Sunday morning. My writing workshop.
A playwright asks her neighbor to read a scene between a couple. She starts and then our teacher asks me to scoot over and read one part.
“Do you want me to be the man?” I ask.
“Yes,” says my partner.
And we’re off.
Our couple is coming home from a date and they’re getting naked for the first time. The woman readies herself in the bathroom. My character is slips into her bra and undies. The woman turns out the light, slides into bed, and gets a nasty shock.
“God made me this way,” says my character.
I haven’t acted in 15 years and I’m loving it. Hesitant at first, I start getting into it. I am the character. I’m Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I’m flaming but not in a gay way. I’m not judging the character. I am the character.
Just because I dress in women’s clothing does not mean I like to have sex with men. I don’t. I’m straight.
I love to perform. I love to be other people. I love to jump into their lives and to transform myself for others’ entertainment.
At the end of the scene, my partner, a professional actress, said to me, “Good read.”
I felt strong. Now, where’s my next part? Acting out on my blog and at parties isn’t enough. I need a bigger audience.
Yeah, I’m flamboyant, but God made me this way.
