The feathered mask tickles my nose as the drag queen bends low to intimate something to the crowd. She whispers to me, "Dare to dream, stud." Then she pulls me on stage with just her index finger, intent on showing me off to the crowd. "Isn't he just the biggest, butchest stud you've ever seen? Isn't he simply delicious?" She spins me slowly, letting them see my every angle.

"Do you know what they do to these fine men out there?" Hell, she's getting on a soap box for me. "They beat them, ladies, they molest them, they ruin their clothes and jobs and relationships and lives. All because they haven't got what I've got under my skirt. It's disgusting, what is done to fine young men like these." The crowd murmurs its agreement, I try desperately not to blush.

She pulls me close then, stage-whispers into her microphone, "Handsome stud, warrior that you are, never feel alone. They've made us all old before our time; our innocence is lost before its even gained. You are not alone. You have family, you have friends, you have lovers, sisters and brothers. When you have to fight, remember we fight too." now I do blush, here I thought she'd just needed a prop. But, she's seen my wounds. She recognizes me. I've been called a warrior, but, I just feel like the world's punching bag most days. And she knows that, I can see it in her eyes, and I hate that I've been seen like this.