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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

What boys are made of

On Saturday night I took my drag king persona for his first proper public outing. I often dress in a "mannish" fashion, I suppose, but this was the full monty: strapped down breasts, strap on cock and an attitude to match.

The change is an important part of the process - I love dress up anyway, and I love the process of becoming something or someone else as well as the finished result. Hair was parted on the side and slicked down, face makeup was negligible - the sort of finish a male stage performer might use, though I did use liner to enhance and thicken my eyebrows. I decided against fake facial hair, because I wanted to keep a certain androgyny for that "is he isn't he?" feeling I find attractive. My shape wasn't going to make a strapping bully-boy, but a fey dapper young man was certainly something to go for. Tightly wound bandages kept my breasts down - that was a little painful at first but I got used to it and enjoyed the held in feeling, nothing was jiggling or exposed, everything was hidden and kept neat and tight. Then the strap-on and dildo, bought from the lovely ladies at Sh! after much discussion and trying on. The dildo was a jelly, so kind of suitable for packing, as long as I didn't mind having a somewhat obvious hard-on. I decided I didn't.

Over this went white Y fronts and a vest, which instantly hid my female body and revealed a male one, my shoulders and arms seemed more on show without the chest and curve of waist to the hip to distract the eye. It also changed how I was holding myself - partly getting used to the bulge under my legs, but I stood wider and more face-on. Then a white shirt, pinstripe trousers and matching waistcoat. Accessories were important, small but subtle. A gold signet ring that had belonged to my Grandfather, a hip flask full of brandy to offer cheeky sips to cheeky girls (and boys - my fella was bi, of course).

Once I had everything in place I felt masculine, in the same way that makeup and girly dresses make me feel feminine. I did, however, still feel like "me", and very much so, this wasn't a made-up character or an alter-ego so much as parts of me played up and other parts pushed down.
I'm interested in what parts of how I dressed affected how I felt, and whether this was because of the clothes I had on, the minor changes I'd made to my physicality or if it was the role I had adopted. The role was a strong, confident male - a 1940s gangster, so that came with its own package of behaviours and attitudes. I also had the delectable Hedwig on my arm, dolled up to the nines as a classic moll.

Here I felt sexualised, and sexually attractive, probably because it was making me think about my body and my sexuality. I also felt strong and I lifted my head high, accepting compliments and funny looks alike with a wry smile. I do get that whenever I dress up - there's a confidence in making a statement through clothing, especially when the outfit is designed to draw attention, but there was something else going on. This persona was confident, in and of itself. I'm not sure whether this is because I thought myself masculine and link masculinity with confidence or whether it was more to do with the gangster attitude - other male personas I've experimented with have included hesitant teenage boy, for example, which was much "weaker" in feel than this one.

At the party, we played to the crowd. We were definitely "in role" and had invented a number of scenarios to go with our costume and behaviours. I smirked a lot, hands in pockets, leaning against walls. A bunch of flowers for the hostess. Arm around ladies, getting them to dance or giggle in a flustered fashion. Sneaky grabs at Dandy, who was my henchman - and secret "gay" lover - for the evening, and a full-on lover's tiff with Hedwig who was "paranoid" at my womanising (manising?) antics. We'd discussed this on the train, but not planned when or how it was to happen. When she slapped me in the face my reaction was instant - a cold shock ran through me and I grabbed her with no hesitation. We tussled briefly, then I pushed her to the floor, messing my hands over her face and demanding she apologised for embarrassing me in front of my friends.

For the lady's perspective - have a look here.

A boy, certainly. A pretty boy, definitely. A nice boy? No. But certainly a boy to play with again.

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