Finding your Jamie

Happy fall y’all! Tis my favorite time of the year. Now if it would just get cool enough that I could break out all of my fabulous sweaters and hoodies. I love sweata weatha. You know, those 10 to 14 days we get here in Texas that we can wear our cute clothes without sweating like a priest at a screening of Lyle, Lyle Crocodile.

I am so thankful that I have a husband. I keep hearing horror stories from my single friends that make me more and more thankful each day. It seems like every week or so, one of my friends tells me about the awful date or hook-up that they had. And, after watching that damned Dahmer series on Netflix, I worry about them all.

Y’all be careful out there, and if it feels weird, follow your gut and get the fuck out of there!

Jamie and I have been together close to 20 years, but before I found my prince, I had to fuck a bunch of frogs.

This one time, when I was in my late 20s, I went out to JR.’s for a night of drinking and debauchery. You always know when a gay is going out looking to get laid because they go out by themselves — skulking around in the hopes of landing that elusive, big ol’ peen: Be bery bery qwiet; I’m huntin menzez.

On this particular night I was sitting at the bar, hoping against hope that the people I knew that saw me out would call me James and not Cassie. Unfortunately, many guys will lose all interest once they find out you do drag, so I would never start a conversation with, “Hi, I’m a drag queen.” I wasn’t looking for anything more than a night of fun, so I didn’t care if they didn’t care for drag.

That is when I see the cutest cowboy sitting a few seats down from me. He smiles; I smile. He offers to buy me a drink; I say okay. He waves the bartender over, and it was Stu, a friend I have known forever. Stu asks if I want my usual; I say sure.

(My usual at that time was Southern Comfort. Gaak! I can’t even think about drinking that now. The smell alone makes me wanna hurl!)

Any who, the cowboy and I toast to a good night and down our shots.

He moves over closer, and we start a conversation that lasts for a few hours. I am having the best time, and I am already planning my wedding to this rando-cowboy that I’ve just met.

Every once in a while, during our very intense conversation, someone would recognize me as they walked by would say “Hey Gurl,” or “Hello James.” I flinched every time, just knowing someone was going to call me Cassie and ruin my good time.

The cowboy never stopped looking at me. It was all butterflies and cowbells. So, when closing time came around, he asked if I would like to go to his place. Trying not to seem too eager, I said okay. He drove a big ol’ dually pick-up truck and lived off Marsh Lane and Northwest Highway. So I was like, “OMG, cool! He doesn’t live that far from me!”

That was perfect since, in my head, we were about to start dating. His house was cute and clean; I was in heaven.

As soon as he shut his door, we started to kiss — hard and passionate. Things were going really well … until he stopped and asked how much was this going to cost him.

I said, “What?” He said he wanted to know how much this session was going to cost him because he didn’t have that much cash on him.

My heart fucking broke.

I said, “You think I am a prostitute?” He said, “Yes! You knew everyone in the bar, and they knew you, so I figured you had to be a hooker or something.” I said,“Or something! I’m a fucking drag queen, you asshole. I work in the bars; that is why everyone knows me. I am not a fucking hooker you idiot!”

I just sat there heartbroken. Pretty Woman did not prepare me for this.

He said,”Oh shit, I fucked up. I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there and got mad — mad at myself for not being honest about the drag thing sooner and mad at him for thinking I was a ho.

But my anger turned into horniness as he tried to make it up to me by — well, you know.

Then anger returned during sex, so I came on his back, wiped my dick on his curtains and left!

I walked all the way from his house to my apartment that was by the Hidden Door, and I dramatically cried part of the way. I never saw him again.

Then, a few weeks later, the next guy I kinda liked finally asked me out. He was totally cool with the drag thing — like I’m a werewolf or something. He loved hanging out with me and calling me his boyfriend while we were out at the bars. Of course, he would get star treatment being with me: He rarely paid for a drink, and he got in free wherever we went. We would hold hands and kiss, very lightly, while we were in public.

But the second we were alone, or I was out of drag, it was hands to himself and have-a-great-night-goodbye.

Once I realized he wasn’t just taking it slow and that instead he was just a star fucker, I ended it! I’m ashamed to say I let it go on longer than it should have. It was nice to have someone, even if it was fake.

It took me a long while to love myself enough to not be treated poorly by these “men.”

Like I said, I am thankful to have my man, and I know how lucky I am. I hope you all find your Jamie!

Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova