During puberty, once in a while I just got a little hot about the idea of dressing up, so I would, trying on this and that from my mom’s lingerie drawer, putting on a little lipstick, stealing a cigarette, posing in the mirror.
The idea occurred just as generically as the idea of flipping through girlie mags, but I’m certain that the Rocky Horror Picture Show twisted me beyond repair.
The “She” from my pubescent fantasy gallery survived into adulthood, a bit timidly for a while there, but she never went away, and has ultimately thrived. For many, many years, Misty was reduced to slutwear, limited in her wardrobe by her limited, private existence in my life. She hadn’t even been given a name until five or six years ago. I found myself calling her Misty on an adult chat line, hastily named after a brand of 120’s cigarette marketed for women. Not a healthy choice, I realize, but Misty was always a femme fatale.
As my penchant to go out as a gal on the town developed, so too has Misty’s need for a “look”, and she definitely goes for Bohemian chic / hippie chick. That she is a freebird, free-lovin’ little flowerchild works well with her limited budget. It’s easy to find clothes this style which are inexpensive, light, forgiving to the body form, comfortable, most always fashionable, colorful and fun. Best of all, no corsets are needed.
Misty and me are essentially the same person - I’m not suffering from any psychotic breaks - but certainly Misty is a more sexual being by the very nature of her origins in me, and she’s definitely inclined to shameless flirting with men, which isn’t my thing. She’s much more appearance-oriented as well, since I wear whatever t-shirt is handy, brush my hair and head out-the-door. There’s a lot of effort in putting together Misty for public view, whether we’re talking about waxing or mani-pedi’s or squeezing into body forms, or doing my hair and putting on my makeup, trust me, there’s infinitely more fussing and fixing, preening and pruning. She may be a hippie chick, but she’s high maintenance.
In the past couple of years Misty has started to become a more social animal, she’s got Miss Vera’s Finishing School For Boys Who Want To Be Girls, she’s got her own set of t-girl friends and her own e-mail and her own closet (no skeletons, but plenty of boners). Misty is a performance artist, and when I was blessed as a performance artist she was thereby blessed as a performance artist also, in a secret ritual in Saugerties by the great performance artist Linda Montano herself, so what should I expect? She’s already rehearsing in the garage with her mates, Misty Madison and The Straight Men.
I’m not inclined to give out universal advice to other men, or to women, about unleashing their female character, or their male characters. It’s so individualized, so personal, and represents such a variety of motives and needs, it feels presumptuous of me, and maybe a bit endangering to some. I can only say that, for myself, I’m role-playing and loving it, so far, so good. I’m expressing myself as an artist in ways I never before envisioned, and this is a great thing.
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