Once Upon A Time...
Madeira
The blonde is stretched on his bed, examining the contains of an old scrap book. He's not sure whether to smile or not at the memories it evokes. They're bitter sweet, certainly, but he treasures them, reminding him of a time when he'd thought someone had loved him unconditionally. The volume is bound in pink, trimmed with ribbon and rosettes, a silver glitter tiara decorated the front cover, with the word "Marlene" in purple glitter underneath.
Inside are blue ribbons, pink ribbons, red ribbons, ribbons of every hue, but mostly blue, pressed rose petals, ticket stubs, hundreds and perhaps thousands of bits and pieces of memorabilia from important events, but mostly there are photos, photos of a young woman with long wavy blonde hair. Sometimes she's wearing a tiara and a sash, sometimes she's in a formal gown, sometimes she's in a swim suit, sometimes she's singing and strumming an acoustic guitar, sometimes she's dressed for a holiday, or an outing, or in some other costume, but she's always lovely, and always smiling.
He smiles, the images are familiar, the book releases a soft whiff of perfume and hairspray into the air, and he remembers. He thinks of that time, so long ago now, and remembers it fondly, a faint echo of the warm glow of that era bringing warmth to his skin.
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Marlene, she lived with her doting mother the queen, and they were very happy. They had not always been happy, her mother had not always been so affectionate and the princess had not always been a princess, but it didn't matter. They had enough food, and enough money, all because of the princess's famed beauty. They travelled far and wide entering the princess in competitions with other princesses, but Marlene always won. Besides being beautiful, she was graceful, poised, charming, and accomplished. She wasn't interested in fame, it was her mother she cared for.
All princess Marlene wished for was her mother's pride, and through her competitions it was won, but time passed, and things changed. Princess Marlene's voice deepened, her features sharpened, she grew tall, and her shoulders grew broad, she was still beautiful, but her mother lost interest in her the moment she was no longer fit for the beauty pageants, and the princess grew bitter.
Fourteen years prior:
The blonde examined herself in the mirror, her skin was airbrushed with a perfect faux-glow, her hair piled on her head with soft tendrils framing her face, her nails manicured, her lips glossy, soft eye shadow accenting her bright blue eyes, mascara, blush. She wore a strapless pink gown, its full floor length skirt made of layers and layers of shimmering organza in varying shades of pink. She smiles to herself, adjusting the elaborate faux-diamond necklace at her throat, and giving herself a little curtsey.
It was her first pageant and her stomach tied itself in knots despite the months of training, but she would make her moder (mother) proud. The girl straightened her back, pushing up the inserts in her bra that gave the illusion of proper breasts. She smiled, high heels clickity clacking as she walked towards the wings, waiting for the music to swell, her cue to step out on stage. She'd won a trophy there, money to keep the lights on, and a gift certificate to a boutique but mostly she had won the look in her mother's eyes. She had never seen that look directed at her before, it was pride, it was pleasure at seeing her and she beamed.
That was what created her, fixed her in place. The guitarist remembers, remembers how it started, it had been innocent curiosity, trying on one of his mother's old gowns. Someone had told him he ought to have been a girl, and he was... just testing the theory. He'd never tried one on before, and if it hadn't been for his mother's arrival, he probably wouldn't have done it again, but she had arrived home, and he'd been cowering, expecting blows, or at least a long berating. She'd seemed about to deliver one, when she paused, something changing, as if she'd had an idea.
"Turn around," was all she'd said, and his young self, still terrified of the maternal authority she presented, did. She smiled, and he, although puzzled, basked in her approval for the first time in his life.
That had began it, he'd agreed, as he'd always agreed, in the hope that she might find it in herself to love him. He'd not gotten quite old enough to stop hoping yet, and then, then for the first time she had shown him a sign of fondness. He'd gone through the training, learnt every one of her tricks He'd waxed his legs, plucked his brows, and let her experiment with hairstyles ranging from sleek up dos, to masses of romantic curls. He'd learnt to play old folk ballads on acoustic guitar and sing in a sweet alto voice that had left the judges in tears, and it had worked. He, or was it she, because she was a creation, a character he put on, had won. Marlene won pageant after pageant, innumerable tiaras collecting in his metal poster-ed teenage boy's room.
Sure, the activities were not his first choice, shopping, manicurist's appointments, singing lessons, and dance classes, but she spent time with him, talked to him, acted like a mother (albeit the mother of a teenage girl rather than a teenage boy) for the first time in his life. After years of being ignored, it was impossible to say no, and the money made things so much easier. There were no money worries when he could bring home thousands in prize money each week.
But, of course, he'd gotten older, and with time he was less and less convincing as a girl. His shoulders broadened, his voice deepened so he could no longer sing in that sweet alto tone, his jaw hardened, and although he remained lean muscles grew. By the time he was seventeen there was no chance of passing, and although he was already a virtuoso on the guitar, the light of pride in his mother's eyes had gone out.
Now he sits, flipping through the scrap book, remembering each costume, each pageant, each photo shoot, remembering his mother's encouragement and aid. Before the pageants he didn't hate her, having resigned himself to being ignored, it was the after that had changed things. She'd betrayed him, shown him love and snatched it away, and that was why he hated her.
He sighs, pushes his hair behind an ear. He still has every sash, every tiara, every outfit though. He still has the scrap books she'd made, the video tapes. Perhaps that betrayal is what drives him, the fear that failure means losing everyone who cares about him. Perhaps the betrayal is why he finds love, especially love proclaimed now that he's famous, so suspect. Perhaps that betrayal is what prevents him from telling Toki how he feels, or perhaps he knows that if he let anyone in, especially if he let Toki in, he'd have to tell them the story, and to tell the story would to be vulnerable in the way he'd promised himself he'd never be again.
Sometimes he wonders why his mother doesn't give the story to the press, there's no proof, but considering the power of his name there are plenty of news venues that'd take her word for it. She could make quite a bit of money off it. In his heart he knows why she keeps it to herself, not out of love for him, but out of love for Marlene, out of the desire to keep her pride in the daughter that never existed alive. He hates her for that too, though he doesn't even admit knowing her reasoning to himself. It makes it worse, because then it's not even about success, he didn't fail her then, or at least he didn't fail her in any way he could help. She'd wanted a daughter to live through, and he couldn't play that part forever.
Part of him though, separate from the parts that hate his mother and miss his mother, separate from the part of him that's horrified by how utterly not brutal it is to wear crinolines, is really pretty proud of it. It's not pride in passing for a woman exactly, it's more pride in having competed and conquered, without even meeting the requirements to enter. It felt a bit like winning the olympic swimming competition without getting into the pool simply because he showed up, what the criteria were didn't matter after his appearance because he was just that cool. Of course, the judges had thought he was a girl, but that didn't particularly matter to his mind.
He's a vain creature even if he doesn't admit it, it's not that he wants to be a woman, god knows that's the last thing he wants, but he enjoys reminding himself he's breathtakingly gorgeous either way. He's a stunning man, and he looks just as stunning in a dress. It pleases him to know that while other men might look silly in a corset and high heels, it just gives him a strange gender bending allure. He's good with makeup too, and sometimes when he's alone, or with a groupie who will keep their mouth shut, he'll pretty himself up simply because it suits his ego. He likes it better with a groupie, the gaping awe when he first appears, resplendent in his peacock's trappings, and the inevitable enthusiastic response please him. As much as he enjoys the image of himself in the mirror, part of him is simply built for an audience, exhibitionism ingrained in his nature.
Despite it all, despite how it might seem, the entire thing doesn't trouble him much, it's just one more failure of his mother's, and his nature is not prone to angst or quiet introspection.
Perhaps it's the pageants that left him addicted to being desired, regardless of whether it's true or not, he does it constantly. He's never off, not even with his band mates, especially not with a certain rhythm guitarist.
He smiles slightly, putting the album away. He's fairly drunk, he usually is when he pulls out the albums, but tonight's different, there's an idea forming in the back of his mind, a wicked little idea that could get him into a lot of trouble.
He's been with Charles and Nate before, not to mention Pickles, all were good lays. He's well aware that if people knew his that part of his history, and his preferences, people would try to connect the two. He doesn't, bisexuality came before dresses, but that doesn't matter, he doesn't think in terms of bi or gay or whatever, his sexuality, ravenous and feral, simply is. He knows Toki wants him, but something prevents him. He's never dressed up for any of the other men, part of him knowing that the wrong move would change the rough brutal "just between us dudes" sex into something well... gay, but tonight, tonight might be the sort of night it'd work.
He knew well enough he wasn't the brightest bulb, but he was quite knowledgeable about certain things, one of which, of course, was desire.
