I moaned and broke free of his embrace, dropping forward onto my hands and knees, spreading my legs and presenting myself to him. I closed my eyes, my mouth falling open as I felt his hands on my hips and then, finally, oh, Lord, finally, the head of his dick on my asshole.
But Angel would never do that.
I opened my eyes, back in the empty changing room and alone once more, my right hand wrapped around my half-hard penis.
He just wouldn’t. Angel had never gotten on his knees in front of me. And he had certainly never rimmed me before.
Suddenly I didn’t feel like getting off any more. I let go of myself, turned the water off and grabbed the towel which was hanging from the curtain rail.
When I got back to my stuff, I realized that the only thing I had to get dressed in were the clothes I had danced in, the clothes I had been wearing all day. They were still damp with sweat and I wrinkled my nose at the idea of putting them back on.
I took them to the hand dryer and started with the t-shirt, holding it underneath the hot air to dry it. Maybe the heat would kill some of the bacteria as well? I didn't want to be the one stinking up the subway car on the way home.
The desire to jerk off didn’t come back. I stood there naked, drying my clothes, with all the life drained out of my dick as if it had been flash frozen.
The hand dryers were right in front of a big floor to ceiling mirror and I turned around and looked at myself, looking into my own eyes and running my eyes down my body, taking in my slim figure and well-shaped but lean muscles under my dark-toned skin.
I was in good shape and I knew it.
I turned back to the dryers, looking over my shoulder and taking in the long, fluid line down my back leading to my butt. My butt was arguably my best feature, pert, round and with good projection.
I wasn’t the only one who liked it.
The t-shirt was dry, and there wasn’t anything I could do about the smell, so I put it on and started to dry the sweatpants, having turned them inside out. The boxer-briefs were a lost cause. I would just have to go commando until I got home.
Standing there wearing nothing but a t-shirt would usually be a turn on for me. It was a little weird and a little kinky and normally that would make me hard.
But I didn’t get hard.
I stood there holding the sweaty crotch of the sweatpants under the hand dryer and tried to remember the last time Angel and I had had sex.
Last night, sure, Angel would count that as sex. I had used my mouth on him. But he hadn’t had to touch me at all.
Before that… a couple of weeks ago he had been there when I got home from work really late, almost three in the morning.
I had woken him up when I turned on the overhead light in the bedroom. He had squinted sleepily at the sudden brightness. I had turned the light off, stumbled to the bed in darkness and switched on the bedside lamp instead.
I took everything off, thinking to make the most of the situation. When I got into bed and turned the light off again, he rolled onto his side and pushed his erection toward me, grabbing my hand and pushing it into his crotch. I leaned over him and started jerking him off, and when I tried to kiss him as well, he turned his face away, muttering sleepily.
He came in less than a minute and then turned away from me, curled in on himself and was snoring again within seconds.
I was left there with a boner and a sticky hand, and when I went to the bathroom, all I needed to do was wash my hands, because my other problem had already gone away.
I sighed again and turned the sweatpants around. The material was thick and absorbent and seemed to hold a lot of moisture, because it was taking a long time to get it dry.
I remembered now. The last time we had had sex, by that I mean where Angel put his dick inside me or at the very least, his hands or mouth on me.
It was about three months ago, in June. Damaris and I had been planning this outing to the Mermaid Parade for weeks. Brooklyn had even made us special costumes to wear.
But Marcus and I and some others ended up going out the night before and partying at Cosmosis.
I didn’t tell Angel I was going there, and the whole night I was on tenterhooks, wondering if I was going to catch him with some slip of a femme on his dick.
So I ended up drinking too much and spent the next morning on the bathroom floor and texted Damaris that I couldn’t come to Coney Island. I think she took Tata instead.
That afternoon, I was lying on the couch under a blanket doing work on my laptop when Angel came in. He said his buddy had seen me at Cosmosis the night before and what was I doing there.
I told him I went out partying like I had a right to, and he said there were too many men at Cosmosis and I knew he didn’t like me going there.
I rolled my eyes and said of course there were a lot of men there, it was a gay club and went back to my spreadsheet and he closed the laptop and put it on the table and told me that he knew I had been with someone and I had better own up about it.
I stared and told him he was crazy, and the whole time my heart hammered faster and faster because I knew he was the one who had been cheating.
I stood up off the couch and stepped up to him, pushed his shoulders and asked him whose mouth he had been putting his dick in because it certainly wasn’t mine.
He caught hold of my wrists and looked me over. His eyes dropped to my groin, and he could see that I was already getting aroused and that was that.
It wasn’t as good as I wished it would be. I was still nauseous from the hangover and the pills I had taken for my headache hadn’t worked completely yet.
He kept missing my prostate and I had a hard time relaxing when it didn’t feel that good. He pulled out immediately after he came, without asking, and then I had been hoping he would suck my cock, but as it was I had to turn around and physically restrain him from getting up, take his hand and put my erection in it, and I buried my face in his neck and tried to enjoy it, enjoy him.
But the pleasure seemed so fleeting and when he left later that night, after watching a couple episodes of a show and eating pizza, more or less in silence, I felt emptier inside than before he had come over.
The sweatpants were finally dry. I pulled them on and sighed in comfort. They were toasty and warm, like a big hug. I went and put my socks and shoes back on—the socks were still clammy, but I was tired of drying stuff now—slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked out.
As I walked down the cold, dark, empty street to the subway, my throat started to hurt. I hoped I wasn’t getting sick, then realized my throat hurt because of Angel. It didn’t seem right that a pair of warm sweatpants could make me feel better than my own boyfriend.
When I got home, something slid, slithery and papery, on the floor behind the front door when I opened it. I stepped inside and saw a white padded envelope lying there on the floor.
I picked it up and turned it over, instantly recognizing Angel’s handwriting in my name and address. I tore the top of the envelope off with a strange feeling, like I might see something I didn’t want to.
I put my hand inside. It was a key. I pulled it out, stared at it. It was the key to my building. I put my hand back inside. The other key was for my apartment. I looked into the envelope. That was it. Nothing else.
I put the keys down on the kitchen table and the envelope in the trash. Then I sat down at the table and called Angel.
“Machyl,” he said when he picked up the phone. “Why are you calling me?”
I ignored this comment. “Where were you last night?” I demanded. “Before you showed up on my doorstep to be pleasured?”
“Did you get the keys?” He asked. “I sent them back already.”
I brushed the keys off the table and they clattered on the floor. “I know you went to Cosmosis,” I said. “I know you went there before you came over. Who did you have on your dick, huh? One of the girls from there?”
“No,” Angel said bluntly. “I didn’t go to Cosmosis las
t night.”
“I know you’re lying,” I said. “I know you were in a toilet stall with one of their queens.”
“I didn’t go there,” Angel said harshly. “I didn’t feel like getting felt up by a bunch of fucking trannies all night,” he spat. “I’m a gay man, Machyl,” he continued. “I don’t want to look at a bunch of fake titties and smooth crotch boys wearing their mama’s lipstick.”
Angel had never said anything like that before.
“I like men, Machyl. I want to fuck a man. Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah,” I said, although it didn’t sound like my voice at all. It came out all high-pitched. I cleared my throat. I hated the way it sounded, weak and scared. “I heard you, Angel,” I said. “You want to fuck a man? How about fucking me then?”
“I’m done with half-men look more like women.”
“What does that mean?” I retorted. “You’re going to be faithful to me from now on?”
“What?” He barked.
My voice tried to slip away and I grabbed it and forced it to speak. “Does that mean you’re going to stop going to House of Cosmosis?”
“Would you shut up about that Cosmosis,” he retorted. “You’re obsessed, you know that?”
“No, I won’t shut up,” I shouted, losing my temper. “Until you tell me, are you going to stop fucking other men or not?”
“It was only once, Machyl,” Angel growled. “Everything else is just in your head.”
“Shut your lying mouth,” I snarled, getting up out of my chair so fast it crashed to the floor.
“I’m not lying,” Angel bawled so loudly, the sound distorted on the phone’s speaker.
“Stop trying to front,” I cut him off now. “I know what you like, Angel. You like sissies. Admit it, Angel. You like a pussy fag with a bow on top, who’s all smooth and soft and submissive to you. And that’s why you’ll never stop coming back to this peach bubble. Because when I fuck with my velvet asshole, you pray to the Lord above with thanks you were born to feel it. And you love it, and you’ll never give it up.”
Angel swore at me in Spanish, and I didn’t understand a word of it. It wasn't the kind of thing you learned in class. And it wasn’t even any of the Puerto Rican swear words I had learned from him, which was quite a lot, because Angel liked to swear.
“So that’s it,” he broke back into English. “It’s done, Machyl. Don’t call me, don’t come to my place, don’t bother me no more. It’s over.”
And then he hung up the phone.
I put it down on the table, and stood up.
I wasn’t stupid. I could add two and two and not get five.
I had seen the way Angel’s face changed when César came out of the apartment. I could swear he used to look at me that way, once.
Hadn’t he?
The details were coming back to me now. César was Mexican American. Served a tour of duty with Angel in Helmand. That was before Angel was sent to Korea.
So César broke up with his husband and decided to come to New York and take comfort in his old army buddy. He decided to come and take comfort in my boyfriend.
I felt hot all over, and inside, too. I thought of those stories of spontaneous combustion, where a greasy scorch mark was found in an old person’s chair, and maybe just a half a charred foot on the floor nearby.
If I got mad enough, maybe I would burn up like that, too.
I didn’t think about what I was doing, my body started moving on its own, started going through the steps I had learned in the tap fusion class tonight.
My feet pounded against the wooden floorboards as I completed the set, and then started it again, faster this time, pushing myself and ignoring the discomfort from my bare feet, which were slapping and thumping on the floor.
By the time I started the third round with the resolution to go even faster, my muscles were screaming and drops of sweat were spattering to the floor around me. Grunting with exertion, I forced myself onward, even though I was so tired, my movements were becoming unfocused and my limbs felt like concrete.
A sudden loud thudding brought me to a standstill, streaming sweat and gasping like a fish on sand. It was coming from downstairs. Someone must be banging a broom handle against their ceiling, trying to get me to stop dancing.
I gulped and walked away. In these old buildings, you could hear every footfall on the floor above. I guessed I must have been making a lot of noise at twelve thirty at night.
After another shower and truly clean clothes this time, I lay in bed and stared at the smooth white ceiling.
I had seen a picture of César before. That was why he had looked familiar when I saw him in the hallway today.
A picture of the two of them in the desert, taken on one of those cameras that can print photos out. It had been stuck in the mirror on the wall in Angel’s bedroom once, and I had never seen it again after that. They both had bandanas on and were leaning their heads back, all tough in wife beaters, with silver chains disappearing below the necklines.
It was coming back to me now. The night I had seen the picture of César.
Not long after we started dating, and Angel had actually invited me over to his. His room mate was out, he said. He had dinner ready when I got there, and I was so flattered and impressed. After we ate, we sat on the couch and listened to music. After a while we started kissing and he said we had better go to the bedroom.
We lay down on top of the comforter and it was like magic. We couldn’t stop kissing and I couldn’t stop touching him.
When he took off his clothes, his skin became like crack to me. I had to have it, I wrapped myself around him and rubbed myself against him, as much as possible and I couldn't get enough. It seemed like he felt the same, because he kept running his hands all over me, over my chest and butt and legs.
We went from warm to hot and dry to sticky, moving against each other, and with the soft comforter underneath me and his heavy weight on top of me, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
“Angel,” I breathed. The comforter gave off the flowery scent of laundry detergent and Angel gave off a heady musk which made me stifle a moan as his cock rubbed my abdomen. “Would you fuck me, please?”
He raised his face from where it was buried in my neck and kissed me. I found the lube and he put on a condom, but fast, because I couldn’t bear to lose the contact with him, and I got back into his arms and he held me so tenderly and looked into my eyes as I prepared myself and guided him to enter my body.
When he did, I groaned with unbearable desire, because feeling him sliding inside me didn't satisfy my yearning, it doubled it.
The sound that came out of me when he hit my prostate, I had never heard anything like it before. And then he did it again, and again, and again, strong and sure but so careful. He looked into my eyes and hypnotized me, and it was the gentlest death to be filled to bursting and nudged bit by bit into oblivion.
With each long breath I took, I shuddered and moaned. With each stroke of his fat, good, hot dick, I thought I would come. But instead it went on and on until I didn’t know which way was up, and I didn’t care.
He swore and came for what seemed like a long time, and then I pulled his mouth down to me, wrapped his hand around me and gave myself to him, so that when orgasm broke over me like a river bursting its banks, like a volcano blowing its top, it felt like I was breaking into pieces which he now owned.
After that we both got ready for bed and lay on the pillows and he held me and he started talking.
“After KIQD was repealed It was like a fucking smorgasbord, Machyl. You don’t even know. You could have your cock sucked by a different guy every night.”
Actually, I hadn’t really expected to hear about his past sexual conquests at this particular moment in time. And I didn’t really want to, either. But Angel wasn’t a talker. And he had never really volunteered information about himself before.
And it felt so good to be lying here with him, our legs in pajama pant
s twisted together and bare feet touching and my head against his strong chest and his heart beating in my ear, everything quiet and still, that I just laughed and told him that didn’t sound any different from New York.
That was when he got up, leaving a rush of chilly late fall air to come in on me, and he went to the mirror and took down the picture. He got back on the bed and I snuggled against his warmth. “My brother in arms César,” he said, holding up the picture so I could see. “Together we vowed to raze the unit to the ground. No ass left unfucked.”
And he started telling me stories so vivid I could smell them, the rank sweat of fear mixed with arousal in my nostrils.
He told me about the Dog Tag Game.
I could feel the blood coursing through me, getting back to base after a brush with death, an IED, the desperate urge to life manifesting in hard fucking on the ground in a tent late at night.
I could see the glint in that soldier’s eyes across a dry field, waiting on a long day of sizing each other up before taking rough paces through the barracks to grab his arm, pull him away outside into the cool night and steal a hot, stubble-grazed kiss, reach your hand down and knead his dick through his fatigues.
Angel told me how you would sit in the mess hall, and while you ate you would cast your eye over the rank and file, assessing and checking the faces you were aware of, and searching the ones you weren’t. And then there were the new recruits.
Angel told me that the Dog Tag Game was played every night, no matter how tired you were. No matter how many had died that day. Or how many you had seen killed.
Sometimes they were neck and neck. Sometimes one was ahead. Sometimes the other caught up. No matter, Angel and César played the Dog Tag Game.
I can remember Angel’s breath on my neck, his arm tight around me as he told me the story.
His eyes never looked into mine, but were fixed on my arm, shoulder, stomach, thighs or crotch. Any part of my body could be devoured by his eyes like a morsel he was snacking on, and once digested it was changed ever after.
Angel altered me always. When I became his, I became his and was no longer my own.
Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2) Page 5