Love lifted my skirt

BTL Staff
By | 2006-06-29T09:00:00-04:00 June 29th, 2006|Opinions|

“DEAR DIARY: Well, after my nagging wife, my dodo sister-in-law, and Pastor Verner Blitzkrieg subjected me to an intervention last month, I finally got up nerve to attend my first Cross Dressers Anonymous for Jesus meeting.
“There were twelve of us sitting in a circle like so many shy turtledoves, all cooing, all aflutter — some looking quite stunning. Others, like myself, just stunned looking. (DD: It’s really sucks to be born wallflower plain with plump ankles. Pardon the pun — giggle, giggle — we all have our cross dress to bear.)
“I didn’t recognize a darn soul, ‘tho one guy looked a little like officer O’Leary. Too many bouffant wigs, K-Mart Thrifty Days discount see-through frocks, rhinestone sunglasses! And those Jesus in the Garden fans flapping to get a breeze going — coyly keeping IDs a secret — which is OK by me: I’m no makeup pro. (Plus, my fishnet hose had a run. An earring got caught in my beaded clutch bag. My eyeliner ran blue rivers. My acid reflux fluxed and my stomach tooted.)
“You’d think by now DD that lipstick puckering would be a piece of cake. It tain’t, even tho I’ve spent years of my life puckering. (I got started at six.) Maybe it’s the fruity taste. Or my crazy fear of leaving unladylike traces on coffee cups. (Just the other day I got booted outta Java Hut.) I just can’t muster energy to puck pertly or provocatively anymore.
“But I wasn’t the drabbest tranny, DD. No way. (Fortunately I don’t have to worry about 5 o’clock shadow like ‘Rita Belle’ who sat winking coyly at me — wisely spending some of my precinct retirement money for electrolysis. And, thank God for underarm Nair for Men.)
“I am sorry, tho, that I wore a half slip under my plaid pleated skirt — the church basement was stiflingly hot. I got jock itch at the most inappropriate moments during ‘share your dress-up sins’ time. (My peekaboo, 38-triple D Cup provided no ventilation.)
“Oh, Dear Diary: why in God’s name am I here? I kept asking myself. What I do in the privacy of my Novi bungalow after a shopping spree, or in front of my full-length, two-car garage mirror — with flattering Skandia overhead track lighting –C is nobody’s damn business. But, truth is truth. The Good Book says crossdressing’s a sin (and any puckering that goes with it).
“I know Heaven wants me to change and get right with my creator who just hates, hates, HATES tacky drags, among other things. (Modestly placed fig leafs for gardening’s OK.)
” . . . Hi! my name is Dolly D——. I’m a recovering cross dresser for Jesus. I pledge each week that I’m here recovering to donate one wardrobe item — novelty panties excluded — to a missionary charity of choice until I’ve got nothing fem left in my closet. I pledge to donate to Phyllis Shafley’s Concerned Women of America any money I might foolishly spend to buy cocktail dresses or stilettos that make me look pretty, sinful, or, horrors! seducible . . .
“PS DD: I’m serious about undressing for Jesus! I know it’s wicked for big-time burly me — giggle, giggle — to wear women’s frilly things. No, it’s not nice to fool Mama Mia Nature!
“But just between us ‘girls,’ DD, if I can’t be plain, cosmeticly zero grounded, totally straight-appearing, aromatically and biblically hirsute by the end of this year, well, I’ll sign up for DISROBERS: Reparative Therapy Boot Camp and Lockup for Drags.
“Crisscross my Playboy bra. Hope to die.”

About the Author:

BTL Staff
Between The Lines has been publishing LGBTQ-related content in Southeast Michigan since the early '90s. This year marks the publication's 25th anniversary.