Such sissifying slaps carry historical punch for a gay man today.
No one had ever called me a big queen before, and to my surprise, I kind of liked it. “ Judy Garland?” She sniffed imperiously. ONE bright day last summer on Commercial Street in Provincetown, Massachusetts, Afrodite, a bald black drag queen with a silver stud in one nostril and big, muscular hairless legs, strode toward me, her eyes locked on the dust jacket of the book I was carrying: Judy Garland: The Secret Life of an American Legend (1992), by David Shipman.
