Over the years I’ve met them. At first, they were a surprise. I had no idea such men existed until the first night I went out to the Trans Bar in Studio City. “The Queen Mary.” It was a shimmering light in a dark world for me at the time. It seemed it had taken me a lifetime to find it. But behind its dark and unassuming door in an alley behind the straight club that fronted on Ventura Blvd., was a whole new world.
My first night there I was in awe. Women and men mixing just as they would in any bar except that most of these women were only women at night. A few would have to be full-time girls I thought. They were just too beautiful. Good-looking men fawned over them. Lavishing them with drinks and compliments. Their legs and arms, slender and smooth. Low-cut sequined dresses revealing real budding breasts. I dreamed of that reality. I was a novice in this world. My dress was nowhere near as beautiful or expensive. My wig, a little out of style. Cheap costume jewelry, not the real thing. I felt like a little girl playing in a woman’s league. The Country Mouse in the big city.
I had paid my five dollars to come into the club to the beautiful Trans woman at the door. She and her beautiful black friend welcomed me and pointed the way. She, all blonde and smiling with a beautiful figure and a knowing look. She gave me a wink and said, “have fun.” I felt like I was staring as I walked past exotic women who all looked to be much more polished than I felt. I hadn't known a place like this existed 3 weeks before. I hadn’t known there were even other people like me until a month before. All had been revealed through some diligent detective work that had started at a local porn shop. I found an ad for a clandestine group of cross-dressers in the back of one of the magazines. One woman in that group mentioned a place where Trans women could go out and mingle called, “The Queen Mary.”
“Enchante,” he said. “Um, what?” I answered turning quickly towards the voice. “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “I’m sorry?” I was dumbfounded. There was a well-dressed man in his early forties in front of me. He held his hand out and took mine and kissed it. “I’m Marcus,” he said. “And you are?” “Jennifer.” I answered, suddenly more aware of my male voice. “No, you’re no Jennifer.” he said. “May I call you Genevieve?” he asked. I stopped for a beat. I decided, why not? “Fine,” I replied. “Please, sit down Genivieve.” he said moving me towards a seat at the bar. “New here?” he asked. “Yes,” I answered with a shy grin. “This is a lot to take in.” I laughed nervously. “I understand,” he said reassuringly. “May I get you a drink?” What am I getting into? I wondered. Should I be accepting a drink from a MAN?? I had never imagined this possibility. I shifted in my seat suddenly aware of my short dress and my long smooth nylon encased legs and 4-inch stiletto heels. I could feel every inch of them as I crossed my legs. “Ok, yes.” I said. “A Cape Cod.” “Bruce?” Marcus said to the bartender. “ A Cape Cod for the lady and I’ll have my usual.” The barman began mixing our drinks. In a minute they appeared in front of us. That’s a first I thought. No man had ever offered to buy me a drink before. I might get to like his I mused. “To Genevieve.” Marcus said lifting his glass. “Genivieve,” I replied clinking my glass against his. He stared into my eyes as he took a sip. A playful grin appeared revealing a beautiful set of white teeth. “So Genivieve,” he began. “Tell me about how you find yourself here tonight.” He rested his warm hand on my thigh and I decided to let it stay.
