"And without any further ado, I'd like to present this years Ms. Paradise, Ms. Felina Danielle Jones!" The voice on the intercom boomed loudly as applause echoed through the small, but eloquently decorated room. People stood from their chairs and cheered as though the Olympics had just been won. Some took pictures, the flash bulbs giving everyone black dots in their vision for a good thirty seconds.
The so-called 'Ms. Paradise' took dainty steps forward as a sash was draped around her and a crown was placed lightly on her head. She smiled and waved politely at the crowd she couldn't see through the spotlights. A bouquet of red roses was placed into her hands while a man in Speedo-style black panties ushered her down the catwalk. She waved at them gracefully as though she had been winning for years, though she knew this was the first time she had won.
I had loved women's clothes since I was a kid. I would always go into my mother's closet, steal a scarf of green or azure, and waltz around the house as I'd seen on the TV. I'd do this when my parents were not home, I don't think they could've handled a son dressing as a girl. Now that I look back at it, I'm not sure they would've even noticed.
I waltzed in these scarves for nearly four years while adding everything from my sister's hair scrunchies, to my mom's stiletto strappies that I was great at falling out of. My blonde hair would be pulled straight down, or sometimes I even put this goop-like stuff in it that made it curl into nice little ringlets. I thought I was the sexiest thing since those Victoria's Secret models.
Eventually, after four years of avoiding the stuff, I started in on the make-up at 14. And trust me, the first time I ever put the stuff on I looked like a clown. I had this extravagant blue eye shadow on up to my eyebrows. Black eyeliner was at least half an inch thick under, and to the side of, my eye. And rouge? God, I put so much of that on that I looked like I'd spent a day on the beach. Let's not even talk about the purple lipstick I'd smeared on. And when I say smeared, I literally mean smeared.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure how I got all that junk off my face. I remember using a scrub pad and cold cream, but that's about it.
The only pretty part of my whole entire ensemble was the ringlets my chin-length hair had produced. My golden locks twirled nicely since I'd tricked my mom into still buying the stuff saying that "it made her hair look really nice" when in reality, she put so much in that it looked white when it dried.
Didn't I tell you it was a scary experience?
Now, don't look so surprised. A lot of males have this "problem", even the toughest. Seriously, I was big and bad at school and when my friends were around, but when I was alone, I couldn't help but do what I do. Actually, the only person that knew of my little extra-curricular activity was Zack. Hell, he even asked to watch and see what I looked like when I was a woman. I remember that day too well.
Freddy walked up to his front door with a mellow Zack following closely behind him. Solemnly, the blonde looked Zack up and down. "Are you sure you want to see this?" he asked shakily, giving a little half-hearted laugh.
"Dude… of course I am. If I'm to keep this hidden, I've to know what you look like dolled up." Zack smiled over at Freddy and gently placed his hand on his best friend's shoulder, a sort of comforting gesture that greatly helped the drummer.
--
Zack stifled a giggle as Freddy came prancing out of the room. His blonde ringlets bobbed up and down as he moved. The make-up on his face wasn't as clownish as the first time he'd applied it, but it still looked like he belonged in the circus.
"You are just about the ugliest girl I've ever seen, bro."
A disheartened Freddy sat on the edge of his bed, peering at Zack meekly. "I… I know. I'm still learning." He stood once again to go stand by his mirror, facing the face that had been morphed into something completely unbelievable.
Zack sighed and walked over to the drummer, his taller frame shadowing that of Freddy's. He peered at the smaller boy's face through the mirror and suddenly smiled. "All right, this may sound crazy, but I've got a few make-up tips for you." He grabbed his friend's hand and drug him into the bathroom in which the make-up he owned was hidden.
Pulling out the rouge and biggest brush he could find, he looked at the blonde. "I used to watch my mom put on make-up when I was a kid. I thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world until I met Katie. Anyway, dab the brush in the blush and blow out the excess," the guitarist faced the mirror and sighed, "Now, squeeze in your cheeks like a fish and put it just above your cheek bone. Lightly. Not like you are. Now then, take a piece of tissue or something and smear it around that area… this is to get the excess off." The drummer watched mesmerized as the guitarist made himself up, moving across all the topics and demonstrating on himself until he looked at Freddy and asked for some cold cream.
Those tips are still with me, and it took a long time to learn not to put blush on from the corners of my lips to my eyebrows. It was hard… but with Zack's support and, for lack of a better term, his training, I learned concepts that were vital.
Like I've said before, being a woman is something that always grasped me whole. I loved putting on make-up and well, feeling pretty. Not handsome or manly, but pretty. The word that was reserved for woman and woman only was something I longed to be called. I expressed this to Zack about a year later I "came out" to him, hoping against all hope that he'd understand my incline to this word. I had never wanted anything more at that point than to be called pretty.
Zack listened to me intently as he sipped his coffee thoughtfully. He nodded where he was intended to nod and smiled when it was needed. "Well," he started, "You're not pretty right now, Freddy. I mean, dressed a chick. But I've got a way to make you more pretty." He stood up and dropped a few dollars on the table, "C'mon."
Wigs. Hundreds of wigs lined the walls and tables of this place. More colors than possible seemed to be in these wigs. Some were so bright that they gave you sunspots if you stared at them too long. Others were just plain ordinary, the kinds of hairstyles and colors you'd see on the sales clerk in WalMart.
Freddy blinked a few times and glanced at Zack, who was talking with the clerk and motioning towards the blonde. Freddy gasped and hurried over to Zack, hoping to god his friend hadn't let on about the secret.
"…a style that would be good for him, ya' know? This is school spirit week and he's gotta' look convincing as a chick. How else are we supposed to win as best drag couple?" Zack gave his winning smile at the clerk, apparently named Lynn, and followed her over to a line of long, blonde wigs.
"Well, we should probably stick with his natural hair color. And with the shape of his face, razor-cut bangs would probably work best…" The clerk was rambling on as she searched the wigs until she finally came across one that was perfect to her description. "Here we are…"
She motioned to Freddy to sit in a chair in front of the mirror. Standing behind him, she positioned the wig on his head and tugged in his own hair under it. Smiling she stood to the side and nodded approvingly. Zack moved towards his friend and bent down to his ear level. "Perfect…" he smiled and he handed his credit card over to the cashier.
That was my first wig. Zack was right; it did make me look better as a woman. I felt beautiful when I put that wig on and plastered foundation on my shaving area, covering all trace of my five o'clock shadow I had developed when we were about sixteen or seventeen, just about the time we had purchased that wig.
I remember the next thing we bought was a bra, cup size B, because Zack said he didn't like women with too large of breasts. He got these balloons and filled them with enough pudding to fill the cup and give me a little cleavage. He saw it on a movie, or something like that. It was an amusing site to see me with my breasts, hair, and face on in my everyday grunge clothes.
We took my measurements right before my eighteenth birthday. We were curious to see if I had hips or anything like that. What we found was that I didn't have any hips and practically no fat on me. I was "as lean as those Victoria's Secret models" Zack told me.
That was possibly the best comment I had received, coupled with my eighteenth birthday.
"And a one, and a two, and a one, two, three, four! Happy Birthday to you… Happy birthday to you…" The whole entire band sang 'Happy Birthday' to Freddy only accompanied by a guitar, bass, and portable keyboard. He smiled and crossed his legs daintily. Tapping his fingernails against the table to the rhythm, he watched Zack's every move. The brunette told Freddy that he had a special gift for him, and it would have to wait until after the party.
Clapping as the group finished, he tore into his presents with the same kind of anticipation and glee as a five year old at Christmas. He pulled out many new shirts, a few pairs of drumsticks and heads for the tom-toms, a bass drum cover reading "Bite Me Hard Baby", two wallets, an aftershave set, cologne, and a few knick-knacks. Smiling and hugging everyone at least twice, he thanked them over and over again.
--
Freddy and Zack stared at each other before the brunette smiled and picked up his gift from below the table. He glanced down at it, then back up at Freddy who was biting at the bit to get the large, square box tied with a blue bow. Sheepishly, he handed it over to Freddy.
"I hope you like it," he said just barely above an audible level.
Freddy untied the bow carefully and took off the lid. Pushing apart the tissue paper, he peered inside. Curiously, he pulled out the contents gracefully until he could see exactly what it was. He gasped and his eyes watered, for what he was holding in his hands could be considered the nicest dress he had ever seen. A simple, black cocktail dress cut down to knee length with a simple scared bodice.
Freddy stifled the urge to hug his best friend, but said in a husky voice, "Thank you."
Zack laughed lightly and kicked the ground a little bit, "C'mon, Frelina…" he said nervously, "I'm gonna' take you to dinner."
'Frelina' was the name that Zack had given me. I remember his reasoning for the weird name was that it was different, pretty, and I could keep my monogrammed towels without explaining to everyone why I had 'FJ' written on my towels in scratchy letters. They were, in all honesty, from my School of Rock days.
It was the nicest dinner anyone had ever taken me on. Sure, I'd taken plenty of girls to dinner before deciding I wasn't all that attracted to girls, especially when I was a better dresser than them. But being the one taken to dinner was great. I loved it, and Zack had gone all out on it.
The best part of the night was when he said, "You're really, very pretty." Finally, I'd reached that point where I'd earned that word. That one word that had meant the word to me. He hadn't said I was gorgeous, beautiful, or anything like that. He said I was pretty.
That wasn't the first date Zack and I ever went on. We went on several and eventually moved in together. We're still living together very, ahem, closely. And… honestly, I think I'm in love with the guy. It may sound a little weird, in fact… it sounds very weird. But I think that's okay with me, now.
Even though I've outed myself to everyone that was in School of Rock, I don't think any one of them would understand everything that's happened to me better than Zack does. And I don't think anyone will ever have to.
I flipped my hair over my shoulder and walked off the steps of the catwalk as gracefully as I could with all the sunspots in my eyes. Seriously, there should be a limit to how many pictures can be taken at a time and how many can be taken period. I walked across the carpet, shaking hands politely with the people that chose to congratulate me. I thanked them and smiled shyly as I excused myself.
Zack walked up to me and smiled warmly, handing over a bouquet of chrysanthemums with a card reading congratulations. He looked at the card and gave me a toothy grin as he spoke with all the giddy-ness of a kid who just got his kid sibling in trouble. "And on the backside of the card, it says 'you''ve always been Ms. Paradise in my book, babe. Wink, wink.'" He stuck out his tongue at me, "Clever, aren't I?"
"Oh, very." I replied sarcastically as he pulled me into a hug. I was overcome by the scent of his cologne mixed with Dial soap as I leaned into his shoulder.
"You know…" he spoke softly into my ear, his hot breath lingering, "You're so much prettier than those Victoria's Secret Models and besides, how many of them can say they won a Ms. Paradise pageant?"
I smiled knowingly. None of them could.
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A/N: So, hi! How'd you like the story? I know… kind of fluffy at the end. Review, please, and make me happy! xD