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. We avoided any more talk about work.

When we switched course and headed west across the heart of the park, we encountered the peaceful Lost Lagoon and its bird sanctuary. Later we passed by a pitch and putt par three golf facility, surrounded by a lush rhododendron garden. Some roller bladers played hockey in one of the parking lots. We drank in the summer fun atmosphere.

Clearly we both appreciated nature. And May, a Vancouver native, served as my guide.

A large expanse of sand surrounded a natural pool on English Bay. There were young athletic guys and girls playing beach volleyball in the white sand. We paused for a moment or two to admire some of these amazing specimens. They looked so fit and healthy and beautiful.

It's almost impossible for two people to cover a regulation volleyball court. You have to dive into the sand repeatedly to dig out the ball. Whoever made up the rules to this torturous game was a real sadomasochist.

There was a welcome cooling salt air breeze wafting off the Strait of Georgia, between the mainland and huge, distant Vancouver Island.

As the sun set below the horizon, it brought us closer together. It was a magnificent orange ball that sank slowly, almost imperceptibly, below sea level. We both sensed a need for intimacy.

All along the beachfront there was this seawall that had been built to hold back the sea during stormy weather — to protect the shoreline and the pathway from erosion damage. For a moment, we sat on the edge of the seawall, but it didn't give us the privacy away from the occasional pedestrian or cyclist or inline skater. Perhaps if we could find a large rock to hide behind we could get a little bolder.

I helped May hop down to the bottom of the four-foot high seawall.

At the base of the seawall, we did manage to find a flat and dry stone face to sit down on. At least our fannies wouldn't get wet. We could hear the lap of the waves against the sand and rocks not more than twenty yards away.

The sun was below the horizon, but we could still sense light reflecting off some clouds above. In the fast fading twilight, we looked out onto the water. It was so calm and serene, nary a ship in sight.

I looked into her eyes. I put my arm around her shoulder. May put her hand on my upper thigh for a moment.

It was all the encouragement I needed. With a tap on my lap, I invited her to sit sidesaddle on top of me. She wrapped one arm around my neck and the other around my waist. We hugged. Then I held her tight as we kissed. I parted my lips slightly. She reciprocated. And I could taste a hint of the lemon ice tea we'd both had hours earlier.

We were joined as one.

7

The first two shows seemed to be unqualified successes. We had many solid skits that I thought were hilarious.

But an Attack of the Clones parody had been scrapped. It would take a lot of work to either find a suitable location or to create a futuristic set. And the costuming costs might put a strain on the show's weekly budget.

In the comedy clubs I had performed in, surprises were a regular happening. So getting accustomed to this bizarre cast and crew was something that didn't take long.

One thing I learned was that this group worked quickly. They were very pragmatic. And they weren't prima donnas. They didn't let their egos get in the way. For example, they gave me the role of the dirty player in the hockey skit. And I hope I didn't disappoint.

For the week three bull session, I found I could draw upon a few ideas I had come across in the comedy clubs.

I created a list of the top ten reasons why a woman should marry a beautiful, wealthy transvestite:

10. He'll fly you to Paris for lunch.

9. He'll enjoy shopping with you because SHE was born to shop!

8. He'll understand why you maxed out his credit card to buy new clothes.

7. You won't have to wear the same gown ever again. SHE will wear your hand-me-
downs.

6. He knows a facial and a massage are an essential part of a healthy regimen.

5. You'll have a different color limousine for every day of the week.

4. You can go to dance clubs and pick up sexy guys together.

3. He'll always smell nice.

2. You can enjoy lesbian sex with your husband.

1. If you ever want a divorce, you can extort a generous settlement.

Perhaps we could make a Letterman parody out of it.

Eventually we settled on four ideas for the show. One was the security searches endured by passengers boarding planes at the airport. Another skit centered on kids learning finger painting in an art class. The third was about a family going to a pet store to buy a
puppy for the children. And the fourth was a parody of the film When Harry Met Sally - the memorable scene where Sally fakes an orgasm in a restaurant.

This famous scene was a no-brainer as far as I was concerned. That is, until I was somehow ordained to play the Meg Ryan part.

This caused some self-doubt. Meg Ryan was quite beautiful. Could I be made up to resemble her?

The second fear was less worrisome. Could I fake orgasm in much the same manner as Meg Ryan? That would be a real challenge to my comedic acting skills. But I realized this was comedy. In a parody, exact replication of a scene wasn't necessary. In fact, it might be funnier if I couldn't fool anybody with my fake orgasm.

I'd have to do some homework. I'd have to get hold of Nora Ephron's script and watch the film sequence over and over again. Then I'd have to practice that faked orgasm over and over again to get it just right.

***

Early Friday morning, when I finally sat down in the makeup chair in front of Daniel Roberts, I relaxed a little. I realized that Daniel was one of the best in the business.

"Don't worry honey," Daniel confided, "when I'm through with you, Meg Ryan will wish she looked as good as you."

And then I remembered that Meg and Billy were much younger when they did When Harry Met Sally.

Daniel began by giving me a very close shave with a straight edged razor. I must admit to being a little afraid when the razor was placed on my neck and scraped over the delicate skin. For a moment I had visions of some Halloween horror film - with Daniel slitting my throat from ear to ear.

I was so nervous I began to sweat!

As Daniel drew the razor over the sensitive skin, I tried to think of something else. I tried to think of anything else, but the harder I tried, the more I thought about Daniel accidentally cutting my throat. Or purposely cutting my throat!

I was sure Daniel was a homicidal maniac!

But when the last of the shaving foam disappeared, the crisis passed, I relaxed a little and let Daniel do his magic.

To start, Daniel covered my thick hair under an elasticized wig cap. Next he spread moisturizing cream on my face to protect my skin from damage caused by makeup. Because of my natural blond hair and fair skin and very light beard growth, Daniel deftly
applied a normal cake foundation makeup with a small triangular-shaped sponge, creating a blank palette for his artistic impression of Meg Ryan. He used a narrow glue-stick tube to flatten my eyebrows. Then he used a tattoo cover makeup to blot out the unwanted eyebrow areas. Next Daniel used a light brown, almost blond, eyebrow pencil to create tapered feminine arches for my eyebrows.

Daniel stood back for a moment, comparing my visage to Meg Ryan's photo.

Then he began using a darker foundation along the jaw line to emulate Meg Ryan's oval shaped face. A little rose blush was brushed onto the cheekbones to bring them out a little. Then a little more shading was applied below the cheekbones.

A tube of concealer was next. Daniel dabbed two white Nike swooshes below my eyes to cover the divots.

Daniel paused once more and compared my face to Meg's photo. "It's looking good, even if I say so myself."

He carefully painted on the brown eyeliner, then applied a little lash lengthening mascara in light brown-blond, and a dash of eye shadow - more for shaping purposes rather than for color.

Next he outlined my lips and carefully brushed on some rose lipstick and then a dab of a lighter shade of lip-gloss.

I pressed my upper lip over my bottom lip as I had seen girls do.

Now I had those pouty Meg Ryan lips.

Daniel stepped over to the counter for a moment, and then turned toward me. In his hands was an orangey-blonde wig.

As I leaned forward, he placed the tousled blonde shoulder length curls on my head. He adjusted it slightly to frame my face properly. A brush appeared in his hands, and he fluffed up the thick mane, then he combed it gently.

He stood back for a moment.

"Yes. That's it . . . Stand up. Have a look at yourself in the mirror."

I stood up. I took a few steps over to a full-length mirror. Looking at my reflection, I was very pleasantly surprised.

A young Meg Ryan looked back at me.

Even though she wore beige cotton pants and a blue smock, it was Meg Ryan. I couldn't believe it! It was magic!

"What do you think? Are you Meg Ryan or are you Meg Ryan?"

"That's unbelievable. I'm that Sally Albright girl," I said.

I hugged Daniel and kissed him on both cheeks.

I couldn't believe I just did that. Show biz behavior was contagious.

At the doorway, as if on cue, May appeared.

"Wow! To quote Billy Crystal, 'You look mmm-mahvellous!'" May gushed. "And with the right clothes, you'll look exactly like Meg's identical twin."

To describe the way I felt would be rather difficult. To look like a beautiful movie star made me tingle all over. I felt reborn. It was a revelation! I kept looking at my reflection in the mirror. That couldn't be me. It just couldn't.

***

The camera panned across a busy diner.

Portraying Sally, dressed in a comfy blue sweater, a white blouse and a long dark blue skirt, I was talking with Harry, played by Dave Poole.

"What do you do with these women, you just get up out of bed and leave?" I asked in my best Meg Ryan effervescent tone.

"Sure," Harry/Dave said, attired in blue jeans and a checkered blue, black and white sweater.

The makeup crew really did a superb job with the dark beard and the early forties receding hair/male pattern baldness effect. Dave was Billy Crystal or, at least, a reasonable facsimile.

"Well explain to me how you do it. What do you say?" I asked.

An elderly 'bus boy' cleared away some of our dishes.

"You'd say you have an early meeting, early haircut or a squash game." Dave's rat-a-tat-tat delivery was Billy Crystal personified.

"You don't play squash."

"They don't know that. They just met me."

"That's disgusting."

"I know. I feel terrible."

'What a smart ass!' I thought. "You know I'm so glad I never got involved with you," I said angrily, as I tore apart my sandwich and removed the limp lettuce. "I just would've ended up being some woman you had to get up out of bed and leave at three o'clock in the morning and clean your andirons, and you don't even have a fireplace," I said with emphasis as I plastered the turkey slices together one layer after another. "Not that I would know this."

"Why are you getting so upset? This is not about you."

"Yes it is. You are a human affront to all women and I am a woman!" I exclaimed with disgust.

"Hey I don't feel great about this but I don't hear anyone complaining."

"Of course not. You're out of the door too fast," I countered as I munched on the sandwich.

"I think they have an OK time."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean how do I know? I know," Harry/Billy/Dave said quickly and confidently.

"Because they…" I said gesturing with a roll of my hands.

"Yes because they…" Harry said mimicking the gesture with the hands.

"And how do you know that they really…"

"What are you saying, that they fake orgasm?" Harry asked, signing like he was communicating with a deaf person.

"It's possible." I tossed my hands up to indicate doubt.

"Get outta here."

"Why? Most women at one time or another have faked it."

"Well they haven't faked it with me," Harry said emphatically as he chewed his kosher corned beef on rye.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know."

"Oh, right, that's right," I said as I wiped my fingers with a paper napkin. "I forgot. You're a man."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just that all men are sure it never happened to them and that most women at one time or another have done it, so you do the math."

"You don't think that I could tell the difference?"

"No." I said shaking my head.

"Get outta here."

I tilted my head as I considered his reply for a moment. Then an impish smile crept into my expression.

"Mmm…mmm," I closed my eyes and pouted for a moment. "Oh…Oh," I moaned.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked quietly.

I reached up and primped my thick blonde hair, then brought my hand down over my B cup breasts. "Oh…oh god…Ooo Oh god," I moaned.

Louder and faster I grunted, "Oh…Oh…Oh…Oh god," as I thrust my head back.

The camera cut to other people sitting near us. They turned their attention to our table as I built toward orgasm.

"Oh yeah right there…Oh! Oh!" I panted faster and faster.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" I screamed as I started banging on the tabletop in time to my screams of unbridled joy. "Yes! Yes! Yes…Oh…Oh!" I cried out, pounding on the table to emulate the sound of the headboard rocking up against the bedroom wall!

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" I screamed as I banged the table to climax!

"Oh… Oh…Oh…Oh God!" came the throes of ecstasy!

"Oh…Oh…Ah," whimpered the post orgasm denouement.

The quivering and mewing over, I smiled at Harry like the cat that had just swallowed the canary.

I picked up a long spoon and plopped a dollop of cherry ice cream into my mouth. Mmmm good!

Harry, awestruck, looked a little uneasy.

The camera panned to another table where a waiter was taking an order from a middle-aged woman, Scott Calvin in drag. "I'll have what she's having."

There was a momentary pause.

"Cut!" director Aaron Spacek yelled. "That was great! Just perfect! It was exactly like the movie. Meg Ryan, you were wonderful! A real spunky sexy broad! And Billy Crystal, you were the ultimate male chauvinist pig!"

That felt so good - to be praised like that.

"Now, when the set crew gets the food set up again, I want you guys to do another take. This time I want you guys to make it funny. Do it your way instead of Meg's way," Aaron urged. "You know what I mean? For instance, at the climax, instead of banging your hand on the table the way Meg Ryan did, reach over and grab Dave with both hands. Then bang his head on the table! Over and over again! Until blood gushes out of his ears!"

8

When we stopped shooting to break for lunch, I hurried off to visit the men's room. Or rather, the washroom in my dressing room.

Walking into the spacious dressing room area, I could see that Daniel and May were still hard at work. Daniel, with brush in hand, was styling an auburn wig. It was long and curly and looked like it needed taming. May was busy altering a dress. Very few of the off the rack dresses fit the guys in the show properly.

"Hey Sean, how did it go?" Daniel asked.

"Didn't you see it?"

"Sorry, but no. May and I were getting things together for tomorrow's shoot."

"It went very well. But you know Aaron, he still wants to do a few more takes this afternoon. He's such a perfectionist."

"Yes." Daniel nodded in agreement. "Retake after retake."

"Hey Sean, would you like to join us for lunch?" May asked.

"I'd love to, May, but as you can see, I'm not dressed for it," I said. The blue sweater, white blouse, long dark skirt and leather boots were definitely out of season.

"Oh come on," Daniel urged. "You're wearing exactly what Meg Ryan wore in the restaurant."

I laughed. "Good point, but I really don't think I should go out in drag."

"Why not?" Daniel insisted. "You've got to eat sometime. And Dave will be joining us. He'll still be in his Billy Crystal hair, makeup and clothing. Why don't you come along?"

I paused for a moment. I was wearing girl's clothing and I looked exactly like Meg Ryan. Were they nuts? Probably. But I needed to get to know my co-workers a little better. May Cheung in particular. It would have been bad manners to turn down May's invitation since we had had our first date five days ago.

My daring nature got the better of me. "Okay. You convinced me. But we have to be back in one hour."

"No problem," Daniel said.

***

We took Dave's Mercedes to a nearby restaurant, about 5 minutes from our suburban Burnaby studio.

Being lunch hour, the White Spot was pretty busy.

Even while inside the restaurant, Dave wore a baseball hat and sunglasses to hide his resemblance to Billy Crystal. Dave was a little concerned that some of the patrons might recognize "Billy."

I kept on the large white sunhat May had given me. And May's Serengeti's fit pretty well.

Nevertheless, I had to admit, there seemed to be a lot of people staring at us while we stood in line. Sporting sunglasses indoors didn't exactly make a person inconspicuous. And since Dave and I were both wearing sweaters on a hot summer day, what was wrong
with this picture?

In contrast, May looked lovely in a mint green sundress and Roots sandals. Daniel wore a white polo shirt and khaki pants; very summery.

We tried to look nonchalant. I kept my mouth shut, nodded my head once in awhile, and let May, Dave and Daniel carry the conversation.

After a short wait, we were escorted to a table at the back. It was kind of in the open, surrounded by other tables, a row away from the windows.

The natural wood décor of the restaurant reflected British Columbia's resource heritage.

"You guys come here often?" I asked in my best Meg Ryan voice.

"Occasionally," Daniel said as he looked at the colorful plastic laminated menu.

"I guess you aren't familiar with the White Spot chain," May wondered.

"There aren't any in Winnipeg, my home town," I replied nervously. "But I've been to Vancouver before. This kind of reminds me of that Denny's chain, except it's got a classier
atmosphere, more of a Canadian feel to it."

"Less truck stop diner," Dave/Billy suggested.

"Yes."

"Winnipeg, eh. Not too many famous Canadian have come out of Winnipeg," Dave said.

"Not many . . . David Steinberg was a comedian."

"Oh yes, I remember him well. Bugga, bugga!" Dave imitated Steinberg's hand gestures. "You tend to remember guys with the same name as you."

"Of course I should mention The Guess Who and Bachman-Turner Overdrive."

"American Woman. Right?" May asked.

"Yes, and many more . . . But more recently, did you see Nia Vardalos in My Big Fat Greek Wedding?"

"Who?" asked Daniel.

"Nia Vardalos."

"I saw the movie. I loved it!" May said. "She had the lead role. And didn't she write the screenplay as well?"

"That's right," I said. "She came out of Second City, I think in both Chicago and Toronto."

"It was one of those small films that developed a word of mouth following," May added. "A sleeper hit."

Dave and Daniel looked at each other. "A chick flick!" they said in unison.

"No, it wasn't a chick flick!" May said adamantly.

A waiter interrupted us to take our orders.

"Hello everybody, my name is John. I will be serving you today. Are you ready to order? Or should I come back later?"

The slightly overweight, college age fellow spoke confidently. He wore Coke bottle see-more glasses, plus a cap, a tan shirt, a tie and Indian-Red pants - the uniform of all of the White Spot employees.

I seemed to pass the waiter's initial scrutiny without much notice, other than what I thought might have been a look of admiration.

The others seemed to know what they wanted. They went with the special of the day. Being a Friday, it was Dover Sole with a garden salad.

"I'll have what they're having," I said.

Dave stifled a laugh.

When the attendant hurried off to the kitchen, Dave snickered, "That's a line from our scene."

"You're right. I forgot about that."

"Hey, this is perfect," May said. "You guys could do the When Harry Met Sally scene right here, right now."

"Yes," Daniel agreed. "We missed it. We'd love to see you guys do it."

"Maybe later," Dave said. "Although my head is still smarting from the pounding it received." He lifted his ball cap for a moment and rubbed his forehead gingerly.

I smiled, but then a look of dread crept into in my facial expression. "Please give us a break," I pleaded. "Not here, please."

May shrugged as if to say 'okay.' Daniel didn't seem inclined to push the matter further.

I breathed a sigh of temporary relief, but I had a bad feeling about this whole thing. Were all of them conspiring to set me up for the ultimate embarrassment? Faking orgasm in a public place?

"Sean, I remember seeing you on TV occasionally," Daniel said. "Some talk shows. You'd come on and do a stand up routine."

"Yes. I made a few appearances," I replied, trying to keep my voice soft and feminine. "But I'm really happy to have the chance to join ECSTASY. This show really gets a lot of respect with the viewing public."

"Thanks," Dave said. "We were happy with our work last year, although I think there's still room for improvement."

"How so?" I asked.

"A bigger budget would help," Dave said.

"Yes," May said. "We sure do put in a lot of hours. Better pay is long overdue."

"It would be nicer if there were a few more writers, cast members and crew," Dave said.

"Well, maybe if the show gets great ratings, you'll see some growth," I said hopefully.

"I wish occasionally we'd do a few political things too," Dave added.

"Isn't that a bit difficult?" I commented. "Being a Canadian show that's seen in the United States, Britain and maybe Australia, political issues don't necessarily cross borders easily."

"Some don't," Dave said. "Some do. Obviously you can't make fun of the Prime Minister. Americans wouldn't get it and the Brits wouldn't care either.

"But some social issues are international in scope," said Daniel.

"Such as . . . "

"Racial discrimination, terrorism, women's rights, gay rights."

"But ECSTASY is a comedy show," I said. "We're not making public television documentaries are we? We're trying to make people laugh."

"We can still poke fun at the major issues of the day," Dave said. "You've done stand up. You use current events as material for your jokes."

"Yes, but I think ECSTASY does some of that too," I said. "At least that's my impression."

"Not enough," Dave said. "The 'suits' like Ted Walters make decisions as to the overall direction of the show. And he wants to avoid political or topical stuff."

"I can understand it from his point of view though," I said. "It's not just international sales that are of concern. Once the series is all over, for example, the show could be syndicated and it could be shown in reruns for a long period of time. And if it's rerun in the United States ten years from now, nobody will understand a reference to Prime Minister Jean Chretien."

"Even if it ran now," Dave said.

The waiter returned with our orders. He served up the drinks, salads, and fish. Then he moved on quickly to a table behind me where another group was being seated by the hostess.

"But the show always does light stuff," Daniel asserted. "Why can't you guys tackle something like gay rights. For example, gay marriages. I feel strongly about this issue. And I don't think we should avoid the topic simply because it's political."

"I agree," Dave said. "Now there's a topic we could handle in a skit."

"That does have comic possibilities," May said. "You must admit that."

"It does," I nodded. "And you don't think Ted would go for it?"

"He might," Dave said.

"I must admit that when I first heard about the idea of gay marriages I was absolutely against it," I said. "Particularly for child adoption."

"And now?" May asked.

"I can understand the arguments for both sides, although I doubt my parents will ever accept gay marriages."

"Well, we're in favor of it," Daniel said as he linked hands with May and Dave and drew them toward him.

"What brought it about, I think in large part, was AIDS," Dave said.

"How so?" I asked.

"When a gay man got AIDS, if he had a partner, that person supported him — emotionally and financially. And if the person with AIDS died, his partner was not entitled to collect any benefits that a married person would have been able to confer on his or her surviving spouse."

"Like what?"

"A pension for one."

"And the government acts like a vulture on the dead person's estate," Daniel added.

"Also," Dave began, "I think gay people would enjoy a ceremony to formalize a union of two people. It would bring satisfaction to them to legitimize their relationship."

"I know when I fill in my income tax return," May said, "I don't get the same tax breaks as married people, especially those with dependents."

"All good points," I said.

"Besides," May said, "no government should deprive gay men the ecstasy of Bridal Registry."

I had to laugh at that one. It sounded like a line from Margaret Cho in her film Notorious. I liked that comedy concert movie.

"And I could make a lovely bride," Daniel said in a falsetto voice as he held Dave's hand in plain view on the tabletop.

They both laughed aloud.

May asked, "So how does it feel to be a girl today?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little nervous," I said in a quiet, soft voice. "I feel like some police officer is going to come by our table and arrest me."

"For what?" Dave asked.

"Impersonation. Fraud. Soliciting. I don't know," I said as I tried some of the salad. "Isn't it illegal for a guy to dress like this?"

"Not that I know of," Dave said.

"Maybe years ago," Daniel said.

Four ladies at the table by the window got up to leave. I wasn't sure if they heard what we were talking about.

"You look exactly like Meg Ryan," May said. "It's not like anybody is going to believe you're a guy!"

The breaded sole, with some lemon juice, tasted pretty good.

"Please keep your voice down. It's easy for you guys to be relaxed. You aren't the one in drag!" I hissed.

"You aren't the only one playing a role," reminded Dave from behind his shades.

"Well we're both wearing hats and sunglasses. I don't think either of us wants attention."

I shouldn't have said that.

Immediately Dave discarded his baseball hat and sunglasses. He wasn't afraid of challenges.

That was the signal. May and Daniel stood up, gathered their plates, cups and cutlery, and shifted over to the recently vacated table by the window.

Reluctantly I passed my borrowed hat and Serengeti's over to May.

"What do you do with these women, you just get up out of bed and leave?" I asked.

"Sure," Dave replied.

"Well explain to me how you do it. What do you say?" I asked, trying to get up some enthusiasm for this incredibly dumb stunt!

"You'd say you have an early hockey game, tough commute, or early meeting."

Dave had altered the words a little.

"You don't play hockey," I noted.

"They don't know that. They just met me," Dave said in the distinctive, loud, quick paced voice of Billy Crystal.

"That's disgusting."

"I know. I feel terrible. What can I say?"

"You are so superficial! Harry, you're so shallow if you dove into a swimming pool you'd break your neck! You know I'm so glad I never got involved with you," I said angrily, as I stuck a fork in my Dover Sole. "I just would've ended up being some woman you had to get up out of bed and leave at three o'clock in the morning and clean your irons, and you don't even play golf." I noticed that not only were May and Daniel paying attention, but some people at another table were pointing at us. "Not that I would know this."

"Why are you getting so upset? This is not about you. I would never be dishonest with you . . . Well except for maybe a little white lie or two."

"Yes it is about me. You are a human affront to all women and I am a woman!" I exclaimed with exaggerated disgust.

"Hey I don't feel great about this but I don't hear anyone complaining."

"Of course not. You're out of the door too fast," I countered as I picked up a piece of lettuce from my Garden Salad and chucked it at him.

Dave feigned pain as he chewed on his Sole. "I think they have an OK time."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean how do I know? I know. I'm god's gift to women."

"Yeah right. You are so arrogant. Women bow down to you. They rejoice at having sex with you!" I screamed!

Now everyone in the back half of the White Spot fixated on this battle of the sexes.

"Yes because they yell and scream like banshees in bed. I'm good in bed. What can I say?" Dave/Billy's voice tailed off in mock modesty.

"And how do you know that you really rock their socks off?"

"What are you saying, that they fake orgasm?" Dave asked, signing like I was absolutely nuts!

"It's possible," I said, tossing my hands up in disbelief.

"Get outta here, Sally. I know what's real."

"Why? Most women at one time or another have faked it."

"Well they haven't faked it with me. My dick is enormous. I'm Mr. Big. Why, for god's sake, they named a candy bar after me!"

"You braggart! You liar! You are so full of shit! How do you know women are satisfied?"

"Because I know."

"Oh, right, that's right," I said as I chucked a slice of tomato at him. "I forgot. You're a man."

"What is that supposed to mean? You'd prefer sex with another woman?"

May threw a tomato slice at Billy/Dave too.

I smiled. We were in this together.

"No. It's just that all men are sure it never happened to them and that most women at one time or another have faked it, so you do the math."

"You don't think that I could tell the difference?"

"No. You're too much in love with yourself, I doubt that you ever know what a woman is thinking or feeling."

"Get outta here."

Now both May and Daniel were tossing salad bits at Dave.

I tilted my head slyly, but I was aware of the buzz all around us. Now everyone in the restaurant was watching. People from the front had even come to the back to see what was going on. I think they believed we were the new lunchtime entertainment.

"Mmm…mmm," I closed my eyes and tried to show pleasure in my expression. "Oh…Oh," I moaned.

"Are you okay?" Dave asked in a quiet voice.

I reached up and fluffed up my thick mane of blonde hair. Then I brought my hand down over my bosom and massaged my falsies. "Oh…oh god…Ooo Oh god," I moaned.

Then I grunted a little louder and a little faster, "Oh…Oh…Oh…Oh god," as I thrust my head back.

Then I reached down with both hands and lifted my 'Sally' sweater over my head.

"Oh yeah right there…Oh! Oh!" I panted faster and faster.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" I screamed. Then I began pounding on the tabletop. "Yes! Yes! Yes…Oh…Oh!" I cried out.

I ripped open my white blouse to massage my breasts through the bra cups.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd!

Dave could take it no more.

He stood up. He grabbed the tablecloth! He swept the dishes, glasses and cutlery off the table with a huge crash and clatter!

Oblivious to the sounds of smashing china, in the throes of orgasm, I continued to moan and groan, panting faster and faster, screaming louder and louder. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Dave grabbed me with both arms, lifted me out of the chair and placed my backside onto the table.

"Oh god! Yes! Yes! Yes! Right there! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Dave savaged me with kisses and grunts and thrusts. He ground his crotch into me over and over and over again!

Was he insane?

He grabbed my upper body and proceeded to 'assault' me with uncontrolled fervor! He pounded my head into the table over and over again!

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

As my bewigged head bounced off the tabletop, I realized that Dave had taken advantage of the situation. He was exacting his revenge for this morning - when the tables had been reversed!

Suddenly a large piece of hamburger struck me in the mouth!

I looked to the other tables. It was then that I realized a full-fledged food fight had broken out!

Hell! It was a war! A battle of the sexes!

Women flung their grenades at the guys! The men hurled their bombs at the gals!

Absolute bedlam! Insanity!

I had to get into it! I tried to push Dave off me.

He didn't resist. He was too busy putting his arms up to shield himself from the incoming missiles!

I ducked under the table as quickly as I could. Partially protected by the table, I located the remnants of my spilled salad plate and its contents on the food-strewn floor.

Now I had ammunition!

I popped up, with cucumber slices in hand, and winged them at Daniel!

Bull's eye!

Then I got pinged by some French fries!

Who threw that!

I turned and pitched a handful of croutons and tomatoes blindly in the direction of the French fry fire!

Direct hit!

Taking cover beneath table level, I looked for my half-eaten Sole.

Food bits were flying about like shrapnel. I took a stinging zucchini slice to the face.

"Stop! Stop!" the waiter yelled.

I sprang up and I chucked the fish chunk at the waiter!

"Ha! Ha!" I taunted after the fish exploded against his chest!

When I ducked down under the table, Dave grabbed my hand.

"Sean, we have to get out of here! There'll be hell to pay! Literally hell to pay!"

With a quick look at the chaos all around us, I nodded, "Good point! Let's bail!"

One last gasp! I grabbed a hamburger patty that had deflected off the tabletop. I stood up and Frisbeed the patty two rows away at some big schlep sporting a Canucks cap and a big beer belly!

Gotcha! Bounced it off his friggin' noggin!

A chicken wing flew past my head! Hitting Dave instead!

Phew!

Ducking down again, I shuffled over to the next table, and I grabbed May by the hand. "Let's go!"

Hunched over with arms up to protect our heads, we ran the gauntlet of fire toward the nearest exit! Laughing all the way!

9

Standing in front of a full-length mirror in my private cubicle, I was almost ecstatic!

Looking back at me was a buff, naked Sharon Stone.

The blonde hair was pulled back neatly into a bun. She had that beautiful sultry smile, those perfect teeth, full lips, dark immaculate eyebrows, smoky smoldering eyes, that perfect iridescent skin; and yet, beneath the sexy sculpted exterior, was the hint of danger.

Even if my figure was shapely, my breasts didn't look realistic. The glued-on breasts were obviously false. No attempt had been made to blend the edge of the boobs with my real flesh.

Then there was what hung between my legs. That wouldn't do.

The decision as to what I else I should wear had been left up to me. Should I wear a false vagina? Or a gaff?

The false V string vagina was very tempting. The latex lips looked quite inviting. Although the prosthesis didn't look totally real, it certainly would pass the television camera's scrutiny of anything but a close up crotch shot. On the other hand, the gaff was a safe
choice and it was as easy to put on as a bikini bottom.

"Stop admiring yourself," May urged from the other side of the cubicle. "They're waiting for you on the set. There's no time to dilly dally."

Quickly I made my selection.

Then May handed me a white dress over top of a shuttered door. Hurriedly I slipped the dress over my head. When I stepped out of my change cubicle, May helped zip up the back of the outfit.

The turtleneck dress was sleeveless and short - it showed a lot of leg. The white satin felt smooth and sexy against my skin. May offered the soft white jacket to me. I slipped my left arm in, and then the other.

I slipped on the proffered footwear. They were open-toed, white high heels with a sling-back strap.

Sharon Stone's captivating image looked back at me from the full-length mirror.

The transformation had come at the cost of the complete removal of my body hair. And my whole body felt so different. My skin felt so silky smooth! It felt so feminine! And sexy! And did I mention sexy!

"Don't forget the earrings," May reminded as she held up the faux diamond studs. "This will take a minute. I have to glue them on since you still haven't pierced your ears."

I sat down in a chair as May glued the backs of the fake diamonds. Then she stuck them onto my ears. Using her thumbs and forefingers, she clamped onto my earlobes for thirty seconds or so to ensure that the diamonds would stick.

For the past few days, I had been immersed in the Joe Esterhas script. I had studied one particular Sharon Stone scene until I knew her every gesture, expression, nuance and inflection by heart. Nevertheless I still had the butterflies.

"Okay Sean. Go get 'em tiger," May encouraged. We kissed.

Then I dashed down the hallway to the studio set as fast as I could manage in my high heels.

It was a police interrogation room. Lights from the baseboards and from fluorescent lights above illuminated the light gray brick walls. It created a stark, antiseptic, menacing atmosphere.

"Sorry for the delay," I said to the others.

"Women. Always have to fix their hair and makeup - and they never have anything to wear," Scott Calvin complained.

"You're looking beautiful, babe," Mark Mitchell said admiringly. "I don't know how you do it."

"Thanks Mark," I replied in my best Sharon Stone voice.

Then somebody's arm wrapped around me from behind.

"Well, if it isn't Michael Douglas," I teased as he gave me a hug.

"Very sexy," Dave said slyly.

Dave wore a wig resembling the distinctive sweptback hairstyle of Michael Douglas, in the part of Detective Nick Duggan.

All of the actors on the set were dressed in suits.

But there were two fellas I didn't recognize.

"Hi," a new character said. "I'm Terry Edwards."

We hugged and I gave him kisses on both cheeks.

With a look of delight, he said, "I'm supposed to be Lieutenant Walker in this scene. And I'm supposed to be your body-double at some time in the future."

"Ah, Ted told me he'd be hiring someone to double for me," I said with a friendly smile. "Please turn around for a moment."

There was a momentary look of surprise. Then he did as I asked.

"So that's what I look like from the back," I said with a giggle.

"Yeah," Terry said with a laugh. "I guess that's why they hired me."

"Hey, if you handle your lines well, who knows what that might lead to."

"I hope I get more work."

I gave him an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

Then I approached the other new guy who was talking to producer Ted Walters.

Hi," I said, "I just wanted to introduce myself."

"Please allow me to do the honors," Ted said. "Although he looks like Sharon Stone right now, this is really Sean Davidson."

"And he's Darryl Logan," Ted said.

We hugged.

"Pleased to meet you," I said.

"Incredible. This is like The Crying Game," Darryl joked. "You're not related to Jaye Davidson, are you?"

"Only by inclination," I replied.

Darryl was a middle-aged portly fellow with a crew cut. He looked like one of the cops on NYPD.

"All right, time's a wasting," Aaron said. "Let's take our positions. Since Sean was in makeup when we rehearsed, let's stick to the way it's scripted. We can improvise in subsequent takes. Okay?"

In the film Basic Instinct, Sharon Stone played the role of seductive Catherine Tramell, a mystery writer. Michael Douglas was Nick Duggan a police detective. The Sharon Stone character was a prime suspect in a series of vicious sex murders.

The interrogation scene was memorable for two reasons. First, Sharon Stone, as a femme fatale murderer, toyed with the five police detectives who grilled her and tried to pressure her into admitting she was the killer. Second, during the interrogation, Sharon Stone flashed her bald beaver at the detectives, making memorable cinematic history.

There were three cameras set up to record the action.

I walked in with Nick/Dave and Gus/Darryl. In the room were prosecutor John Correlli/Scott, Lt. Walker/Terry, and Captain Talcott/Mark.

As soon as I stepped into the interrogation room, Scott/Correli approached me briskly.

"I'm John Correli, Miss Tramell, assistant district attorney. I have to inform you this session is being taped. This is Captain Talcott."

"My pleasure," Captain Talcott said as we shook hands.

"And Lieutenant Walker," Correli continued.

"Hi," Lt. Walker said with a firm squeeze of the hand.

Captain Talcott asked, "Can we get you anything? A cup of coffee?"

"No thank you," I replied, hoping that I sounded like Sharon Stone.

Correli asked, "Are your attorneys going to join us?"

Nick Duggan stepped forward. "Ms. Tramell has waived her rights to an attorney."

Correli and Talcott looked at Nick knowingly.

I spotted the look. "Did I miss something?" I asked with an innocent smile.

"I told them that you wouldn't want an attorney present," Nick said.

"Why have you waived your right to an attorney?" Captain Talcott asked.

Looking at Nick, I asked, "Why did you think I wouldn't want one?"

Nick said, "I told them you wouldn't want to hide."

"I have nothing to hide." I stared at Nick for a moment. If they only knew the truth.

I walked forward to the solitary black armchair chair set up for me. I sat down, with my legs crossed, giving the detectives an in-your-face look at my shapely limbs. I smiled for the camera, hoping that I was showing the inner confidence of a beautiful woman.

The police detectives sat down at two separate tables. Gus and Nick sat at a table to my left. Correli, Captain Talcott and Lt. Walker sat at a table to my right.

I reached into my jacket pocket. I extracted a cigarette and lighter.

I tried to stay poised. Cool, calm, in complete command of my emotions.

Correli said, "There's no smoking in this building Miss Tramell."

"What are you going to do? Charge me with smoking?"

I slowly and deliberately lit my cigarette and casually blew the smoke out. If they had sat nearer, I would have blown it in their faces.

Correli began. "Would you tell us the nature of your business with Mr. Boz?"

"I had sex with him for about a year and a half. I liked having sex with him." I felt very self-assured. As I continued speaking, I made eye contact first with Nick, then Gus, and then each of the other guys. "He wasn't afraid of experimenting . . . I like men like that . . . Men who give me pleasure . . . He gave me a lot of pleasure."

Corelli asked, "Did you ever, uh, engage in any sadomasochistic activity?"

I leaned forward and smiled. "Exactly what did you have in mind, Mr. Correli?"

Looking a little flustered, Correli asked, "Did you ever tie him up?"

"No."

"You never tied him up?" Nick asked.

"No. John A. liked to use his hands too much. I like hands with fingers . . . although fisting can be very pleasurable too."

They stared at me.

"You described a white silk scarf in your book," Lt. Walker stated.

As I took off my white jacket, I replied, "I've always had a fondness for white silk scarves. They're good for all occasions, even for tying men's limbs up to bedposts."

Nick noted, "But you said you like men to use their hands. Didn't you?"

"No I said I liked John A. to use his hands." I smiled. "I don't make any rules, Nick. I go with the flow." I eyed Nick as the camera zoomed in on me.

"Did you kill Mr. Boz, Miss Tramell?" Correli asked.

"I'd have to be pretty stupid to write a book about killing and then kill somebody the way I described it in my book. I'd be announcing myself as the killer. I'm not stupid."

Captain Talcott commented, "We know you're not stupid Miss Tramell."

Lt. Walker said, "Maybe that's what you're counting on to get you off the hook."

Nick said, "Writing the book gives you an alibi."

"Yes it does, doesn't it." I held Nick's eyes for a moment. "The answer is no. I didn't kill him."

Nick got up from his table to get a cup of coffee.

Gus asked, "Do you use drugs Miss Tramell?"

"Sometimes."

"Did you ever use drugs with Mr. Boz?" Lt. Walker asked.

"Sure."

"What kind of drugs?" Gus asked.

I looked directly at Nick.

"Cocaine . . . Have you ever fucked on cocaine Nick?"

Nick looked up. At that moment, he was standing almost directly in front of me. He held up his cup of coffee and took a sip.

With a teasing smile, I slowly, revealingly uncrossed my legs, flashing my panty-less crotch at the detectives. Correli, in particular, had a hungry sex-starved look.

But Nick lifted his coffee cup up at precisely the time I flashed my crotch to the detectives. The cup had blocked my genitalia from camera view.

There were looks of shock from all five!

"Fucking on cocaine," I reminded them, "it's nice."

And then I crossed my legs in the opposite direction, bringing my leg up a little higher than usual, to tantalize and tease.

"Why Miss Tramell!" Correli exclaimed. "You're a man!"

"Well duh! I just flashed my stiff dick at you! And I wrote a book entitled The Psycho Urban Legend! The main character is named Lorena Bates, and it turns out she's a pre-op transsexual."

None of this was in the prepared script. We were improvising now.

"I guess we should have clued in," Lt. Walker admitted. "Particularly since Mr. Boz was killed exactly as described in the book. His limbs were tied to the bedposts. His mouth was taped to muffle the screaming. Then the killer took out a common garden tool and did the dirty deed."

"In my book, the victim was Dwayne Bobblehead. His lover, Lorena, used a common garden tool as you described. She used a Weed Whacker to whack off…"

"We don't need to go into the dirty details, Miss Tramell!" Correli interrupted. "We know 'All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put the erector set together again.'"

Nick insinuated, "You like playing mind-bending games, don't you?"

"I have a degree in Psychology." I casually flicked my Bic on and off. "It goes with the turf. Games are fun."

I stared at Nick and he stared back at me.

"What about dressing up in drag? That's a game. Is that fun too?"

Captain Talcott interrupted, "I don't think that's relevant to this inquiry."

"Dressing was fun 'til Manny died."

Nick asked, "How'd you feel when he died?"

"I loved him. It hurt."

Nick eyed me. "How'd you feel when I told you Johnny Boz had died?"

"I felt like somebody had read my book and was playing a game."

"But it didn't hurt?"

"No."

"Because you didn't love him."

"That's right."

Nick's eyes bore into me. "Even though you were fucking him."

"Up the wazoo. You still get the pleasure. Didn't you ever fuck anybody else when you were married, Nick?"

Lt. Walker asked, "How'd you know he was married?"

"Maybe I was just guessing. What difference does it make?" I was mocking and taunting him. "Would you like a cigarette Nick?" I asked as I pulled out my cigarette case. "Or would you like to suck my dick?"

"Screw you! I'd like to punch your lights out, you sick pervert!"

"Can you say lawsuit Nick?" I asked, pointing to the video camera. "After all, this is San Francisco. Or are you into pain? Are you a sadomasochist too?"

Nick's eyes burned through me. But he backed off.

I lit another cigarette, hoping it would annoy Nick. Ex-smokers craved the nicotine fix.

Lt. Walker asked, "Do you two know each other?"

"No," Nick said.

"No, but I did kiss him. And I do like him . . . A lot."

Dick squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of our greeting kiss.

"How did you meet Mr. Boz? Lt. Walker asked.

"I wanted to write a book about the murder of a retired rock 'n roll star. I went down to his club, I picked 'Scags' up, that was my nickname for him, and I had sex with him."

Lt. Walker said, "You didn't feel anything for 'Scags' Boz. You just had sex with him for your book."

"In the beginning." I glanced at Nick. "Then I got to like what he did for me. And he loved having a chick with a dick."

Gus commented, "That's pretty cold ain't it Miss Tramell, or should I say Mister Tranny?"

I eyed Nick tauntingly. "Either will do . . . I'm a writer. I use people for what I write. I like seducing men. Let the world beware. I'm a shemale slut . . . Do you want me to take a lie detector test?"

There was a long pause.

"Cut!" Aaron Spacek yelled. "That was great! As good as it gets! I could really feel the tension. Especially the sexual heat! Sean, you were wonderful as that Catherine bitch. A psychotic temptress! If Sharon Stone doesn't want to do the sequel to Basic Instinct, you
should audition. We'll send in this tape. You're one sexy, dangerous killer!"

"Thank you Aaron! I love ya!"

As the other actors approached me, giving each other high fives, I got up from my chair.

"Amazing," Dave said. "You exuded sex! And when you uncrossed your legs, I didn't know what to expect."

I laughed. Then I hugged him.

"Did I surprise you?"

"Up 'til the crossover, it was the exact replay of Basic Instinct," Dave said. "But then I think there was genuine shock! Going au naturel. Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to point?"

Scott Calvin gave me a playful slap on the back. "Great take, Sean! And what a nasty surprise!"

"Terrific!" Mark Mitchell added. "It's like you were born to play the temptress. Or tempter I guess."

"That was bold!" Terry Edwards said with an impish grin. "But I don't think I can be your body double anymore."

I must have had a puzzled look on my face.

"I'm not circumcised," Terry said with mock despair. "And I'm not about to have the surgery."

"Very cute. Maybe you'll get more lines next time."

We hugged . . . If you had sex with your body double, would it be like masturbation?

"Thanks everybody! All you guys were great!"

I had a group hug with all of the guys.

Maybe it was the stimulating feel of the fabric. Perhaps it was the cool breeze between my smooth hairless legs or maybe it was just being in close proximity to five sexcited guys. My huge boner formed a wigwam in the front of the dress's white satin fabric. Thankfully all the guys pretended not to notice. And I pretended not to notice their totem poles either.

"All right! Let's set up again!" Aaron Spacek yelled. "Let's try to make it funnier this time! Less sexy. And we must eliminate the F word. Screw works for me. After all, we do have some kids that watch the show."

Even though our first take had failed the taste test, that afternoon marked a turning point in the way I felt about the show. Being the new member of the cast, I was worried that I was being too conservative! Too timid! Too hesitant! I think I had overcome that fear. Now I felt much more at home. And accepted. The other demon that I had been struggling with was simply that of dressing as a woman. I lacked confidence portraying a female. This scene was the first time I truly experienced the power of being an alluring sexy lady - or shemale. I really believed I could have tempted any man to do my bidding with just an encouraging smile or a come hither look.

Maybe even after they discovered Catherine/Sean was a man.

10

As I stood on the first tee of the Royal Vancouver Golf Club, I must admit that Lotus Land sure had a lot going for it. On one side of me was a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. In front of me was one of North America's finest golf courses. And in the distance was the snow-capped peak of majestic Mount Baker.

"Ladies first," I said to May.

"Thanks."

I watched as she lined up the ball. She took a practice swing, then with a little waggle of the club, she went into her swing motion again.

"Whoook!"

I followed the flight of the ball. It must have sailed two hundred yards down the middle of the fairway.

"Good shot!" I said.

"Thanks."

"I hope I won't embarrass myself."

"You said you played before."

"Uh huh, but watching your gorgeous form might just throw off my concentration a little."

She smiled.

May was dressed in an eye pleasing turquoise golf dress that showed off her shapely legs. I couldn't help myself. I was a leg man from way back.

Then I went into my hockey swing. "Whoook!" Adam Sandler didn't invent that in Happy Gilmore.

My ball was in trouble from the start. It sliced right, finding the deep rough on the first bounce, about a hundred fifty yards down the fairway. Perhaps it may have even rolled into the Douglas Fir forest.

"Damn balls," I complained. "These balls aren't supposed to slice or hook. They're guaranteed to go straight."

"I hope you kept the receipt. But I don't think the ball is the problem. Ultimately, no matter how you slice it, a golf ball is still a golf ball."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I merely said I had played the game before. I didn't say my name was Tiger."

"So why are you wearing dark pants, a red shirt and a black Nike cap?"

"Would you believe the intimidation factor?"

"Good try. I'm trembling," she said with a smile. "But right now, Woods might be appropriate."

"How's that?"

"I think your ball may have trickled into the trees."

After searching through the long rough and then the dense rainforest for a few minutes, I found the ball. And I do mean rainforest. A boy from Manitoba never saw Douglas Firs and Red Cedars higher than grain silos.

My Titleist had settled up against a tree root. I had to settle for chipping the ball back onto the fairway.

Then my next shot wasn't bad. It hit the green, but continued to roll and eventually ended up in the rough beyond the immaculately kept greens of this beautiful Royal Vancouver course. I had never mastered the art of backspin.

May's second shot was flag high, about 15 feet to the right of the pin.

I settled for a quadruple bogey eight. I should have stuck to mini golf. They stopped counting after seven shots.

Would you believe May holed her putt for birdie?

She created quite a first impression.

At the second tee, May shrugged and lamented my, "Bad luck."

"No," I replied in my best John Houseman voice, "I earned it."

"You have the honor this time."

I looked down the narrow fairway nestled in this heavily forested rugged ravine. Looking precariously close, a massive granite rock face jutted out on the right.

"Bit of a daunting hole, this next one. Dogleg right, three hundred ninety yards. It's a par four," I said in my best Sean Connery brogue.

I took a practice swing with my 1-Wood.

When I looked at a distant spot to target down the fairway, somehow I was reminded of a Tennyson poem.

Sand traps to the right of us,
Sand traps to the left of us,
Sand traps in front of us
My driver volleyed and thundered.

"Whoook!"

Into the Jaws of Death,
Into the Mouth of Hell,
Carried the ball at least two hundred.

The little white blur flew long and high, avoiding the sand hazards, but started hooking left. Unfortunately it was a dogleg right.

"At least I'm not in the woods," I remarked.

"Good distance, Tiger."

May took a practice swing. Then she went into that distinctive waggle. "Whoook!" It was like a replay of her shot at the first tee. Two hundred yards, slightly right, well placed for her second shot on the dogleg.

If this was any indication of how the afternoon was going to play out, I'd say I was going to be 'in tough.'

I never could stand getting beat at any sport by a girl.

For the rest of the round, I fared no better. It was like a Star Trek adventure. If there was a water hazard, a sand trap, deep rough, scenic cave, or alien vegetation, I went where no man had gone before.

As for May, she kept striking the ball with robotic precision. She had a sweet golf swing! But she didn't have the strength to really blast the ball.

Occasionally I hit the ball longer than May. However, I was very inconsistent.

At the Nineteenth Hole Restaurant, we sat down to have a cool beverage. On the outdoor patio, against the backdrop of a Tudor style clubhouse, we took refuge from the late afternoon sun beneath a rainbow colored sun umbrella.

"Let me see, with that double bogey on the eighteenth, that gave me eighteen bogeys for the round," I said as I placed my sweaty Nike cap on the green plastic dining table. "A pretty consistent streak, if I say so myself."

"Well, I had ten bogeys, two double bogeys," May said as she looked at her scorecard, "four pars and two birdies. I was ten over par."

"You only beat me by thirty-one strokes," I grumbled. "Is 113 an unlucky number?"

"No. However, if you're superstitious, round it up to 114. And we won't disqualify you for an incorrect score card."

"You are hard. But, I must admit, you thrashed me fair and square."

"Well, I had an advantage," she said. "You've never played the course before."

"Yes, you're right. That's the reason."

"But I really did enjoy whipping your ass."

"Uh huh." I hoped she wasn't a sadomasochist.

"And, by the way, my ex-boyfriend? He's the golf pro here."

"That's way more information than I wanted to know." Was she still involved with him?

"Oh come on. You've been in relationships before."

"Yes, but I never had a boyfriend who was a golf pro."

"No, I could tell . . . C'mon, tell me about your ex-girlfriends."

"Okay, okay, if you insist. I had a girlfriend when I was in high school. She was really smart, she had a good sense of humor, and a kind heart."

"And what was her name?"

"Beverly," I said. "She was a red head. And I thought she was pretty hot stuff."

"So what happened to her?"

"Her family moved to the United States."

"Did you keep in touch?"

"Yes, for a while."

"And?"

"We wrote each other on birthdays and at Christmas, but eventually it petered out."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"Just once. She came back for a visit about a year after she moved. But, distance was a big barrier."

"I see."

"What about you? Anything serious?"

"Yes. I am still friends with the golf pro, Gary, but it just wasn't in the stars."

"Why not?"

"He didn't want to settle down. Gary has dreams of joining the pro tour."

"How about your career? How did you get into the wardrobe department at ECSTASY?"

May looked at me for a moment with her clear brown sparkling eyes.

"I didn't plan on this when I was in school. Things just sort of happened."

I raised my eyebrows in mild surprise.

"There was a fashion designer I knew when I was in high school," continued May. "Here in Vancouver, there's a big charity event in support of AIDS. He asked me if I'd come out for the show and model for him . . . I was quite flattered so I took him up on the offer."

"I can see why him he made the offer," I said admiringly.

"Thank you," she said as she patted my arm affectionately. "Modeling was really fun that first time. I seemed to have a flair for it. Then I got some modeling gigs for the runway. After that, it seemed to snowball. I got some more work for store catalogues and for newspaper ads. Before I knew it, I had a pretty good portfolio. I moved to Toronto for a while. I got jobs there."

"How about New York?"

"Yes. I worked in New York a lot. Also I went to L.A. and overseas to London, Paris and Milan."

"Wow! Impressive!"

"It was pretty exciting for about six years or so."

"So what happened?"

"Although I enjoyed it, it was pretty hectic . . . and pretty volatile."

"What do you mean?"

"It had so many ups and downs. You seem to go through cycles. Sometimes you're hot, sometimes you're cold. And you know it's not going to last forever."

"How did this wardrobe stuff come about?"

"Well, as a model, the clothes are always being altered to fit you. I got to be pretty good at it. I didn't have the stereotypical model's height and build. And I didn't want to get implants. Plus, in my spare time, I took some fashion courses at community colleges in
Toronto, just out of interest. When I moved back home to Vancouver, I had a contact in the movie industry here. Initially I worked on a few films, then a few television shows. Before I knew it, it became a regular job. And then along came ECSTASY."

11

At the bull session to begin the week, we kicked around a lot of different skit ideas.

Dave brought up the topic of gay marriages. We ran with that concept for awhile.

Then we took a stab at the film Spiderman. The possibilities were enormous, though potentially expensive.

I suggested we do a music video parody. I loved Shakira and she was one of my best impressions. But Ted Walters had an idea. He suggested doing Shakira with a live audience.

Ted told the group that he might be able to arrange for me to appear on a talk show. That sounded intriguing. I relished the opportunity.

Then Mark came up with a brilliant idea. Sex and the City was dying for a send up. We all agreed instantly!

We divided up the script writing. Dave was paired with Scott on the gay marriage skit. I worked with Mark on Sex and the City.

***

The setting was a restaurant in Greenwich Village, New York City, at lunchtime on a Saturday. Four very attractive ladies in their thirties were discussing their favorite topic: Sex.

Scott Calvin was Sarah Jessica Parker's character, Carrie Bradshaw. Mark Mitchell was Charlotte York, who normally was portrayed by Kristin Davis. Dave Poole played Miranda Hobbes, who was brought to life by Cynthia Nixon. And I was Samantha Jones or Kim Cattrall.

Based on the book by Candace Bushnell, Sex and the City was a smash hit on American cable television.

Scott, as Carrie Bradshaw, did the introductory voice over as the camera took the viewer from the busy street exterior into the trendy up-scale restaurant setting.

"Some advertisers claimed that a person's car made a statement about the owner. A BMW Z3 represented power, confidence and daring. A Chrysler Neon represented youth, economy and optimism. But what about a person's pets? If a man owned a dog, was he likely to be as good in bed as a cat owner?"

"So I was coming down the elevator this morning," Charlotte began, "when this cocker spaniel began to sniff my right leg. Then it had the audacity to sniff my crotch. So the owner, a handsome guy, apologized for his dog's indiscretion."

"As long as the dog didn't lift his leg and pee on you, you shouldn't complain," Carrie said.

"Dogs are pretty direct," Miranda noted. "When they meet other dogs in the park, they immediately sniff each others genitalia. If one of the dogs is old and no longer sexually active, the other dog loses interest immediately. If both dogs are young and sexually
active, the owners have to pull them apart."

"So what did the owner look like?" I asked. "Was he sexy?"

"Oh yes. He looked like a shorter version of Tom Hanks," Charlotte announced.

"No kidding? And was this Tom Hanks Mini-me as aggressive as the dog?" Carrie asked.

"By the time we reached the front door of the lobby, he asked me out for a coffee," Charlotte said.

"Did you accept?" Miranda asked.

"Of course."

"And?" Miranda prodded.

"He was a really interesting guy. It turned out he was an architect who had just transferred here from Chicago. Apparently he was beginning preliminary work on a new office complex in mid-Manhattan."

"So did the dog try to hump you?" Carrie snickered.

"He was well behaved while we had coffee."

"No, I meant did this Tom Hanks look-alike try to hump you?" Carrie asked.

"I knew you were going there. Tonight we are seeing a movie together. I'll keep you posted."

"I think my new next door neighbor has a cat," I said, "judging from the kitty litter boxes I saw in the hallway when the movers were doing their thing."

"I think dog owners are different from cat owners," Charlotte said.

"Dogs and cats have different personalities," Carrie said. "Dogs are more dependent than cats. Dogs need more attention. When you come home, dogs wag their tales to greet you. Cats don't display their affection as readily."

"I think I'm a dog person," Charlotte said.

"I like a tiger in my bed," I said.

Since it was our third take for this scene, Aaron Spacek called it a wrap.

I suggested calling this Sex and the City parody Crouching Tiger, Hidden Drag Queen, but it didn't fly.

***

We went back to the makeup and wardrobe section. Dave and Scott needed to get out of their female makeup and outfits. Mark and I were going to stay as sexy ladies, but we needed to change our outfits.

May helped me into a body-accentuating power suit in bright yellow, a cream blouse and a pearl necklace. The matching yellow shoes had spike heels.

Then Dave and I played a brief scene. It was set in the hallway of my apartment building.

I was taking my kitchen garbage over to the disposal chute, when I encountered Dave moving some boxes out of the elevator.

He introduced himself. Dave was delighted to meet a beautiful lady like Samantha Jones. He was my new neighbor - the one with the cat. So I invited him over to my place later for coffee, after he had finished with his unpacking and furniture arranging.

For the other storyline, Scott played the role of a Tom Hanks look-alike - the dog owner. In truth, Scott bore only a slight resemblance to Tom. But our parody of Sex and the City was much like the real series. It was all about sex! Scott Calvin, as a regular heterosexual
guy, played a bedroom scene with Mark in the role of Charlotte.

The show Sex and the City revolved around fucking. Although due to censorship, we weren't allowed to use the F word for ECSTASY. Our show appealed to kids as well as adults.

While Scott and Mark did their scene, I was back in wardrobe again with May and Daniel.

I had stripped down to nothing.

Daniel eyed me critically. "The boobs look good. I don't think they need a touch up. But," said Daniel as he examined my face, "we need to fix your makeup."

Unlike my previous transformation into Sharon Stone, the edges of my false breasts and a false vagina were blended into my own flesh. The seams looked pretty smooth due to the application of liquid latex and foundation makeup. It was hard to tell the latex from the real skin because Daniel used acetone to thin the synthetic 'skin.' Such was the quality of Daniel's work, I think I could have found work as a stripper at a gentlemen's club.

I donned that amorphous blue smock again, and sat in the "barber chair" once more.

Daniel reached under the blonde, gently curled shoulder length wig with his deft touch and lifted up. A tight nylon stocking wig cap was revealed below.

"The tape has come loose. The elastic is no longer holding the shape we want," Daniel said as he placed the hair on a tall Styrofoam wig stand.

"I see." In the mirror I noted that the right side of my face around
the eyes seemed to sag a little when compared to the left.

Daniel removed the Scotch tape from clips that were attached to elastics. The pull of the elastics lifted my eyebrows and altered the shape of the eye slightly, giving me a stronger resemblance to actress Kim Cattrall's facial features. Contour makeup and the blonde wig helped the transformation succeed. Daniel also used theatrical putty to replicate Cattrall's mole on the left side beneath her lower lip.

The transparent tape was reapplied. The gentle curls of the blonde wig hid the tape effectively.

My face was a reasonable facsimile of beautiful Kim Cattrall.

May was ready for my costume change. Draped over her left forearm were a black lace bra, a black lace bikini bottom and a see-through chemise.

First I stepped into the lace bikini bottom, snuggling it into place. It covered the flesh-colored false vagina that I had contemplated using for my Sharon Stone impersonation. Next I slipped on the bra. May helped do up the catch on the back. An almost
transparent fine mesh chemise completed the seductive ensemble.

The alluring outfit felt amazingly sexy on my smooth as silk skin. I had no trace of body hair at all. The mirror image of Kim Cattrall enthralled me.

If it hadn't been for the tight phony vagina and my taped up genitalia beneath the lace bikini bottom, I might have developed a hard-on right then and there, in front of Daniel and May.

"Very sexy!"

May's compliment perked me up.

"If I was heterosexual, my hands would be all over you, honey!" Daniel claimed.

May handed me a large white terrycloth robe. "You don't want the set and stage crew to get too excited, do you?"

I wrapped myself up in the soft fabric. There again was the scent of Ivory Snow. It reminded me of May's warm, sensual body.

"Come here May, I need a hug."

We embraced for a long time. I wanted to hump her right then and there. I was so horny!

***

There were some concerns running through my mind as we took our positions on the set. Most of them concerned dressing in drag. Well not just dressing in drag, but acting a love scene in drag. I feared that from now on, everybody would believe I was a gay transvestite. It could completely alter my social life. That was my worry.

An idea popped into my head. As preparation for the skit, I had watched some episodes of Sex and the City. I remembered a scene where the four ladies went for a lesson in lovemaking. The teacher was a spiritualist who knew about energy chakras. She showed
them a 'love chakra' - a sensitive spot that elicited a vigorous sexual response. I wondered if I could use that tidbit of knowledge now. Perhaps I could spring a surprise on Dave.

Aaron Spacek, as was his custom, was using three cameras again: one to capture the big picture - the whole scene; the second for an overhead view; and the third for close-ups.

For the bedroom scene with Dave, I took off the robe and handed it to May. I could feel all eyes on the set follow me. For some reason, the set crew, the technicians and even some of the Comedy Network office staff were there.

I took my position on the bed. I rolled back the bedspread and sheets. Then I propped up the pillow against the white oak headboard and slipped my legs and lower body under the covers. Dave, wearing white cotton Fruit of the Loom underpants, took his position beside me.

It began with an establishing shot. Both of us were sitting up on the cozy, well-appointed king-size bed, our backs resting against soft fluffy pillows.

I was smoking a marijuana cigarette.

"It's Hawaiian Gold. Would you like a hit?" I asked as I tried to convey a dreamy, enjoyable state of consciousness for the viewers.

"Sure."

I handed Dave the phony joint. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, drawing out the pleasure.

He passed the joint back to me. I took one more hit, then I exhaled slowly. I was totally self-absorbed, lost in Never Never Land. Then I placed the marijuana cigarette on the ashtray resting on the end table.

"Come and get me, Tiger."

We kissed. It was gentle at first. Then Dave parted his lips. Our tongues intertwined. I squirmed a little in reaction to this.

'It's a role,' I told myself. 'We're acting. Just keep going.'

I moved my hands over his bare chest. He wrapped his arms around me. Then we rolled over on the bed as I kicked back the bedcovers to allow freer movement and to give the camera a better view.

Frantically, he was using his hands to lift off my almost transparent chemise.

I tried to shirk off the soft mesh material as quickly as I could.

We broke the kiss.

Dave looked down at my awesome breasts and smiled. He used both hands to massage both boobs at the same time. Wax on, wax off.

I reached down to his underpants and pulled the elasticized band down slowly, revealing his ass cheeks. I squeezed them suggestively.

He grinned lasciviously. We kissed again. The bed bucked for a moment as he thrust his crotch toward me.

I could feel his hard member against mine. His dick was huge!

Holy shit! This was supposed to be acting!

In the animalistic rage of passion, he scrambled to undo my bra top.

Reaching with my feet, I was able to draw up the satin bed covers.

We rolled over, with Dave on top as he threw my lace bra up into the air wildly!

I reached down to grab the bed coverings with my right hand, and pulled them up higher.

We kissed again madly! We were cats in heat! Dave was a Tiger!

Our French kiss seemed to last 'til I was blue in the face! Dave knew how to draw out the moment of fervor! His octopus arms squirmed over my hair, my back, my bum, my navel, my neck, my arms, my pits and my tits!

I could feel animal magnetism! I could sense his hunger! His ardent lust!

Rolling around under the bedspread and sheets, never breaking our lip lock, Dave ended up on top of me.

We came up for air! I gasped, and then, as he rose up, I rubbed his chest with one hand and reached behind his neck with the other.

Dave teased my right nipple with a massaging motion.

He leaned forward and kissed me on the neck, licked his tongue up close to my ear, nibbled on my diamond-studded earlobe for a moment, and then inserted his tongue into my ear.

I laughed at the tickle and then I kissed him on the cheek.

He rose up again, his manhood placed directly over its intended target. In the missionary position, we simulated the thrusts of fucking, slowly at first, then building in tempo, faster and faster.

When Aaron yelled cut, I had to catch my breath.

We wanted to continue - to complete our lovemaking.

I never had the chance to press Dave's love chakra - the perineum.

The whole gathering broke out in wild applause! The rest of the cast, the technical crew, the set dressers, the construction crew and even the office staff loved us!

We both smiled sheepishly.

I looked at Dave. A tender look came to his face as he gave me a reassuring squeeze on my leg under the covers, as if to say, 'that was good!'

Holy shit!

It was my first love scene as an actor.

Were all love scenes this real?

12

Sometimes when you hear a song on the radio, you like it immediately. You turn up the volume to full blast! The melody, the lyrics, and the beat just make you feel like dancing!

Whenever, Wherever is such a song.

I played the CD whenever I had the chance and wherever I could.

Moreover Shakira is an absolutely gorgeous girl. And so talented! She wrote the music with a guy named Tim Mitchell. Called Suerte in Spanish, Shakira wrote the lyrics. But for the English language version, she co-wrote the lyrics with Gloria M. Estefan.

I was so looking forward to impersonating Shakira!

Producer Ted Walters pulled a few strings. He contacted the producers of the Mike Howard Show, a popular talk show on the Comedy Network.

It was the right time for promoting ECSTASY. The fall schedule was just beginning. Our debut show would begin airing in a few days.

As far as Canadian viewers were concerned, I was an unknown comic.

If I did well in my appearance on the Mike Howard Show, I might create a buzz that could attract new viewers to tune in to ECSTASY. And maybe our old fans would forget I was replacing Steve Perry, the star who had left for greater glory in the United States.

The plan was for me to appear near the beginning of the show as Shakira. I'd do my singing impression, change, take off the makeup and reappear later as myself.

I liked the idea.

Appearing in front of a live audience was the one thing I had missed since I began working at ECSTASY. I loved the applause! I loved the instantaneous feedback! I loved the interaction!

Taped in Vancouver, the studio for the Mike Howard Show was located near False Creek, on the site of the old Expo 86. Vancouver had hosted the World's Fair back in 1986.

I had to get up early in the morning. The Mike Howard Show began taping at noon, but I had to begin getting into the makeup and costume long before that.

At my normal work studio in suburban Burnaby, I sat in the usual "barber chair" for my transformation.

I relaxed and closed my eyes as Daniel applied the false boobs to my chest. He lined up the nipples of the falsies a little off center of my own nipples, then pressed the latex breasts onto my chest. He held them there for about thirty seconds, giving the adhesive time to set.

Then I donned the usual protective smock.

As I relaxed half asleep in the red padded chair, Daniel went through that close shave routine with a straight razor. No problemo.

Next, he put a tight nylon wig cap on my head to keep my hair from spilling out. I needed a haircut soon. I hadn't cut it for three months.

Stifling a few yawns as Daniel smoothed on some moisturizing cream, I tried to think of Shakira. As he applied the slightly darker than usual cake foundation makeup, I closed my eyes and let him work with the sponges and brushes.

Daniel kept looking at the color photo of Shakira and then at my face.

"There are these golden tones to her complexion in the photograph. It's quite glamorous," Daniel noted. "Fortunately she has a kind of round face with a firm jaw. We won't have to do much contour shading."

'Whatever,' I thought. I didn't pay much attention to Daniel's comments. I was still trying to continue that beautiful dream I was having when the clock radio went off an hour earlier.

"Sorry honey," Daniel interrupted, "but I need you to open your eyes for a moment."

"Uh huh."

"I should have done this earlier. We need to insert contact lenses. Shakira appears, at least in this photo, to have black eyes. That's such a rarity. But we're trying to match this photo."

Having used color contacts for some of the previous transformations, I knew the routine well. I managed the subtle dip and dab procedure as quickly as I could.

I closed my eyes. Then I blinked a few times and looked at myself in the mirror.

Wow! The black contacts really enlarged my eyes! It looked as if I didn't have irises. Just large dark pupils.

It was quite a dramatic change. I looked at the color photo of Shakira. Was that one of the secrets of her exotic beauty?

Lost in thought, I sat back in the comfy chair. Then I closed my eyes again and relaxed and tried to dream of what it would be like to be Shakira!

I could feel Daniel using a glue stick to tame my eyebrows. He went through the usual application of a covering makeup to hide my male eyebrows.

He used a brown pencil to shape the eyebrow and then added some golden tones with another eyebrow pencil on top of that.

Next he set to work on applying the eyeliner, mascara, false eyelashes and then the eye shadow.

Lip liner was next. He brushed on the coral lipstick carefully. One might have suspected I had collagen injections after Daniel applied the lip gloss. It had the scent and taste of strawberries.

He applied blush to the cheeks. With a large soft brush, he blended the color subtly like an artist painting a sunset on canvas.

Daniel looked carefully at the photo of Shakira and then back at me.

He extracted a darker foundation makeup from his "tackle box" and applied it high on the forehead with a deft touch of a small triangular sponge.

"Like you, Shakira has a large forehead. She uses a dark foundation to make it appear smaller."

Daniel applied some of the dark foundation along my jaw line to diminish its size.

I heard May's voice.

I opened my eyes.

"Looking fabulous!" May enthused. "As usual."

She hugged me.

We didn't kiss though. It would have upset Daniel if he had to fix the lipstick.

Now Daniel held a long curly blonde wig in his hands.

I got up from the chair. I bowed my head as Daniel placed the crowning glory on my head.

The blonde curls reached past the middle of my back. I tossed my head back and finger brushed the hair away from my face.

Then I looked in the mirror.

"Fabulous, Daniel! Simply gorgeous!" I exclaimed. "I love it! This is the best yet!"

"I think he's got it! By Jove, I think she's got it!" Daniel jawed in his best Professor Henry Higgins impression.

And I felt exactly like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady! I had been transformed by skilled professionals! I was now ready for my debut!

***
Even though the Mike Howard Show staff was very accommodating, I was extremely nervous while I waited offstage.

The butterflies were giving me acid indigestion.

This was an important opportunity for me and the whole ECSTASY Show. This was my big shot on national television!

I kept reassuring myself that I was well prepared. And that was all I could ask for. If things went well, my appearance could jumpstart our whole television season.

May's handiwork in assembling the costume was absolutely perfect!

I wore a very revealing silvery lace camisole, the style with the straps tied behind my neck. My 'Shakira' boobs were shown to great effect! The patterns in the lace were well placed to cover the large dark nipples of my false breasts. My narrow waist, down to 24 inches, was slim and trim, thanks to that training corset, the rabbit diet, and the relentless stomach exercises. Black leather pants, laced up in the front, with a large silver belt and silver buckle completed the ensemble. And May had inserted extra padding to round out my posterior.

There was a golden glow to the skin, courtesy of Daniel's bronzing tan makeup.

As always, the Mike Howard Show began with the host going through his opening monologue. He usually did some audience interaction shtick too. The crowd seemed to be warming up nicely. The opening segment was supposed to last five minutes.

Through the wing curtains, I could see Mike's desk, his comfy chair, an armchair for his guest on the hot-seat, and a couch. The furniture was not located in the center of the stage. It was offset to allow for guest performances.

Nervously, I kept running through the song and the dance routine in my mind. The choreography had been worked out with Julien Allard again. But this time I wouldn't be able to follow his lead and mimic every move. I'd be on my own. Totally on my own.

Before I knew it, Mike Howard was announcing who would be appearing on 'tonight's' show.

There was a commercial break. Ninety seconds to show time.

The assistant handed me a microphone. It was one of those large cordless mikes.

Then, on my silver stilettos, I entered the backstage area. Near the center, I had to pull aside and then restore a canvas flap that served as the entranceway to a large tent-like structure. Since we had had a run through earlier, I knew exactly what to do.

I moved to my mark behind a huge dark drop screen. There was a special apparatus within the tent envelope that required the build up of air pressure to produce its visual effect.

It was very cool and isolated as I stood waiting patiently and quietly, in the middle of a brewing storm.

"Welcome back," Mike Howard said. "Ladies and gentleman, last season ECSTASY was a big hit here on the Comedy Channel. This season they are back bigger and better than ever! Tonight we have a new performer here from the ECSTASY show. This performer does fabulous impersonations! Please welcome Sean Davidson as Shakira!"

In the entire auditorium, the lights suddenly went down. Then two converging spotlights burst onto center stage as the main curtains parted and the giant 'fly' screen rose dramatically. A cool mist billowed out from beneath the restraining confines.

The audience started applauding. As I strode forward amidst the blinding beams, swirling clouds of dry ice, and flashing laser effects, the three hundred or so spectators went wild! They started cheering like I was the real Shakira!

Then the crowd quieted as a lone musician, illuminated by a tight spotlight, strummed his charango.

I started humming.

The sound of congas, drums, a bass, a mandolin, guitars, maracas and a Quena flute all joined the party.

Imitating the music video choreography, I wind milled my arms about and then set my hands on my hips, arms akimbo. My leather-encased bubble butt quivered to the rhythm of the pulsing percussion. I felt sexy and free!

"Awoo!" I howled Shakira-like. "Awoo!"

Swinging the microphone from my left hand to my right, I sang,

"Lucky you were born that far away so
We could both make fun of distance
Lucky that I love a foreign land for
The lucky fact of your existence"

The faces looked captivated as Shakira jiggled and gyrated! I reached skyward and my voice soared!

"Baby I would climb the Andes solely
To count the freckles on your body
Never could imagine there were only
Ten million ways to love somebody"

The band rocked the house and people stood up to dance. Front and center, hands joined together, a gaggle of gals swayed back and forth to the beat.

"Le do lo le lo le,
Le do lo le lo le
Can't you see
I'm at your feet."

A row of young guys raised their arms up, leaned forward from the waist and did the "I'm not worthy" bow.

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear"

As I pivoted to display my Shakira form, swiveling hips, undulating stomach, swinging arms, and quivering tits, I looked toward Mike Howard. There was a huge grin on his face!

He followed the audience's lead. He jumped up and began dancing!

"Thereover, hereunder
You'll never have to wonder
We can always play by ear
But that's the deal my dear"

The whole crowd frolicked frantic ecstatic in the aisles! It was a Shakira dance party!
With arms high above their heads, the front row gals bumped buns sweet and tarty.

Then Mike Howard joined me center stage, and we began to boogie. Grasping my hand above his head, we did a series of in synch steps, cuddles and spin moves! His impromptu star turn drove the celebration into a higher and higher groove!

"Lucky that my lips not only mumble
They spill kisses like a fountain
Lucky that my breasts are small and humble
So you don't confuse them with mountains
Lucky that I have strong legs like my mother
To run for cover when I need it
And these two eyes that for no other
The day you leave will cry a river"

Caught up in the pandemonium, I sang and danced like a spirit possessed. Me sentia como la encarnacion de Shakira.

"Le do lo le lo le,
Le do lo le lo le
At your feet
I'm at your feet"

Descending stairs from the stage with trim lights aglow, I boogied briefly with students in the first row.

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear"

Then in time with the pulsing beat, I climbed the aisle way into the seats.

"Thereover, hereunder
You'll never have to wonder
We can always play by ear
And that's the deal my dear"

I danced in the stands, reaching out, touching hands, touching hearts, thrilling fans!

"Le do lo le do le
Le do lo le do le
Think out loud
Say it again"

As Shakira crossed the back of the theatre, the last row reached out hopeful to greet her.

"Le do lo le lo le lo le"

"Tell me one more time
That you'll live
Lost in my eyes"

Descending the stairs, I mixed and mingled with crazed couples and singles!

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear"

Ascending the stage, into the final phase.

"Thereover, hereunder
You've got me head over heels
There's nothing left to fear
If you really feel the way I feel"

Swinging my arms about, shaking my booty, singing my heart out, turned on by beauty!

"Whenever, wherever
We're meant to be together
I'll be there and you'll be near
And that's the deal my dear
You'll never have to wonder
And that's the deal my dear"

The music transformed me! I felt so sexy and free! Sacudari mis pechos y caderas como maracas para todos los muchachos y muchachas.

"They're over, you're under
You've got me head over heels
There's nothing left to fear
If you really feel the way I feel"

As the music slowed and the lights dimmed, I pirouetted with my arms fully outstretched. Spinning a second time, I brought my arms in tight to the body and then wound downward on the third turn. When the music of the Quena flute slowed to a halt, I curled into a little ball, enveloped in the swirling mists of a fresh blast of 'smoke.' The spotlights faded to black!

The audience burst into thunderous applause!

Bedlam! Madness! Hysteria!

Then as I rose, gracefully whirling my arms outward and skyward as the lights came back up, I finally lifted my arms up high in triumph!

Jubilation! Exhiliration!

Then I bowed deeply!

I waved to the crowd! I blew kisses to the cheering throng! "Gracias!" I mouthed to the wildly appreciative crowd.

I felt like the embodiment of Shakira!

To thank the outstanding band, I extended my left arm toward the five musicians, presenting them to the audience. That was greeted by additional hoots and hollers!

The proud band members bowed humbly.

I blew more kisses, one final bow, a last wave! Then I was offstage.

The people yelled and screamed for more! As the house lights came up, the fans went crazy! Yelling and screaming "Shakira! Shakira!" The crowd stamped their feet and chanted "Shakira! Shakira! Shakira!"

"She'll be back later, ladies and gentlemen!" Mike Howard exclaimed. "We have to take a break.

I was on cloud nine! I swear my feet weren't touching the ground anymore! I was flying!

It couldn't have been any better! It was ECSTASY!

In the wings, Daniel and May showered me with hugs and kisses.

"That was fabulous!" May exclaimed.

"What a great performance, Shakira!" Daniel hugged me.

"You were born to play the part!" May added with another kiss. "They loved you!"

"Thanks," I said as I held both May and Daniel in my arms. "I couldn't have done it without your help."

Then there was a fourth set of hands that joined the group hug!

"Brilliant! Absolutely wonderful!"

"Dave!"

I turned to face him.

Dave held me in his arms. He squeezed me tight. We kissed!

The kiss took my breath away! I melted in his embrace.

It wasn't one of those show business style pecks on both cheeks.

It was a lover's kiss! The Sex and the City kind!

13

Coming back from a commercial break, Mike Howard had to reintroduce me.

"Earlier in the show, we had a guest appearance from that fabulous singing sensation Shakira! But, as you know, it really wasn't Shakira. It was the newest member of that hit comedy show ECSTASY. Here once again is Sean Davidson."

The audience started applauding wildly until I stepped out onto the stage.

Then they quieted down suddenly. They sat in stunned silence.

Without the wig, makeup, camisole and leather pants, I was plain old Sean Davidson.

The lively house band struck up a few chords of Boy George's The Crying Game. There was an ominous tone about that song.

Mike Howard greeted me with a two-handed handshake, and nodded to me to sit in the big armchair closest to his desk.

Mike was a large man, built like a linebacker. He had a blond-gray crew cut, a square jaw, a few wrinkles showing his 45 years of life on planet Earth, and an ever-present impish smile on his face. Attired in a handsome Hugo Boss suit, he looked very fit and healthy.

Standing next to him, in a blue turtleneck, dark jacket and black pants, I looked rather thin and tiny.

The Crying Game theme stopped abruptly.

"I think our audience must be in shock. I think they were expecting someone else," Mike said, trying to make light of the subdued reaction.

"Apparently so," I mumbled meekly as I settled into the very soft, cream-colored leather seat.

"Sean, let's have a look at a replay of your earlier appearance as Shakira."

The studio audience looked to the large monitors placed at the sides of the stage.

When the technical crew pressed a button, the freeze frame of Shakira suddenly leapt into action. The Whenever, Wherever chorus rocked the house! The crowd danced up a storm as sexy Shakira sang like a seraph! Her angelic voice soared to the heavens! Shakira shook her chakras like maracas! Her divine dance lifted the spirit and stirred the soul!

It was fascinating! And spooky! I really did look and sound like Shakira!

The video confirmed it! Without doubt, it was my best performance ever!

When the tape faded to black, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause again.

"That was great!"

"Thank you," I said. "And your band was terrific! They were Hot! Hot! Hot!!"

Mike extended his arm in the direction of the band. "Let's have a big hand for the Wayne Jackson Five!"

The audience cheered and applauded once again.

As the crowd quieted, Mike remarked, "You looked exactly like Shakira. It was amazing! How do you do that?"

"My makeup artist, Daniel Roberts, tells me I've got one of those symmetrical faces. Or, in easier to understand terms, I've got a rubber face that can look like a lot of different people."

"If the audience would look at the video screens for a moment, you'll see some of his other disguises."

Photos of me as Britney Spears, Meg Ryan, Sharon Stone and Kim Cattrall flashed up on the monitors. The audience responded with oohs and ahs. Then there was some boisterous applause and cheering.

"I must say you look like a sexy, beautiful woman," Mike said sincerely. "There were many in the audience who were unaware that Sean Davidson, the Shakira impersonator, wasn't a real female."

"Thank you. When you reintroduced me, the crowd was so deadly quiet, I thought they were about to throw bricks at me."

The audience responded with a brief laugh.

"So tell us, because I'm sure a lot of people are curious, what happens when say, you are shooting a scene for the ECSTASY Show, you're on location, and you're dressed as a girl, and some guy hits on you. Let's say he asks you for a date."

"Hmmm . . . it hasn't happened yet. We've only shot five weeks for the new fall schedule."

"Well, what do you think you'll do when it does happen?"

"If he really doesn't know I'm a guy, wouldn't it be fun to string him along as a gag, and set him up for a really embarrassing moment of discovery?" I suggested with a devilish smile. "Surprise! Surprise!"

"With his pants down, I wonder, will he want to hit you or kiss you?"

The audience burst out in laughter.

"'A dangerous game, Mike!"

"It's the Crying Game!"

The ever-alert band suddenly struck up a few bars of the Boy George song.

The audience applauded wildly! Giddily!

"Well, I'm dating someone now, so I'd probably just be honest and let the person know right away that this gorgeous girl is just an illusion . . . But you never know."

"ECSTASY has an all male cast," Mike said. "Why doesn't ECSTASY just hire some real girls?"

"It wouldn't be as funny maybe. Besides, if the producer, Ted Walters, did that, I wouldn't be here on stage with you tonight."

"I hear the amazing thing is, until you began working at the ECSTASY show a month ago, you had never worked in drag before," Mike said.

"That's right. I did vocal impressions of famous stars in scenes from films like Austin Powers, Forrest Gump or Ace Ventura. Or I did singers like Elvis, Bruce Springsteen and some girls like Britney Spears, Celine Dion and Shakira. But impressions were not the main part of my act. I come from a stand up comedy background . . . I know you used to do that too."

"Yes, for many years. More years than I care to remember. In fact, I felt like I'd been buried deeper than King Tut - dead, mummified, entombed and buried by the shifting desert sands."

"I guess another reason ECSTASY didn't hire a female comedian is that there are very few female comics on the circuit. If ten comics appear at a comedy club, one or maybe two of them at most, are women."

"Why is that?"

"They don't have the balls?" The crowd went silent, like I had said something extremely offensive. "I can't believe I said that on national television. I just offended at least half the audience and my mother."

"You expect me to step in and rescue you, don't you?"

"What I mean is that life on the road as a stand up comedian can drive away all but the very desperate."

"Yes. I know what you mean." Mike nodded.

"You'll be playing some mining town in Northern Ontario where the word 'roughneck' is what they use to describe elementary school kids. The guys up there are rough and tough. No place for a lady. One trip up there and the women don't want to do the comedy
club circuit anymore."

"I played a lot of those tough towns. It's where you're likely to get a beer bottle thrown at you if they don't like your jokes."

"Also, you have to look at the comedy club environment too. If you're a female, you might follow five male comics. They've established the tone for the evening. Male stand up comics are high-energy guys. They're very rude. They swear a hell of a lot! They tell dirty disgusting jokes. Many of the jokes are at the toilet humor level, about basic body dysfunctions. They say shocking things that you wouldn't want your mother to hear. Racial humor is common. They hurl insults at every minority group! Every taboo
topic of society is laid bare. They rant and rave just like I'm doing now! It's not a normal conversational environment!"

"No comedy club is a normal environment," Mike added. "It attracts the lunatic fringe."

I looked up at the audience. They seemed to be with me. "Then on comes this female comedian, and her voice is quieter. She is a reminder of the normal double standards of society outside of the comedy club. Some of the guys in the audience start to feel guilty and uneasy. Her humor is subtle. Her appeal might be intellectual. But the guys in the club have been drinking, and in an alcoholic fog, their intellect button is turned off. So if the comedienne's first jokes flop, it's hard to win back the beer-guzzling crowd."

"So you have developed some sympathy for female comics now that, literally," Mike noted, "you've walked miles in their high-heeled shoes."

"Yes," I replied with a laugh. "As a matter of fact, every time we dream up a new skit for ECSTASY, I always seem to end up playing a girl's role."

"That's because you look so damned beautiful!"

The audience applauded and cheered his compliment, hooting and hollering and whistling to show their approval.

"Thank you."

And as our conversation continued, I identified more and more with the newly discovered female aspect of my personality. I realized that I had enjoyed performing as a gal much more than I ever had as a guy.

As a male comedian, I could never get enough laughs. My appetite for crowd approval was insatiable. But as a female, admiration for my beauty gave me tremendous satisfaction. It was so weird!

From the moment I first dawned high heels, the choices I made seemed to work out right. Intuitively I knew what to do.

Maybe I had finally found my niche in the wide world of entertainment. Sean Davidson - female impersonator!

14

I am standing in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom.

The blonde curls cascade over a lovely visage. My clear blue eyes are my best feature. My high cheekbones, flawless complexion and inviting, kissable lips are a narcissist's dream.

I am wearing a 'little black dress.' With a plunging neckline, it reveals full sexy melon shaped breasts. My tiny waist, wide womanly hips, long, shapely to-die-for legs, and 5-inch stiletto heels complete the package.

Around my thin, elegant neck, I attach a gold 'name necklace' that says 'Sean,' a gift from May. I struggle momentarily with the clasp because of my long smooth false fingernails.

The gold necklace matches the golden studs in my freshly pierced earlobes.

My flawless complexion glows golden in the soft light of the bedroom.

The gorgeous girl in the mirror is really me! Sean Davidson.

I must confess dressing in drag is such a turn-on. I love the feel of the whisper thin silky nylons on my smooth sensuous legs. And my shapely calves are shown to great advantage by the stilettos. Also I adore the way my short dress reveals my sexy thighs and hints at a treasure trove of heavenly delight beneath my black lace panties. Rubbing my legs together almost stimulates my stick shift into overdrive. The temptation to lower my panties and the flesh colored gaff is so intense! I want to relieve myself of the ache in
my loins!

Should I or shouldn't I?

The bosom looks so real! The soft flesh that peeks out from the illusionary Wonder Bra and low cut neckline of the 'little black dress' is almost enough to persuade me to spring into action.

There is a knock at the door of my apartment.

No time to dither. I must hurry. One last touch, I spray Obsession into the air. Then I walk through the fine mist. The scent is heavenly!

I grab my purse as I hurry to answer the door.

There is another knock. A sign of impatience?

There, in the entry vestibule, I pause to take one last look in the full-length mirror panels of the hallway closet.

Delicious! Delectable! And undetectable!

When I open the door, there is a look of surprise and delight on Dave's face.

I open my arms. He gathers me up in his arms. We hug and he squeezes the air out of me.

He looks at me tenderly.

We kiss.

It is a union of two people drawn together by lust.

There is this feeling of déjá  vu. I am crossing over to the Dark Side.

In a half-hour, we will be in downtown Vancouver. We'll be at Tatooine, a trendy new club, dancing the night away.

This is my first date with Dave. I don't know how it will go. But I know we have some unfinished business to attend to.

I am certain that he adores me. His eyes tell me so. And I think the world of him.

But what about May? Doesn't she deserve better?

Well, it was her idea. She said I had to give the female side of my personality a chance to blossom.

Besides, I'm looking forward to going out with May next weekend. We still have to check out that lesbian dance club.

And who knows? There just might be a ménage a trois in our future.

Que sera sera.

The End

Author's notes:

How I Learned to Love Drag was inspired by the comedy troupe the Kids in the Hall. The comedy group consisted of Dave Foley, Kevin McDonald, Scott Thompson, Mark McKinney and Bruce McCulloch. There are many sketches on YouTube. Here's one:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcb_rx_V_cQ&feature=related

Coaches Corner features former Boston Bruin coach Don Cherry and host Ron MacLean.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEX4cNxCTp4

The interrogation scene from Basic Instinct starred Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6J1f1pxT2_E

Here is the fake orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally starring Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-bsf2x-aeE

Sex and the City starred Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Kristin Davis and Cynthia Nixon. This brief scene featured Kim Cattrall and a boy toy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jR1_jNEDqKI

Shakira's music video for Whenever, Wherever can be found at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weRHyjj34ZE