The lights were dimmed so that only a hum of bronze lifted vision from the darkness of the room. Even still, the music blasted a bass beat that shoot the tables ever so slightly. Tonight's main attraction was about to walk out on the stage. The crowed silently, breathlessly awaiting the appearance of the cities, possibly the states best drag performer, anticipated a show. One that would dazzle and awe. Her stage name was Visage, and as usual, it for a drag queen, it wasn't pronounced as its usual annunciation it was Vis-oj. The exaggeration, just part of her presence. Finally, the curtains, open, one leg steps out in a eight inch stiletto stack heal. The feminine yet, muscular build noting the transsexualism of it all. An arm slithers past the precipice of the velveteen veil, and her hand, fans out, adorned in faux nails, an inch long from the bed of the fingernail. Black and gold were the signature colors of the night, and Visage did not disappoint. You see, she was going to be lypsyncing to "Colors of the Wind" sang by Vanessa Williams, but the look was wear it was at for any true queen. Aesthetic was everything. The shoe was black, but cloven at the front to represent the hoof of a faun, and as she brought herself forth toward the sight of all, she was queen of the forest, Faun Omega, as she liked to call the look. A black dress, slit at both sides, exposing her legs, golden wrist cuffs, and a golden neck brace, placed almost too tight. To top it off, custom made black glass dear horns sat upon her head. And as she moved her mouth to all the words, the crown followed with their eyes, throwing money, smacking ass, and drinking too much Absolut Berry Acai. Visage loved her people, she loved, the attention, and she loved the stage. It was a life lived among misfits and darkness, but it was her life all the same.
At the age of 16
The family unit was important. That is what was taught in school, shown on tv, and just known. Sort of like the innate abilities of breathing and eating at birth. We all know that is what we're supposed to grow up and be, a manly man, and a feminine woman. People who strayed from this truth were seen as social pariahs, not worth much for anything but paying taxes. It made me sick to think this though, seeing as how I knew I was different. But, let me begin by saying that I loved my family. I still love them. And for the most part, they loved me. As a young child, it was me and my brother, he was older, and I saw him as a champion. Able to do anything, he was an everyman. Impeccable grades, dashing good looks, and as sweet as the honey his skin was colored by. Everyone liked him, and he was the example I tried to aspire to be. And again, for the most part, I succeeded. I got mostly strait As in school, I was really hansom, my skin was a twinge darker but even still, I could have gotten any girl I wanted. My brother did, and that reputation was hard to escape. My father, and sometimes my mother would ask me, "When are you gonna bring home some girl like your brother"? It was a hard question to answer, because I never liked any of the girls at school, or around the neighborhood at all. I had friends, and I girls that asked me out, but none of their gestures translated to me reciprocating those feelings towards them. So, I would always just say, "I'm too busy for a relationship" It usually got me out of the conversation, and needless to say, I became sort of a master in dodging and changing topics of discussion.
Sports became a huge part of my life at that age, not basket ball, or football. The were too...well, sporty. The physicality of them were too much, as I saw myself as frail, and thin. I was, by definition, toned, with an athletic build. It was track that I fancied. I loved just running as fast as I could for as long as I could, and now I understand why. It was preparation. Ever since I could remember, my father, a stern retired Marines officer, would give me this look. Whenever I did something not up to snuff, he would stare me down, as if he literally had no respect for me. Enter, self esteem issues. This in turn, drove me to a idealistic, but unrealistic, desire to please and perfect every aspect of my life. So I trained and studied, and did that some more. But back to track...
It was a winter meet, but we were still doing the 200 meter outside. I had my lycra jumpsuit on, and I was feeling good. My family sat in the bleachers, cheering me on, my father all the while, yelling out "YOU BETTA WIN BOY" Because it made me feel wonderful. (That was sarcasm) However, I did win. In fact, I smoked the competition, and I believe I set a state record. But that was not the important thing. The significance of this day was, the second place winner. He was from the neighboring, rival school, and he was, a god. It wasn't even until that day that I could say inside my head that I was gay. Damn him and his gorgeousness. After, the metals were handed out, and scores were ranked for the books, we all went to the local pizza place, 12 in all. Both teams present, we rented a separate room, where we could finally relax. Seeing as how the season was about to be over, and our coaches, were already drunk, the rival team members just talked. Of course, I sat next to him. Gregory...something, I don't think I ever did know his last name, was a quiet guy. He had a low laugh that just did me in, showing all those white teeth was my downfall. We started talking, as he congratulated me on my win, and I began to stare at him. Catching myself, I thanked him and stared at my greasy pepperoni. I didn't know it at the time, but he was already "out" and I was about to have the biggest nut punch to my life that I had ever, and have ever since, endured. He grabbed my hand, and I jerked back, but he was strong and held on. His team mates, wooing saying "I can't believe he's doing it!!!" "You owe me 15 dollars b!tch" He pulled me in, and as much as I wanted to fight it, planted his lips right on mine. My eyes, widened and then slowly they closed. My team mates, gasped, shouting "I fu@$ing knew it. I knew he like the d@!k"
And just like a movie, my dad walked in. I instantly gained the strength of one hundred twinks and pushed him off of me. Without words, I tried to pant out my defense, and as I was drug out of that restaurant, I knew that I either I was going to get punched in the chest, or I was off to military school, to "straighten" out. The car ride home, my brother, an usual seat distance away, stayed silent, while my mother, questioned my father. "Maybe he was just playing around" It was weak, I know, but she didn't want to believe it. Daddy Dearest broke it down thought "It wasn't playing. It wasn't a joke. He was into it, enjoying it. And what kind of teenage boys play make out. Make some damn sense." She was quiet. I was quiet. Everything else from that night eventually turned into one loud ruckus blur. The only thing, I can remember however it wanting to not be me. Maybe I could be a clock, and turn back time.
The next morning, I stayed quiet. I didn't want to make any noise as to start an unwanted argument, that would eventually turn int how much of a bundle of sticks I was. Until, I looked in the mirror. My nose and my eyes, my face, everything had changed. I had a head fool of blonde locks, down to my newly acquired breasts, a C cup. And to boot, I was white. Can you imagine. In that moment, I cursed "WHAT THE F$*K" My brother came running in, wary that something was wrong. And it was. I was a girl now. "Dude. What did you do" He asked of me, and not being able to give him an answer scared the sh!t out of me. "Dude, I don't know, I don't even know. It's me...Like, I don't know. WTF man...This is freaking stupid. Of all the damn days..." Enter my mother and father, both amazed at the transformation thier gay son had gone through in just a short night. "Dad. I can't even explain this. I don't know what happened. I just went to bed, and I woke up like this." As I stuttered that much out, I began to change in front of everyone's eyes. Reverting back to myself, was even worse than being a white girl. Because now, I was a mutant, and boy...oh boy, my father HATED mutants. Not as much as he hated the gay, but it was so close. He pointed to the door, and I knew, what that meant. As I raced to my room, I grabbed my bag, stuffed it with as much of my clothes as I could, and I left them. I could hear the wails of my mother, from the street, as she pleaded with my father, who would hear nothing. I had lost a family, and they had lost me.
But still, I love them, most of them. My dad, can go kick rock. I made a quick living by odd jobs, and staying at shelters in the city, but as soon, as I learned to handle my powers, I knew what I wanted. At age twenty one, I signed up for my first drag competition, and I won, and there Visage was born. I never learned how to sew, or paint my face, because whatever I saw in my head, I could make myself look like. Imagine the movie "The Craft" when the girl did that glamour spell. Yeah, that's pretty much me. I live my life out as a guy, usually, if I want sex with a straigt guy though, I just suit up and surprise the sh!t out of him in the morning. It's a little payback for the community that is scorned so hotly.
Visage is my name. Josh Hill, is my real name. I live in the city of Fairfax VA, and I don't know where the rest of my family is. Even with my life on the stage, I've always been sort of a recluse, meaning I don't have a friend to the world. I like to keep it that way. My life, is easy. I pay my bill, perform to songs that people have already sang. And I give FACE.