In Shepherd's Bush W.12

we tenderly kissed

I with suspension of disbelief

him with deep and tragic relief.

      He said that straights were highly prized

 

my gorge was rising

but nothing else.

 

I felt no fear nor any desire

like an actor whose skill is ever for hire.

 

With his wig back on he looked much better

bra in place,  rouged up face

transvestite on the London scene

belle of the ball

a proper drag queen.

 

      I accompanied the shows on upright piano

      cross - playing, the boundaries blurred

      a step into the vaguely absurd.

 

Feeling compassion

in place of passion

I was offered more

but drew the line.

 

      A photo of me in women's clothes

      in his grubby back yard

      survived as a lesson in how to behave

      in the world of the nubile sexual slave.