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| Me after having just donned my night's attire |
Halloween is a time where all the scary monsters and demons come out of the woodwork to terrify little children and make grown men cower in fear. Of the many monsters in the Halloween canon, the most terrifying is easily the 6’3 transvestite with hairy legs, a beard and a maid costume. Just for the record, I never intended to dress as a maid for Halloween, just as I never intended to get sexually molested (again), accidently expose myself and pass out on the train ride home, but I did. With your interest hopefully piqued, dear reader, I shall start my tale at the most suitable of locations, the start. Having been invited to the annual JET party, I was in a spot of bother, it was three hours before the party and I still didn’t have a costume, so I made my way to one of Japan’s most curious institutions, Don Quixote, or Don Kihote as it’s known in Japan. Besides being the fictional, farcical knight who famously tilted at windmills, Don Quixote is also the name of a Japanese chain of shops that sell almost everything under the sun and have a famously convoluted floor design. In particular they sell a number of costumes amongst other tat, and being Halloween, they had a very good choice of costume. Remembering my previous cross-dressing experience, I suddenly felt the compulsion to wear a skirt again. I was tempted by the Neon Genesis Evangelion school uniform, but it was pricy and didn’t fit me anyway. That’s when I saw the answer to my prayers; the manly schoolgirl/maid costume set, featuring a fat Japanese guy on the packaging gurning and posing in a feminine stance. Having already been a schoolgirl in Japan the choice was obvious, French maid it was.
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| At the restaurant |
I arrived at the party venue early, and deftly slipping into my one piece outfit and matching alice-band, I went to meet the other party goers outside. Luckily the night wasn’t cold, and seeing as I had neglected to invest in any stockings, I was in luck. As more and more of my friends arrived to see me at my most beautiful, I was slightly disappointed to see that I wasn’t the only man to come in drag, some Japanese guys had the same idea too. The restaraunt itself was fantastic, the food wasn’t the most creative in the world, just the familiar Japanese izakaya fare, but the atmosphere was superb. The restaurant was decorated as a horrific prison, with the individual rooms being enclosed behind prison-bars and the staff dressed as goblins and ghouls. Half an hour in, the lights went out and the staff put on a horror show; having strategically positioned myself between two attractive Japanese girls I was in the best position to capitalise on the terror they invoked. Afterwards though, things took a turn for the surreal. As the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol on offer started to kick in, I left my seat and my new companions behind and joined in the frenzied dancing that had erupted in the middle of the restaurant. Limbs flailed, skirts flew and at least one fake samurai sword prodded me in the arse. That’s when the skirt flipping started.
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| Mickey makes some new friends |
As much as I’d like to say it was mostly women that were lifting up my skirt, it would be an outright lie. Although there were a substantial number of women trying to lift my skirt and even pull down my underwear, it was mostly men who were trying to get a peak at what lies beneath. So for the next few hours I wandered around the restaurant, having alcoholic beverages foisted upon me and desperately trying to fend off the advances of drunken patrons. Eventually the party finished and the attendees went their separate ways. Some went to Karaoke, some went drinking some even went home for an early night, but having not had enough of being the center of attention I decided to join some of the Japanese in going clubbing. That’s when things turned from bad to Japanese.
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| I wasn't the only one to have this problem |
Arriving at the club it became apparent that I was right to assume that Halloween was mostly about getting drunk and dressing like a tit, the streets outside the clubs and off-licence were teeming with drunken revellers. There was a group of wallies, sexualised Disney characters, and characters from films as diverse as Avatar, Donnie Darko and Battle Royale. What I did notice was a relative absence of traditional Halloween monsters; no ghosts, no Frankenstein’s monsters and only a handful of vampires. Having entered our first club, my companions and I proceeded to start to dance the night away, only to be shooed off-stage 15 minutes later when it was announced they were starting the transvestite show. Half a dozen men came on stage one after the other to perform erotic dances and create an atmosphere of complete moral decadence and perversion. It was fantastic. None of them were particularly convincing, but they acted in such a supremely confident manner, I couldn’t help but admire them, it was like watching a real-life version of Bara no Soiretsu, aka ‘Funeral parade of roses’.
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| Transvestite |
Naturally the skirt flipping didn’t stop, only this time, I seemed to have forgotten to redo the flies on my boxer shorts after a toilet break, accidently giving the two girls who successfully flipped my skirt rather more than they bargained for. Having failed at my attempt to convince them to reciprocate in a “I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours” type affair, I moved on to other clubs. The rest of the evening was spent in much the same way as before, being come on to by both men and women alike watching another tranny show and spending a lot of time dancing and drinking, it eventually got to 4.00. Exhausted by my endeavours, I decided to pass the time waiting for the subway to open by eating a huge bowl of ramen and drawing the attention of every other patron, naturally all drunken revellers. Like one of the living dead I stumbled back to the station, boarded my train and promptly passed out. I tried to keep myself awake by listening to the Beatles’ White Album, but that just made things worse when I woke up to Revolution no.8, a song seemingly designed to be as disorientating as possible. Unfortunately, I’d missed my stop and woke up at the end of the line, with a group of high school students eyeing me nervously and keeping their distance from the drunken cross-dressing foreigner lying with legs akimbo (boxer-button naturally done-up) and splayed across the train seats. The walk home from my stop was horrible, it had gotten colder, I was exhausted despite my un-scheduled sleep and I was already starting to have a hangover, but it was one of the best nights of my life.
