Caressing my friend, Jeff’s, muscular calves, touching the flickers of his brown leg hairs peeking through torn fishnets, confirmed my suspicions last Monday night.

Not that Jeff is a closet transvestite, or cross dresser who has always longed to wear women’s corsets or high-heeled leopard pumps. Or that he is practicing to strut his stuff as the next contestant on RuPaul’s Drag Queen Race hit reality show.

But it was apparent that Jeff was having way too much fun playing “Brad” on stage in a community theatre production of the “Rocky Horror Show” a tribute to science fiction and horror B movies, that swept most of the audience back in time to the 1970’s.

Several decades ago, while still in my teens, I’d happily pile into the subway with my friends Friday night heading for the Roxy Theatre on Danforth Avenue to watch the “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” We dressed up like the quirky characters (Magenta, Rocky, Riff, Frank-N-Furter, Brad and Janet) equipped with bags of rice to throw at the screen during the wedding scene, slices of burnt toast to toss at the bride, and sheets of newspapers to hold over our heads when it rained (and it rained a lot). Sometimes we rushed to the front of the movie theatre and waved our arms in unison pushing away the imaginary fog while it rolled in on screen, just as Brad and Janet’s car broke down outside the mysterious spaceship/spooky house from Transsexual, Transylvania.

I remember, Gail, my cute curly haired 13-year-old sister screeching at the top of her lungs one night when she finally arrived home while I was fast asleep. “I’m not a virgin, I’m not a virgin, ” she cried deliriously.  I hopped out of bed in my flowered nightgown to see what all the fuss was about, peering down at my parents’ ashen faces. I was 16 at the time, and far from losing my virginity. “Yikes…How could this be happening to me?” I panicked.

I gasped in relief a few minutes later, when Gail crept into my bed to share her crazy rice throwing stories and how she was no longer considered a “virgin” now that she had seen the show more than 10 times.  “Whew” I was relieved about the virgin thing, which bought me some more time, but was embarrassed that I had only made it to the see “Rocky” only 3 times.

I’m sure, Jeff, plastered in pink lipstick, and twenty or so of his other play friends donning boas and garters, were just as elated as my little sis was doing the “Time Warp”.

Jeff and his friends are part of a growing number of middle-aged folks in the city who sign up and pay to participate in a 10-week theatrical experience, which includes weekly rehearsals, scripts and songs to memorize, choreography to learn, all culminating in two performances on a professional stage with fellow amateur thespians who just want to have fun!

At first, I snickered when I saw the guys topless with their very hairy chests covered only by suspenders, and also couldn’t believe how gutsy the women were, wearing tight, shiny black spandex tights and tops that clung to their less than perfect bodies.

And then I realized that’s the point. No longer in our teens, dancing in a hot pink Bustier in front of your friends must be feel incredible. Belting out  “Toucha toucha toucha touch me I want to feel dirty” like “Janet” did looking completely uninhibited on stage is absolutely courageous.  And stomping around on stage like Dr. Frank-N-Furter in his thigh high black leather platform boots while singing “I’m Just a Sweet Transvestite” in a better than Tim Curry voice is crazy good. But having fun and caring little about what other people might think is most definitely sublime.