Painted Faces

by L.H. Cosway

  “I love this outfit on you Fred; your body is a feast for the senses,” he breathes.

  His hands slide down my breasts to rest on my hips. He pushes me back so that I'm lying beneath him. I've been rendered immobile. Every touch sears through me, making me want more, making me addicted. He slowly reaches for the hem of my skirt and hitches it up, before pulling my legs apart and wrapping them around his waist. I gasp when he grinds his obvious erection into me. There's far too much fabric between us and I'm entirely too turned on.

  His lips claim my neck, as he pushes my hair to the side. I can feel his kisses at the base of my spine. Each one tingles right through me. I let my hands drift up and sink into his soft black hair, then I trail them down over his hard, muscular shoulders. Nicholas' hand feels its way up the inside of my thigh, before cupping me right on the vagina. I gasp. Pant. Lose my fucking mind.

  “Are you wet for me Fred?” he asks, his voice sounds like a dark prison that I desperately want to get inside. This has gone way past copping a feel, but I can't seem to bring myself to put a stop to it.

  “Mm hmm,” I mumble, unable to give a proper response.

  “God, you're so fucking lovely,” he curses, as he slips one finger beneath fabric of my underwear, finds my clit and begins making these wonderful circular motions.

  His touch makes my body simultaneously melt and awaken. My senses go into overdrive. When you're attracted to someone the way that I'm attracted to Nicholas, even the slightest whisper of his fingers against yours makes your body wake up and take notice. Needless to say, him having his hand inside my knickers makes me feel like I'm going to explode.

  “You smell great, you feel bloody fantastic,” he's almost panting now, burying his face in my hair for a second, before kissing and sucking on my neck.

  Sensation flits through me, radiating out from my centre and encapsulating every nerve ending in my body. I haven't been touched like this in what seems like forever. Come to think of it, no man has touched me in quite this way before, with such practised confidence as if he knows exactly how to bring me to the brink of ecstasy.

  Then he removes his mouth from my neck and captures my lips in a slow, wet, languid kiss. I let out a long moan that goes right from my mouth into his. He kisses me harder then, sliding his tongue in and out, hard and soft at the same time.

  He continues driving me insane with his fingers, increasing his speed to almost make me come but then slowing back down again. Teasing me. He gives me one last soft kiss before pulling back to look at me.

  “I want to watch you when you come,” he says, his mouth hanging open as his eyes rake over me. “Christ Fred, your lips are like little pillows of heaven, and your mouth, God, your fucking mouth.”

  I blush and turn my gaze away from him, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact. He takes his other hand and pulls on my chin, making me face him again. His smile is intolerable. “Are you shy? Fuck, that just makes me ten times harder for you.”

  His hand moves against me faster and I can tell I'm close to the edge now. He holds my eyes as he bends down, places a kiss to my fully clothed breast before biting down hard on my nipple through the fabric. At that my body explodes with perhaps the most intense orgasm I've ever had. I shake against him several times with the release, my eyes wide and looking straight into his.

  I have never felt this much sensation with a man before. Most of my sexual encounters have been messy, drunken fumbles. But this was something else, something wonderful. And now I hate myself for having given in, because looking into his eyes as I came did something to me. It made my heart reach out and latch onto his, even if his heart might not want to latch onto mine.

  My entire body is happy and limp with the pleasure I've just experienced. Nicholas pulls me back so that I'm lying on top of him, my curves sinking into his hard lines.

  His hands travel up and down my arms, leaving a trail of shivering fingerprints all along my skin. I rest my head in the crook of his neck and sigh into him. I'm not going to think about how what just happened is going to seriously change our tentative friendship. I try to think of nothing but how this feels.

  “You're so pretty when you come, all wide eyed and surprised,” Nicholas laughs tenderly. “I didn't think you'd make me feel so clean Fred.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my face still pressed to his skin.

  “Every woman is different,” he explains. “Some of them make you feel satisfied, others make you feel high, most just make you feel used or dirty, but you Fred, you make me feel cleansed. There's no guile or ulterior motives with you. You're just in the moment for whatever it might bring.”

  I make him feel cleansed. That's just too romantic, I don't think my heart can take it. “That sounds kind of sad. Don't any of them ever make you feel love?”

  “Some have come close,” he answers, but then he goes quiet.

  He seems to be lost for a moment, so I try to bring him back to me. “Well, all I know is that was one of the best orgasms I've ever had. I've been plagued with men who didn't know what they were doing.”

  Nicholas smiles and presses his face into my hair. “I'm flattered. Although since you said yourself that you haven't had a boyfriend in three and a half years, I must not have been up against very stiff competition.”

  “How do you know I don't have one night stands to keep me tided over?” I fake a sulky tone.

  “You don't, you're not that kind of girl. I can tell. Perhaps that's why you make me feel so clean.”

  I don't reply. To be honest I feel sort of sorry for him if he feels that way after sleeping with women, dirty and used. Why would he keep doing it if that's what he gets in return? Is the pleasure of the moment really worth it?

  I stay quiet and enjoy the feeling of being so close to him, with almost every part of our bodies touching. He keeps running his fingers through my hair. It feels nice, peaceful. I could almost fall asleep.

  “I really like you Fred,” he whispers, jolting me from the nap I was just about to fall into.

  I hesitate before replying, “I really like you too Nicholas. But - do you think this might have been a bad idea?”

  I hate to bring reality crashing down on both of us, especially after such a tender interlude, but I'm so scared that we've ruined things now. Never again will I be able to look at him and not think about how he touched me.

  “No. I think we both know where we stand with one another.” His voice is gentle.

  He sits up then and I slide off him, fixing my skirt back down. What does he mean by that? I'm too frightened to ask.

  My cheeks heat up, because now that what just happened is over I feel awkward with him. The line between friends and lovers is completely blurred and I'm not exactly sure which side I fall on. I scramble for something to take my mind off it, and then my eyes latch on the glittery purple high heels he'd worn last Saturday night sitting in the corner of the room.

  “Hey, remember you said you'd teach me how to walk in heels?” I say with a forced smile, nodding towards his purple shoes.

  “Yes?” he asks.

  “Care to show me now?”

  Nicholas gives me a humorous grimace. “That might be difficult, since I've got a severe case of blue balls at the moment.”

  Our eyes lock, and I don't know whether he's saying this because he wants me to get him off the way he got me off, or if he's just being flirtatious. In a last ditch attempt at self-preservation, I joke, “Well walk it off, Viv. A girl needs to know how to wear heels if she wants to make it in the cut throat world of fashion. I plan on developing an eating disorder and entering Britain's Next Top Model next year. This lesson will be the first step to achieving my dream.”

  He frowns slightly before understanding dawns on him. I'm embarrassed and he knows it. That makes me even more embarrassed. It's a cruel cycle.

  Nicholas accepts my challenge when he clasps his palms together. “Right well, we'll have to start you off on a pair of low ones,” he walks into his
bedroom and comes back out with a pair of plain black two inch heels.

  “No way, I want the sexy flashy ones you wear on stage,” I say dramatically.

  “You're already sexy enough Fred,” Nicholas remarks hotly, before bending down on one knee and removing both of my flip flops. Even him touching my foot makes me go all melty, but I try to ignore it. He gives me an evil smile as he slips on the black shoes, like he knows exactly what his touch is doing to me. He slowly runs his hand over my calf, before rising to his feet and tugging me up with him.

  He goes over and grabs the purple ones, putting them on his own feet. He's tall enough as it is, but he's even taller with the shoes on, like one of those mythological Amazonian women who chopped off one of their breasts so they wouldn't get in the way when they were shooting a bow and arrow - or something like that. It's actually quite practical when you think about it. Practical but painful. I hope you enjoyed that tangent. There are more to come. I'll keep you posted.

  I glance up at Nicholas just as he asks, “Do those fit you all right? You look about a size five, those are a six.”

  “I'm a five and a half actually, but these are okay. Where did you get them? You're definitely bigger than a size six.”

  He smirks, clearly thinking of the innuendo that large feet equal large privates. “Why thank you Fred, I didn't realise you noticed. Those were my mother's. I like to keep some of her stuff with me.”

  I pause in my inspection of the shoes to look up at him. “You keep your mother's things still, after all this time?”

  “I do. It's comforting.”

  In my head I'm thinking it might be some strange psychological attachment related to grief, but for once I don't blurt out exactly what's inside my noggin. Instead I reply, “You must have really loved her.”

  His smile is a sad one. “I did. Still do. Now the first step is to keep your legs straight as you walk, try not to bend your knees.”

  Pushing away the thought of how weird it is to be wearing his dead mother's shoes, I try to follow his instructions. “You do realise I'm probably one of the most ungraceful women you will ever meet. I'm not sure it's possible for me to keep my legs straight when I walk. I'll look like I'm trying to impersonate a robot.”

  “Nonsense. Make sure you put your heel down first rather than your toe. Keep your legs together and take slow, easy steps.”

  I snicker and comment, “That's not what you were saying earlier on.” Damn internal filter, it never keeps working properly for long.

  “I know. I'm not usually known for telling women to close their legs, but for this particular activity it's a requirement. Besides, you can spread them for me later.”

  I raise an eyebrow and shake my head at him. “You should be so lucky.”

  I take slow steps across the room, just like he told me to. Even though the heels aren't very high, they still feel like skyscrapers to me since I'm not used to wearing them. I wobble a little before finding my feet. Soon I pick up my pace, becoming increasingly more confident in the dead woman's shoes. Weird.

  “Um, Nicholas, can I ask you something?” I venture nervously.

  “Fire away,” he says, before sitting carefully down on a stool in the kitchen area. He crosses one leg over the other, the way a woman would. Sometimes his movements are so authentically female it's unsettling. When I cross my legs I tend to let one ankle rest on my knee, not at all as feminine or dexterous as the way Nicholas does it. Although that might just be because he's wearing the heels, which is putting him into woman mode.

  I swallow to try and moisten my dry throat before mumbling, “Well, I was just going to ask you if you could keep what happened between us today to yourself. I don't want you telling people all the details the way you told everyone the details of your night with Dorotea.”

  “If I recall correctly, you were the one who prompted me to tell,” he answers with a wicked grin and a touch of provocation.

  “Yeah well...you'll soon learn that inconsistency is the name of the game with me.”

  “You're certainly inconsistently hot and cold,” Nicholas throws back sharply, his expression serious all of a sudden.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” I ask, turning on my heel to face him.

  He flings his eyes to the chaise longue where not long ago he gave me one of the most intense orgasms of my life. “One minute you're all panting and wet for me, and the next you're sarcastically telling me to walk it off, Viv. We're attracted to one another, why all the dancing back and forward?”

  Great, now I feel guilty. I shrug and let my eyes fall to the floor. “I'm not used to this. And despite the attraction, I don't think we'll be good for one another. Somebody will get hurt, and that somebody will most likely be me.”

  Nicholas might have the quirk of being a drag queen, but we're still aeons apart when it comes to looks. He's all smooth grace and sexy smiles, whereas I'm big haired, awkward and a touch frumpy. You may well roll your eyes at my low self-esteem. It's a condition for which there is no cure.

  He stands now and strides towards me, stopping inches from my face. “I would never hurt you.”

  I look anywhere but at his beautiful blue eyes. “Perhaps not intentionally...” I trail off.

  “Look at me Freda,” he grabs my chin and forces me to meet his gaze. “I would never hurt you.”

  His words singe me. Is he telling the truth?

  “But I'm working for you now. It's not the best idea for us to go complicating things.” I feel like some idiot girl off a soap opera with that shitty line.

  He's silent for a long moment. His face is difficult to read. “Okay then,” he finally replies.

  He unexpectedly waves away our argument and begins chatting about tonight's gig and what he plans on singing and wearing. I'm relieved that he's not pushing the issue, yet I'm also kind of disappointed that he gave up so easily.

  I am such a wanker sometimes.

  Chapter Eight

  Frilly Knickers and Pretty Men

  Later that day Nicholas has me unpacking an array of outfits in the dressing room at The Glamour Patch. He hasn't breathed a word about our earlier encounter and subsequent argument. Perhaps he's deciding to move on, realising that I'm a whiny girl who isn't worth his efforts when he could have a porn star like Dorotea when and wherever he wants her. Okay, so I know she's not an actual porn star, but she might as well be compared to me.

  Tonight Nicholas is going for a burlesque inspired look that includes a silky red and black corset, frilly knickers (with some tiny black men's briefs underneath to make sure his meat and two veg don't pop out to say hello) hold-up stockings and a pair of black leather high heeled boots. On his head is a bobbed wig, black this time as opposed to blond.

  “Why do you always change your look?” I ask him, as I tug the wig into place so that it sits in the right position on top of his head. “Dame Edna Everage always wore similar outfits, so did Lily Savage.”

  Nicholas lets out a throaty laugh as he touches up his blusher. “Are you seriously comparing me to Paul O'Grady?” He cocks a shapely eyebrow at me.

  While I was doing his make-up earlier on I used a brow brush and an eyebrow pencil to make his brows look more structured and feminine. Although they weren't very bushy to begin with. I have a feeling he does some very subtle plucking. You'd hardly notice it when he's in his everyday “Nicholas” mode. But they're just a little too suspiciously neat.

  “What's the problem with that? Lily Savage was a staple of my childhood television experience. I have this dream that one day I'll be neighbours with Paul O'Grady. We'll have tea together every morning followed by gossiping and walking our spoiled dogs in the park.”

  Nicholas raises his hand and jokingly slaps me hard on the arse. “Hey! You've already got yourself one drag queen best friend, you don't need another one. And the problem is that we are very different kinds of performers, plus I can sing.”

  “And Paul's funnier than you,” I mutter huffily under my breath, rubbi
ng a hand over my now stinging bottom.

  Nicholas grins happily as he watches me. “I heard that, another word from you and I'll be forced to take you over my knee.” He picks up a hair brush and makes a show of fake paddling my behind. I giggle and run to the other side of the room so that he can't get to me.

  “Easy there Viv, somebody might walk in and think you beat on your employees.”

  “I'm sure they'll forgive me, after all, my employee is a very naughty girl with a very nice bottom,” he stares at me through the mirror on the dressing table. If he wasn't in his Vivica Blue costume I'd probably be more embarrassed by the way he's staring at me, as though silently reminding me of his hand being down my knickers not too long ago.

  He breaks the moment when he speaks. “To answer your question, I don't really know why I change my look all the time. It's just how I do it. I'd probably get bored if I had to wear the same thing for every gig.”

  “It definitely keeps things interesting,” I tell him with a smile. I don't think I've ever had as much fun as I've had while sifting through all of Nicholas' drag clothes. He has everything from sequins, to silk, to spandex. I'm secretly anticipating the night he decides to don the latter. Nothing will be left to the imagination, and I will be reserving myself a front row seat.

  “So I hear you're coming to Electric Picnic with us,” I say, casually sitting down on the chair beside him.

  “Is that the music festival thing Sean and Harry were going on about?” he asks, dabbing a small bit of gloss onto his lips. I nod silently. “Yes I'm going. It sounds like it'll be fun and I love camping. Are you hinting at sharing a tent with me Fred?” he teases and gives me a camp smouldering look up and down.

  I gulp at the thoughts of what sharing a tent with Nicholas would involve. I try to hide my nervousness when I reply, “No, um, I'll probably be sharing with Nora.”

  His eyes are far too perceptive. “Ah, that's a shame. If it got cold at night we could have cuddled up and kept each other warm.”