The other night at the salsa social, I danced with a drag queen. I was the only guy who asked her to dance. She must a stood 6'3" in her stockings, and weighed north of 280 lbs. She wore very stylish, size 13 dance heels, and had her hair and nails did. Her makeup looked perfect. I must confess I found the juxtaposition of the little, v-necked, figure hugging dress and the curly black chest hair disconcerting. I took her big hand, and led her onto the dance floor.
About half way through the dance, I thought to myself: "Jeez, I hope she likes what I'm doing, because if she doesn't, she can punch my lights out."
After the dance, she gave me a smile and a BIG hug, so I guess I danced ok.
When I returned to my table, an incredulous Edwardo questioned me: "Did you just dance with that fag?" I nodded yes.
"Edwardo", I told him, "I used to give a fuck about what people think, but I don't anymore. And besides, she's not a fag, she's a drag queen."
