Dudes. You guys are ridiculous. The Queen & the Homo Jock King is not even
out yet, and you've already put it in the top ten on boy DSP's and Amazon's bestseller lists from the pre-orders alone. I'm so fortunate to have readers like you all who get just as excited about these characters as I do. I know it's taken three years to get here, but I think it'll have been worth the wait once you get your hands on the book on February 29th.
So! As a thank you, I give you the first two chapters of Queen. This will be all that I release in relation to excerpts until the book comes out. There are no spoilers here, as it's mainly a reintroduction to the characters. Something you might have noticed is how I've kept anything have to do with Darren to a minimum. Every post I've done, every little snippet I've released has usually not had him at all, or he only speaks a line or two. That has been intentional. I want people to be surprised by his character, so I've held everything about him back. He's a goddamn dick, but I love him, and I think you will to.
Anywho!
I'll do my usual pre-release thoughts on the book in another week or so, but until then, I hope you enjoy this first real look at the sequel to Tell Me It's Real, The Queen & the Homo Jock King.
Tj
Pre-Order Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Queen-Homo-Jock-First-Sight-ebook/dp/B01BO5LXK0/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
Pre-Order DSP:
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7482
Prologue
Lulu Deerdancer and Buster Cleveland
I WAS seventeen when I realized I
was destined to be a queen.
Because that’s when I met a legend.
I’d heard of the club down on 4th
Avenue in Tucson. A gay club where apparently men could dance and drink and be
happy without fear of any kind of judgment. Such a place sounded like a haven
to me, especially coming off the year that I’d had, what with my parents dying,
the parents of my best friend taking me in, and coming out with a vengeance.
Naturally, I convinced said best
friend, Paul Auster, to come with me. It wasn’t that hard.
“Are you sure this is going
to work?” he grumbled at me as we walked down the sidewalk late one Saturday
night. It was early October and the night was still warm.
I smirked at him. “Oh, ye of little
faith. Trust me, we’ll be just fine.”
“Yeah, but it’s a bar. And
we’re not twenty-one.”
“Hence the disguises,” I reminded
him.
I had done my research before
deciding to attempt to get into Jack It about the specific subsections of the
gay community. Paul, being the huskier of the two of us, would be more suited
as a leather cub. He wore chaps we’d found at a Goodwill and a leather vest.
I’d learned that cubs (who often grew up to be bears) were of a hairy sort. But
Paul was as hairless as they came, much to his chagrin (“I’m a late bloomer,
goddammit!”). So rather than taking the chance of being found out because of
his baby-ass skin, we’d covered him up with a shirt that said GRR, DADDY
and found a fake mustache from a costume store. Aviator sunglasses completed
the outfit, because it was understood that if you were cool enough to be a
leather cub, then you could also pull off wearing sunglasses at night.
For myself (even though I tried to
eschew most labels), I thought I might fit in more as a twink than anything
else. I wore the tightest red jeans I could possibly find and a shirt that said
Sassy in bright, glittery letters. If I even remotely attempted to lift
my arms in any way, my midriff was bared. I’d put a thin line of eyeliner under
my eyes, smearing it gently. Instead of wearing sunglasses to complete my
outfit, I was sucking on a Ring Pop and practicing giggling how I thought a
twink might.
“It’ll be fine,” I said again.
Paul sighed. “Sandy, I look like I’m
part of a Village People tribute band playing in a Four Seasons ballroom near
the Milwaukee Airport. You look like you’re working undercover to catch
pedophiles in the act. Nothing about this is fine.”
“It won’t be if you doubt
it,” I said. “You have to believe your role, otherwise you’ll never be able to
sell it. Paul, this is the performance of your career. This is what you’ve been
building up toward your whole life.”
“Being a leather daddy,” he said.
“That’s what I’ve been working toward.”
“Leather cub,” I corrected.
“You’re not old enough to be a daddy yet.”
“Being gay is so hard,” he muttered.
“Not only do you have to admit that, but then you have to find out what
kind of gay you are. It’s all very confusing. It was so much easier when we
played with Legos instead of dressing like leather cubs and pedo-bait.”
“Lucky for you, you have me,” I
said. “And I know what kind of gay you are.”
“A leather cub.” He sounded dubious.
“Exactly.”
“My mustache itches.”
“Don’t play with it, Paul.
Jesus. You’re going to knock it loose.”
“I don’t see why I have to wear a
mustache,” he said. “I’m not a cartoon villain who’s going to tie you to train
tracks as part of my evil plot.”
“Well, maybe if you had grown your
own facial hair like I’d asked, you wouldn’t be in this position, now would
you?”
“I tried! You know it’s hard
for me to grow a beard. And then to have to do it because you told me to? I
have performance anxiety!”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said as we
turned a corner, the front of the club coming into view. “What’s done is done.
We’re here, we’re queer, get used—oh my god, stop touching the mustache!”
He rolled his eyes at me.
I pulled him to a stop. “Remember
your part,” I told him. “You’re a strong, confident leather cub. You own
this role.”
He nodded. “I’m a leather cub. I’m a
leather cub.”
“You have your fake ID I got you.”
“Right. Which says my name is Buster
Cleveland.”
“Exactly,” I said. “It’s your porn
name, I told you. Your first pet and the first street you lived on. They were
cheap, okay? The guy said it had to be this way.”
“And you believed him?”
I scoffed. “Uh, yeah. He was
selling fake IDs. Obviously he’s reputable and knows what he’s doing.”
“What’s yours?”
“Oh look, it’s getting late. We
should go.”
“Sandy,” he said, an evil grin
forming on his face.
“No. Don’t you dare.”
“What’s your fake ID porn name?”
“Shut up, Paul.”
“Because if I remember right, your
first pet was a gerbil named Lulu.”
“Shut up, Paul.”
“And the first street you lived on
was Deerdancer.”
“Oh my god.”
“Sandy? Does your fake ID say your
name is Lulu Deerdancer?” He was trying desperately not to laugh, the bastard.
“No,” I said savagely. “It says my
name is Rocco Cordova because that is awesome and amazing.” I was lying. My
fake ID said Lulu Deerdancer. The guy I’d bought them from had laughed his ass
off. I hated him with a passion that burned like a thousand suns.
“Okay, Rocco.” He patted my
shoulder. Like a jackass. “I believe you.”
“Whatever,” I said. “Now. Just be a
leather cub and I’ll be a twink, and we’ll get into the gay bar and do gay-bar
things and everything will be amazing.”
“What the hell are gay-bar things?”
he asked.
“You know. Drinking and blow jobs.
Or whatever.”
“You have no idea, do you.”
“Not in the slightest. Now let’s
go.”
I tried to project that I was a most
confident and completely legal twink as we approached the entrance to Jack It.
I accomplished this by sucking on my Ring Pop and giggling. I thought it a
master plan with absolutely no chance of failure.
There was a bouncer at the front of
the club, a large older man wearing a leather jacket and glaring at everyone
that walked by. He had to have been in his sixties, the lines and crags in his
face pronounced. To say he was intimidating would have been an understatement,
but I was a twink on a mission and I was getting in that goddamned club. The
music pulsed and I could feel the vibrations underneath my feet. I had
to get in there. It was calling me.
The bouncer stiffened slightly as we
approached, glancing first at me, his eyes widening as he looked at Paul
trailing behind me. For the briefest of moments, I thought I saw his lips curl
into the world’s smallest smile, but it could have been just a trick of the
light.
“Hi.” I giggled. I licked the Ring
Pop as slowly as I possibly could and hoped that the elderly bouncer would get
slightly turned on and let us in.
“Why hello there, chicken,” he said,
which made absolutely no sense. Who used fowl for pet names? “What brings you
out so late?”
“We wanted to go dancing,” I said.
“You know, like we do every Saturday night.”
He crossed his considerable arms
over his considerable chest. “That right.”
“Yeah.” I sucked on the Ring Pop and
looked up at him through my eyelashes like a good twink. Or at least that’s
what the Internet taught me. Also, apparently twinks were good at getting
rimmed, but I wasn’t prepared to go that far to get into Jack It. I had some
self-respect, after all.
“Every Saturday night?”
“Sure,” I said, going for subtle as
I elbowed Paul.
“Ow, Sandy, what the fuck?” he
whined.
“Leather cub,” I hissed at
him.
He flushed. “Oh. Right.” He coughed
and squared his shoulders. When he spoke, he’d dropped his voice an octave or
two. He sounded like he was grunting. It was completely ridiculous. “Yeah.
Every Saturday. It’s where I hang out with my fellow leather bears.”
“Cubs,” I giggled dangerously. “You
mean cubs.”
“Right. Yeah. Cubs. Rawr.”
“Really?” the bouncer asked. “How
fortuitous. I’m a big part of the leather community. I think we’d have
met before if you are too. Can’t really see your face, though. Because of the
sunglasses you’re wearing. At night.”
“Nope,” Paul said, twitching only
minimally. “I tend to stay in the shadows. You know. Thinking about leather cub
things.”
“Wow,” the bouncer said, not
sounding impressed at all. “Like what leather cub things exactly?”
“You know.” Paul started to sweat,
and I almost bit through the Ring Pop completely. “Like. How… like anytime I
see cows I think how awesome their skin will be when it’s made into leather and
I get to wear it.”
“Oh my god,” I muttered.
“You sit in the shadows and think
about cows,” the bouncer said.
“Yeah. Oh man. I could really go for
a hamburger right now.”
“That so?”
“Rawr.” Paul bared his teeth. “Or
however cubs do it.”
I needed to take control of the
situation before we were found out. “Anyway.” I gestured wildly with my arms so
my bare stomach was revealed. The bouncer didn’t even look down. “We’re always
here. You probably just don’t remember us.”
“Oh, trust me,” he said. “I highly
doubt I would have forgotten either of you.”
I giggled.
Paul rawred again.
The bouncer sighed. “All right.
We’ll keep going, if that’s what you want. How old are you boys?”
Ha! We’d practiced this. We knew the
dates on our IDs.
“Twenty-six,” Paul said.
“Twenty-nine,” I said.
“It’s like you’re not even trying,”
the bouncer said.
Paul looked cub-ish.
I licked my Ring Pop.
“I suppose I should ask to see your
IDs, then,” the bouncer said.
“Which says I’m the age I just told
you,” Paul said unnecessarily. “Obviously.”
“I’m sure it does,” the bouncer
said. “Because if it didn’t or, say, it was a fake, that’d be illegal.”
“Oh sweat balls,” Paul muttered as
he pulled out his wallet.
“I like handcuffs,” I said, trying
to encapsulate the role of the airy twink I was born to play. I pouted a little
bit, my bottom lip sticky from the Ring Pop. “One time, this police officer
tried to arrest me, but then he said I was precious and we used his handcuffs
for entirely different reasons.”
“What?” Paul snapped. “Why the hell
didn’t you say anything? Who the hell was it? And why were you getting
arrested? You slut!”
I glared at him before looking back
at the bouncer. “Sorry,” I simpered. “Sometimes my friend forgets himself.”
“I’m sure he does,” the bouncer
said. “IDs.”
I grabbed Paul’s and handed them
both to the bouncer. He looked at each of us, as if trying to memorize our
faces before focusing on the IDs. He snorted. “Buster Cleveland, huh?”
“Yes,” Paul said immediately. “It’s
German. Because of the Nazis. Er. My grandparents fled the Nazis. And now I’m
Buster Cleveland, leather cub. Because freedom isn’t free. Or whatever.”
Goddammit. Paul had one job.
“Right,” the bouncer said. “Freedom
isn’t free.” And then he switched to mine and I knew I had to sell this,
I knew I could do this.
Well, I thought I could until the
bouncer outright laughed.
“Lulu Deerdancer?” His chuckle was
deep and raspy.
“I knew it, oh my god,” Paul
said. Then, “Um. I mean. Of course I knew that. Because you’re my friend. My
friend Lulu Deerdancer. Heh. I can’t believe that’s your name. That’s so
awesome. And stupid.”
“Exactly.” I ground my teeth
together. “I am Lulu Deerdancer and I am twenty-nine years old and I am
perfectly legal to enter this here homosexual establishment and partake in
beverages and repetitive techno music.”
“Because you both have been here
before.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Hmm,” the bouncer said.
Then Paul sneezed and his mustache
flew off his face and landed on the cheek of the bouncer.
The silence that followed was
slightly awkward.
“Huh,” Paul said. “I guess that’s
easier than shaving. It’ll certainly revolutionize the facial hair industry.”
I choked on my tongue as the bouncer
slowly peeled the wet mustache off his cheek, looking less than amused. And he
might have been much, much older, but there was no doubt he could squash us
both with his freakishly large hands.
He held out the mustache to Paul.
Paul took it back. He grimaced as he
put it back under his nose.
“So,” the bouncer said. “This must
be really awkward for you.”
“You have no idea,” I said.
“Well, maybe we should—”
“Charlie! Yoo-hoo. Charlie.
Be a dear and help me, won’t you? I swear, my lady balls are about to pop out
all over the sidewalk. We certainly can’t have that happening, now can
we?”
And then she entered the
world.
There are definitive moments in
everyone’s life, moments that will help shape and define who you are and who
you will become. Meeting Paul was a moment. Realizing I was gay was a moment.
My parents’ death was a moment.
And this six-foot-four drag queen
stumbling our way carrying an armful of shiny costumes, the sequins flashing in
the street lights, multiple wigs tucked under her chin, barefoot with red vinyl
thigh-high boots slung over her shoulder… well.
She was a moment.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
No one heard me, but I didn’t expect
them to. I didn’t know if I’d have heard an answer anyway, given that all of my
attention was on this glorious creature who moved like casual chaos. The
bouncer (Charlie, she’d called him) moved toward her and caught her right
before she dropped everything onto the sidewalk. She grinned at him, all
lipstick and sharp teeth. “Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armor,”
she purred. “Saving little old me from certain doom. Why, if I didn’t know any
better, kitten, I would think you were trying to court me.”
Charlie huffed out a laugh.
“Darling, if I was courting you, you’d know it. Most likely because you’d have
ended up over my knee with that pert little ass stinging from my hand.”
“Ooh,” she moaned. “The thought
alone is enough to make my thighs quiver.”
“An image I will now never be
without,” Charlie said. He began to relieve her of her burdens, draping the
shiny material carefully in his arms.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “How
fortunate for you. You’re one of a very select few who…. Okay, we both know
that’s a lie. I’ve spent so much time with my legs in the air, I’m thinking
about getting a sign that says open twenty-four hours a day.”
“Holy shit,” Paul choked.
She locked onto Paul and me with her
razor-sharp gaze over Charlie’s shoulder. “Well, well, well,” she said, arms
free now that Charlie held everything. “What have we here?” She pushed
her way around Charlie, slinking her way toward us, hips rolling, one
foot snapping out in front of the other as she prowled. “I didn’t know
we were having a middle-school field trip with us today. But I suppose it’s
better to recruit early than not at all, hmm? I mean, that’s what the zealots
are all concerned with. May as well prove them right.”
She came to stand in front of me,
eyes coolly assessing. I forgot to be nervous because I was completely
distracted by the amount of bangles she had clinking along her arms and the
gaudily large hoop earrings in her ears. Her makeup was expertly applied,
carefully straddling the line between just enough and far too much.
Even though she wasn’t much taller than I was, she seemed larger than life, and
I adored her.
“I want to be you when I grow up,” I
breathed.
And she laughed. “Well now,
aren’t you adorable, chicken.”
I scowled at her. “I’m not a
chicken.”
“Oh, pocket gay,” she said, running
a perfectly manicured fingernail across my cheek, “you are the perfect
definition of such. Now. Why are you here and not at home doing Pokémon or
whatever the devil it is children do these days? Tic-tac-toe? I don’t know even
know anymore.”
“I was doing that yesterday,” Paul
said. “The Pokémon thing. I’m going to catch them all.”
“Good for you,” she said. “This
place isn’t for you. Either of you.”
“I’m old enough.” I scowled at her.
Charlie snorted. “Ms. Muffman, may I
introduce to you Lulu Deerdancer and Buster Cleveland. According to their IDs,
both are in their twenties. Lulu here likes to fellate a sucker on his finger
while laughing like a hyena. Buster is a self-proclaimed leather cub who
sneezed his mustache on my face.”
Ms. Muffman threw her head back and
laughed, a low throaty thing that made me want to know all her secrets
immediately. “Oh, this is delightful. I am delighted by the two
of you. But this is no place for little boys. Shoo, little boys. Come back when
you have hair on your balls.”
“Uh,” Paul said. “I have several,
so….”
I thought myself in the presence of
something reverent. “We just wanted to come here and see what this was all
about. We weren’t going to do anything. Honest.”
“You said drinking and blow jobs,”
Paul hissed.
“Drinking and blow jobs,” Ms.
Muffman said, rolling her eyes to Charlie. “Were we ever that young?”
“Speak for yourself,” he said.
“You’re not that much older than they are.”
“Liar,” she said fondly. “But I’ll
allow it because I love you so. Kiss, kiss. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a
show to prepare for.” She started to turn away.
“A show?” I asked. “What show?”
Because I couldn’t let her go without finding out as much as I could.
“Why, the greatest show on earth, of
course,” she said. “It’s a performance for the ages.”
“I see your Spice Girls outfit in
here,” Charlie said mildly.
“I see what you did there.” She
glared lightly at the bouncer. “You’re lucky I think the world of you,
otherwise I would have made slippers out of your testicles long ago.”
“But,” Paul said, “you have big
feet.”
I gaped at him.
Charlie shrugged. “I have big
balls.”
“How nice,” Paul said faintly.
“And since when do you tell a
lady she has big feet?” Ms. Muffman scowled.
“Um, never?” Paul guessed.
“Good answer,” she said. “You may
live.”
“Oh thank god,” Paul said. “My
parents would have killed me if you’d have murdered me.”
“As lovely as this has been,” she
said. “And trust me, it has been lovely. Probably more so for you than
me. But still. A queen never leaves her subjects wanting. Well. Maybe just a
little.” She winked and started to walk away.
But I couldn’t just let her leave.
Not without finding out the most important thing in the world. “Who are
you?” I demanded.
“Oh, here we go,” Charlie muttered.
She turned and smiled at me. Up
close, it felt like watching Shark Week in 3-D with all those teeth. “My
dear little chicken,” she said. “I am the tallest bitch in captivity. I am revered.
I am feared. I make all the straight boys queer. I am the exalted
one who plucks little chickens such as yourself.” She leaned forward and
her lips scraped against my ear. Her breath was hot against my skin as she
whispered, “I am the drag queen Vaguyna Muffman.”
She pressed a sticky kiss against my
cheek, a perfect imprint of her lips I would find hours later, a furious shade
of magenta that would be a bitch to wash off.
And then she spun away, the door to
the club opening as if on cue, music spilling out and lights flashing. She
disappeared inside, leaving behind a trail of glitter and feathers trailing
from the boa around her neck.
“Scram, chickens,” Charlie said,
following Vaguyna Muffman. “Don’t make me bend you over my knee. You won’t like
it when I do.”
The door closed behind him.
“Holy shit,” I managed to say.
“I told you this wouldn’t work,”
Paul muttered.
But it didn’t matter. It didn’t
matter that we hadn’t made it into the club right then. It didn’t matter that
there was no drinking or blow jobs. It didn’t matter that Paul had sneezed off
his mustache or that I had basically gotten to third base with a Ring Pop.
No, none of that mattered.
None of that mattered because for
the first time since the day the guidance counselor pulled me from AP English
to hear from Matty and Larry Auster that my parents were dead, I felt something
like fire bloom within me. It was strength and passion and the urge to become
something more than what I already was.
It was another moment.
She’d given it to me, whether she
knew it or not.
And I was going to run with it as fast
as I could.
It felt good, having the decision
made.
“I’m going to be a fucking drag
queen,” I said in awe.
“Oh sweat balls,” Paul sighed.
SO.
You’ve heard my origin story.
Like any superqueero, I had a
beginning.
Maybe part of it was tragic, though
the trauma was not the focus.
But it helped to shape who I’ve
become.
I am not defined by tragedy.
Instead, I made it my bitch.
Because there is one thing you
should remember above all else.
I am a Queen, motherfuckers.
And I demand respect.
You ready?
It’s time to rock out with our cocks out
Chapter 1
A Dick for You and a Dick for Me
As I was on my knees in a back room
of the club Jack It, my lipstick smeared and my eyes watering as I choked on a
dick, I had a rather indulgent thought: if cocksucking could be considered a
form of art, then I was the Leonardo da Fucking Vinci of fellatio.
I couldn’t even really remember how
I’d ended up back here, my tights stretching along my knees as I worked the
magnificent dick in front of me. It was thick and fat, a gorgeous dark vein
running underneath that I worshipped with my tongue. A great set of balls hung
heavy between his muscled thighs. He grunted as he started thrusting into my
mouth, his hands coming up to my head.
I pulled off his dick and batted his
hands away, glaring up at him. His face was obscured in shadow, as he leaned
back against the wall. “You touch the wig, baby doll,” I purred, “and I’ll rip
your fucking dick off and shove it down your throat. Do we have an
understanding?”
He grunted, his hands falling to his
sides.
“Good boy,” I said, running my hand
up the length of his cock. It felt spit-slick and hot in my hand. “Now, where
was I?”
I took his dick in my mouth again,
fisting the base and jacking him slowly. I opened up my throat and took him in
down to my fingers, my nose brushing against his pubes. He groaned, his hands
twitching at his sides, obviously fighting the urge to reach out and take
control. That poor, sweet boy. Probably college frat, from the way he moved.
All cocky and confident, thinking he was the one in control. After all, he was
the one getting his dick sucked.
But in all my years of experience,
I’ve learned it’s the one doing the sucking that’s in control. And that’s what
I liked. That’s what she liked.
Helena Handbasket didn’t have a goddamn submissive bone in her body.
Unless she wanted it there, of
course.
He was getting close, I could tell.
The muscles in his stomach were jumping underneath his tight shirt. His hands
were fisted now at his sides. His thighs were trembling, the poor dear. He’d
probably go back to his frat house with my lipstick rings around his dick and
tell himself he’d fucked that queen good, that he really gave it to her hard.
But in the back of his tiny little mind, he’d wonder just how little control of
the situation he’d had.
And he’d be right.
Someone else came into the back
room, but I ignored them. At least until they’d pressed against the frat guy
above me at his side. I was annoyed, and I glared up through my false
eyelashes, trying to relay my disdain with a dick in my mouth. It was a look
I’d mastered many times over.
But the new guy was rubbing the
chest of the frat boy, their faces pressed together, still hidden in shadow.
They were kissing, so either I was blowing someone’s boyfriend or they were
really close in this frat house. I wasn’t in the mood to double fist or have
multiple cocks in my face, at least not tonight. Whatever. He was going to come
and then I’d leave him with—
The cock in my mouth jerked when the
man moaned, “Sandy.”
I immediately pulled off the dick
because what and who the fuck was this guy to know my real name? I was in drag. I
wasn’t fucking Sandy.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, voice croaky
and hoarse from exertion. His dick jerked again and brushed against my cheek.
“Close,” he said as his friend
sucked on his ear. “So close, just—”
And then he leaned forward to touch
my face, to pull me back onto his dick.
Vincent Melody Taylor grinned down
at me as his precome smeared against my lips. “Come on. Just finish. I’m so
close.”
“Yeah,” his buddy said. “Come on.
You know you want to finish. And then it’s my turn.”
And I knew that voice.
That motherfucking voice.
Darren Mayne.
The Homo Jock King.
Who was sucking on Vince’s neck.
His half-brother.
I said, “Sweet baby Jesus, this is
some hot fucked-up shit right here.”
“Look,” Vince said, dick still
bobbing free. “It’s cool. We’re all friends here.”
“And some of us are related,” I
pointed out, like I was being helpful.
“Yeah,” Darren said. “But we have
different mothers, so it’s cool. It’s not completely illegal.”
“That should not be a decider in an
incestuous three-way,” I said.
“Or is it the best decider?” Vince groaned as Darren did something fancy with his
tongue.
“You love Paul,” I accused him,
anger flaring. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Yeah,” Paul said, appearing in a
puff of smoke for some reason. “What the hell are you doing without me?” And
then it just got weirder as Paul began to strip. “Someone suck on my nipples,”
he demanded as he pulled his shirt over his head. “They’re very sensitive.”
Darren and Vince pushed me out of
the way, knocking me on my ass as they latched themselves to Paul’s chest.
“That’s the good stuff,” Paul
sighed. “I like this quite a bit.”
And then a marching band began to
walk through the back room with Paul’s nana leading the way, cackling while she
twirled a baton and pranced around.
The actor known as Johnny Depp
followed behind them in full Pirates of
the Caribbean costume, and as he passed me, he looked down and said,
“Paul’s a fudgepacker, ya savvy?”
“I savvy,” I said, because I really
did.
“Enough with the foreplay,” Paul
said. “It’s time for a four-way.”
And he reached for me.
So naturally, I screamed myself
awake.
It was only a moment later when the
light flipped on in my room, a sweet dark-skinned boy staring at me with wide
eyes. “What the hell?” Corey Ellis demanded, running his hands over his
sleep-rough face. “Are you okay?” His eyes darted around the room before coming
back to rest on me. His hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, strands
hanging around his face.
I pushed myself up against the
headboard of my bed, pulling the covers up around my chest. “I’ve seen things,”
I told him ominously. “Things.”
He took a step into the room warily.
“Was Mr. Escadero peeking through the window again? I swear to god, I’m going
to cut that creepy old bitch.”
I shook my head. It hadn’t been our
elderly next-door neighbor who thought we were his personal cam-boy show. Not
this time. This fear had been real.
“I had a dream,” I whispered.
His face softened and he came to the
bed, sitting on the edge, patting my knee. “Bad?” he asked quietly.
“Awful,” I said. And then, “Mostly.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How so?”
“You know when you have a dream
about doing something you shouldn’t and then it turns incestuous and you think,
well, that wasn’t so bad and then there are marching bands?”
His lips twitched. “Um. What?”
“Paul cheated on Vince,” I admitted.
“With me.”
“You what? When the hell did you—”
“In my dream,” I said.
“Jesus Christ, don’t scare me like that—”
“And then, while I was blowing him,
Vince started making out with Darren.”
His eyes bulged. “That… should not
be an image that I find attractive, but holy shit. Like, full-on making out?
With tongue and—”
“Corey!”
“Sandy!”
“And then Paul came in and there was nipple
sucking.”
“Whose nipples?”
“Paul’s. You know how sensitive his
nipples are.”
“Unfortunately I do,” Corey said.
“You were sucking on his nipples?”
“No,” I said. “Jesus, Corey, keep
up, will you? Vince and Darren were sucking his nipples. I was still on my
knees trying to recover from deep throating Vince.”
“Oh dear god,” he choked.
“You can never tell him,” I said.
“Paul is a sweet, soft, innocent soul and this would crush him.”
“Uh,” Corey said. “We’re speaking
about the same Paul, right? Like, Paul Auster? Because he’s not sweet or
innocent. Maybe a little soft, but he’s the type where the weight looks good on
him, so—”
“It would destroy him,” I said. “Can you imagine, hearing from his oldest and
dearest friend that said friend is having sexual relations with his partner?”
“In your dreams,” Corey said.
“That is beside the point!” I said shrilly. “The fact that I even dreamt of such a thing means that I have
some unconscious desire to fuck Vince.”
“Huh,” Corey said. “So, using that
line of logic, that must mean you also want to fuck Darren—”
“You shut your whore mouth,” I snarled
at him. And then I coughed. “I mean, what? Pshaw. I don’t even know what you’re
talking about. Darren who?”
He rolled his eyes. “Right. Because
I’m not an expert at people who pine over each other. I didn’t spend last
summer drowning in the angst that was Tyson and Dominic, after all.”
“Ah, yes. The twinkie and his cop.
They’re so precious. And we are nothing
alike.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“You would do well to remember that.
Darren is an asshole and I want nothing to do with him and I also hate his face
and his ridiculously muscled body.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“His personality also leaves
something to be desired. He’s narcissistic at best. At worst, he’s borderline
sociopathic. I don’t think I’ve ever met
anyone more self-involved then he is.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“I don’t even know why we have to be talking about him
right now. What possible value does someone like him even have to society as a whole? All he does is fuck twinks and piss me
off.”
“He also watches every performance
you have,” Corey said mildly.
“Right?” I exclaimed. “He is so creepy. Why the hell are we even talking
about him again?”
Corey grinned. “Honestly, I have no
idea. You were the one that had sex dreams about him.”
“About Vince,” I corrected. “Darren
just happened to be there. And Paul.”
“And the marching band.”
“Yes, that. This can never get to Paul. Why, the betrayal
alone would absolutely devastate him. I cannot be responsible for the emotional
destruction of my best friend.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“Hand me my phone.”
“Why?”
“I have to call Paul,” I said. “The
weight of my guilt is crushing me and he has to know the truth.”
“But—”
“Corey!”
He knew better than to sass me while
I was emotionally conflicted. He merely remarked on the fact that it was two in
the morning and surely it could wait until a more reasonable hour. But Corey
couldn’t understand the depths of my pain. Paul needed to know, so we could
begin to mend the rift that would undoubtedly spring between us. Hopefully, it
wouldn’t be too large to overcome. We couldn’t lose almost two decades of
friendship because I’d suddenly developed a brothers kink at the age of
thirty-one.
I put the phone on speaker and bit
my thumbnail as it began to ring.
After the fifth ring, he answered,
voice annoyed and muffled. “Sandy, I swear to god, you better be on fire if
you’re calling me this late. It’s two in the goddamn morn—”
“Maybe I am!”
“Are you?”
“No, of course not. That’d be
ridiculous.”
“Sandy.”
“Paul,” I said. “This is a
surprise.”
“Uh. No. It isn’t. You called me.”
“Oh. Is that right? I guess I did. Ha-ha.
How about that.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing much. What’s up with you?”
Corey snorted and I had to fight the
urge to smack him upside the head.
“Are you high?” Paul asked.
“What?”
“Are you high?”
“That was one time and we were nineteen and you swore you’d never bring that up again.”
“So you’re not going to cry and tell
me you’re stoned but that you love me more than anything else in the world and
that you wish we were both princesses who lived in a castle made of clouds and
good dreams and were serviced by Latinos with bronzed skin and names like
Esteban and Jorge Lopez Santiago?”
“Oh my god,” Corey laughed. “This is
so amazing. I love everything about this. Please, continue.”
“Corey, is he stoned?”
Corey leaned forward until his face
was inches from my own. “No. It doesn’t look like it. Though, he does have some
bags under his—”
“I will see you as a homeless street urchin if you finish that
sentence,” I growled at him.
“He looks luminous,” Corey said
instead. “Vibrant. Not tired at all. He would get carded trying to see an
R-rated movie.”
“Good boy.”
Paul sighed. I heard mumbling in the
background. “No, it’s Sandy and Corey. Apparently, Sandy is having one of his
moments.”
“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Hi, Sandy and Corey,” Vince said,
voice sleep-rough.
“Hi, Vince,” Corey said.
So I squeaked, “Meep,” because I had
sucked Vince’s cock. In my dreams.
“What the hell was that noise?” Paul asked. “Sandy, did you
buy one of those hairless cats and it’s now dying in your arms?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to save face.
“Its name Wrinkles McSkin and it’s dying and it’s moist and that’s the only
reason I called.”
“Sandy’s cat is dying?” Vince asked.
“That’s terrible.”
“Yes,” Paul said. “His cat is dying
of lies.”
“How dare you!” I shrieked at him.
“I don’t get it,” Vince said. “Is
that some kind of cat disease? I had a cat when I was a kid. Mom said it ran
away, but I think it got eaten by coyotes.”
“Why do you think that?” Paul asked.
“Because I found its tail near a
cactus behind the house.”
“God, I love you,” Paul said. “And
that was a sad story.”
“Eh,” Vince said. “I got a car out
of it, so I was all right.”
“First-world problems are my
favorite kind,” Corey said.
“Sandy,” Paul said. “Are you going
to tell me or do I have to guess?”
I wanted to tell him to guess just
to see what he came up with, but my guilt was almost crippling. “I had a dream
where I was blowing Vince and then he made out with Darren and they both sucked
on your nipples and Nana led a parade with Captain Jack Sparrow. Or something.”
Dead silence.
Corey sighed. “It really is my own
fault that I surround myself with these kinds of people. There’s no escape for
me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What kinds of people would that be?”
“The best kind,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I really
do feel better after getting that off my chest.”
“You had a what about what?” Paul screeched.
“I wouldn’t make out with Darren,”
Vince said. “I’m in a one hundred percent committed relationship with Paul.”
“Aw,” Paul said. “That’s so—wait a
minute. That’s the only reason?”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Vince said.
“I mean, he’s attractive, right?”
“You’ll get there in a second,” Paul
said.
“Get where? It’s not as if I’m going
to do—oh. Wait. He’s my brother.”
“There it is,” Corey said.
“Oh no,” Paul said. “Sandy. Sandy.”
“What?”
“What if I have a brothers kink now?
What if your dream was prescient and they both latch themselves onto my
nipples?” Of course he would go there. Because I’d already had the same
thought. It was comforting to know Paul and I were the same. Well. Sort of
comforting.
“Yeah,” Vince said. “Doubt that’s
going to happen.”
“Because you’d fight him for the
right to my nipples?” Paul asked.
“Sure,” Vince said. “I’d fight
anyone for your nipples. And also because Darren wants to bone Sandy and not
you.”
“Oh,” Paul said. “That’s right.” I
could hear the goddamned smirk in his voice.
“He does not,” I hissed. “For one, I am not a barely legal twink with more abs than brain cells.
Two, there has to be attraction for
that and I assure you, I am not
attracted to him. At all.”
“Denial isn’t just a river in South
America,” Vince said seriously.
“What?” Paul said. “Vince, no. It’s
not in South America.”
“Oh. Brazil?”
“That’s still South America.”
“Huh. It’s not Asia, because I would
have seen it.”
“Vince, we didn’t go to all of
Asia.”
“Mostly,” Vince said. “Remember when
you wore that sumo wrestle diaper thing and we had sex next to the shop that
sold food that looked like the carcass of a shaved Bigfoot?”
“None of that happened,” Paul said
quickly.
“All of that happened.” Vince
sounded very smug. “I made you make sex face, like, four times.”
“So gross,” I muttered.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say
this,” Corey said, “but I really want to move back to Seafare now.”
“Sorry, baby doll,” I said. “I have
my claws in you and I’m never letting you go.”
“But we’ll still give you the
illusion of freedom,” Paul said. “Unless you step out of line.”
“Lovely,” Corey said with a sigh.
“Do you forgive me?” I asked Paul.
“For having an incestuous orgy sex
dream involving my boyfriend and his brother?”
“Yes.”
“Sure,” Paul said. “Why not. I can
dig it.”
“Good,” I said, relieved.
“I love you,” Paul said.
“Aw. I love you too.”
“But I swear to fucking god, Sanford
Stewart, if I even catching you looking
at my man wrong, I will rip off your fucking arms and shove them so far up your
ass, you’ll be gagging on your own fingers.”
The phone beeped as he disconnected
the phone call.
“Wow,” Corey said. “Paul can be
scary.”
“Sometimes. But usually not at all.”
I yawned. “I feel like I can sleep now. Also, we should talk later about
getting a hairless cat. I feel like it’s a thing I should have now.”
“Also,” Corey said, “we should talk
about that river in South America you seem to be drowning in. I feel like
that’s a thing you do now.”
“Turn off the light when you leave,”
I said brightly. “And pray you don’t wake up tomorrow with your eyebrows
shaved, baby doll. Now go to sleep. You have an early class.”
He grumbled and switched off the
light.
I laid back against the pillows and
took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Denial. What did they know?
I wasn’t in denial.
I would know if I was. I was very
attuned to my sense of self. I was a drag queen, after all.
I didn’t believe in love at first
sight, even knowing Paul and Vince.
But I certainly believed in the
exact opposite.
I hated Darren Mayne.
And absolutely nothing would change my mind on that.