Love Walter: Life’s a Drag

Love Walter

Dear Walter, 

What are your thoughts about men who dress up in drag just for sex? I do drag sometimes, especially late at night during the weekend. It’s fun and freeing. And I’m wondering if you had some insights into that world?

—Drag Race

Dear Drag Race,

Thoughts turn to this New York giant named Tiny. He entertained his guests one by one, donning a blond wig doing what grown folks did when rent was due.

He was not tiny, at 7ft tall in heels. After a night of binge drinking at Secrets, I accompanied Tiny to the Boogie Down Bronx because the trek to Brooklyn was endless. We arrived by taxi to where he greeted his neighborhood but pulling up his dress and peeing in the middle of the street. He marked his territory literally.

We ran into his husband on the Grand Concourse, a street name that suffered from delusions of grandeur. He headed to KFC to start his shift.

“Bitch, let’s hurry to the house, I got some money to make,” Tiny said. 

“You’re doing hair this late?” I asked.

“Bitch please,” Tiny said.

Four guys and four hours later, his blond mane and smeared make-up made him look like a Halloween costume. His nighttime drag was showtime and not at the Apollo. He handled the men one at a time like a CVS self-checkout line. No CVS card required.

Who had time to do hair when you can suck and go for ten minutes per session? You don’t even have to go to college to learn that.

Instead, he charged $20 for each joyride, whether the client got off or not. Apparently, they had 15 minutes to reach their euphoric destination. You can tell, which ones did base upon their facial expressions when they left the room. 

“You going to do me like that,” he said in a thick Spanish accent. “I’m a good customer.” 

Tiny dismissed him and brought the next one in. Survey says out of the four candidates, two smiles, a frown, and a blank expression equipped with a limp were recorded. The findings were inclusive. 

As the sun soared, I began to reflect on the events that transpired, until Tiny appeared at the entrance of his doorway, naked with two hands covering his penis. Was the gateway to $20 happy meals opening up for me? Some portals should remain closed, and luckily for me it did. 

“At $20 a pop, does that make me a prostitute?” Tiny asked. “Well, I don’t care. I made my cab money back.”

I shrugged my shoulders and took another sip of wine. I couldn’t handle hard news before noon.

Drag can be fun, but not at 20 bucks a pop.



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