Yet Another Haloween

My boyfriend then was John, a tall, lean superbly muscled beauty who outstripped most other guys in every way you can measure a man. He was a dancer, and ended up with the Martha Graham Company after an unhappy stint with the Lido in Paris. He hated Paris; we both hated his being away, so when he called one night in a miserable mood, I begged him to come home, and he did. I was beyond thrilled. His best friend was Cholsu, his partner in partying, disco, you know--sisters. They were incredible at dolling themselves up in drag. It was Halloween in Greenwich Village; I was hard at work at the restaurant, packed to the rafters with celebrants and miserably short of waiters, all of whom decided this was their national holiday and pulled a dissappearing act. And John shows up in full drag. I mean, everything. You had to look more than twice to know there was a guy underneath all that femininity. I had a physical reaction, I began to hyperventilate. I mean, there was my MAN, looking like the sexiest female--it was too much for me. I remember his cupping my chin in his hands, and kissing me, “Michael, I’m still me, your John, and always will be”. That helped—a little.