Drag

I’m in girl drag.

My body’s built for it—curved for the lift of a demi cup and the grip of a skirt’s waistline. It settles into girl clothes without complaint, though I register the oddity by separating myself from the image in the mirror.

“I’d do her.” My voice is the same—confident, rough.

Laughter rolls around the room and I vamp for my friends. We sell sex toys and I’ve dressed for the night in the harness try-on room. My jeans and t-shirt are folded atop my boots.

The group checking me out includes some hard butches, good and bad bois, and studs among the glitter boys and glamour girls. Others present themselves in my usual fashion: simple clothing, gender relegated to a shrug, stylishly andro hair that isn’t commenting on the girl/boy question. Not that we won’t analyze it for hours on the sales floor.

I look myself over again. I’m wrapped in a stretchy skirt that hugs my waist and makes it look tiny. My tits look big and round in a square-necked top. Turning to the side, my ass sticks out a mile. I shake my head. So weird.

“What are you going to do with that package?” Tim checks the dapper fall of the button-down over his binder and retouches his tidy hair.

I grin. “I’m going to find someone to unwrap it.”

Another coworker hollers. “Sam is getting laid tonight.” I pump a fist in the air and get another round of laughter.

Ninane, covered in glitter, strolls over with her lipstick. “The finishing touch.”

I make a face, but it’s the only part of my drag outfit that’s lacking. She drops her mouth open and I mimic the motion so she can spread deep maroon over my lips. My lips slide on one another and the strange sensation tightens something in my throat. “Girl stuff is weird.”

Ninane kisses me—too soft to muss the fresh lipstick. “May you bag the best.”

“Or the beast…” We link arms. Two girls going to a drag king show.