Dragged to Discovery

I discovered something huge in my life in 1996 when I was 19 years old. It might have been a coincidence that later that year Madonna premiered her first huge internationally acclaimed movie, Evita, that garnered her a Golden Globe; a time when people also recognised her golden globes from having recently given birth to her daughter, "Lola." In 1996, I finally got over my one year old bi-sexual phase and fully embraced myself as a full(y) blown faggot. I have Evita playing on my TV right now and the opening credits still give me chills; similar to those of my self realisation of being a gay...

The movie reel manager has just interrupted the black and white movie in the theater, "Eva Peron, spiritual leader of the nation, entered her mortality, this evening." In the words of raisin faced Rachel Zoe: she just died.

When I finally accepted my homosexuality, I didn't just come out of the closet. I "gagged" my straight self and left him to suffocate and die in the closet with my ex girlfriends while I barged out of the building screaming Hallelujah!

On Saturday, 18th March 1995, I sucked my first dick in my Myles Standish dorm room. While I was showering to try and sober up, a buddy of mine, Darryl, came in to take a piss in the toilet. Darryl was the quintessential crew boy: tall, dark, handsome, with a six pack... I don't even want to reminisce on the beautiful size of his penis... Before I knew it, his dick somehow ended up in my mouth while I jacked off in the tub. We never spoke about it after, but Pandora's box had been opened and I was yearning for more. I laugh when I review my journal entry from that night as I wasn't fully able to talk about it with myself! I simply wrote:

The first Step. Got drunk and went into the shower. Had first Dimitri experience.

(Dimitri was the first gay guy I was ever introduced to by one of my ex-girlfriends.)

Growing up, homosexuality was never an option for me. My pop always said that being gay was something foreign. He told me gays were dirty and dangerous people.

The state of Argentina is now lamenting with a waltz at the news they've just heard.

After my incident with Darryl, I started to hang out more with a flaming Resident Associate at Myles Standish Hall, Andre, who was a good friend of my neighbour's, Jo. Andre was a very nice guy; flaming, but nice. He was very intelligent and the typical gay: long blond hair, angelic blue eyes, and pristine manicured Chanel Vamp nails! I had never had a friend that was openly gay. He introduced me to more "out-of-the-closet" gays and I found them all to be sane individuals and unlike any of the gay people my pop had described.

I was later introduced to Campus Thursdays over in Cambridge, MA where a lot of gay college kids liked to hang, and Avalon Sundays, the best gay night in Boston -- oh the good old days when Boston really had an amazing gay nightlife! I was a kid in a candy store googling at hot guys making out with other guys with their shirts off. Go-go boys were dancing on stages, and I saw the first Drag Queen in my life! Mizery! She was a fierce looking queen that could jump three feet in the air with her six inch heels and land perfectly in a split!

It was one night at campus, as we were leaving, that my friends were handed a flyer for a Drag Queen Pageant at Avalon hosted by Mizery. My friends squeeled with excitement.

"Oh my God, Ch'ien, you must enter this!" said Andy.
"Ch'ien, I bet we could make you a hot rockin' queen," added Jo, "You already don't even have a hair on your body!" An Asian bi-product that came in handy if you wanted to do drag, I guess.

The next couple weeks Joanna gathered a makeover team that would prep me for the Miss Irish Springs Drag Queen Pageant. Jen was the resident eyebrow tweezer and she couldn't wait to start plucking mine; Susanna had all the Mac makeup any drag queen would die for; Lindsey, my goth friend, had been stashing a floor length, green mermaid gown deep in her closet that she knew would be perfect for Miss Irish Springs; and Brandy and Laura were thrilled to play Barbie accessories on a full sized doll!

The pageant night finally arrived and my crew were in my dorm room getting me ready. Madonna's black and white Versace ads were plastered all over my walls to serve as my inspiration. Afterall, Madonna was the absolute and ultimate drag queen! At the time I had shoulder length hair and Brandy created a very bouncy bob with about a whole can of aqua net. It took about two hours to get my hair, makeup, and nails done while we sipped vodka tonics throughout the re-invention. Madonna would have been proud.

My friends asked me what my name was for the night. I responded with Devon Dionysia: Dimitri Devon was my first guy crush and I was studying Greek and Roman mythology at the time and somehow grew fond of the God of Wine, Dionysis. My friends looked at me puzzled.

Once we arrived at Avalon we all waited anxiously in line. I had about 30 residents from Myles Standish waiting in line with me. I finally got to the front of the line and handed my fake ID to the bouncer.

"Are we sure this is real?" questioned the bouncer.
"I'm in Drag, baby. Of course it's real," my alter ego was already taking over. "I'm entering the drag pageant," I continued.

He stamped my hand and let me in without any cover and I quickly enrolled myself into the competition. I was up against a lot of local talent but I wasn't worried because I had my posse with me. 37 in total; the 30 that came with me from the dorm and the other seven vodka tonics that were swirling in my system.

Midnight rolled around the corner and all the pageant contestants were rallied to the stage so the show could start. Mizery had just finished a dazzling performance and was still catching her breath as she ushered us up onto the stage. Stephanie White was the first to get up and she needed no introduction. Lakia Mondale and Diamond Dunhill followed. I finally got up to the stage and Mizery pulled me aside.

"Honey, what's your name?" Mizery whispered.
"It's me Ch'ien," I replied, "we met at Campus a few weeks ago. I'm Devon Dionysia tonight."
"Guurl, you look goooood," approved Mizery. And then to the crowd she announced, "And here we have Devon!" She turned back to me and hushed, "Baby, trust me and forget that 'Di dicked Diana whatever bullshit." She was obviously referring to my Dionysian reference... I appreciated such a seasoned Drag Queen's advice.

My posse and the rest of Avalon cheered. I was radiating attitude under the spotlights. I could see the other queens asking each other "Who the fuck is that?" I was the unknown underdog trying to make a name.

Each Queen was asked a question before performing a lip synched number. The seasoned Queens had been doing this for years and gave such witty answers and star quality performances I was starting to sweat under my false titties. It was finally my turn and Mizery asked me my question.

"Devon, honey, what would you do with an Irish man and his 'sack of potatoes?'" asked Mizery while looking out to the crowd?

I looked into the sea of men. I couldn't even see my posse with the spotlights in my face. I couldn't think of anything to say and started to think: What in gay hell did I get myself into? I raised my hand to stall, like I was giving the crowd my hand as if they weren't worth my time.

"That's right, baby!" Mizery yelled, "Five times as long as he's bigger than five inches!"

The crowd started roaring with laughter and I realised she saved my life. I hugged and kissed her and whispered sweet thank yous in her ear. The lights flickered and my drag number blared out on the speakers: Love Fool by the Cardigans. I lip synched for my life and knew I couldn't fuck this up (Amen to RuPaul!).

As a finale, all the contestants were summoned back on the stage to be judged by the audience's applause. As Mizery placed her hand with three inch nails over each queen, the audience screeched and clapped for their favourite. When Mizery's hand eventually haloed my bob, the crowd went wild. It was a new era as an unknown drag queen won the pageant.

"And we have a winner! Devon!" Mizery exclaimed.

"Devon! Devon! Devon!" The crowd at Avalon was screaming my name like they were calling the new President of Argentina, "Peron!"

I won my first and only drag pageant! I was crowned with a tiara and handed a wand. I collected my prize money and the club manager took my information and told me I was welcome back to the club every Sunday to perform and bring friends to the VIP section. I sashayed with my crew back to the Myles Standish dorm for a celebratory drink and cigarette in the smoking lounge.

I was high and flying adored.

I was quickly asked to enter Miss Gay Boston that would be held at Jacque's Cabaret bar in Bay Village. I pounced at the invitation. Little did I know what was going to be in store for me. The emcee that night was Miss Stephanie White, resident favourite at Jacque's, and one of the other contestants was Miss Lakia Mondale, Mizery's new protege, both of whom I beat at Miss Irish Springs.

There were four contestants in all that evening and we were to get ready in the cold, flouresent lit basement of the club. As I was getting ready, Lakia walked up to me with her fake implants bobbing with each sashay.

"Uh-uh, honey," she spat at me with her eyes, gave me the hand and turned around and swayed back to her station. Mizery started duct taping Lakia's breasts in place as well as her cock. I couldn't believe the cattiness; I suppose I was still very naive to the whole drag underground. Luckily I managed to learn how to get my makeup done in a speedy half an hour and rushed back upstairs to seek comfort with my friends.

"Devon, don't worry about Lakia. Good luck," Mizery managed to catch my hand before I escaped that dungeon of a basement. I smiled back at her.

The evening was a payback for Miss Irish Springs. My lip synched talent number was cut half way by the DJ under the instruction from Miss Stephanie White, I learned later. By the time they were announcing the new winners I came in fourth place and wanted to shrink and die. Everyone got a bouquet of flowers, but me. There were only four contestants! Could they not have spared another $5 for a shitty bouquet? I think i would have settle for weeds! I was like Miss Chi Chi Rodriguez from To Wong Foo in the opening drag pageant of that movie who was sure she would win but didn't even end up placing! My saving grace was something the overweight queen that came in third place said to me.

"Baby, don't be discouraged. We can be mean but we're still family. It took me years to get to where I am now," she whispered.

The life of a drag queen is both terrific and trying. I learned how seriously some queens take their drag. They lived it 24-7. I was just a club kid having a good time and dressing up for fun every now and then. I performed in New York City and then I had a great opportunity to fly to Oxford, England to perform at a friend's birthday, but was almost beaten to a pulp by the Oxford rowing team when they heard there was a queer drag queen on their campus.

I remember pimps trying to "own" me in the seedy playground district in Chinatown before it got cleaned up. I got three to five hundred dollars in tips sometimes in one night after only lip synching five songs. I also got some unbelievably hot fans; the only problem was they were in love with the illusion. I wasn't. I wasn't interested in a guy that was interested in chicks with dicks. I loved my own dick and loved to fuck and get fucked. I didn't want to be a conversation piece: You know, my girlfriend used to be a boyfriend...

It was hard to give up drag. I had my farewell tour back in 2003. Friends came from out of state to catch my show in the middle of a snow storm. I couldn't have asked for a better reception. That night I was rolling in cash from old friends, old fans, and old queens. When Jacque's closed for the night I invited everyone over to Dedo (the old Luxor) and treated them back to drinks.

Drag is extremely liberating for a man and I encourage everyone to try it once, straight or gay. It's addictive like a drug. I promise you when you get the drag bug you'll want to do it again. Diamond Dunhill once described it like Herpes: the itch will always come back when you're ready to quit it.

Like Cher and Barbra, I think we were all ready to quit. Whatever it is that makes them come back to prolong their farewell tour, I think I caught that same bug. It's like some kind of rerun you never know when to expect on TV. Devon still comes out every now and then as a new incarnation on special occasions. Taking inspiration from the re-invention queen, Madonna, Devon became Pacifica Rimmer, who eventually became LaNaye 3000.

"Oh, what I'd give for a hundred years... but the physical interferes... everyday more, oh my creator..." Madonna sings in her closing waltz with Che, played by Antonio Banderas.

If I were really a woman I would love performing on a stage for years under spotlights with adoring fans! But reality always sinks in and I can only be grateful for the self discovery I found when I dressed in drag. I was dragged to self discovery while, at the same time, I discovered the old cliche that drag is a drag.

To my gays and fag hags: You will never be my sister!

I'm very fortunate to have such a supporting family. My parents love me unconditionally and my siblings are my best friends. Although we are very close we have thousands of miles in between us. My immediate family live in Asia while I am the sole Chan that lives in the US. The good thing is current technology allows us to video skype over a wireless cable modem whenever we can catch each other during the 12 - 13 hour time difference.

Technology, however, wasn't always so advanced. Remember those days when we used the phone jack to get onto the Internet?

When I came to Boston in 1994 to attend BU's College of Communication (COM), my dad very generously purchased a laptop for me to use for school papers, and of course, to write letters to all my family members. I was thrilled to find my dorm had a computer lab and internet access so I quickly setup my school email account. What was even better was that there was internet access from your dorm room but you just had to configure your computer in a specific manner and I was told "I'd be all set!" All I had to do was plug the telephone cord into my laptop and access the BU ACS server. I wouldn't have to wait for a computer at the computer lab ever again!

I quickly ran up to my room with the instructions and pulled out my laptop. It was like christmas and I was about to unwrap the coolest holiday gift. I followed all the instructions and restarted my computer.

Error.

WTF?!?! I reconfigured the computer again following each step twice to make sure I could make this work. Restart. Error. Godammit!

I ran next door to my neighbour's room.

"Joanna! Are you there? It's Ch'ien. Can you access email from your room?" I panted.

Jo opened the door and let me in. She was already on her email.

"Would you mind checking out my computer? I can't seem to get onto the email?" I pleaded.

She went through the exact same steps and we both once again received the same error.

"That's so weird, Ch'ien. Try taking it to IT on Cummington street. They have a help desk there specifically for these problems," Jo suggested.

I knew where that was. It was right behind COM. I packed my laptop into its case and ran over to the IT helpdesk. I couldn't wait one moment! This issue had to be resolved immediately! IT was still open. It was God's recognition of my absolute impatience.

Two bearded white guys were chatting about Star Trek behind the helpdesk counter.

"Um, excuse me, I need some help," I started.

One of the guys rolled his eyes and turned to look toward me. I caught him give me the "up-down" look normally reserved for mean girls mocking fat chicks.

"Yeah, what's up?" he mumbled as he readjusted his glasses on his nose.

Was this denim and flannel wearing dork judging me in my Katharine Hamnett designer nylon trousers and Jigsaw sweater? How dare he! Ch'ien, regroup. You need his assistance to resolve your issue...

"Well I'm trying to log into my email from my dorm room and I keep getting an error message. I've followed all the instructions several times and I haven't seemed to have much luck. Could you check out my laptop, please?" I offered.

"Yeah, I guess I could," the dork replied. His buddy walked away. "Are you sure you followed all the instructions?" he continued.

"Yes! I even had my friend check it out and she's studying Computer Sciences!" I tried.

"Well, everything seems fine. Maybe it's the computer," he concluded.

He barely looked into anything! What kind of customer service was this? I wanted to smash the laptop into his acne infested face.

"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked.
"Well, you should probably send it back to the store you bought it from," he suggested.
"I can't do that because it was a gift and it's from Singapore."
"Well then give it back to the person who got it for you to take back to the store."

Was this guy serious?!?! What a dick! I was not about to ship this damned computer to Asia to have my dad ask some store person about logging into his son's email via his dorm room! I had to think quick and make something happen right away.

"Uh, well I can't really do that," I continued.
"Why not?" this dork was clearly starting to get agitated.
"Well, because it was a gift, from my sister," I managed to say with a quiver in my voice, "and she's passed away," I think I even managed to wring out some dry tears to my eyes.
"Oh! I'm so sorry to hear that! Let me take another look!"

I must say I felt bad to utter such words, but I also felt the victory of a squash match as I saw the dork tapping away on the keyboard of my laptop like a frantic idiot. In literally two minutes he had reconfigured my computer and sent me out on my way.

"You're all set," he said as I exited the IT building with the glass doors closing behind me.

As you might already know, my parents have three boys. I might be the daughter my mother never had, but I only have two brothers and have never had a sister.

I got back to my dorm room and successfully got onto the internet and decided to write to my brothers: Dear Dai-lo and Yee-ko... You'll never guess what just happened....

Being a superstitious Asian, I realise the seriousness of the lie I told about the death of an imaginary sister. It was a means to an end. But nonetheless, I would take full responsibility and guilt if I ever called any of my gays a sister and they were to die! That is why even to this day, fifteen years later, you'll only ever be a girlfriend, a lady, my bitch, but never, my sister!

America: A Whole New World

I've been living in America now for over 15 years. I never thought I would end up in America; especially Boston because it is so quaint and white. The US has become the country I have lived for the longest period of time in my life and is quickly starting to become my home. I'm originally from Malaysia but my family moved to Hong Kong when I was two years old. I attended primary and secondary schools with international (UK) expats and when I left to come to Boston for university my parents decided to move to Singapore.

I completed my GCSEs and A-Levels (a British schooling standard similar to an American high school level) at Island School in Hong Kong. Island School was highly recognised by many public schools in the UK, and a lot of graduates from Island School were getting into the top unis in Britain. It made perfect sense for me to continue my uni years there. UK universities normally last three years and immediately immerses you into your selected concentration. That was my main problem: How could I have one concentration when I wanted to do and be everything?

My oldest brother, Tien, always liked business and attended Nottingham University in the UK to study Econometrics. My middle brother, Ch'ien-Hsiang, knew when he was ten he wanted to be an architect and got himself into Pratt Institute in NYC. As long as we were furthering our education, my parents really didn't mind where we went to school.

I always had a thirst for learning. When we were learning about castles in primary three I would go to the library and take out as many books as I could on castles. I loved drawing and was already learning about any artist who's name would come up in class. When we studied a new continent in Geography I wanted to learn words in their language, find out about their culture, and find out what they ate! It really wasn't me trying to be a goody-too-shoes but I was really sincerely interested! There really wasn't a subject I wasn't interested in. A lot of my pocket money went to art supplies or books. My brothers thought I was an idiot because I wasn't buying remote controlled cars or figurines.

By the time I was 15, it was pretty much crunch time. I completed my GCSEs with almost straight As and it was time to start focusing our selected A-Level subjects to prepare us for University. Most people went into arts, science, drama or economics. I ended up taking art, french, graphic design, physics, economics, pure mathematics, and statistics. I don't think many others had such a varied selection of subjects -- I wanted to keep all my doors open!

It was during my A-Levels that I knew I really enjoyed art. But I was not interested in going to Art School. I wanted money! I thought Art School = Starving Artist. I needed to get into a lucrative design field like Advertising with the understanding that I could change my mind at any moment and needed a backup plan. Thank God for American Universities where you pick a concentration that is to be completed in four years, but you start with your freshman and sophomore years studying Liberal Arts -- what a fascinating system -- and then you focus on your concentration during your Junior and Senior years. If I changed my mind of what I wanted to study I'd have a two year cushion; Yes!

After several offers and rejections, I decided to attend Boston University. They had a great Communications College and a huge international student community. I couldn't wait to meet these new American people that made amazing Hollywood movies! The English were getting tired to me, as were all the South East Asian countries and Australia where my parents took us during our summer holidays.

Coming to America was a trip. My mum accompanied me on my journey -- I was her baby finally leaving her nest. We stopped off in Phoenix, AZ to spend some time with my cousin before I continued on to Boston. People in Arizona were so nice it was creepy. I wasn't used to it. Why did a stranger ask me how I was doing? These Americans are weirdos... What did they want from me? I asked my cousin's husband about this (one of the nicest Americans I have ever met!) and he patiently started to clue me in on some American lifestyles and habits.

Arriving in Boston didn't get any better. I was introduced to a brand new set of ignorance. I remember being at the Eliot hotel and our waitress came to our table and asked my mum and I for something to drink.

"Can I get a glass of water, please," I said.
"Sorry, what?" our waitress replied.
"Some water," I repeated.
"Huh, is that a cocktail?" I thought my waitress was mocking me.
"Miss, some water. What they're drinking over there," I pointed to a table where the couple were sipping H2O.
"Oh! Water! Sure thing! Be right back," she chimed as she bounced off to get the water jug.

Now we might be a little lost in translation here since water looks like water on paper. But try and hear this out. When I asked for water, pretend you're watching Dame Judi Dench asking the Queen for "Wah-Terre." Then when the waitress replied to me like I was a three year old child who just got caught scratching his ass, she said "Oh! Wa-Derre." Maybe it was just the waitress? My mum and I rolled our eyes and chuckled.

After a few days with my mum in Boston, we bid our teary farewells when I started BU's International Orientation for all foreign students. It was a great program and many orientation students were international, too. It was during this orientation I quickly learned that I was referred to as Euro and Asian Trash. Solely because of my accent and how I dressed. All international students had to temporarily stay at the Towers on Baystate Road. Us foreigners quickly made a tight bond as we were clearly separated from the Americans. The Americans that were leaders were giddy to have me talk to them.

"Ch'ien say that word again... I love your British accent... Where do you put the trash? In a Bin? ha haaaa... What do you call an eraser? ha haaaaa... Say 'Wa-Dere' how you would say it again!"

What started out as something cute very quickly turned tired and annoying. Growing up we got a lot of American Sitcoms and watched all the American movie blockbusters. But didn't Americans watch BBC America or period flicks? Why are Americans so enamoured with the British accent? I was starting to feel that Americans were really protected from other cultures; it was something very hard for me to understand as I grew up with people from all over the world.

During a Freshman Orientation where all the international students were now folded with all the other US Freshmen, I couldn't believe some of the conversations I was engaging in.

Ignorant American #1: So you're from Hong Kong? But I don't understand? You speak English?
Me: Well, I am actually from Malaysia, but I went to school in Hong Kong. Hong Kong is a British Colony so there are a lot of British expats there and my parents sent me to school with them.
Ignorant American #2: But you speak English, English...
Me: Uh...
Ignorant American #3: Oh, that's so cool! You lived in Hong Kong! So do you speak Japanese?
Me: No. People speak Japanese in Japan which is a whole nother Island far away from China.
Ignorant American #4: Isn't China just a bunch of rice paddy fields?
Ignorant American #5: So does that make you Hongkanese?
Me: No, I am from Malaysia.
Ignorant American #6: Oh, so what State are you from?

I wanted to stick my "Be You at BU!" badge into my eye. I couldn't believe how ignorant of the world these people could be! And they got into the same University that I did! What did that say about the admission process?

After that orientation session I slugged myself back to my dorm room at Myles Standish Hall on Beacon Street. Before I got to my room I passed my neighbour's door that was left wide open.

"Hey! Are you my new neighbour? I'm Jo," said the girl in the room with an American accent.
"I guess so," I replied.

She invited me in and she was so sincerely friendly. We chatted for a good half hour. She was a Sophomore from Detroit, Michigan (Wait! I know that place! Isn't that where Madonna was born?!?) and had a cousin living in Singapore. Jo even knew where that was!

I called my friend, Patricia in the UK and told her how defeated and I appalled I felt from leaving the student orientation session.

"Cheng, they're just stupid. Don't worry about it. Next time just tell them you went to school in the UK and they won't ask you anymore stupid questions!" Patricia advised.

I took her advice and for the most part, it worked.

In the following weeks Jo showed me the ropes at the dining hall as many of my international friends only ate out at restaurants. There was an art to creating your own meals instead of just getting what was being offered on the lines. She showed me cheesy recipes with pasta and microwaves; how to ask for grilled chicken and making a fantastic salad with that; how to ask for a strawberry daiquiri and spike it with a nip of vodka! A resourceful American!

Jo also introduced me to the Myles Standish Smoking lounge. This was where some of the friendliest Americans hung out to study, play cards, and smoke. This was also where Joanna introduced me to many people that would become my closest friends during my time at BU.

"This is Ch'ien. My sophisticated neighbour who's Chinese Malaysian but went to school in Hong Kong and speaks with a British accent. He came into my room the other day and asked to borrow my 'hoover,'" Jo would giggle. "However, the other night when he knocked on my door to ask me if I had a 'torch' 'cuz he saw a mouse in his room, I thought he was nuts and wanted to set the poor rodent on fire! I didn't realise he was actually asking for a flashlight," she continued.

I met all sorts of Americans. Ones from Ohio, LA, Seattle, New York, Florida, Iowa, the Midwest. I had no idea they were all each such different places. I always thought America was just that: America, 50 united states. I had heard of all these cities and states but if you asked me to find it on a map I would have had to search! I started to learn about their state pride and compared them almost like fifty countries in one continent rather than fifty states in one country.

In the proceeding months I realised how ignorant I was about American geography! It was no different to people confusing Thailand with Taiwan or any of the South East Asian cities and countries. I also realised how unprepared I was in choosing what University I would attend in what city and state of America. I really lucked out with Boston. It's close to New York, the Cape, P-Town, Maine, and Boston had a really solid cultural night life. I could have ended up in the middle of "bumble-fuck," as Jo would say, since I was also offered a spot at the Rochester Institute of Technology.

Thanks to Jo and my new American friends I found not everyone was so clueless and xenophobic. Jo later found out I wasn't as "sophisticated" as I had led on. She soon started to introduce me as the "crazy fucking Chinese Malaysian from Hong Kong who speaks with a British accent." The two additional preceeding adjectives "crazy fucking" was added when she'd constantly see me laughing so hard I might snarf the vodka strawberry daiquiris out of my nose in the smoking lounge; or later getting my eyebrow, tragus, nose and tongue pierced; or when I dyed my hair blue and gave myself a mohawk and mimicked a Southern twang. I personally thought that the best form of flattery would be to assimilate to what I didn't realise would eventually become my new home.

Fifteen years later, I'm still in Boston even though I have tried numerous times to move to the West Coast. A job or a boy has always kept me here. My friends from the UK call me a Yank as I've acquired all the American slang and more and more of my friends here in the US have invited me into their families. It's only when I get angry, or nervous, or drunk, or after speaking to a friend from the UK that I speak English, English. It's especially at these moments that my American friends would ask me: What's up with that fake British accent, Madonna?

Breakdown of a Goddess

Do you ever look at people and wonder how they got to be so beautiful? Like, it couldn’t be humanly natural to be that gorgeous?

When I was in secondary school, I got my first taste of beauty, or at least of what I thought was beauty. Enter Valeria C. She was a pretty and petite Filipino who looked a little more Spanish than Asian. She had lush, black hair and tight, tan skin. When she looked at you with her sweet eyes you were the only one that existed in the world. Her full lips were those you’d dream of kissing. She quickly learned she attracted the attentions of many boys and often played with their raging adolescent hormones to her advantage.

I was eleven and in First Form when I met Valeria. Unlike all the other boys that tried hard to woo her, I had a trump: I belonged in her inner circle. I was one of her best friends, along with Gerry D., a hardcore Cockney chick, and Ramona C., the sensible Aussie Eurasian. The four of us were our own Motley crew. We weaved in and out of every circle: the dorks, the Indians, the cool kids, the Jocks, the Goths. I’m sure many wanted to be in our circle but the four of us seemed to manage to smile off the requests and offers without offending any individual.

For the first three years of our friendship I was there for every guy crush she had, and also every guy’s heart she crushed. Including mine. She was a maneater in training.

One party night at Gerry’s, Valeria and I ended up in the same bed. We were getting off with each other and I could not believe the day had come. I was getting off with one of the hottest girls at Island School! I remember trembling when I undressed her; when I made her quiver when my tongue found her dark nipples and eventually found itself between her legs (all right faggots, stop gagging…). I remember thinking I wouldn’t stop until she came. That night I knew I became a man.

The next day we went out to join the others in Gerry’s living room.

“Did we have a good night, Valeria?” Ramona said in a way a bitch would mock her prey.
“Hey, leave my girl friend alone,” I defended. Valeria looked away.
“Valeria, did you just hear what Cheng called you?” Ramona hissed.

I knew I was done when Valeria grabbed Ramona’s hand instead of mine. I just became one of Valeria’s other boys. I had been in love with what I knew to be the most beautiful girl in the world for three years and in one night I became a lovesick mess. Literally: Oh em gee. I died. I cried over her for days. It’s pathetic when I look back at it now but I remember that my life was over at the time. Back then, in my mind, I forgave her every time she hooked up with numerous other guys in the weeks and months that came.

One Friday night at a school dance I couldn’t keep my eyes off Valeria. She loved music and loved dancing. Gerry and Ramona urged me to move on. How could I? She was my first love! Then all of a sudden, Valeria’s favourite song came on, George Michael’s “Freedom! ’90.” I wasn’t really that familiar with him at the time. I just knew he was one of the two queer guys from that 80’s group, Wham. And he was the one with that popular butt-waggling track, “Faith.”

Freedom was a hot fucking record. And the video! It was an orgy of the hottest Supermodels at the time. Talk about “beauty!” Linda Evangelista, Naomi Campbell, Cyndi Crawford, Christy Turlington. I became obsessed with the video and soon realised Valeria looked nothing like these beauties (but in her defense, not many people ever do!). Valeria was short and no where as graceful as these models. She also didn’t have much of a bust. Linda had such perfect and stunning features. Christy looked like a Greek Goddess wrapped in that huge sheet as she sauntered through that grand room. What an entrance! Divine. Christy also had incredible cheek bones and those eyes… And then the hottest scene ever when the two of them prick their fingers by the fire place. Hot! I wonder how many times I jerked off with that image in my head wondering when I would ever have the opportunity to meet a girl that looked as hot as Linda or Christy.

The day came 16 years later in the summer of 2005 when I was in Florence, Italy for a fashion show and I actually met the Ms. Christy Turlington. I was the Art Director for PUMA’s Black Station luxury line of footwear and apparel at the time. Christy had a partnering collaboration with PUMA of yoga inspired fashion called “nuala” (an acronym for Natural, Universal, Altruistic, Limitless, and Authentic; look, she’s a gorgeous model so let her name her line anything she wants!). You may have seen the nuala line at high end retail outlets like Bloomingdales. Other Black Station collaborators I got the privilege to work with included the teams of Neil Barrett, Alexander McQueen, Yasuhiro Mihara, Phillippe Starck, and Rudolph Dassler. This particular fashion show was a preview of the fall/winter collections of all these collaborations. But back to Christy!

She had not aged one bit! She was still stunning (even today she still is stunning!). Everyone in attendance of the Black Station fashion show eyed Ms. Christy. I’m not normally star struck but I was with her. I mean, she probably knew Madonna (my ultimate idol whom I love to hate)! I found out Christy’s agent is the same as Gwyneth Paltrow’s and Gwyneth and Madonna were besties once! Maybe all of us could go to a Coldplay concert? And swoon over Chris Martin?

Anyway, after the show, my PR girl buddies, Danielle and Lisa, quickly casually introduced Christy to me.

“Ch’ien, I look forward to working with you. I have a lot of ideas for this coming campaign,” she said. Did the Goddess just talk to me? My heart was thumping. I was screaming like a tween school girl on the inside! In my role as Art Director, I would work with the collaborators for their marketing and advertising campaigns. I looked around and noticed dozens of pairs of eyes spitting at me with jealousy at the fact that Christy spoke to me. Fuck team Edward and Team Jacob! I’m with Team Christy!

I was just a simple boy who grew up in Hong Kong. I must have gloated to my best friends as soon as I returned to my hotel room. I could never have imagined I’d meet and work with a Supermodel! It was a gay man’s dream come true (aside from being in the 14th row of a Madonna concert and almost touching her when she danced down the catwalk singing “Give It To Me!”)! Later that night when I was heading out in search of a gay bar in Florence I happened to pass by Christy and her posse off to some dinner. It looked like a photoshoot. Gorgeous people running down the cobble stone streets of Florence. Oh the glamour! I was too shy to call her name and just admired them in the shadows.

I’m not sure if I really heard anything during my first meeting with Christy at her office in the Meat Packing District in NYC. I was still in awe. She is gorgeous. And she’s still a Supermodel. Her assistant, Sascha D, and I hit it off immediately. Sascha also has a sick sense of humour and I was thrilled to know this would be a great working relationship in the year I would work with Christy and Sascha.

I watched Christy Turlington Burns grow during the following months as she was pregnant with her second child. She still worked hard during her pregnancy and boy did she glow. She was everything: wife, mother, entrepreneur. And she still looked amazing.

During one meeting, Christy, Sascha and I were huddled in Christy’s office. We were reviewing Christy’s upcoming campaign and apparel line for nuala. Sascha got up to use the ladies and dropped something. Without thinking I just reached down to help retrieve whatever she had dropped and found a tampon in my hand.

“Great! Now the gay guy knows I have my period,” Sabrina said.
We all laughed.
“Well I guess it means Ch’ien’s family now,” Christy replied, “So Sascha, you won’t mind sharing if it’s a heavy day?”
She was sharp and had a sense of humour, too! And I was now part of the “family.” When do I get to meet her sexy hubby-actor-director Ed Burns?

Months passed and I was always thrilled to take the Boston shuttle to New York every week to meet with the nuala team. We worked a lot and both Christy and Sascha introduced me to many of their favourite lunch and dinner spots. Thanks to PUMA’s expense account no expense was ever wasted!

After Christy gave birth to her boy, Finn, she still called in to our meetings while she stayed home with Finn and her girl, Grace. When the photoshoot finally arrived, Christy was determined to be there as she loved to be hands on with all her projects. When she arrived, my internal jaw dropped. She was still glowing and had already lost all the weight she gained during her pregnancy. I looked down at my own gut and noticed my booze belly was probably bigger than Christy’s and she had just given birth not too long ago!

The shoot went well. The apparel fit the ballet dancer like a dream. She slipped in and out of each look seamlessly. Her naked breasts were freely cupped by the stylist as she changed into another dress. Female nudity is very common during photoshoots and always wasted on gay men. Just my luck it wasn’t a shoot with hot male models today…

During a break, Christy’s nanny came to the set with Finn. Everyone oohed and ahhed at what a handsome baby he was. Christy, Sabrina and I moved into a private room to discuss the progress of the shoot. As suddenly as Finn had arrived, Christy’s tit was suddenly out of her dress for Finn’s baby lips to find Christy’s supermodel nipple. I felt my face turn hot. I’ve seen my fair share of breasts, but I had never seen supermodel titty! I started to fumble on my powerbook to pull up some of the digital shots we had so far.

“Ch’ien, the shoot is going great so far, isn’t it?” Christy said.
“Um, yeah. Great!” I kept my eyes on my powerbook.

We continued to chat from across the sofa until Finn was done with his feeding. I looked away so Christy could readjust herself and turned my way to Sascha.

“Christy, you have to check out some of these images!” Sascha said excitedly.
The nanny took Finn away and Christy was back to work mode and standing over my shoulder.

“So let’s see what you’ve got, Ch’ien,” Christy asked.
“Well take a look at these –” I was suddenly interrupted by something falling before I could finish.

I reached down to the floor to retrieve what Christy had dropped. I just handed a round piece of fabric back to Christy before really computing what I had in my hand.

“Oh my god,” Christy chirped, “I can’t believe you just handed me breast pad; how embarrassing!”

“It’s fine, Christy,” I said on some kind of reactive autopilot.

But was it really fine? I mean I just touched a supermodel’s breast milk drenched breast pad! As a gay man, I didn’t even know breast pads existed. I thought I was handing over some kind of damned drink coaster to Christy (goes to show all I ever think about are drinks...)!

When I told my straight buddies what had happened, the breast pad incident didn’t phase them at all. They were more concerned by the fact I didn’t photograph Christy’s bare breasts! I suppose I had Goddess Christy on such a high pedestal I never imagined humanly fluids to be secreted from any part of her body… She was afterall, Goddess Christy, Supermodel, Entrepreneur, Mother, Friend, and Human. Christy is vulnerably human, just like Valeria, and every other person I have found to be unhumanly stunning.

In August 2008, I happened to come across a shoot in W Magazine with Christy entitled Champion. It was photographed by Michael Thompson and she really "worked the warrior-goddess side of Greco-Roman influence" in this shoot. Hot! But even after viewing these beautiful images of Christy, I couldn't help but think she was a down to earth mother.
I’ve never really ever put anyone male nor female back on such a high pedestal since. I did, however, find myself to have some very special and hidden talents to add on my resume: will eat out and excellent female hygiene product retriever.