Dedragging: Mykel's Come As You Are Session

De-Dragging Portrait Session | Drag Queen Photography | Come As You Are Boudoir | Apollo Fields NYC Portraits

Dedragging: Mykel's Come As You Are Session

She has one rule, well actually She has a full list of rules because She is a boss like that, but the most important one is: “Never take off any drag until you are home and the door is closed. Serve the full fantasy and commit to the gag.”

The night is over and in the car back I am itching to regain control of my normal body functions. Since leaving the house six hours ago, all I've been thinking about is taking off the drag that has deprived me of these basic needs. My feet have lost all feeling in the spiked heel death traps I have fastened to them. I go to take them off and give myself the beginning feelings of freedom from the martyrdom that is drag, but She reminds me, “Bitch, you’ll be fine. No one wants to see a flat-footed drag queen hobbling into her building. Buck up buttercup, we’re almost home.”

After an awkward farewell from my Uber driver, who is clearly going to spend the rest of the night compartmentalizing his sexual desire for She, I grow more and more excited to de drag with every brittle step I take. I am so close to freedom I could cry. The elevator is empty. No one can see me. I go to peel off the wig and free my head from the giant band of torture elastic. “No, no, no, No. What if the sexy neighbor is in the hall? I’m not going to be a bald headed bitch.” She scolds.

The terrifying bounce of the old elevator arriving on my floor reminds me sharply that I’ve had to pee since leaving the house. Being that my penis is taped up my own ass, I have to just forget about all bathroom requirements entirely. On two dead feet and a piercingly full bladder, I full on run/wobble from the elevator down the hall, looking like a drunk freshly birthed giraffe. I unbutton her dress and let it fall to the ground, while savagely ripping off her thumb and index finger nails with my teeth.

“What are you...?” Ignoring her completely I dump out the contents of her purse, and squat like a monkey to frantically get the keys. Out of the corner of my eye I see that hot neighbor coming out of his apartment. “I fucking told you! Oh my God! Get inside right now!” I unlock the door and lunge into the entry hall while incomprehensibly stammering ‘great to see you, have a good night’.

Immediately I’m dodging my dog Tux, who has undoubtedly been sitting in the same spot since I left, plotting his triumphant fanfare of love and adoration upon my return. I leap over him and make it to the bathroom just in time to peel down five layers of Capezio tights, releasing my foam butt pads like coiled snakes in a can.

The downright emotional release that comes from ripping off the duct tape and allowing my penis to emerge into an oxygen filled environment is life changing to say the least. Also the terrifying sight of it slowly accordioning out from the cave of my pelvis is something directly from a sci-fi horror movie. “There ya go buddy! Sweet release.” She says with kindness and understanding.

There I am, suddenly a man in a beautiful wig and makeup, tights rolled down to my calves, a nude lace bra, adorned in diamonds and jewels, and fully bedazzled plastic nails on. There is nothing more powerful than straddling a toilet and peeing in six inch heels. I catch a glimpse of me, her, us in the mirror and can’t help but feel proud. “ I love being gay.”

I waddle into my bedroom while avoiding the land mines of toys, ropes, and balls lovingly set out by my dog. I pry off my heels and try to set my feet flat on the ground, but anyone who has spent any significant amount of time in heels knows that your feet are going to be frozen in place like Barbie’s plastic arches for the next few hours. “Also, good luck with your lower back pain for the rest of the week darling. You’re fucked.” She’s right. I’m fucked.

Whoever invented underwire should be burned at the stake. “For. Real. Though. Henny.” She says while taking the first deep breath of the night. The alarmingly red indent around my torso after taking off her bra is a mere battle scar. I wear it with begrudging pride. Now comes the most painful part of de-dragging, taking off the nails. There is no kind way to tear off your own cuticles. You have to find your numb happy place and just bite those claws off and spit them victoriously across the room. “Oh shit, look out, he’s butch all of a sudden.”

I stand back from the mirror, and take a good last look while blood and oxygen begin to freely flow through my body again. Even though I’m a naked man standing there, I still see the woman I made looking back at me. It’s strange to say the words “woman I made”, because in reality She is shaping me. She gives me the power to see society see me, and I am strengthened every time She takes over. She is softer in her inflections and gestures, yet She requires more physical and emotional strength that I just don’t have when I’m a man. She’s a brave boss.

We stare at each other for minute. The corner of her lip smirks, and the sassy sultry sound of her voice says, “Bitch, you look stunning.” We grab the wig, and for a moment the world is in slow motion. She gives me a final wink, and I snatch it off my head. She’s gone for now. She was fabulous tonight.