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Drag Kings Unleashed the Screaming Groupie in me!
A true confession
This article appeared in a zine I made for Pride Week 2002, called Bi Dyke.
I am a mature woman. I've been to concerts and remained emotionally detached. I've met celebrities, even those whose pictures I used to cut out of Teen Beat, and been blasé and unimpressed. It would be the drag kings that were my undoing.
One evening friends from BIWOT suggested we go see the Drag King performance at Pope Joan. I was prepared to have a lousy time. I expected it would be a lot of women taking themselves very seriously, all the while dressed like Elvis. I was so wrong.
Within moments I was hooked. By the end of the evening I was smitten. The object of my crush was Flare. Not only did this sexy king bear a striking resemblance to an unattainable dyke co-worker, but the performance was fabulous! It was funny and sexy and exciting. I found myself squealing and squirming, elbowing women for a spot closer to the stage, and rushing forward to slip Drag King dollars into various articles of king clothing.
Being a mature woman, I assumed that I had simply been carried away by the performance. It was a "heat of the moment" (or of the stage lights) sort of thing. I was an activist. I'd given interviews to television and newspaper reporters. I'd hob-nobbed with wealthy corporate suits. I had a major degree from a real university. I wasn't about to be reduced to a squealing puddle of adolescence on any sort of regular basis. It would be different once the glare of the stage light died down. After all, these kings were just regular folks, right? They put their pants on one leg at a time and sat down to pee just like the rest of us.
My maturity would be put to the test sooner than I thought. One night, after a Dyke March meeting, a group of us were at Zelda's (the old Zelda's for those of you who remember it) having drinks. Suddenly there's someone talking to one of the women in our circle. I craned around to see who the newcomer was. It was Flare. I became a starstruck idiot. I know I stared. Then I tried not to stare, which was even worse. I tried to think of clever, mature things to say. Nothing came to mind. I was reduced to thinking at a neanderthal level. "Me...like...show. King ...sexy." I think Flare said something to me, like "Hi." That's when I lost it. My nerve, that is. There would be no witty speech from me. I think I managed to nod my head.
Then I realized that Flare was not alone. There was a girl with Flare. A very friendly girl. Perhaps even a Girlfriend. My fantasy was crushed. I would not be sweeping Flare off to my bedroom. Flare had a life that didn't revolve around my fantasies. It was hard to move on, but I did it. Next time I'll tell you about meeting Deb Pierce.
