New York Love Story (Guess How Much I Love You!) - Episode 5

“I’m getting a divorce.”

　That was what my older sister, Irene, who is nine years older than I, said.

　At the cafe where we arranged to meet, before the coffee even arrived, she got straight to the point. I had heard that she was unhappy with her marriage, but I never imagined it would go to this extent.

“I see…that must have been difficult.”

“It’s not ‘was’. It’s just going to get harder from now on.”

　When the coffee was brought to her, Irene put three sugars in it, as if to say, “I can’t do this without getting high on sugar.”

“What about the kids?”

“I’ll take it.”

“Both of you?”

“Both of them,” I said, tucking the hair that had fallen from my cheek behind my ear and taking a sip of coffee. Irene has two children, a boy and a girl. In other words, they are my nephew and niece.

“We have a good chance. He likes kids, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, there is, woman.”

“A woman? Norman is cheating on you?”

“I don’t have proof, but… I told you before that we haven’t had s3x for five years, right? That doesn’t seem right. He always dresses nicely, and he doesn’t look like he’s shriveled up. My friends still say, ‘Norman is so nice.’ There’s no way a guy like that wouldn’t have s3x. He does. Absolutely. With someone other than me.”

“How dare you make assumptions without evidence?”

“A woman’s intuition. Always right,” Irene said, sipping her coffee again.

　”Women’s intuition” – if that’s how it is, there’s nothing men can do. It’s extremely dangerous to blindly deny “women’s intuition.” No matter how hard a man tries, he can’t have it.

“Have the kids done yet?”

“I told Leroy, ‘It’s better than being with someone you hate.’ That was so straightforward. I guess he knew something wasn’t going on between his parents.”

“What about you, Chibi?”

“Stella hasn’t yet. She’s potty trained. She even knows the word ‘marriage.'”

“That’s right, last year she told me, ‘Uncle, please get married.'”

“Right now I’m crazy about a girl at nursery school called Nikki.”

“A beardless baby is no match for me.”

“It’s weird for a two-year-old to have a beard. Anyway, I haven’t told Stella yet. I wonder if she understands the word ‘Recon’.”

“You know that means you won’t be seeing your dad much from now on.”

“That’s still the case. I rarely come home when Stella is awake.”

“Does Mom know?”

“Not yet. I’ll call you tonight. I thought I should tell you first.”

“why”

“If I told my mom, I’d get a phone call right away saying, ‘Hello Dean? Have you heard? Eileen’s getting a divorce!'”

　Irene mimics her mother’s tone of voice, which is certainly an expected reaction.

“You’d better know before that happens.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“Now I’m finally unemployed.”

“Did I have a job?”

“Mrs. Shepherd was my occupation. All those annoying societies and clubs. Party hostessing. Careful about what I wore and how I carried myself… that was my life all year round. But if only I had love. If only I had that, all my days would be happy… don’t you think I sound like a character in a soap opera?”

“Say something so carefree…what are you going to do from now on?”

“I’m going to be busy for a while, so I thought I’d go see my mom before then. She’ll be very worried, and I want to talk to her face-to-face. I want to freshen up in Miami Beach before the fight. I won’t be afraid to get a tan. I’m not Madame Shepherd anymore.”

“Don’t go to court with a completely black face. The jury will not be sympathetic to you.”

“It won’t be that big of a fight. We’re not trying to tear each other apart. If it weren’t for the kids, it would be an amicable divorce,” Irene said with a smile. Her smile didn’t hide her gaunt look. Even if it was an amicable divorce, it wouldn’t be without pain. Her face clearly showed what it was like to separate from her husband after so many years of marriage.

“Well, I’d better get going soon, or I’ll have to pay the babysitter extra. Sorry for taking up your day off.”

“Now I understand why I was so slurred on the phone.”

“How about you tonight? If you’d like, how about dinner at my place?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“It’s okay, Norman isn’t here.”

“No, I have plans.”

“A date? You can bring Paul.”

“There’s a party in the Village.”

“Oh, that’s good. I haven’t had a party with my friends in years. I guess that can’t be helped. Have fun.”

“Have fun.”

　That’s what I was told, but I’m sure it’s difficult.

『Oh my, that’s good.』

　Not at all. I’ve never been to such a depressing party as today’s.

“I haven’t had a party with friends in years.”

　I wouldn’t mind if someone else took my place. I wouldn’t mind if my sister, who looks just like me, attended in my place. But that’s impossible. No women allowed at today’s party. If I could erase the Y from my chromosomes, I would do it for today. Or maybe I’d be abducted by aliens. Or maybe Godzilla would appear in Manhattan, and we’d have no time to party. Of course, none of these is possible. The taxi carrying me arrived at the Village smoothly. It’s the only time things go well, so it’s annoying. God must not care about me. It’s the only time I remember God’s name. He must be up in the clouds, annoying me, too.

　The party venue was a small club. The lights were turned off in the dim hall, and the large projector was completely white, showing only my shadow.

“Dean, not that way! Over here!”

　Carolyn steps out from behind the red velvet curtains, beckons me, grabs my arm, and pulls me backstage. She’s taller than I, not just because of the heels she’s wearing, but also because she used to play basketball when she was “he.”

“Here comes the heroine!” Carolyn shouted, and a man in a suit stood up from his stool.

“Welcome. So you came here and didn’t run away,” said Roman Destiny with his arms crossed and a grin on his face.

“I wasn’t going to run away. A fight is a fight. I was going to come here no matter what.”

　I also cross my arms, hiding the fact that I was hoping to be abducted by aliens.

“Well, that’s manly, but it’s no good. Tonight is a girls’ party, so you’d better be ladylike. Carolyn, what’s Dean wearing?”

“They’re all in that wardrobe case over there,” she said. The wardrobe case she pointed to had duct tape on the lid, with the word “DEAN” written on it in marker. If I’d known it would be so obvious, I would have snuck in and stolen them yesterday.

　Carolyn opens the case and says, “It looks like this. It’s a little plain, isn’t it?” She takes out a black cloth with glitter and hands it to me. When I unfold it, I see that it is a long dress with a slit.

“And this. Be careful not to catch your fingers when putting them on.”

　Fishnet stockings. I’m surprised they have them in my size.

“Shoe size 11 is okay, right?”

　Matte black high heels. Don’t women’s shoe sizes go up to 10?

“I’ll do this after I put on my makeup. But before that, I want to check the size, so could you try it on for me?”

　The purple wig is almost black. I’m sure it would look beautiful in the light.

“Are you going to put this on…?”

“Don’t look like you’re at a funeral,” Carolyn said, laughing, showing her white teeth. “Putting on a wig isn’t going to kill you.”

　Yes, that’s true, at least physically. But in my case, I can’t help but feel like something more important has died because of this.

　Carolyn doesn’t seem to care about my suffering and just puts it on me.

“I wonder? Is it too hard?”

“Are you okay?”

“Okay then, that’s it! You can get changed in the dressing room over there.”

　A man as tall as Shaq grabbed his arm again. He was led to a makeshift dressing room separated by a partition. The space was filled with the smell of makeup and perfume, and was filled with “girls” dressed up in sequins and feathers. Some of them were still in the process of getting dressed and were half-naked. If they were “real girls”, it would be awkward where to look, but there was no need to worry about that. This event was off-limits to women. There were no women at this “girls’ party”. Entry was restricted to “real women” with XX chromosomes.

　What am I doing here with my stockings and high heels in hand? It all started with billiards. It’s not unusual for a bar to have a billiards table, and it’s not unusual for the conversation to turn to “Let’s have a bet while we’re here.” I’m pretty confident in my billiards skills. My opponent was a drunk Roman. He bet on Ikepod’s watch, which he had never worn since it was given to him as a gift. I was determined to get it, so I said something like “If I lose, I’ll do whatever you say,” and started the game.

　I bet my pride, and Roman bet his money. In myths and legends, the one who bets his pride wins, but this time it wasn’t. The devil smiles as he shoots the number 8 ball into his pocket. If I’d known he was so strong, I wouldn’t have challenged him, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have bet anything.

“Dressing up as a woman and participating in a beauty pageant”

　That was the condition that the Devil, Roman, had set.

　A party run by gays, for gays, and only for gays. The main event is a beauty pageant. The title is “Miss America.” The humility of limiting it to “Miss New York” is probably unnecessary for ladies dressed in flashy costumes.

　The contest was a contest. The Miss put on the dress with confidence and sat down in front of the mirror.

“Don’t be so hard,” Carolyn said. “You’re going to get beautiful, so you need to enjoy it.”

　That being said, I’m not a good enough person to enjoy wearing fishnet stockings. If only Paul could do my makeup, I’d feel a little better, but he’s still at work. Carrying out his duties even when his girlfriend is feeling lonely is the epitome of a professional.

　Carolyn seemed to sense my anxiety and said, “It’s a shame it’s not Paul.” “But don’t worry, leave it to me. I’ll make you a real beauty…” she said, picking out a bottle and a tube from the makeup box. As I looked at myself in the mirror, about to become a “real beauty,” a burst of lively laughter filled the room.

“Oh! I was wondering who it was, but it’s Dean!” Ellen (male) said.

“No way! You’re going to participate too?!” Mona (male) said with wide eyes.

“Wow! This is something to see!” The last person to shout was David (a man, obviously).

　”Oh!” “No way!” “Amazing!” I had the urge to deny them all, but they were all true, so I couldn’t. The three ladies quickly surrounded me, making a series of comments about my dress, fishnet stockings, and high heels, and finally asking, “What about your beard?”

“Let’s go ahead and shave it,” Carolyn said.

“You idiot, stop!”

“It will grow back soon.”

“It won’t be quick! It takes a while to get the right shape!”

“Hey, you yelled about something like that.”

“You have to have a beard? Are you Arab?”

“The epitome of macho.”

　…That’s ridiculous. Do I have to be criticized like this just for protecting my beard a little?

“If you keep going like this, your cross-dressing will never be complete.”

“There are no women with beards, right?”

“It looks better shaved.”

“Yeah, beards like this are outdated.”

　He’s just saying whatever he wants…

“Sure! Shave it! Do whatever you want!”

　The ladies screamed and clapped their hands in appreciation of his heroic determination.

“But make me beautiful instead. Don’t make me a joke.”

“Of course.”

　I’ve lost not only my pride, but also my beard. Now I’m going to become the most beautiful person in the world. I’m going to beat everyone and take the title! Maybe it’s because of the dress or the fishnet stockings, but I look more muscular than usual.

　From then on, I was at the mercy of a sacrificial lamb. So many different creams and powders were applied all over my face that it seemed as if my skin would be unable to breathe, brushes were run at angles that seemed to pierce my eyes, my eyelashes were pinned down and then fake eyelashes were placed on top of them, a frame was drawn to show where my lips would be and then filled in. Finally, a wig was pinned down, and after what seemed like an eternity of ecstasy, Carolyn shouted, “It’s done!”

　Mirror, mirror…who is the most beautiful in the world?

“Wow! That’s quite a sight!”

“Of course! I’m good at makeup!”

“She’s a cool beauty.”

“Aren’t there any female models like this? Surely there are?”

　Carolyn, a professional makeup artist, put her hands on my shoulders and looked at my face in the mirror.

“How about it? What do you think?”

“Just like my sister.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, I get mistaken for a transvestite a lot.”

　Every time I blink, I feel the weight of my eyelashes. I’ve never even thought about the weight of my eyelashes. They’re not the only heavy thing. My ears are heavy too. I have big shiny gold earrings. How can women wear things like that? I’m sure my earlobes will be completely grown out by the end of the party.

“Oh, that’s great!” Roman appears with a board with a clip attached under his arm.

“Carolyn, you’re doing a great job.”

“Hehe, thanks. The La Prairie makeup base you told me about the other day is really useful.”

“It’s not just about technique and the foundation. It’s about having a good foundation. A handsome man can look good even in women’s clothing. Just like the actors of medieval Europe.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I know, handsome. So? What about a name?”

“Name?”

“That’s what I call you on stage.”

“Dean’s not good enough?”

“All the performers today have girls’ names. Is there a girl named Dean? You can call yourself Marilyn or Audrey or whatever name you like today.”

　Even if you say it’s a name I like, there’s no female name that I admire.

“Anything. As long as it’s not Olga or Bertha.”

“Dean’s female name is Deanna, right?” Carolyn started, and Ellen leaned forward and said, “That’s boring.” “But what about Jacqueline? She sounds a little more intelligent, doesn’t she?”

“Yo, that reminds me of Kennedy’s wife. I’d like something lighter. How about some hippie baby rainbow?”

　Here we go again. Once we start talking, it’s bound to get long, so it’s best to decide for yourself before you give it a weird name (“Rainbow” anyone?).

“I’ll choose Irene. When I see your face, that’s the only thing I can think of.”

“Okay… Irene…” Roman wrote the name on the board.

“And the entrance song.”

“Is there anything else?”

“How about a Madonna song?”

“Anything is fine now.”

“You know ‘Like a Virgin,’ right? Can you sing it?”

“Song?”

“I thought you were just going to step forward?”

“Are you kidding me?! How can I sing a song?”

“I could have some support. A duet. Like Madonna and Britney.”

“That’s a kiss!”

“Oh noooo! Are you going to do it? Hey? Want me to kiss you?”

“It’ll be so much fun with Dean!”

　This may seem like a damper on what is already going on, but I hate singing on stage (and even less kissing!).

“I don’t want to kiss or sing… please give me a break”

　Her tone was so pathetic that even the devil seemed to sympathize with her. She performed a ronde (a handstand landing on the floor with both hands on the floor) on stage, and they settled for not singing. It’s not a move you see often in beauty pageants, but there must be some tomboyish women out there.

“Paul’s here!”

　My boyfriend finally showed up. I changed the tone of my voice, put on the biggest smile I could, and turned around.

“Hi, Paul. How do I look?”

　Paul didn’t say anything, just bent his body in an L-shape and burst out laughing. It was worth it just to see this. Making him laugh is one of the things that makes me happy.

“What do you think? Is she beautiful?!”

“Yeah… It’s so… great,” she muttered, finally catching her breath.

“Let’s go out to a bar and pick up a rich guy,” the beautiful woman suggested, pushing her hair back.

“Great idea. I’ll be watching from the sidelines.”

　Roman clapped his hands together to signal, “We’re about to start! We’ve got a great turnout! Girls! Are you all ready?”

“Yes!” the girls’ voices answered. Their tone was an octave lower than the average “girl.”

　As Paul was leaving the waiting room, he turned around and asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“What kind of underwear are you wearing?”

　As expected of my lover. He asked me exactly what I had hoped he wouldn’t ask me.

　Just as they were in a difficult position, Roman’s voice came through: “Hey! Parents, come out! If you’re going to film the video, you need to make sure you have a good seat!”

　 “Well, later. Good luck!” Paul quickly kissed her cheek, careful not to ruin her makeup. The guardian disappeared behind the curtain, but the kiss made her feel much better.

　A smile, a kiss, and the magic words. Love is a simple thing. Forgetting the advice to be “gentle,” the Miss America candidate shouts bravely.

“All right! Let’s get started on the challenge!”

　There were many different types of contestants. From classic beauties to comedians, all kinds of “people” (what else can I say?) were in the spotlight. Some even had goldfish bowls on their heads, and the stage seemed to be quite lively.

　I was a beginner, so I thought there was a point in just participating… but now that things have gotten to this point, I’ve started to want to aim for a prize. Not the top prize, but some kind of honor (whether this can be called an “honor” or not). Just as I was waiting in the shadows of the stage and finally starting to feel positive, it happened.

　When the previous entry finished, and it was finally my turn, the bass started to play. This intro. It was a hit song by Madonna that everyone knows.

“I told you I wasn’t going to sing!” I yelled at Carolyn in a low voice so the audience couldn’t hear.

“I don’t want you to tell me that!”

“Stop the song.”

“Right now? That’s impossible!”

　It was my first time cross-dressing. My heart rate soared. My heart was beating just like a virgin’s.

“Miss Irene!”

　The host called my name.

“Come on out! Hurry!”

　Halfway through the show, he is pushed out onto the stage.

　Wearing a wig won’t kill you. Losing your beard is no problem. Singing a song… It’s no big deal!

　Just as he made up his mind and grabbed the microphone stand, a shouted tirade came from the audience.

“Irene!”

　A man stood up in excitement. His face was hard to see in the bright lights, so I narrowed my eyes and stared. By the time I realized who it was, it was already too late. He completely messed up the opening line and forgot to do his somersault.

　The man who called me “Irene.” The man whose wife was also named “Irene.” My one and only brother-in-law in the world was gazing at me from the audience.

　After the show, my brother-in-law and I sat on a two-seater sofa in the corner of the venue and toasted our long-awaited reunion.

“I never thought you’d come to a place like this.”

　”You,” my brother-in-law said in surprise, laughing. “You’re the one doing something like this in a place like this.”

　Even after removing the makeup and changing into normal clothes, the impact of the dress and wig is still there. No matter how respectable the family may have been up until now, that was only until today. The events of tonight must have completely changed that impression.

　Although I didn’t win the contest, Roman, the head judge, crowned me “Miss Happening.” My brother-in-law met on stage. It was so dramatic that people commented that it could have been staged, and although it was completely different from my intention, it seemed to have won the hearts of the audience. (By the way, “Miss America” ​​was a beautiful woman who looked just like Whitney Houston. Of course, I had no chance of winning.)

　My sister’s husband and my nephew and niece’s father. Director of a major insurance company. Owner of a ranch involved in breeding race horses. In short, very rich. Ever since I was a child, I’ve thought that the way he laughs is a bit like Robert Redford. That’s my brother-in-law, Norman Shepherd. He’s wearing a well-tailored suit that’s not a designer brand. It’s a plain color like the FBI’s, but it suits his light-blond hair well.

“Thank you for the Christmas present,” Norman said, a few months late. He leaned forward slightly, folded his hands on his knees, and smiled. Yes, this is it. It was the “Robert Redford smile.”

“This is a Romeo Y Julieta cigar case. I love using it. I remember the brand well.”

　The way he talks. It hasn’t changed at all since we first met. It’s as if he’s about to pat me on the head and say, “You remembered well.”

“I can’t believe I’m standing here with you and that Mighty D,” he says, taking a sip of his Tom Collins and laughing.

　”Mighty D” was a nickname only known to my family when I was a child. Irene met Norman in college, and they got married at a young age. I first met Norman when I was nine years old. He is one of the few people who knew “Dean without the beard” (although he is still “Dean without the beard” today).

“I didn’t know you were gay.”

　Let’s not deny that opinion for now. Mighty D is a “miss” in drag. If I said I’m not gay, you probably wouldn’t believe me.

“You’re the one,” I say, taking a breath after mashing the lime in my gin and rickey. “My sister told me about the divorce.”

“I see.”

“You and my sister… were getting along well. I thought you were a good husband.”

“What a good husband…” she said, moistening her lips with a Tom Collins.

“She seems to think you have a girlfriend.”

“No women, no men. Just occasional trips to places like this. It’s lonely.”

　”Places like this”? Going to places like this now and then? Does that count as cheating?

“A good husband…” Norman said the same word as before. “If you think that realizing you’re gay after getting married is a bad thing, then I have no words for you.”

　Norman was looking down the table with a somewhat sad expression on his face.

　”There’s no way I wouldn’t say that realizing I’m gay is bad.” If you think about it, I’m pretty similar, aren’t I? Is changing your religion bad? Are you realizing who you are? “I don’t love you anymore, I like men.” Did Norman suffer from that…?

　The gin rickey was bitter. The cocktail was ruined by the lime being smashed for too long. The lighting was dim, the reggae was sloppy. Bob Marley doesn’t help the silence.

“Do you remember? We went to play baseball together.” Norman looked up, as if to blow away the heavy atmosphere.

“Yes, of course,” I replied with a smile, relieved that the topic had changed. “I’ll never forget the first time I went to the stadium.”

“You brought your glove. You said, ‘Catch the foul balls.'”

“It ended up being a popcorn container.”

“I once went skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“And to concerts. My mom said, ‘I’ll go if it’s with Norman,’ to see Bon Jovi.”

　Thinking back, I had played with him a lot. Norman loved children, which is why I had the impression that he was a “good husband”…

“You told me about the girl you like. A girl from your class.”

　I don’t remember, but I’m sure we talked about that. I don’t have any brothers. Baseball, hard rock, love advice… Norman shared with me the things I couldn’t talk about with my sister.

“I’m glad I met you tonight.”

　Norman stares at my face. His eyes are green. I remember that. I had completely forgotten about that time.

“It feels strange to be drinking like this. Once upon a time, we were both straight. But now we’re sitting side by side…” He empties his cocktail glass and pushes it across the table. Then he turns to me again and says, “I never thought you’d look so good,” and places his fingers on my chin. It’s been years since he’s been able to touch that bare chin. It’s another feeling I’d long forgotten.

“Mighty….Dean.”

　Suddenly, his face got closer. The familiar smell of cologne. It only took a moment for me to feel it. The cologne of his lips. A glass fell from the table, and screams rose up all around. Norman hit his bottom on the floor, and I stood upright. It all happened in an instant, and hearing my yelling was also part of what happened at almost the same time.

“You… you’re my brother-in-law… Irene’s husband?!”

　In hindsight, it was a stupid thing to say. It wasn’t a “What are you doing?” or a “You bastard!” It was just a fact, not the kind of thing that would hurt the other person.

　Norman, still crouching on the floor, looked up at me and said quietly.

“Legally, I still am. But in reality, I’m no longer your brother-in-law, nor Irene’s husband.”

　Far from being an insult, it’s simply a fact.

“What’s going on?” someone said (probably Carolyn), but I didn’t answer. I didn’t answer, I just left the store.

　While walking aimlessly down the street, I bumped into two passersby. One of them yelled out, “Damn you!” That’s right. These are the kinds of words that hurt the other person. The words Norman said were not of that kind. Even though they should have been, I felt like I’d been hit.

　Another passerby bumps into me on the shoulder. I wonder why I keep bumping into him. It probably has something to do with the fact that I can’t see clearly because of my tears. Damn it. What is making me cry so much? Are they tears for Irene? Or for my cute nephew and niece? Are they pissing me off because they tried to kiss me? Have they ruined my childhood memories? It’s nothing like that. It’s nothing like that. So why am I crying?

“Dean!” He called out to me, and I stopped in my tracks. I had nowhere to go anyway. If he hadn’t called, I would have just walked around Manhattan like this…

　Paul caught up with me, out of breath. He looked startled when he saw my crying face, but he didn’t express his dismay in a voice. He just gently stroked my arm and asked, “What on earth did he do to you?”

“It’s okay. Nothing was done to me…” Having said this, a certain fact suddenly occurred to me.

“Oh no… I hit him even though he “didn’t do anything”. What should I do? Isn’t this assault? What will happen to me? If the president of ST Insurance sues me…”

“Dean, calm down for a second. You don’t have to think about anything at first. Your breathing has been shallow for a while now.”

“Ah……”

　I took a deep breath as instructed. As I inhaled and exhaled, I realized that I was gradually becoming calmer.

“How embarrassing, crying so much over something that’s not even my fault,” he said, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I cry because it’s not about me.”

　Ah, I see. That’s a good point. You’re right.

“He… Norman… is like this… What should I say to Irene…”

“What can I say? You wearing fishnet stockings and being a drag queen?”

　Paul’s comment made me laugh.

“Yeah, it would be bad for them to know that…”

　I don’t want her to know about it now. There’s no need to say anything now. When she gets better in Miami and finds a new boyfriend, I can tell her this funny story about me cross-dressing.

“Let’s go home,” Paul said, taking my hand. “Roman told me you used the hair removal foam. I want to go home soon so I can kiss your smooth legs.”

“And a smooth chin.”

“I see. Now’s the time for that, right?”

“Oh, I’ll start growing it out again tomorrow. I’ll be feminine until tonight.”

“This is the first time I’ve been in bed with Miss.”

“This is my first time being a Miss.”

　We both burst out in laughter, a familiar chemistry between us.

“Do you want to know what kind of underwear Miss is wearing?”

“Hmm, actually, I don’t want to know. I’m more interested in what happens after you take your clothes off. Anyway, what about the song? Were you planning to sing a Madonna song?”

“Well, in that situation. It can’t be helped.”

“I prefer songs over underwear. Do you have the lyrics memorized?”

“No.”

　I pretended not to know, fearing that I would be forced to sing it in bed, but the truth is that I own every single Madonna CD. “Like a Virgin” is a song I can sing with my eyes closed.

　Although I don’t say it aloud, my feelings right now are the same as those lyrics: “I was sad and blue, but you made me feel, you made me feel shiny and new.”

　It wasn’t until I became Miss that I finally felt the same way as Madonna, but it wasn’t because of the wig or the dress. It was because of a kind lover who naturally helped me understand the meaning of love songs.

　We walk home. We walk together to a steady rhythm. It’s the unmistakable rhythm of lovers. I don’t remember the first time I held hands with the girl I like, but I can imagine what it was like. It felt good, just like now. It’s not my first time in love. But my heart rate is soaring. My heart is beating like a virgin’s…

　Tonight I understood Madonna’s song. A smile and a kiss and the magic words. I don’t need anything else.

　I’ve come through the wilderness. I’ve finally made it here.

(I made it through the wilderness. Somehow I made it through)

　You have no idea how lost I got before I found you.

(Didn’t know how lost I was Until I found you)

　You are the best. You are mine. You make me stronger and braver.

(You’re so fine And you’re mine Make me strong, you make me bold)

　It feels like the first time. It feels like the first time I touched it.

(Like a Virgin Touched for the very first time)

　Your heart is beating, then it’s my turn.

(Like a Virgin with your heartbeat next to mine)

　Oh, baby, can you hear my heartbeat? It’s like a virgin…

(Oooh baby, Can’t you hear my heart beat For the very first time….)

　　— Like A Virgin / Madonna —