On Broadway

By Frances Vavra

Too hot for a suit but I wanted to wanted to look good for my first night out on the town in my male persona.

I knew if I didn't go when I finally had the courage, the car, spending money - and was in the right mood - I never would. I did a final comb through my theatrical mustache, knotted my tie, adjusted the anatomically correct dildo in my pants, put on a black fedora hat and hit the road

I miraculously found a parking spot on Columbus, only three blocks from Broadway, my destination. With one hand in my pocket, I started walking with a long relaxed stride from the upper leg (not the hip, as women do). I could finally look at women the way I had always wanted to, out of the corner of my eye, or directly, as a man. I started to smile, but remembered that men smile less than women, and I didn't want my mustache to pop off and have to do a makeover in

some dark alley.

Broadway was jumping with people as it often was on Saturday nights - Midwest tourists, business men and young couples going to clubs jammed together with local seedy characters, aging Bohemians and military men on leave. I stopped and listened to a barker pitch the show inside his club - "Only $5 cover! Live girls! Dancing! Come in and see it all!"

Determined to have my adventure, I stepped into the club, which was dark except for the stage. There were only two girls in the place, one nude dancer on stage (I had missed the strip), another in a black negligee sitting with a customer. The waitress immediately took my drink order, another $5. Then the woman in black joined me and asked me to buy her a drink. The stage dancer was crawling in front of my table; she was plain and lacked grace, and spread her legs in a "V" leaving nothing to the imagination. This was truly a clip joint, I thought. I excused myself, and returned to Broadway.

It was time for my real fantasy, to see the infamous "peep shows", where one can stand in a dark booth and watch beautiful dancers put on a show, keeping the window open with a flow of quarters. I walked down Broadway toward Kearny and the Lusty Lady.

At the intersection, two young men with Marine haircuts yelled "Hey, what's with the suit?" and "Nobody wears hats anymore.' I should have ignored them, but my adrenaline was pumping, and I shot back "Why not? It's Saturday night, time to dress up" and kept walking. Then one guy yelled loudly, "My God, it's a chick!" and gave a whistle. Not my role model, I thought, and hurried into the Lusty Lady. Changing two $5's into quarters, pockets bulging like Las Vegas, I stood in line with the men waiting for a booth.

Staring into space with the others, I couldn't help noticing all the low-lives, badly dressed losers and assorted perverts surrounding me in the dark hall, which smelled of Pine-sol, sweat and cheap cologne. What was I doing there? I hoped for a one-way booth, where the dancers couldn't see me. Sweat ran down my hat band as a corner booth opened up, and a man gestured for me to take it.

In two seconds, I left Hell and arrived in Heaven. The dancers were some of the most beautiful young women I had ever seen, and they all had lingerie on, to my relief. Stiletto heels, bright red lips, smiles and gorgeous figures. Several redheads (my favorites), blondes, and a few exotic brunettes undulated and teased the men watching them through tiny space-ship windows. The dancers instantly put me under their spell, and I didn't care if they could see me, in fact was glad they could.

One strikingly beautiful redhead approached and did an entire dance number in front of my window. An old wise soul in a young body, she looked deeply into my eyes and seemed to see all of me, the man, the woman and the fantasy. Then she brought another dancer over, and they put on a show together.

They embodied the essence of the Goddess in all of us, which that night I began to appreciate even more from the other side of the coin. Later l met the red haired lady, who had guessed I was a woman, not from my appearance, but from my hands and the way I gestured as l watched her dance.

She too had a fantasy to meet a woman dressed completely as a man, and we became friends. She inspired me to try more activities cross-dressed, and we passed one night as a "straight couple" allowed into a woman's dance club. Perhaps my reason for getting out of my fantasy closet and into the world of real adventures is the same as some of my brave sisters -the Goddess made me do

Frances Vavra was Mr. ETVC 1994 and wrote this for the March April 1994 edition of the ETVC Channel. Vavra is very active in the FTM community and has held a series of leadership roles in ETVC.