I had a dear friend for several years when I first moved to Florida named Michael. He had several personas and was actually a very complex person.
He was ex-military, and the father of at least three kids of whom he spoke often. Although he looked about 30, he was in fact in his mid-40s, and his eldest was a back-up dancer for Celine Dion in Las Vegas, which made him extremely proud. He also mentioned two daughters and the fact that he was a grandfather, though how many grandchildren, their names, etc was never really discussed, and I never pushed him.
Michael had one of the biggest dicks I've ever actually been in contact with: a real monster. He performed in several porns filmed in Miami in the late 90s and early 00s, always as a top. But once a year, on his birthday, he'd choose someone to top him, and in 2005 he asked me. He was really gifted as a bottom, and should have done it more often, and if I'd have asked I'm sure he would have obliged. But I was more comfortable keeping our relationship platonic, so we'd just cuddle once in a while and never fucked again.
Michael was quite the barfly, and he was out in Ft Lauderdale's scene every night. He discretely sold Cocaine to a small group of pals and always had "bumps" on hand. As I don't do Cocaine, I'd never accept his near-constant offerings (especially when he was tweaking, or whatever it is cokeheads get when they're wired). For some reason, it made him respect me more. And, of course, I'm not a prohibitionist, so it never bothered me, though I'm not sure I'd have ridden with him too often in cars.
For several years, his favored apparel was a tank-top cut short above the belly, a sagrong tied at his hips over a studded black leather cod-piece, military boots and long braided extensions which he wore in a variety of ornate ways. He was never without pale blue tinted, non-prescription eyeglasses, and wore leather cuffs that doubled as his wallet and stash-keeper. He was quite the sight. He'd vary this by simplifying to low-rider jeans when he wanted to be more discrete.
His other persona was Moldavia Ishtar, which was his drag name. I was priveledged to watch and assist in the transformation twice. After a day resting and fasting, he'd get in the shower about two hours before it was time to leave, where he'd soap, rinse, moiturize and shave with extreme care. This usually took about 45 minutes. Once dry, he'd re-moisturize his arms and legs, then begin with the duct tape, which he'd pull off in 12-18 inch strips. His enormous dick and low-hangers required a lot of duct tape, but when he was done, everything was tucked completely out of sight. Next, he'd tape off his chest with longer strips of duct tape, turning his smallish, muscular pecs into cleavage which looked completely real (except that there were no breasts, just cleavage).
His foundation garment was a funny kind of custom-made, padded girdle which gave him hips and a bigger ass than he actually possessed, and a strapless bra attached to the top, which he filled with gel inserts. Then he'd put on two layers of opaque hose, which softened any muscular definition in his legs and shaped them into really breathtaking gams.
At that point he was ready for the make-up, which was applied in many layers, shaping and lengthening his nose and giving his lips a more interesting and defined line. The foundation was applied over his artwork until it was, comparitively, subtle. About 3/4 of the way through, he'd groom and apply the wig (he only had one, and it was expensive), using a special glue to keep it down. With the hair in place, he'd finish the make-up and powder it all down. Because of the way he'd glue the wig, his face would be pulled slightly, giving his almond-shaped eyes an exotic, almost Asian feel.
All of his dresses, also custom-made, were step-in, so that he didn't have to worry about his hair and make-up. They were all very beauty-pageant and slinky and glittery. Jewelry was relatively subdued, and his shoes were always very lady-like, 3" heels. The shoes were always last and meant that his ride was expected momentarily.
I attended a Thanksgiving Michael hosted once, in 2004. The guests were mostly other B-List drag queens around town. A few brought dates, but most came alone. Only one came in full-on drag, but even that was subdued: jeans, sweater and light make-up/jewelry. The rest were really plain, rather plump men in their 30s and 40s. Only their shaped eyebrows tipped you off that they did drag.
Their humor was outrageous, of course. As I was just going through a very messy break-up, I needed the laughs and was an excellent victim for their "abuse", which was only mean spirited about other drag queen who weren't there.
Without my really asking for information, they figured that I wasn't exactly "in the scene", and gave me some idea of what different drag queens were all about.
The ones with implants, hormones and various other medical alterations (without going all the way, at which point they were no longer considered drag queens, were the Trannies. Trannies were all driven by gender dysmorphia to alter their bodies. They hate having been born male.
Illusionists were like Michael. They were driven to what they did by a kind of theatrical drive, but prefered to remain male and were not trans-gendered in any way. They consider themselves artistes.
Lastly, there were Boys in Dresses. BiD were not illusionists, because they had no desire to disguise the fact that they are male. Think of them as Post-Modern drags: they are all about the mindfuck of drag but with none of the typical female body illusions. There's a famous BiD in Ft Lauderdale who has full-sleeve tats and a fairly muscular body. But she's always seen in wigs and make-up, all very professionally done. Her clothes tend to be kinda mix-and-match: boy jeans, tanks and high, high heels. She makes a living as a DJ, EmCee and, occasionally, TV personality.
At a certain point, my frind Michael crossed several lines. His drug use made him increasingly erratic and prone to skip his HIV medication. He'd get very messy with me and made me acutely uncomfortable on a few too many occasions. I saw in one of the local bar guides that he'd passed away, and I went to a kind of Drag Memorial in his honor held at one of the dance clubs here.
As Michael was on the scene for many years, both in Ft Lauderdale and in SoBe, the website linked below has pictures spanning, perhaps, fifteen years and many looks. The one I remember best was the blue dress without the lacy trim.
RIP, my friend.
Gay Bar Fort Lauderdale - STEEL Video Lounge and Dance Club