“I want you to get all dressed up for me tonight. You know, in feminine clothes,” I said. “And I want us to go out, like in public.” I kissed him.
He looked nervous and excited.
“I’ve never done that,” he said.
“I know. I think it’s time,” I said.
“I actually do have a dress in the truck. It’s nothing amazing—I actually bought it at a maternity store. I said it was for my pregnant wife,” he laughed.
“I’ll look through everything you have and we can put it all together,” I said.
I could see him tremble.
“In that case—I should really shave my beard,” he said. He shut the water off and walked over to the porcelain bathroom sink, taking a small scissors and a razor out of his personal toiletry bag. He snipped away his lumberjack beard until it was as short as it could possibly be. I lathered his face in some of this fine truck stop’s complimentary shaving cream, and with his high-end disposable razors (the ones that had a sea foam green moisturizing strip on them) he shaved his face, revealing the velvety soft skin underneath his beard. I touched his face, now smooth as a river stone.
“I don’t know how long we have before your five-o’clock shadow starts creeping in, so we better take advantage of this.” He quivered, and I pulled him into my embrace. “I got you—everything will be okay.”
We went back to the truck. Billy pulled out all the little fragments of femininity that he had. A half-empty bottle of foundation his ex-girlfriend threw in the trash when she got a sun-tan and her complexion changed. He pulled out a white ramekin that looked like it was used for a side of salad dressing at Applebee’s, but it was filled with some kind of red, sticky goo that was apparently a lipstick that he made from scratch from a mix of bottles of lotion he had from motels, food coloring, and honey. It went on surprisingly smoothly and I put some on myself as well. He had some loose shimmer powder he created from a mix of spices, his panties and stockings from Dreamz, and various accessories he picked up at truck stops over the years. The dress went down to his knees, and the garter peeked through when he walked. It was subtle and incredibly classy with this vintage burlesque feel. The final touch was a wig that he had ordered online and picked up at a mail center somewhere during his travels. It was still in the packaging and had never been opened. It was long, wavy, and a shade of brown that perfectly matched his natural hair color. We took it out of the box, pinned it to his hair, snipped it, styled it, and we were ready to go. In the DIY crafty mood, I took one of his black V-neck shirts, pinned it in the back, and put a silk scarf thing that lived in the bottom of my purse around my waist and matched it with my Converse sneakers. I kind of looked like a modern version Punky Brewster, and he looked like a modern version of Aubrey Hepburn, and together we were ready to conquer the night and run to our destiny, with heels on. Or, ankle boots with short wedges, to be exact.
“So, where should we go?” I asked.
“There’s a bar not too far from here that makes some great cocktails. Or, I heard there’s a country fair in town; we could go ride some rides,” Billy replied.
Both options sounded good, but which was the better ace to debut Billy’s new look: a bar or a fair?
30
Billy and I waited in line to buy our entrance tickets to the fair. The air smelled like corn dogs and hay. The ground was moist from the storm the night before. Last time I was here was when I was in the eighth grade with my friend Charlotte. I wasn’t very cool in school, and she was my equally uncool friend, and we clung together for the sake of not being alone. We awkwardly ate funnel cake while the more socially adept teens who never gave us the time of day smoked cigarettes, drank vodka, and made out with each other underneath the bleachers. Twelve years later, I am still just as much of an outsider in this town, but I have proudly upgraded from a co-pilot with a back brace and acne to a beautiful man in a dress.
“Should I still call you Billy?” I asked.
“It’s Bonnie,” she said, as she kissed me and held my hand. I could feel her trembling, but she walked with confidence and poise.
“Shit. Now there’s lipstick on your cheek!” She wiped it off my face. “That’s a new thing I’ll have to look out for,” Bonnie said.
“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel!” I said. I felt like having a destination would ease her nerves, and we could be alone in our own little rotating pod while still technically being out in public. We walked from one side of the park to the other. A few people did double-takes when looking at us, and some mothers made their children look away from us, like we were a walking, breathing R-rated movie that they weren’t supposed to watch. I rolled my eyes, and considered flipping them off, but managed to stop myself. Whatever.
We stopped at a stand to get some junk food. Our afternoon microwaved burrito was organic after all, we deserved to let loose.
“I’ll get one small cotton candy,” I said to a man with very large and very few teeth, long hair, and pin-striped overalls. He nodded and began circulating the paper cone around the caramelized sugar, and a magical poof of edible, hot-pink cotton began to form.
“Anything for you ma’am?” he looked at Bonnie and said.
She paused. “No, thank you,” she replied.
We walked away and there were tears in her eyes. “He called me ma’am! Did you hear that?”
“Yes! I did!” We skipped and cheered and got high off sugar. We felt victorious. The carnie with four teeth and an obvious, unpleasant stench had more manners than some of the people in the park. While I didn’t fully understand how Bonnie felt, I could see the thrill in her eyes and her happiness was contagious.
“Let’s go in here!” I said as we passed a House of Mirrors. Bonnie barely got the chance to look at herself as a woman, so I thought it would be exciting to see herself in hundreds of different mirrors, from multiple angles, in multiple heights and weights.
“Sure!” she said.
There was no line and we walked straight inside. The room was dark, and the music was creepy. Every few steps a high-pitched voice laughed maniacally from a hidden speaker in the wall. In the first group of mirrors, our heads were incredibly large and stretched out like chewed bubble gum, and then further down the hallway we got progressively shorter and fatter. We laughed at ourselves. Even though the result of going in these types of places is extremely predictable, it doesn’t stop the joke from being funny. No matter how un-politically correct it sounds, seeing yourself as some kind of disfigured midget, is funny—and somehow oddly romantic for a date.
Bonnie slyly looked around the room, and then swiftly pulled my top down and exposed my breasts. It wasn’t entirely difficult to do since I was wearing one of her T-shirts that was way too big on me, and I didn’t have on a bra.
“Bonnie!” I giggled, and attempted to pull the shirt back up and she pulled it back down, further this time. The pre-recorded laughter got louder and louder, the organ polka music got more and more distorted, and I remained shirtless in a room full of mirrors. Something about the smell of hot dogs and the slow, distorted music alleviated all stress out of the evening and we were able to just relax and goof around and have fun.
“Let’s see how many different sizes your boobs can be,” Bonnie said. It was like the license plate game I used to play on long car rides, but with tits.