Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica:
From: thebard@char.vnet.net (The Bard)
Subject: Transvestite Blues
Date: 4 Feb 1994 17:41:48 -0500

[Moderator's note: parts of this story have appeared before here in
draft form; I am approving this because it is substantially longer and
different from those previous submissions. -T. ]

			  Transvestite Blues
				  by
			     Gary Landers

	There is a cafe on West Street called "The Gilded Gate". It
only a few blocks away from the Greenwich Hotel going in the direction
of the docks. It is an unusual place even for New York City. It is,
perhaps, one of the most renown transvestite bars in the City; a place
where all the long-limbed, extravagant-looking women with wild hair
and pealing voices one sees are actually men in drag. They do not eat
bagels and drink coffee but imbibe brightly colored liquids from tall
glasses while smoking long thin cigarettes; they do not read
newspapers and work crossword puzzles but instead gab and laugh and
keep ever the ready eye and racy word for the men passing by.

	"Hi, handsome!"

	"Sexy bastard!"

	"C'mon here and have a drink with me!"

	"Don't be afraid, honey - I don't bite... unless that's what
you like, you freak mothafucker... "

	And so it goes. And they talk about everything but really only
a few things for there are only a few things that are important to
them. Yet from time to time certain topics are discussed endlessly.
Usually, it is a story of a great success or great undoing. In 1990
the story most talked about was the wedding of Crystal Bartholomew.
Everyone had their own version of it, most, however, agreed the whole
fiasco started the morning Crystal Bartholomew bumped into Julio
Castro on her way from the grocery...

	It was a cool September morning only a few degrees too chilly
for the hip-hugging short pants and skimpy halter she wore but Crystal
still looked a girl of summer. Her hair was long and golden and wafted
behind her; her legs, white and unblemished; her walk, easy and
alluring. The rush was incredible. Her juices flowed. Not one person
had clocked her and half a dozen men had choked in her wake. It was
Indescribable, really, to be woman - to walk down West Street blond
and beautiful and woman. Anything could happen on such a day.

	In his Greenwich Hotel room not far away, Julio Castro had
made up his mind. After several days of sleeping and gorging his belly
it occurred to him that it was time to do something more with himself.
The vast city of Manhattan lay beyond the hotel and as yet he had only
been to the super market and back, a trip of no more than a block or
two. Now, more rested and better fed than he had been in many years,
it was not his belly, but his mind that hungered for nourishment. Yes,
he was ready to walk through the City... It was time to become an
American. Although he did not know a word of English this didn't
overly concern him. There would be time to learn the language as well
as many other things. It was a beautiful September day; on such a day
anything could happen. He left his hotel room and began walking in the
direction of West Street.

	"Oh!"

	"Lo siento, senorita... muy siento... "

	The idiot had knocked her right down. A Puerto Rican or
something - where had he come from?!

	"Lo siento, mucho - " Julio Castro repeated mortified at the
sight of the beautiful blond girl sprawled on the sidewalk before him.

	"Oh, Gawd! Crystal yelled looking up at him. "And he doesn't
even speak English!"

	"Lo siento... "

	Julio bent down to help. It had, of course, been his fault. If
he hadn't been so busy looking up at the sky-scrapers... Now the large
paper-bag she had been carrying was busted, its contents in disarray
all around her long golden legs. There would be no way she could get
all the groceries it had contained back to wherever she was going by
herself, no way at all.

	"Oh, my gawd... get the beef, there in the gutter, you,"
Crystal ordered pointing to the package in the street.

	"Como?"

	"La beefsteak," she repeated in Spanish. "Aca, en la calle."

	Julio stopped.

	"Hablas Espanol?" he asked in wonderment.

	"You mean there's somebody left in Manhattan who doesn't?"

	He laughed although not quite understanding her answer. She
was like the girl on the television, he thought. The one they called
Madonna. He retrieved the beefsteak from the gutter. She was now back
on her feet bending to collect the other things. Her legs were so long
and slender, so truly beautiful, like the rich women in old Havana.

	"What is you name?" she asked in Spanish.

	"Julio Castro."

	"Well, Julio, you're gonna have to help me back to my
apartment with this mess. I'll pay you, don't worry, Chico."

	Quickly (as one does in New York City) Crystal had checked him
out. Here was one fresh off the boat, there could be little doubt.
Not too dangerous yet. His haircut, the cheap clothes, his exaggerated
politeness told the story, and, of course, he spoke not a word of
English. (But, no, not `right off the boat' - now they're dropping
them from the sky... !)

	Soon they were there, on Christopher Street, in front of her
apartment building. She looked him over once more then urged him up
the stairs. There was something about him; something starry-eyed and
innocent that made her think it had been a long time since he had been
let out of somewhere.

	And indeed, it had. Julio Castro was a Cuban refugee newly
released from El Combinado, the notorious Cuban prison. But it wasn't
El Combinado that was on his mind as he entered the apartment behind
Crystal...

	 ... Deep sofas and plush pillows everywhere. A wall of
vegetation leaning from wide pots and dangling from smaller ones hung
at the ceiling. Glass and gold, and burnished mahogany. An
entertainment center with more devices than he could name...

	Crystal had caught the expression on his face and was sure he
was already in love with her. She led him to the kitchen and took the
foodstuffs from him then directed him back to the living room.

	"Wanna beer?" she asked.

	"Yes, thank you, very much," said he.

	He watched her wiggle from the room; and Crystal knew he was
watching because she knew her wiggle was impossible not to watch.

	"All I could find was a Bud - will that do?" she said, now
standing in front of him the beer in one hand a coaster in the other.

	"Yes, ma'am," he replied standing up and reaching for the
bottle.

	Crystal gave him the bottle. Such a polite one, she thought.
She put the coaster on the mahogany coffee table in front of him.

	"Relax, I like you; you're kinda sexy," she said to him really
meaning it.

	The Cuban's face swelled with consternation. He took a quick,
mindless chug of the beer. He wanted to smile but couldn't. Her words
had snapped his composure. Suddenly he remembered what one of the
older men had said on the boat coming over:

	"American women are different from Cuban women, my brothers.
They stay out of the sun for fear of burning their sensitive skins,
and they all use special cosmetics and eat special foods so their
blond hair won't fall out... And... (and here the man stopped and
looked to make sure no sailors were near)... they all have a special
weakness for Latin men. This is a fact. It is in their blood, my
sons."

	And Crystal was suddenly flustered too. She had wanted to say
something to make him relax and something else had sprung from her
lips. Fearing her smile was now a leer and that she might already be
showing, she turned and left quickly for the bathroom. It was already
thick and hard the tape at her crotch. She would have to masturbate
quickly if she was to avoid the pain.

				* * *

	Born male, Chris Bartholomew had suffered much in his quest to
become a woman. His four older brothers had taunted and beat him for
his differentness from early childhood. It had been horrible. Always,
no matter how he tried, their taunts and cruelties would follow him
constantly. But in the middle of the school term a kid from New York
City came to Ludlum High. The word went out he was "gay". Other kids
at Ludlum were called "faggot", or "homo", but never "gay". Chris
watched the kid from a distance. His clothes and mannerisms were far
more radical than anything the other kids wore or affected. One day,
he wore a woman's scarf around his neck. Chris was certain the
teachers would make him take it off, or worse, the students would
ridicule him. Neither happened. No one appeared to notice although
Chris knew everyone had. The kid had flaunted his homosexuality and
gotten away with it. The kid was someone Chris needed to know.

	"How long have you been gay, Chris?" the kid asked.

	Chris hesitated. It was such a unnerving question to answer in
the school cafeteria with so many thousands of ears everywhere.

	"I don't know."

	"When'd you first come out of the closet?"

	"'Out of the closet'?"

	"Yeah - the first time you ever did it with another boy?"

	"Two years ago."

	"Did you like it?"

	"It was wrong."

	"But did you like it?"

	"I hate to say `yes' because I know it was wrong."

	"Ok, it was wrong - now, did you like it?"

	Chris thought back to the evening in the schoolyard when he
and the tall, brown Italian boy had continued playing handball well
into the darkness. Things had happened Chris wished not to remember.
Then the boy had cursed him and warned him if he ever told anyone he'd
kill him. Sure, Chris knew why he wished not to remember it, and this
had nothing to do with the boy's threat.

	"Yes, my body liked it, I guess."

	"Of course you did, you're woman, it's only natural."

	"I'm woman... ?"

	"Sure, you're like me - born male, but really a woman. There's
a lot of girls like us in New York City. Everybody's coming out the
closet in New York. That's mainly because the Latin and black guys are
so cool. They treat girls like real women. They don't have any hang-
ups - take a girl home to meet their folks and everything. My first
was a Puerto Rican, they're so hot, really... "

	The kid showed Chris the rudimentary secrets of becoming a
woman. Chris caught on. Watching old movies helped. At fifteen he
could mimic every gesture Grace Kelly makes in the movie, "Man with
the Golden Arm." By sixteen he could out-smoke Bette Davis, out-wiggle
Marilyn Monroe and do a flaky Cher routine even his mother would laugh
at. God had been good to him, after all. The slender unmuscled body
his brothers hated had grown into a perfect size eight; his smooth,
delicate face, a transvestites' dream. And who, man or woman, didn't
envy his insane blond hair that grew so thick and long, lovers
complained of finding strands of it in their clothing, car, bed, weeks
after having slept with him.

	"You've got to get to New York, Chris. You don't belong in a
place like Ludlum. No real woman does."

	It had been a fantastic week, one in which they had done the
town as gloriously as any two lovers had ever done New York. A romance
had blossomed between Crystal and the Cuban, and now they had been
necking for what seemed hours. And now, for the umpteenth time,
Crystal was denying him.

	"That's enough, Julio, let's not get carried away," she said
leaning away from him.

	"Crystal, why do you do deny me," the Cuban asked, his voice
hot and whispery.

	(Why... ? Because her crotch was searing with pain. Why... ?
Because the heavy tape that kept her penis and balls in check felt
like a tourniquet turned wound by wound. Why... ? Because she knew
this pain would continue even after he was gone and she finally ripped
the diabolical thing off. This was madness... This could not
continue... )

	"I am no good for you, Julio," she said her arms still
outstretched to keep him back.

	"I love you, Crystal, I want to marry you."

	"No, don't say those words!" she yelled suddenly feeling anger
through her pain.

	"You love my hair, and my face, and the way I walk; you said
it yourself, last week! - I look like Madonna! That's what you love!
But not me. You could never love the real me enough to marry me!"

	He was stunned by her outburst, confused...

	"I do not understand, my love. Of course, I love your hair and
the rest, but is that not you, too?"

	She walked him to the door and let him kiss her long and wet.
When he opened her shirt and began to kiss her breasts she did not
prevent this either. The pain at her crotch was unbearable, but she
did not protest or try to rush him. She remembered someone once
telling her, that always a real woman knows how to suffer pain for the
love of her man.

	Finally he stopped on his own accord too breathless to bare
her denial any longer.

	"I repeat, I want to marry you, my love."

	"I know, but please leave, now."

	"You will be my wife, I know this."

	"Please, Julio, a girl needs time to think... "

	"Until tomorrow, my beautiful blond wife to be."

	"Whatever you say, Julio, but please go now."

	From the hotel room Maria Sanchez shared with her mother and
step- father, saw him as he started down West Street in the direction
of the hotel.

	"Ah, there he is, and coming from the blond whore's building
again," Maria Sanchez said turning from the window.

	"Popi... !

	"Yes," her stepfather answered from the bedroom.

				* * *

	"Downstairs, now. He is coming! Hurry before the stupid boy
sneaks upstairs to his room and falls asleep."

	Agripito Tomas did not entirely understand his stepdaughter's
concern over who Julio Castro dated. Although they had all come over
on the same boat, it seemed she had not even been aware of him until
seeing him with the blond woman. Still, Agripito had no reservations
about acting on her behalf. His step-daughter was psychic, a fact
evidenced by the cull on her forehead. In addition, and of more
concern, the day she first saw the blond woman with Julio her
prediction had been direct and troubling:

	"That woman is very bad for him, Popi," she had said icily.
"She is a whore and a witch."

	"A `witch'? he had asked puzzled. "And what do you mean by
that, Maria?"

	Maria Sanchez looked away from her step-father for this
question was one that puzzled her too. "I'm not sure myself," she
finally said with deep solemnity, "but there is something; something
about this blond person that shouldn't be."

	Crystal wasn't taking any more customers. The shampoo, rinse,
and tint she had given Mrs. Katz was going to be the last for the
week. For the first time in over a year her regulars would have to
rescheduled. Crystal was in love. She needed time to sort things out,
to be reflective and seek advice. She was in the back office of "City
Beauty Parlor" looking out of the one-way mirror onto the floor. Ten
women sat in ten chairs with ten hairstylists in attendance. The new
kid from the beauty school was at Crystal's chair giving a perm. She
was a smart kid, she'd do all right. Crystal turned and walked to the
large mirror on the wall and looked at herself... Pretty, blond, under
twenty-five, nice tits, slender, great tawny legs... blond ambition,
what else could a man want? - A vagina... No! Any little tramp had
that! I've got more... so much more to give him... !

	She frowned, went to the desk, got her handbag, removed a tube
of lip-stick, then returned to the mirror and applied a fresh coat to
her lips. Don't you understand... ? Don't you know that this is what
you've wanted and suffered for since the beginning... ?

				* * *

	All the blows, sneers, insults, and now here right out of the
sky, the love of a man, and you, the one who proclaims to the world
your womanhood, now, you of all people are accept him... What a sham
you are... Nothing more than a female impersonator... A drag queen...
You don't deserve the love of a man, you sniveling faggot. You don't
deserve anybody!

	Crystal stepped from the mirror, reached for her bag, then
took the rear door to the alley. From here she walked to the subway
and caught the train to the Staten Island Ferry. After arriving in
Staten Island she walked a few blocks to a badly painted row house on
a impoverished looking street. Dorian Corey, a black, fifty year old
drag queen known as "The Countess" greeted her at the door.

	"Hi, girlfriend, my, don't you look hot today!" the Countess
said.

	"You gotta be kidding - I feel like a $6 hooker after the
Seventh Fleet - "

	"Hush, girl," the larger transvestite said, pulling Crystal
in, "and stop talking like that `fore you raise the dead."

	They went to the kitchen. The Countess sat two steaming bowls
of black-eyed peas and ham hocks on the table. He opened the oven and
cut two hunks of cornbread from the pan warming inside.

	"He asked me to marry him," Crystal offered in a voice made to
sound offhand.

	The Countess grunted, swallowed a mouthful of ham hock, then
said, "That's a positive sign, baby; it means you're working him
good."

	"Maybe a little too good," Crystal said.

	"Humph," The Countess snorted, and then, "Wanna another ham
hock, baby?"

	Without waiting for Crystal to answer, he refilled her bowl.

	"Let me tell ya something I thought I schooled you children to
a long time ago," he said pausing to suck the morrow from one of the
ham hock bones.

				* * *

	"You can never work a a freak `too good' and don't you ever
forget that. You're a woman, baby, and that's your job - to work a
freak - "

	"But he isn't a freak -

	"They're all freaks, and don't interrupt me, chile, while I'm
interrupting you or I'll put your little white ass over my knee and
see if I can whip some sense into your head from that end."

	Crystal laughed and feigned a swipe at The Countess.

	"Don't... I'll knock you out and put you in my trunk!"

	It was clear that The Countess was more than some middle-aged
black man with a receding hairline and formidable pot-belly to
Crystal. Dorian Corey was Crystal's "mother," a once international
beauty and one of New York's most legendary transvestite success
stories. The Countess had done it all: three marriages, The Jewel Box
Revue, La Cage Aux Folles, magazine spreads, movie roles, the works.
His first success had come twenty years earlier in Italy where for
years he appeared on stage and in the clubs as a woman. Back then his
beauty had been completely feminine: Tall, willowy and very black, he
once spent an entire week on the French Riviera dressed in little more
than a bikini. It was there that he picked up his first husband,
Alphonse Ludendorff, an Italian Count loaded with lira.

	"Men don't want females anymore, Crystal," the Countess
continued wiping his hands on his jeans. "Believe it `cause it's the
truth. The game is over. No more free rides just because a girl is
born a fish. Girl like you got what a female got plus something she
ain't got, and that's what the new world tomorrow is gonna be all
about - transvestites, transsexuals, gays, fuck boys, and drag queens;
that's what the average freak really wants, bottom-line. Ru-Paul for
days, honey. Thank the Lord you weren't born a female. Alphonse didn't
find out about me until we'd been married two years, and by that time
I didn't care anymore... You know those tricks I taught you, Crystal.
Freak will never know if you use `em right. I mean, four and five
times a day, honey - shit, that was even too much for an old slut like
me... And let me tell you what else about that freak, baby girl...
After I told him my little secret - he got worse! I mean, I was going
on stage bow-legged because the freak couldn't get enough!"

	Pausing again, the Countess belched, shook his balding head,
then continued:

	"But those were the days. Shit, I wonder where that wild man
is now. I haven't had that kind of lovin' in a long time. And girl,
let me tell you something, if you don't marry that freak as soon as
you can, you're the sucker, honey. Shit, I wish I had my ex here to
hip you to the fact. I was the nicest thing that ever happened to that
freak, he'd tell you that himself, you hear, what I'm telling you,
white girl?"

	Crystal looked at The Countess and smiled. If his ex-husband
could see what a fat, balding, greasy ham hock eating truck driver
he'd turned into he'd gag... Transvestitism is for the young, that
much was painfully clear.

	"Marry them freaks while you can, Crystal, `cause tomorrow you
turn back into a big, snoring, hairy ass man, baby."

	By the time Crystal left her mind was made up. Yes, she would
marry Julio, and soon - tomorrow night if possible. Life so far had
been hard and mean and if this was going to be her opportunity to
finally add some happiness to it - no matter how short - she meant to
take it. And not just take it, but fight like a banshee to hold on to
him, too. At least then, when she got to be as old and grotesque as
The Countess, she'd have maybe one tenth his memories.

	"I'm telling you, Crystal, you gotta, work `em - work their
hot, freakish little assess while you can... "

	It took Crystal a full week to look into all the matters that
needed looking into; then she called the hotel and left a message for
him to come by. It seemed he was at her door no sooner had she put the
phone down.

	"Dios Mio, that was quick, Julio," she said happy and excited
at the sight of him.

	"I sit in my room all day and wait for you," he said open and
sincerely. And Crystal knew he was telling the truth. How long would
such honesty last, she wondered. "Long enough," a lewd voice deep in
her mind answered.

				* * *

	"I've made some steak sandwiches," she said, pointing him into
the kitchen. "You get the beer and let's go up on the roof; we have to
talk."

	On the roof the most improbable things seemed possible.
Perhaps it was the view: As far as one could see Manhattan sprawled
and steamed. What was it - eight million people, now? All dwarfed by
brick, concrete, and steel. Up on the roof it was cool and quiet. When
you spoke you did so above the soulless babble of the eight million
below. A man could imagine himself a bird, a king, or, as in Crystal's
case, even a woman.

	They placed the sandwiches on the ledge and began eating. She
was wearing a bright yellow sun dress sans underwear. The dress fit
well. Her nipples were at the fabric dark and pointy. She was
shoeless, proud of her small feet. And she wore her hair to her
shoulders so that the wind would make it dance.

	She took a large bite of the steak sandwich, chewed, then
washed it down with a mouthful of cold beer.

	"Were you serious when you asked me to marry you," she said,
as she used her pinkie to dislodge a sliver of steak caught in her
teeth.

	His face went surprised and frightened.

	"Yes," he said, a quiver in his voice. "If you will have me."

	She frowned. "What is it? Change your mind, already?"

	"No... a little nervous, but I haven't changed my mind."

	"Nervous about what... ?

	He hesitated, then said, "Nervous that `you' will change your
mind and break my heart."

	This answer calmed her; she forged on:

	"I `hadn't' made it up yet, but what the hell - if you're
serious, I accept, but with a couple of conditions first... "

	"I'm serious... "

				* * *

	"All right, then here goes: we gotta have the wedding quickly
- this week-end if possible. I've looked into certain things. The
Gilded Gate - that's the cafe down the street - well, we can get it
Saturday. Now don't worry about money or anything. I can handle all
of that kinda shit."

	"Yes, my love, but - "

	"It'll have to be a small wedding, if you still wanna go
through with it - a few of my friends, a few of yours - Is there
anyone you need to invite?"

	Julio thought of Maria Sanchez and her family. They her people
he knew in New York. They had come over together on the boat. Yes, he
would want them to be there.

	"Yes, there is a family... a Cuban family that came over with
me - "

	"Good, but let's keep it small Julio, if you don't mind. Maybe
years from now when we're both doing better financially we can do it
over again and have it at Shea Stadium, ok?"

	"Shea Stadium... ?"

	"Yes, that's - forget it. Now come give me a kiss. I just told
you I was gonna let you marry me, stupido."

	And Julio put his arms around her lean body. She met his mouth
open and wet. They sucked the tongues, lips, and teeth of each other;
lapped each other's saliva like hungry kittens, and held on as their
manhood grew hard and searching. She did not pull and squeeze him as
much as she could have, to do so would have revealed too much
strength. She worked with her mouth instead, sucking, tonguing and
slashing.

	"Ow!" he gasped.

	"Oh, my darling, did I hurt you?"

	"No, it is all right, my love... do it again if you wish."

	"No, Julio, I would never want to hurt you even a little."

	"And I thou."

				* * *

	She stepped back and looked into his eyes as if searching for
a sign.

	"Now," she said taking him by the hand, "let's go inside and
make sure it's not just sex you're after."

	There was a girl in Crystal's building, a fair-skinned Puerto
Rican named Ida. The girl was a dresser - a full-fledge fashion horse
who even wore matching outfits when putting out the trash.

	"Delancey street, Christy, that's where I'm taking you!" Ida
said, her eyes lighting with excitement.

	"Delancey street?"

	"Yes, for sure, you'll see," she said grabbing Crystal under
the arm and walking her in the direction of her apartment."All my
girlfriends get their wedding things from there. Come inside for a
moment, honey, and we can talk," she continued. "You picked the right
person, girlfriend. I know all the right places and all the Jewish
guys love the fuck out of my Puerto Rican ass."

	Crystal dressed casual the next morning: a scoop-necked T-
shirt, sharkskin shorts, matching espadrilles and a large straw
basket. She had fixed her hair in a cute page-boy cut with a pink
hairband to keep it in place. She looked very preppy.

	"Crystal, honey," Ida bleated with excitement. "You look so
cool, I mean it."

	They hugged.

	Once on Delancey street, Ida charted out their course:

	"First, we get the ladies' unmentionables for the honeymoon,"
she said, looking down the long street excitedly, "then we work our
way up to the wedding dress - OK?"

	In the first shop they stopped in, Ida loudly announced to one
and all that Crystal was getting married and needed something "hot"
for the honeymoon. Breaking in a knowing grin the salesman went to the
back returning with a slender pink box with French writing on it.
Still grinning as he opened it, he removed from it one of the
naughtiest nighties Crystal had ever seen.

				* * *

	"That's you, Christy!" Ida squealed. "If you don't buy it I'll
buy it for you... that's really you, hon, I swear to God."

	As much as Crystal like it, it was really out of the question.
The thing was practically crotchless. There'd be no why she could wear
it without parts of her hanging from it like udders.

	The merchant was perplexed: "It'll look beautiful on you,
honey. C'mon, a guy is supposed to get a little excited on his
honeymoon."

	(Sure, excited, but not grossed-out... )

	"And it's really you, hon - can't you just see yourself in
it!" bleated Ida.

	(Yes, and that's the problem... )

	Crystal concluded she had no choice but to buy the strip of
fabric. Ida clearly had no intention of leaving the place unless she
did.

	"I'm glad you decided for yourself," Ida said as Crystal paid
the merchant. "This nightie is really you, Christy. Wait till he sees
you in it, hon, he won't believe his eyes."

	Soon they were laden down with armfuls of stuff. Crystal was
exhausted; Ida was a madwoman.

	"$325! The guy down the street is selling the same wedding
dress for $250!" Ida screamed at another salesman.

	"So go to the guy down the street!"

	"Drop dead, you crook!"

	"Ok, lady, now please leave before I call the cops."

	"Call `em, so I can tell `em about that little peep-hole you
got in the ladies dressing room.

	"That's not true!" the bearded man bellowed as if stuck with a
knife.

	"Ok, then call the cops - call `em! I'll wait here and show em
myself!"

				* * *

	"Here, take the dress for $275, but please, I don't want
anymore of your business," the beaded man said in defeat. "I got a bad
heart as is. Aggravation like this I don't need. So, here, you win,
already, I'm an old man. I can't take you people anymore."

	"Pay the man, Christy," Ida said sneering, "and let's get out
of this popsicle stand. Santa Claus is breaking my heart, already,
you-know- what-I-mean?"

	For helping her, Crystal bought Ida a pair of boots.

	"No, no, Christy, you don't have to do this," Ida protested,
her face a mixture of surprise and desire. "Please, hon, you really
don't have to do this, they cost too much."

	Crystal had the salesman throw in a pair of panty-hose despite
Ida's protests. Her help had been worth the 75 bucks and more. She had
helped Crystal get ready for the biggest day of her life; at least, as
ready as a well-dressed transvestite bride could be.

	"Oh, Christy, I know The Virgin Mary is blessing you because
you're so sweet. You'll see; your marriage is gonna last forever."

	Maria Sanchez and her stepfather were at the dinner table in
their hotel room.

	"Are you sure?" Marie asked.

	"There is a cafe down the street where all of the men dress as
women," Agripito answered. "I talked to some of the Puerto Ricans like
you suggested. They're absolutely certain she is one of them."

	Maria's mother, the silent Indian, came from the small kitchen
to hear Agripito's report.

	Agripito continued:

	"There are drugs these men take to grow breasts and round
their hips. Then there are love-making tricks they use so a man
doesn't find out until it is too late."

	"Dios Mio," the silent one gasped.

				* * *

	"I see," said Maria decisively. "I told you she was a witch,
did I not?"

	"I do not understand these Americans," Agripito said shaking
his head. "Men like this blond woman could never get away with such a
fraud in Cuba."

	"Nor will he get away with it here either, Popi, I promise
you. If the stupid boy wishes to marry an American woman that is one
thing - but not a faggot who dresses as a woman and plays tricks in
the bedroom; this I will not allow to happen. We must stop this
nonsense, and that will be the end of it."

	"Yes, of course you are right, Maria. We must at least do
that."

	"Dios Mio... "

				* * *

	Everything was on point...

	No big stink had been raised by the girls Crystal had `not'
invited to the ceremony. They understood. No need to take chances.
Later, at the reception, the doors would be open to everyone, fem-fems
and the bigger mannish ones alike. Of the latter, only The Countess
would attend the ceremony. There was no way of avoiding this nor did
Crystal want to. She owed her "play-mother" at least that much. The
three other girls would be Tasha, Tanya, and Blondie. No concern with
them. Like Crystal, they were 100% passable, or at least 100% with
their pants on. There would be no straight males other the pastor who
was not straight but gay. Then of course there would be Julio's
friends, the Cuban family, whoever they were. As to the ceremony
itself it would be in every other respect a typical small wedding
ceremony. The interior of the Gilded Gate was certainly large and
well-appointed enough. Suitable wedding music would be piped in by DJ
Jazzy Black, and Ida would be the maid-of-honor. Everything was on
point...

	On any given day the waiting rooms of the Chelsea Clinic draws
a good crowd: purple hair punks from Chelsea and Soho, gays from the
Village, Hispanics and blacks from +ined together to give of their
blood, all victims of love.

	"Let me see your papers again," Crystal said.

	Julio pulled the bright white papers from the manila envelope
and handed them to Crystal. Crystal's purpose for wanting to see his
papers had nothing to do with any real concern over them as much as
concern for her own papers. His, were United States Government issue,
properly notarized and sealed, and only recently issued to him in
Miami. Hers, were a bogus birth certificate purchased off an ad in the
National Inquirer for $30. With it she had been able to get a City
University student ID card and a legitimate Social Security card in
the name of "Crystal" Bartholomew. She had not had a problem using
them before, still...

	"Mr. Castro and Miss Bartholomew," the no-nonsense looking
woman at the desk called signaling them to the front.

	"Sorry for the delay," the woman said frowning, "but it seems
there was a telephone call to our office no one knows quite what to
make of... "

	Crystal was suddenly gripped with foreboding -

	"... So were gonna list it as a crank call and not hold you
two up any longer."

	Amazingly, the woman was now smiling. "Here's your license,
Mr. Castro, and here's a little gift from the City of New York to
you, Mrs. Castro," she said, handing Crystal a single read rose.

	Quietly, Julio's hand found Crystal's and held it tightly. He
didn't understand exactly what his fiance and the woman were talking
about but did not miss how the woman had called Crystal "Mrs. Castro."

	When they reached the streets, Crystal began sobbing.

	"What is wrong, my wife?" Julio asked, already standing before
her with his handkerchief at her eyes.

	"Noting, I guess I'm acting stupid," Crystal said.

	"Come, Mrs. Castro I will not have you acting like this;
people will think I am mean to you."

	"Yes, Julio, I'm sorry."

	And they walked down the busy street holding each other's hand
very tightly.

				* * *

	It was Saturday morning 9 am. Crystal was seated at the
kitchen table luxuriating in the European facial Ida. was giving her.

	"Oh, she did such a fab job on your hair, I really mean it,"
said Ida.

	"Thank you."

	"And you say she's just out of beauty school?

	"Uh-huh."

	The hairdo Crystal wore was a breezy shag cut, its overlapping
and uneven layers covered with a thin towel. Ida made sure to keep the
mud from the scarf and hair. After the facial, Ida used Neutrogena
soap to further cleanse Crystal's skin followed by an application of
Lancome moisturizer. And this was followed by eyeliner applied very
close to the lashes while making sure of keeping the application light
in the center and darker in the corners. Then after this, two coats of
mascara and the eyes were done. This done, Ida stepped back and
considered her work.

	"And now for your lips," she said, reaching into her kit
again. "I tell you, Christy, unless they ask, I never line lips or use
pink colors - too tacky, I hate pinks... I try to tell girls with your
complexion all the time - use earthy colors, you know, soft plum, soft
brown... really natural shades."

	By the time The Countess arrived, Crystal's face was done and
she was ready to get dressed. The Countess was floored by Ida's make-
up job.

	"Girl you look real!" The Countess said hanging his see-
through plastic gown bag on the door. Gone was the bald spot from The
Countess' head. Now he too wore a scarf and underneath a wig with
rollers as big as beer cans for his bouffant in progress.

	"You like it?" Ida asked beaming.

	"Honey, did you do her, girl?" The Countess asked.

	"Uh-huh," replied Ida.

	"Baby, I want you to do me just like that."

				* * *

	It wasn't till 11 am that there were all made-up, coiffured,
dressed, perfumed, finger-nailed, high-heeled, sun-glassed and ready
to go. Crystal rolled a joint, lit it, and passed it around.

	"Guess this will be my last joint as a free woman, huh?"

	"What? Having second thoughts already?" The Countess said
taking the joint from Crystal's hand.

	"Oh, Christy it won't be that bad," whined Ida. "A lot of
married women are more free than single girls, you-know-what-I- mean?"

	"Fuck it, girlfriends," Crystal said signaling The Countess to
ditch the roach, "let's quit the bullshit, and go get us a husband."

	And they went out in the sun, a curious-looking trio even for
Greenwich Village. And The Countess' get-up was without question the
most remarkable - her bouffant hairdo stood three feet high and was
now unfurled, teased, and lacquered to perfection. Contrasting this,
the dress he wore was a simple chemise affair, the better to not
divert attention from the artistry of the architecture atop his head.
And in his large Gucci handbag he held the bottle of Dom Perignon from
which he and the girls had been imbibing all morning. Each had a
plastic champagne glass in their hand which he kept filled while they
walked down West Street.

	"Man, wouldn't it be tacky if we got busted for drinking in
the streets like this?" Ida said.

	"Don't raise the dead, girl," The Countess said, reaching to
pour another round.

	Tasha, Tanya and Goldie were at the cafe waiting. The Countess
had come up with the fab idea of using the trio to set-up a display of
all the gifts that had begun pouring in for Crystal. The three girls
had outdone themselves. To the back of the large room on the stage
used for the drag shows the "loot" was displayed with a vengeance. And
loot it was, so dazzling to the eye that Crystal began to cry again.
This sent Ida into panic.

	"Christy, please, no, your eyes! Your eyes, Christy, honey,
you're gonna ruin them!"

				* * *

	"I know, Ida, but I can't help it. It's all so beautiful. Look
at it... So many gifts... So sweet... I never knew... so many of the
girls cared... "

	Meanwhile, The Countess was compiling an inventory of all the
gifts. When he finished he admonished everyone to especially keep an
eye on the crystal vases from Tiffany's (six received none returned!),
the formal china pattern - Limoges' Lafayette: dinner plates, etc.,
the silver salt and pepper shakers, and the Chinese Ming soup bowls
and plates especially.

	"Low-life won't know what most of this shit is, but will steal
any way cause it all looks so fab."

	Then in popped in the Rev. James "Jimmy" Penick, bald head,
white collar, black shirt and all. It was pretty obvious that he too
had been hitting the juice early. DJ Jazzy Black was in the booth
fiddling with the music selections Crystal and The Countess had
brought. Every so often he'd let snatches of "Here Comes the Bride"
mixed with The Hammer's "Can't Touch This," go out over the speakers.
He did it five times; it got a big laugh each time.

	The food for the reception was arrayed on tables to the rear.
The roasted chickens, bar-b-que beef spare-ribs, ham-hocks, mountains
of salad, cheeses, rices, casseroles, desserts and platter after
platter of little cheese balls rolled in nuts were already being
sampled by the girls as they drink.

	The good Rev. Jimmy called everyone to the front to take their
places. It appeared he was well-neigh lit and in the mood for an
audience.

	"So where's this fellow anyway," he said, scanning the small
group his eyes a-twinkle.

	"He's late, but he'll be here, don't worry," Ida volunteered.

	"Well, he better hurry or I'll marry this beautiful bride
myself," said Rev. Jimmy as he beamed at the now very quiet bride-to-
be. And then, "Come here, Crystal, let's take a good look at you, my
girl."

				* * *

	And Crystal came and stood beside him as the murmuring and
movement stopped and everyone at once seemed frozen with the same
thought. Perhaps it was the way the mid-day sun beamed a column of
light to the spot she and the reverend stood; maybe it was the aspect
of the reverend's boozy good cheer; certainly, the lovely white dress
and silken shawl contributed to the affect; but that the affect was
one of incredible sweetness and vulnerability was incandescently
clear. Whoever she was and wherever she had come from, everything in
her life would begin and end from this point onward. She held an
orange blossom corsage in her hand; the red rose in her hair. Her only
jewelry, a diamond necklace and diamonds at each ear. And she stood
there, soft and pliable, in the attractive way a well-bred girl stands
next to a distinguished older man - sweetly. Whatever hip speech
Reverend Jimmy meant to give was now forgotten for looking at her it
occurred to him that despite his much applauded expertness on
homosexual issues, he would never in a million years understand the
depth of Crystal's need to be a woman.

	"You, really want to do this, don't you?" the reverend said,
now fascinated by the wonder of it all.

	"It's the only I can get rid of him," Crystal whispered.

	"What'd she say?" someone wanted to know.

	"What'd you think she said?" the Countess answered.

				* * *

	By 1:00 pm they knew he wasn't coming. Empty bottles of Dom
Perignon were all over the place. DJ Jazzy Black had dropped the
wedding music and begun playing Milli Vanilli. The talk had already
shifted from matrimony to other things. Then the Rev. Jimmy quietly
slipped out the back door and the first of the mannish queens began
loudly arriving at the front door. And the forsaken bride was now
drinking Bloody Marys. And The Countess got drunk and fell out in the
Ladies Room with his back so wedged against the door, no one could get
in to move him. And by then Crystal had gone on stage and seated
herself in a throne-like chair with Ida next to her on a stool, fresh
bottles of vodka and V-8 tomato juice at the ready.

				* * *

	They sat together like this all night while the music blared
and the people came and gawked and partied; up there like two freaks
in a traveling circus; up there drinking Bloodies; up there in her
$275 wedding dress. And in the morning after everyone was gone, Ida
quietly left. And it was then that Crystal toppled. And had you seen
it, you'd have thought her descent was like that of a felled oak; that
it occurred in slow motion until crashing and sprawling she rolled out
onto what remained of the gifts and became still. Then all was silent
until her drum-like snores began echoing across the long, littered
room.

			       The End