Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

Duane made a loud tutting sound of astonishment.

  “I know,” I said. “I know. Shameless, isn’t he? Then of course Damaris wanted to get back at Marcus,” I said, “so that’s when the little sleepover happened while you, me and Brooklyn were all working that night.”

  Duane shook his head, a look of bewilderment on his face. “I never thought…”

  “Me either, mama,” I said, keeping up the momentum. I could tell I was getting Duane back now. “You know Damaris and I have the same taste in men. But, then, jealousy…”

  I took another breath and kept going.

  “So you can see how this played out,” I said. “Damaris must have forgotten that Marcus was going out of town and he wouldn’t be at Sunday dinner. So she planned, you know, what happened because she thought Marcus would be there to overhear.”

  Duane’s mouth formed a small O and his eyes opened wide. I nodded fervently. Duane had been breaking down every few hours at the idea that Damaris’ Sunday dinner stunt had been a protest against him.

  “See?” I said. “It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

  Duane was blinking rapidly, shaking his head, hands on his cheeks.

  Yes, that worked.

  The mere suggestion of blame directed at him was enough to drive DT into a meltdown. Lifting this burden resolved his conflicted feelings toward Damaris and allowed him to support her unequivocally once more.

  I kept going. We were in the home stretch now.

  “Well, this is where it gets messy,” I said. “And it’s not Damaris’ fault, and it’s not even Marcus’ fault. I don’t agree with his tastes, but he’s not to blame for what happened next.”

  “What happened?” Duane asked, leaning forward a little.

  Yes. I had him.

  “Anthony,” I said, lowering my voice. “Starts playing both sides.”

  Duane’s brow knit.

  “Last night, after Damaris left here,” I said, “Anthony took her to his luxury apartment next to Central Park. Yes, that’s where he lives. Later on, that very night, he leaves and spends the night with Marcus.”

  Duane’s mouth fell open.

  “No, that’s not even it,” I said. “He wasn’t even there the whole night. He went back to Damaris after doing the deed with Marcus.”

  “Whore,” Duane breathed in outrage.

  “This morning, Damaris had enough of that, as you can imagine,” I said, spreading my hands. “And that was all she wrote.” I sighed. “In the end, it’s clear to see who’s responsible for all of this.”

  Duane shook his head. “Anthony Alcantara,” he said.

  “Talk about your all star playoffs,” I said, shaking my head as well, because I still couldn’t believe the story myself. “He played them off each other like he was trying to get someone to quit…”

  I just dropped that thought and let it hang there.

  Duane was silent for quite some time before he said, “So you think she’d come back if she knows they’re gone?”

  “I think you need to talk to her yourself,” I said, which was my honest opinion.

  “What are you, trying to mess with me?” Duane said hotly. “I done talked to her, and she left. You tell me if she’ll come back or not.”

  I tried not to sigh audibly. I had said it as a rhetorical statement, if that made sense, not as a real piece of advice. I knew DT was never going to do it.

  Duane could pitch a fit or hand out an ultimatum. But sit down and listen to another person? Never.

  Besides, if Duane still thought she would come back, after everything she had said today before she walked out the door, then it clearly showed he hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said.

  And I knew he hadn’t been listening. He wouldn’t listen because he was afraid if he did, she would accuse him of doing something wrong.

  It was easier for Duane to believe that Damaris had left because of what I had just said, than face the fact that she had left under her own steam.

  And like Damaris had told me, she had her own reasons for leaving. It wasn’t because of anyone else.

  But that didn’t mean that Duane was completely blameless.

  “Well?” Duane barked, like an angry dog.

  I knew he was taking his anger out on me because I was the only available target.

  Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

  “She’s not coming back,” I said. “At least, I don’t see it.” I patted his meaty shoulders. “Okay,” I said, going around his side and looking down at him. “I’m gonna go now. ’Kay?”

  He nodded, looking even more dejected, if possible, than when we started this conversation. I couldn’t imagine why when he had just gotten his way.

  Although, mark my words, I was going to find a way to get an outside rehearsal space for free.

  I leaned down and gave him a quick hug, then gathered my backpack and jacket from the coat hook.

  I needed to get out of here. The small room with its yellowing wallpaper and dilapidated furniture and the scent of reheated mac and cheese in the air was pressing in on me and worsening the headache pounding in the base of my skull.

  “I’m going now, Duane,” I said from near the door.

  He raised his arm in goodbye, but didn’t look at me or say anything. He turned on the TV and put his feet up on the coffee table, and I slipped out.

  Angel Wings

  I walked down the street, taking deep breath of fresh, cold night air as I made my way toward the subway.

  The clouds parted in a dark blue sky above, revealing an almost-full moon on the horizon, surrounded by clouds which glowed white where its light touched them, and faded to grey and black where it didn’t.

  I looked at my phone again, this time to check for messages or missed calls from Angel. Nothing. I squeezed the phone tightly in frustration.

  I turned up my collar against the wind chill and walked faster. I could just see the light of the subway sign straight ahead a few blocks down.

  My boyfriend had been incommunicado for the past twenty-four hours. I had called and messaged and waited, and I was done with it. I was going straight to his apartment to give him a piece of my mind.

  After the day I’d had, he had better be ready to get down on his knees and beg me to forgive him.

  And he could just draw a bath and get out the vanilla cocoa butter massage stuff and sprinkle some damn rose petals on the bed while he was at it.

  And once he was on those knees I was expecting more than a sainted apology, that was all I was going to say about that.

  Because I wasn’t happy with Angel.

  Not happy at all.

  It was only when I grabbed a seat on the subway, sat down and sank into the seat that I realized I was tired. My legs and back started to ache. It wasn’t an after-exercise ache. It was an ache of tiredness that made me want to lie down and curl up and drift into sleep.

  I had a good twenty minute ride to get to Angel’s stop and I decided to close my eyes for a cat nap.

  I crossed my arms and legs and settled into the gap between the window and the seat, and let my head tilt against the glass. But when I closed my eyes, my mind started to drift back to the events of yesterday.

  I sighed and readjusted my position.

  I didn’t want to think about yesterday. There was no point in dwelling on it. I needed to get a few minutes’ sleep, instead.

  I sat there with closed eyes and though my body started to relax and feel comfortable, my mind didn’t.

  Angel hadn’t been in touch all day, and by the time I was heading to the club for Sunday supper, I had started getting paranoid and was checking my phone every five minutes, just waiting for something to come in and agonizing every time it didn’t.

  I had already decided that I would need to keep a watch on Angel’s social media tonight. It had been a while since I had to do this. But it was worth doing, because once before, one of Angel’s friends had been dumb enough to post something.

  Home boy didn’t realiz
e what he posted was enough to incriminate Angel. But I didn’t keep my man by being a passive little bitch. I’m always on the case and it was enough for me to figure out that something was going down.

  So that was the mood I went into dinner with, and let me assure you that I didn’t need additional drama in my life.

  By the time I had finished calming DT down over a few strong rum and colas after Damaris walked out, I was tired and my buzz was turning to a dull, pounding headache and an edge of nausea in my stomach.

  I was so angry at Angel, I wanted to take a dull knife and give him the same headache I had right now.

  He finally called when I was in the cab on the way home. I dropped the phone and I was so hot to get the thing to my ear, I fumbled it and it fell on the floor and my nails scrabbled around in the scratchy fuzz of the mat on the floor until I got it and, still hunched over, pressed it to my ear.

  “Angel? I dropped the phone, baby, sorry.”

  “Machyl, where are you?”

  The relief of him calling, confirming that he wanted me, was almost overwhelming.

  Suddenly I felt like I hadn’t had sex with Angel in a hundred years and I couldn’t wait another minute for it, I wanted it so bad. No matter how many times, having sex with Angel never got old.

  When the cab pulled up outside my building ten minutes later and saw him standing there, my mouth had already started watering.

  My apartment was a second floor walk-up and by the time I got to my front door, I was a little out of breath. I turned to Angel, hoping he would grab me and press me against the door. I wanted to feel his body against mine.

  But he didn’t. His dark eyes met mine and saw me standing there expectantly in front of my own door and he jerked his head again.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  I felt my heart dip down a little and I just turned around and unlocked the door. When he got inside, he didn’t lock the inside locks, which he usually did. He took a step toward me, took hold of my upper arms and pulled me toward him.

  That was all it took for me to swoon and I let myself go limp as I felt his strong arms come around me.

  His lips met mine with a rough brush of stubble and I felt arousal stab me in the lower stomach, almost vicious in its intensity. I moaned and parted my lips, waiting for his tongue to stroke powerfully against my own.

  But it didn’t come.

  He let me go, so abruptly that I stumbled, and he stepped back, frowning. “You taste like a bar counter,” he said with a look of disgust.

  I tried to disguise the hurt with a sarcastic eyebrow quirk. “Come get drunk on me, then,” I said, unbuttoning my top button and unzipping my fly.

  He looked down and his eyes lingered on my growing erection. I saw him lick his lips and felt another surge of relief. He did want me.

  I started unbuttoning my shirt as fast as I could, regretting my decision not to change after work. He watched me, his face expressionless, as I got the shirt off and revealed my smooth, lean torso to him.

  I knew Angel liked my body. I was his type.

  “Don’t kiss me again,” Angel said when I came closer, trying to touch him.

  He was the one who kissed me, actually, but…

  “There’s something else you can do with your mouth,” he said.

  I knew this was what he wanted, and I was ready. I knelt in front of him, aligning my knees with his shoes just as in my feared fantasy earlier.

  I tried to spread my legs as much around his as I could. I wanted some pressure against my erection but he didn’t like it if I humped his leg, like a dog, he said.

  I leaned my forehead against his stomach as my hands undid his top button and drew down the fly of his jeans. While I did this his dick grew and pressed against my cheek.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. Angel’s fingers brushed my hair, then sank into it. I sighed and my breath hitched as my arousal intensified.

  I pulled down the waistband of his underwear and reached inside, breathing faster when I felt the heft of his erect dick in my hands and pulled it out and put it in my mouth.

  He didn’t like it when I moaned and it took all my willpower to suppress the one that tried to break from my throat when I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and ran my tongue over the thick head. Angel had a huge dick.

  Shivers of desire ran down my body and into my erection as I started sucking and licking on his dick like it was the biggest and sweetest piece of candy I’d ever seen.

  I cupped his balls and let them fill my hand with soft warmth. I moved my mouth down, and down, looking up at him as I focused on getting him as deep as I could.

  The head of his dick hit the back of my throat and I retched involuntarily. The muscle spasm sent a sharp shiver wave down my body and, throbbing, into my cock. I moaned helplessly as saliva flooded my mouth.

  “Don’t,” Angel grunted, his hands tightening on my shoulders.

  I looked up at him as I moved my head to slide him in and out of my throat. He was looking straight ahead, staring off into the distance.

  I encircled his thighs with my arms and wondered what he was looking at. The view out the window into the darkened street? The window of the house opposite, which had all those cactuses in pots on the windowsill?

  I closed my eyes and didn’t look any more, didn’t ask any more questions. I let my mouth work on him, felt his heat flow through me, breathed in the scent of him.

  I moved my hands down to undo my fly and I kneaded myself through my briefs, suppressing the moan with difficulty.

  Once I pushed down the front of my underwear and took myself in hand, it was never going to be long.

  I wished I could take him out for a second so I could spit into my hand, or he could spit on my hand, but Angel didn’t like it when I jerked off while I gave head.

  He just didn’t have a choice a lot of the time because having his dick in my mouth turned me on so much, I just couldn’t wait.

  I had drooled so much, it was running down my chin and neck, and all I did was wipe that up with my fingers and when I wrapped them around the head of my dick, it was sticky with pre-come and I knew it was going to be fine.

  I clung on to Angel’s thigh with one hand and jerked myself with the other. His hands were on the side of my face now, guiding me, not forcefully but firmly, and it increased my desire until the swollen head of my dick was red hot with pleasure and ready to burst.

  “Angel,” I said, but the word didn’t come out like that. It came out as a muffled grunt. “Angel,” I gagged again, “Angel—”

  And I came into my hand and luckily it flew clear of his pants legs and landed on the hardwood floor a few feet away.

  Angel was close, I could tell by the pressure of his fingers on my face. He came without a sound, without a word. He just pulled out of me so fast I practically got a friction burn and, his hands still gripping my shoulders, he ejaculated over my shoulder.

  Breathing hard, he stepped back from me and put his dick back in his pants, zipped himself up. I did the same and slowly got off the floor.

  Angel went to the fridge, opened the door and peered inside.

  I rolled my eyes. The man really only had two interests in life. Sex, and food.

  Okay, and lifting weights.

  And I guessed, sleeping and going out with his homies and training his dog and anything to do with the military.

  Angel found a take out container of fried noodles and walked over to the dining table to eat it.

  I followed and sat down in the chair opposite. I could feel my eyelids drooping and I was tempted to lay my head on my arms and just go to sleep there at the table.

  Sleep, and Angel. That was what I needed.

  Angel sat there silently eating the noodles with a fork, and when he finished, he pushed the carton away.

  “There’s no beer in the fridge,” he commented.

  I did lay my head down on my arms at that point and closed my eyes. He was close, and I felt g
ood now.

  “There’s some in the cabinet,” I muttered.

  He got up, making that tutting sound with his tongue again. I didn’t know why he was doing that. He didn’t normally do that.

  “Why didn’t you put it in the fridge?” He muttered. “You know I hate warm beer.” He chuckled to himself. “I’m not British. British boys like it warm.”

  I heard the sound of the cabinet door and the clink of glass, and the small exhalation of the beer bottle as he removed the bottle cap with his hand, then his footsteps coming back to the table.

  “We shared a camp with a British company,” Angel continued. “Her majesty’s royal regiment, or some shit.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, or himself. Angel talked about Iraq a lot.

  I could feel my thoughts fragmenting as I started to drift into sleep. I saw Angel, in the desert, which somehow merged into the dressing room at Ellegrandé and all the soldiers were there getting into drag.

  Shaving their legs or confusedly holding their junk, trying to tuck, some walked bow-legged and nervous in heels, or frowning into the mirror, poking at their rough faces with soft make up brushes.

  Then Angel’s phone rang so loudly I jumped, startled, and sat up blinking in confusion. He sat there with the phone to his ear, grunting into it.

  “Yeah. Uh-huh. Uh. Uh. I’m just out—” Angel lapsed into Spanish.

  I sighed and put my head down again, content to listen to the comforting sound of his deep voice. My Spanish was okay, but I didn’t have the energy to try to translate what he was muttering, fast and low.

  “Machyl,” Angel said, putting the phone down the table. “That was César.”

  I yawned. “César from Phoenix?”

  “Sí. César from Iraq.”

  I sat up, smacking my lips together. My mouth was dry. I needed a drink of water. I pushed myself up from the table with both hands, the chair scraping on the floor.

  I needed to get some of those little stick-on pads for the chair legs, stop them scratching the floor.

  I went to the kitchen, washed my hands at the faucet, dried them and got a glass, filled it. When I turned around, Angel was standing there in the same spot just inside the front door where I had sucked him off. I jumped, startled and put my hand on my chest.