Bad tranny

[A short true story.  Photos are available if I get more than 15 comments]

It’s 1am - and I’m walking along a main road dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.  A long red wig hides my short hair; over the knee stockings my hairy legs.  I purposely didn’t shave for the last ten days; so tonight; before I left home: I did, giving myself a 70s style moustache.  There’s no getting away from it – I look like a really good bad transvestite.

     I originally wanted to go to tonight’s fancy dress party as a zombie – a nazi zombie - to be precise, but my best mate had already bought a brilliant werewolf outfit and someone needed to be LRRH – so here I am.  It’s been a great night.  Everyone of the forty people dressed up - except for one person.  Good company and music; just enough alcohol to get us merry.

     A car slows down as it passes on the other side of the road, heading the opposite way to me.  I don’t look towards it, I just keep walking.  At no stage did I ever think I might be in danger, being dressed up like this, but my internal alarm bells are ringing.  A klaxon goes off in my head: some people won’t think this is a joke.

     ‘You f**king gay c**t,’ screams a voice from the car.

      I keep walking, but wonder how this might turn out.  Should I run, or maybe face up to them?  Should I stop and cheekily ask: ‘Are you talking to moi?’ 

     ‘Oi you f**king queer ba****d.’  I want to point out that even though I’m dressed as a woman – it doesn’t actually mean I’m ‘f***ing gay’, but I decide its best if I say nothing; unsure of whether this is the greatest moment to educate an inbred on the details of sexual orientation.  To be honest, I feel a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

     Somewhere inside, I want some dirty little chav to get out of the car and start on me.  I want the chance to surprise him with my fists and boots, so that he thinks twice about ever picking on someone again. ‘You dirty f***ing gay,’ screams the voice again as the car wheel spins up the road.  For the first time I look over my shoulder; checking that they have gone, and I’m relieved to see the red tail lights disappear into the distance. 

    

     That could have turned out so differently.  For instance: It would have been funny if they had tooted their car horn and then shouted ‘Whoa-hey’ out of the window on their way past.  I would have laughed at that.  Or I suppose the other alternative would have seen me lying in a pool of blood; having had the s**t kicked out of me.

    It’s odd that a grown man dressed as Little Red Ridding Hood with a 70s porn moustache, should find ‘them’ weird, but maybe its ‘them’ that are uncomfortable with their sexuality?