Holidays
.”
* * *
Considered by many to be Belfast’s best gay/transsexual bar,
Billy
Holidays
was situated near the main gateways into the exciting Cathedral Quarter, close to the city centre. It was also conveniently located just a one-minute walk from Karl’s office/apartment.
The night had suddenly become crisp and silent, with only the tiniest whisper of traffic in the background. The diseased kerbstones, avoided by Karl and Naomi, were getting a well-serviced facelift from a nightshift working crew. Puddles of water darkened the gaps in the tarmac leading directly to
Billy Holidays.
Outside the pub, a blackboard with a scribbled menu of coloured chalk proclaimed upcoming karaoke and bingo events: Sing like Georgina Michael every Wednesday! Bungo Bingo! See our world-famous balls every Tuesday and Thursday – and in between if you’re brave enough!
The queen of
Billy Holidays
, a shapely transsexual known as IvanaTrampp, was staring wantonly at a towering, athletically-built young man laced in leather and pretty looks, just as Karl and Naomi walked through the door.
“Naomi!” sang Ivana, sweeping towards the duo, hips swaying provocatively for all to consider, the sex appeal bordering on physical intimidation.
“Hello, Ivana,” smiled Naomi warmly, as she and Ivana kissed-kissed falsely, cheek-to-cheek.
“How are you, Ivana?” asked Karl, while indicating to a waiter at the front of the bar.
“I feel like shit. Not that you care.”
“Would you like a drink?” continued Karl.
“Are the Hulk’s balls green?” retorted Ivana. “One never,
ever
, asks a lady if she
would like a drink
. One instructs for it to be brought close to her graceful hand for her consideration.”
“The usual, then, I take it? Vodka and orange?” said Karl.
“No. Not tonight. I’ll have a whiskey –
straight
. Transgression is permitted at least once a week. Besides, I’m tiring of the resident homosexuals imposing themselves unsolicited, advertising their notches of triumph on their willowy willies – all three inches. Their cruelty is becoming too much like that of women – present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” smiled Naomi.
“Why don’t you try a real man for a change? You never know …” suggested Karl, with a grin.
“I
was
a real man once. Remember?” responded Ivana, frostily. Then, turning to Naomi, she said, “I don’t know what you see in
him
, darling. His lack of good looks is substituted with too many craggy lumps. He is balding, middle aged and has the dress sense of Attila the Hun.”
Naomi’s smile took a rather wicked turn. Karl immediately thought of a smart retort, but decided to leave well enough alone, knowing he was on a no-winner trying to defeat the verbal queen of acerbic repartee.
The waiter arrived, and quickly departed without a tip. Ivana, eyeing his wiggle, said, “Fresh, and such a tease … legs like anacondas.”
“How
is
your love life, Ivana?” asked Naomi.
“At one time, darling, I was getting more ass than the average toilet. Now it’s simply become a toilet. Always ending up with shit.”
“Thanks, Ivana, for such a wonderful thought,” cut-in Karl, sipping his brandy before asking, “Has there been any new talent in town, lately?”
“Talent? O
hhhhh
. Are you poking or hoping?”
“Simply groping, thank you. Anyone strange?”
Ivana laughed, sweeping a rough hand about the packed room. “
Strange?
How strange do you want it? You won’t have to search too far.”
“I’m talking about new faces. Could be a transvestite. Lovely looking. Slightly muscular, possibly. Into fitness, perhaps. Keeps to his or herself. Has a predilection for older men. Bit of a loner. Drinks
Drambuie
.”
“My perfect fuck – with the exception of the older men thing.” Ivana’s voice held an air of impermeable boredom. “Sounds like you’re after a bone smuggler.”
“What’s a bone smuggler?” queried Naomi, sipping
.”
* * *
Considered by many to be Belfast’s best gay/transsexual bar,
Billy
Holidays
was situated near the main gateways into the exciting Cathedral Quarter, close to the city centre. It was also conveniently located just a one-minute walk from Karl’s office/apartment.
The night had suddenly become crisp and silent, with only the tiniest whisper of traffic in the background. The diseased kerbstones, avoided by Karl and Naomi, were getting a well-serviced facelift from a nightshift working crew. Puddles of water darkened the gaps in the tarmac leading directly to
Billy Holidays.
Outside the pub, a blackboard with a scribbled menu of coloured chalk proclaimed upcoming karaoke and bingo events: Sing like Georgina Michael every Wednesday! Bungo Bingo! See our world-famous balls every Tuesday and Thursday – and in between if you’re brave enough!
The queen of
Billy Holidays
, a shapely transsexual known as IvanaTrampp, was staring wantonly at a towering, athletically-built young man laced in leather and pretty looks, just as Karl and Naomi walked through the door.
“Naomi!” sang Ivana, sweeping towards the duo, hips swaying provocatively for all to consider, the sex appeal bordering on physical intimidation.
“Hello, Ivana,” smiled Naomi warmly, as she and Ivana kissed-kissed falsely, cheek-to-cheek.
“How are you, Ivana?” asked Karl, while indicating to a waiter at the front of the bar.
“I feel like shit. Not that you care.”
“Would you like a drink?” continued Karl.
“Are the Hulk’s balls green?” retorted Ivana. “One never,
ever
, asks a lady if she
would like a drink
. One instructs for it to be brought close to her graceful hand for her consideration.”
“The usual, then, I take it? Vodka and orange?” said Karl.
“No. Not tonight. I’ll have a whiskey –
straight
. Transgression is permitted at least once a week. Besides, I’m tiring of the resident homosexuals imposing themselves unsolicited, advertising their notches of triumph on their willowy willies – all three inches. Their cruelty is becoming too much like that of women – present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” smiled Naomi.
“Why don’t you try a real man for a change? You never know …” suggested Karl, with a grin.
“I
was
a real man once. Remember?” responded Ivana, frostily. Then, turning to Naomi, she said, “I don’t know what you see in
him
, darling. His lack of good looks is substituted with too many craggy lumps. He is balding, middle aged and has the dress sense of Attila the Hun.”
Naomi’s smile took a rather wicked turn. Karl immediately thought of a smart retort, but decided to leave well enough alone, knowing he was on a no-winner trying to defeat the verbal queen of acerbic repartee.
The waiter arrived, and quickly departed without a tip. Ivana, eyeing his wiggle, said, “Fresh, and such a tease … legs like anacondas.”
“How
is
your love life, Ivana?” asked Naomi.
“At one time, darling, I was getting more ass than the average toilet. Now it’s simply become a toilet. Always ending up with shit.”
“Thanks, Ivana, for such a wonderful thought,” cut-in Karl, sipping his brandy before asking, “Has there been any new talent in town, lately?”
“Talent? O
hhhhh
. Are you poking or hoping?”
“Simply groping, thank you. Anyone strange?”
Ivana laughed, sweeping a rough hand about the packed room. “
Strange?
How strange do you want it? You won’t have to search too far.”
“I’m talking about new faces. Could be a transvestite. Lovely looking. Slightly muscular, possibly. Into fitness, perhaps. Keeps to his or herself. Has a predilection for older men. Bit of a loner. Drinks
Drambuie
.”
“My perfect fuck – with the exception of the older men thing.” Ivana’s voice held an air of impermeable boredom. “Sounds like you’re after a bone smuggler.”
“What’s a bone smuggler?” queried Naomi, sipping
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