My Big Gay Adventures #1: The Drag Queen in the Washroom

My most recent adventure features a washroom, a drag queen, a urinal, a box of cookies and a glass of beer.
Walking into a local dyke bar, I decided I had to pee. So, my friends and I walked into the basement so I could pee. Walked into the washroom and noticed a drag queen sitting on the counter. She had some bags with her. Since we were in the Gay Village, I didn't really think much of it (even though I probably should have).

I walked by her, making the subtle generic gay guy greeting (HEY GIRLFREN!)* and kept walking towards a urinal where I proceeded to urinate. Worst mistake ever. I notice that someone’s watching me pee from afar. Feeling uncomfortable, I look around for the source of the watching. It’s the drag queen who’s sitting on the counter. Noticing that I see her, she smiles and says “Allô!” (which is the common French greeting equivalent to “Hello”). I smile back and turn around to not look at her anymore.

By now, I’ve finished peeing, and I walk towards the counter to wash my hands. Of course, she’s there. This is when I notice that she’s kind of, how can I say this, out of it. She kind of had a Quasimodo eye that she was either too high/drunk to open, or it was just naturally always closed. I didn’t care, I just wanted my hands to be washed and to get the hell out of there. Also, walking back, I noticed that she took out a box of Mr Christie’s chips ahoy cookies (but like the soft chewy kind that no one really likes).
So she says “Hi.”
I answer “Ello.”
“So, what’s your name.”
“Scott.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m 19.”
“Really, because you could easily pass for someone who’s 17.”
“I could? I mean, most people usually say I look older.” By now, I’m just glowing of joy, no one’s told me I look younger than 20 for a while now.
“Yeah, you really could, where are you from?”
“The West Island.”
“Oh, so you’re English,” which is where the conversation switched to English, before this we were conversing in French.
“Yeah, but I can speak French.”
This is where there was silence, by now I was done washing my hands and just wanted to leave.
“So how old were you when you lost your virginity?”
So I told her.
“Really, that’s recent, you were really old.”
“Gee thanks, how old were you.”
She said something along the lines of 13 or something, I’m sorry but we weren’t all child-sluts.
Here is where it got really weird.
“Are you an actor,” she asked.
“Nope, why?”
“Well you look like you’d make a good actor.”
“Well I’m sorry, but I don’t act. Why do you ask?”
“I’m a film producer.” This is where my eyes grew somewhat, but subtle-y; I didn’t want her to think I was judging her.
“Oh, really, yeah, but I really can’t act for my life.” This is where I’m thinking, oh shit she wants me to do porn! Because in my head, why else would you ask if someone’s a virgin then proceed to ask if they want to be in films?
“That’s a shame, because you really would look good in one of my films.”
Then she pulled, out of nowhere, a glass of beer.
“Do you want it?” she offered.
“No, thanks. I don’t drink beer.”
“Well neither do I, I bought it without realizing that I haven’t had beer in 6 years.”
“Oh,” is all I could say. Now, on top of trying to get me into porn, she wants me to drink her drug beer. No thanks, my mom told me not to take food/drinks from strangers.
This is where a girl walked in: “Am I in the right washroom?”
“No! This is the men’s washroom!” is what the drag queen told the girl.
“Oh, sorry,” and she walked out.

This is where the drag queen got off the counter and said, “This is why I prefer the door closed!” She then took the stool that was keeping the door open and moved it; the door slammed shut. This not only cut me off from my friends (who were outside the washroom, confused, the whole time), but isolated me from the rest of the world. This is where I had visions of her shoving drug cookies down my throat, then pouring her drug beer in there to wash it down, then proceed to rape me and upload a video of it on her amateur porn site. Naturally, I freaked out. As I inched closer and closer to the now closed door, she kept talking about God knows what.
So I said, “I have to go.”
“Oh, do you have friends upstairs?”
“Yep.”
“Can I come?”
“Uhh, well, no.”
And I ran out of that bathroom as fast as I could.

And that, internet, was my experience with a drag queen. Not my first, and probably not my last, but this will be ingrained in my memory for years to come.

* not actually the subtle generic gay guy greeting :)