by L.H. Cosway
I was going to fuck away that disappointment, and Little Miss Big Boobs was my number-one choice. If all went according to plan, she’d be amenable to my proposition. I winked at her from the stage, and she blinked in confusion, looking behind herself to see if it was somebody else I was winking at. I shook my head at her, smirked, and crooked my finger in the universal gesture for “come hither.”
The song had just ended, so I stepped off the stage and began making my way toward her. She swallowed down a gulp of her drink and turned to me. When I reached her, I slid a hand down her arm, laced my fingers with hers, and lowered my mouth to her ear, murmuring in German, “Want to have a drink with me, Red?”
She gulped, but her pupils were dilated as she took in the sight of me. Thank God I was a man who liked to dress like a woman who liked women, rather than a woman who dressed like a man who liked men. Women were far more open-minded about these things, I’d come to learn. And Red here liked what she saw, even if she was hesitant to admit it.
“Okay,” she said finally. I grinned wide and led her by the hand to my dressing room backstage. I’d been sharing it with Dave (Linda Lovely), who was currently in the process of packing up his stuff.
“Linda, you wouldn’t mind giving us the room, would you?” I asked him.
“Not a problem, Nicholas. I was just about to go and get a drink.”
He winked at me and quickly left us alone. I turned to Red and began taking off my dress. She stood by the wall, watching me and clutching her fruity cocktail in her hand. Her eyes ate me up as I revealed my body. I possessed just enough vanity to know that as a guy I was pretty hot stuff, and women appreciated what they saw.
“You like girls?” Red asked curiously.
I slipped off my heels and let my dress fall to the floor. I was down to my boxer shorts now and went to grab a makeup wipe, staring at her hotly as I removed the mascara and lipstick from my face, my transformation back into a man complete.
“I like everything about them, Red. So much so that I want to fuck them, and I want to be them. Strange, isn’t it?”
“It’s interesting. My name is Karla, by the way.”
“Beautiful name to match that beautiful hair, Karla,” I said, and moved toward her until I had her backed up against the wall and her breathing grew ragged. “Shall we fuck?”
I found that being straightforward like this turned a lot of women on, and I was sensing that Karla was one of those women. She said nothing, simply nodded, and I lowered my mouth to her neck. My hands gripped her hips and moved upward, eager to fondle her breasts. I could feel her nipples tightening beneath her thin blouse, which I quickly unbuttoned. Within the next few seconds, I had her topless. I picked her up easily and carried her to the dressing table, setting her down on it and taking one hard nipple into my mouth. She moaned loudly and slid her hands into my hair, gripping tightly.
Yes, this was a good distraction from the hole inside, a wonderful distraction. I was already thinking about nothing but sex and coming inside her hot, wet core. Quickly, I located a condom in the first drawer, shoving down my boxers to free my cock. Karla grabbed for it, her small hand squeezing. She was sloppy and it hurt a little, but I was hard and incredibly turned on, so I didn’t care.
Seconds later I had the condom on, and I was thrusting into her quick and deep. Her gasps filled the room, and I took gratification from the fact that she liked it. I pinched her nipple and licked her neck, then took her mouth as I fucked her.
It was over no more than ten minutes later. I could go all night if I wanted to, but Karla was simply the entrée. Next on my agenda was more alcohol, perhaps a line of cocaine, and then I would find another woman.
This is what I’d been talking about earlier when I’d mentioned my depraved behaviour.
I had periods of stability and periods of crazy-town.
This was a crazy-town period.
Often, I had fuck buddies who I saw on the regular, but what with Kelvin’s conviction sending me over the edge, I was currently in the worst possible place. This meant I had no interest in having sex with the same woman more than once. It just held no appeal, and that was probably because sex more than once brought on feelings, and I had too many feelings to contend with as it was.
“That was incredible,” said Karla, all breathy and satisfied.
I located a cigarette and lit up. There was a lot of truth in the movie cliché of enjoying a smoke after a shag. It was the cherry on top of the “I just came” cake.
“That it was, Karla, that it was,” I replied, taking a drag. She came toward me as she set her clothing back to rights and began kissing my neck. Clearly, she wanted another round. It was a pity about my current state of mind. A real pity, because she had my favourite body type, all tits and arse.
I stood and moved away from her, stubbing out my smoke. I shouldn’t have been smoking in the club anyway. The manager would have my guts for garters if he found out. “I’m going to the bar,” I said. “You should probably get back to your friends. I’m sure they’re wondering where you’ve gotten to.”
She stared at me for a second, and then her mouth drew into a thin line. She was getting it. Slowly but surely, she was getting it. Putting my hand to her lower back, I led her from the dressing room.
“I’m never going to see you again, am I?” she asked, all sad.
It made me feel bad for a second…just a second.
“Ah, my dear, I’m afraid that might be so, but now you have a lovely memory. As do I.” I bent down and whispered in her ear, “I loved fucking that sexy little pussy of yours.”
Goose pimples broke out over her skin. “You can have it again if you want, you know?”
I gave her a consoling look. “I’m not the one for you, gorgeous.” I paused and pointed to myself. “I’m a train wreck, and you do not want to find yourself becoming collateral damage.”
She stared at me for a long time, then went up on her tippy toes to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m sorry to hear that. You’re a beautiful man. I hope you find happiness one day soon.”
And with that, she walked away. I was a little dumbstruck and upset by what she had said. I wasn’t sure I could handle the women I rejected being nice to me. It brought on guilt. I much preferred it when they threw a tantrum and gave me shit. Didn’t enjoy it, but certainly I preferred it.
It made me feel like less of a prick.
The thing that upset me most about what she said was the sad fact that I would never find the kind of happiness she was referring to. Most things and people in life were a dull grey to me. I needed that little extra something to light them up, colour them in.
It wasn’t their fault. It was my own broken mind that turned them grey.
At the bar I joined Dave, and we did our best to put a dent in two bottles of top-notch whiskey. The next morning I found myself lying face down on somebody’s carpet, my hand around a bottle of beer and stinking of cigarette smoke and sex. My nose stung a little, a result of the two lines of cocaine I’d snorted off the back of a toilet seat. Classy. I’d taken a little onto the tip of my tongue, then went down on the sexy but completely vacuous brunette I’d picked up.
I was at her place now, and there had obviously been some sort of a hootenanny, because the apartment looked like a bomb had hit it. I’d blacked out after the cocaine-enhanced cunnilingus, so I couldn’t tell you for sure what exactly occurred following that. Dragging myself up off the floor, I made sure I had my wallet and my phone on me, and swiftly made my exit. There were half-dressed people everywhere.
Images of fucking the brunette while high as a kite were resurfacing in my head, bringing forth a feeling of nausea. I should have stuck with Karla, the redhead. At least she was nice. I couldn’t even remember the brunette’s name, but she definitely was not nice. There was a lack of animation in her eyes that I had been attracted to because I knew the sex would be entirely emotionless. Still, I hoped never to possess that lack of animation myself.
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br /> The world might have been grey to me, but there was still a flickering of life that I tried my hardest to hold onto. I wasn’t completely empty yet. When I arrived back at the small open-plan studio apartment I was renting, I studiously counted how much alcohol I had in my cupboards and tried to calculate how long it would last me. Without even realising it, I was preparing to go into hermit mode.
I wanted the world to go away.
I estimated I had enough to get me through at least a couple of days. I had hardly any food, but it would be easy enough to order in. Firing up the old VCR player that I brought with me to each new dwelling I inhabited, I selected one of my mother’s old videotapes and put it on. Stripping down to my boxers, I got into bed with a bottle of wine and pressed “play.”
Her pretty face, which possessed so many features similar to my own, came on the screen. She was onstage at the venue she used to perform in. Whoever had been filming this video wasn’t so great at working a camera, because they’d zoomed in way too close. Although I kind of liked how close it was. It helped me recall exactly what she looked like. Every line, freckle, and pore.
Sometimes, when sitting in my dressing room, fully immersed in my Vivica Blue persona, I would spot myself in the mirror out of the corner of my eye and almost believe I was staring at Mum.
Fucked up, yes. But what was even more fucked up was how happy it made me to know how much I resembled her. One of the driving forces behind my career as a drag performer was a deeply seated need to emulate my mother.
She represented a time before my life got dark. A time before Kelvin. She also represented the epitome of femininity, and Kelvin never wanted the feminine side of me. He wanted the boy. Every time I became a woman, I was desperately trying to erase what I was with him. Every time I fucked a woman, I was rubbing out the stains he’d left behind.
I lay there in my bed, watching her sing into the microphone, and wondered, as I so often did, if she had survived, would Kelvin ever have gotten his claws into me? A solitary tear ran down my cheek. It was ridiculous. It had been a decade since I’d left his abuse behind me, and yet the pain was still so fresh, the anger so visceral. Swallowing a long gulp of wine, I settled in, closed my eyes, and listened to her voice.
If I tried really hard, I could almost believe she was in the room, singing just for me.
June 6th, 2012.
Soundtrack: “Feeling Good” by Muse (note my sarcasm)
It had been almost a week since I’d left my apartment. The place was beginning to reek and I really needed to put the rubbish bins out, but there was no desire inside me to improve my current state of affairs. I was imprisoned in my own head, and I didn’t have it in me to care about the bad smell, or the fact that I hadn’t washed since I’d gotten back from the party six days ago. The dark thoughts had latched onto me, and, like any virus, they spread like wildfire.
All things considered, I was feeling pretty good about myself, and when I say that, I mean I was feeling like a long bath and a bottle of benzodiazepines were calling my name.
I apologise for such morbidity.
I always thought that Kelvin finally getting punished would set me free, and now that it hadn’t, life was losing its appeal by the day. I was startled out of my morose thoughts by a loud banging on the door. A couple of my friends from the club had called over throughout the week, but I hadn’t let them in. I didn’t show up for several of the performances I was booked to do, and my phone had been ringing off the hook. In the end, the battery had died, and I was finally given some peace from the persistent pestering.
Now it seemed someone had gone out of their way to find me again.
There were several more bangs before a voice I hadn’t heard in months sounded through the door. It was Phil.
“I know you’re in there, Nicholas. You’d better open this door before I call up the fire brigade and have them knock it down. I swear to God, I’ll do it. In fact, I’d quite enjoy watching some hunky Germans knock down a door.”
His stern yet humorous tone made the tiniest hint of a smile play on my lips. If it were anybody else at the door, I would have ignored their presence. But it was Phil. One of the truest and most loyal friends I had in this cold world, and I had to admit that I had missed him, even if he did like to lecture me constantly.
Dragging myself out of bed, I shrugged into a T-shirt and walked to the door, undoing all the locks and finally opening it. The second I looked at him, I smiled. He’d bleached his hair since I last saw him. It was kind of hilarious, but suited him in a weird way.
“Philip! What on earth have you done to your beautiful hair? You look like you’re getting ready to move to Ibiza and relive those crazy ’90s rave days of yours.”
He stared at me, mouth agape. I bristled. I knew I must have looked a terrible sight. I’d hardly eaten anything in days, and I could tell I was sporting huge grey bags under my eyes.
“Oh, Nicholas,” he said, his voice full of sympathy. I hated the very sound of it.
I turned and walked back into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. He followed me in and shut it behind him. I rummaged around in the cupboards, trying to find the last dregs of alcohol and coming up dry. Running a hand shakily through my hair, I sat down on my sofa and eyed him.
“Dave called me up two days ago and told me how worried he was about you,” said Phil. “He said nobody had been able to get a hold of you for almost a week, and the last time you were seen you were a complete mess.”
“You shouldn’t have come. I’m fine,” I replied, folding my arms defensively across my chest. When Phil didn’t get angry, but instead gave me his sympathetic eyes again, I felt like crying. I knew I was the opposite of fine.
He walked to me and sat down right beside me. “Nicholas, look at this place. It’s not fit for a dog to live in. I’ve never understood why you punish yourself like this. You have the money for somewhere nice, and yet you select the most awful of places. You’re hurting so much already, there’s no need to add to it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this place — it just needs a bit of sprucing up. I don’t see the point in spending money on a big fancy apartment when it’s just little old me. One room is enough.”
“Let’s not pretend your choice of living quarters has anything to do with practicality,” said Phil. “I’ve been worried about you since before I even went home to Dublin. You were losing the run of yourself back then, and now you’ve completely lost it. I’m not trying to be cruel. Somebody needs to force you into opening your eyes, Nicholas. You’ve got everything going for you, and yet look at how you’re spending your days. Alone and drinking yourself into a stupor.”
“I have nothing going for me, not when my mind is sick. I feel so sick, Phil.” I almost sniffled. I was feeling sorry for myself in the worst way.
He moved closer and threw his arm around my shoulders, murmuring, “Why are the beautiful ones always so troubled, huh?”
I stared off into space. I’d been told I was handsome and beautiful a hundred times over. I knew it was true, but the sad fact was that I resented it just a little bit. “Perhaps because beauty brings with it nothing but trouble.”
Phil sighed. “How very Marilyn Monroe of you. Let me help you get better, Nicholas. Please.”
“I have no idea how you’d even go about doing that. I’m inexorably broken.”
He sat up straight and rubbed my back. “I’m taking my summer break down in Kerry starting the day after tomorrow. My parent’s holiday home is there, and I’m going to stay for three weeks. It’s right on the coast, lovely beaches. You should come with me. The sea air will do you good. Then you can come back to Dublin and perform at the club. I’ve got a great team of people working with me. I think it will be good for you to be around folks like that.”
I glanced up at him and bit on my lip, then took in the horrid state of my apartment. “That sounds nice.” And it really did, especially compared to what I was currently living in. I hadn’t visite
d much, but I liked Dublin. It had a nice, relaxed atmosphere while still being a cosmopolitan city.
“So you’ll come?” Phil asked, his eyes brimming with hope.
I mustered as much of a smile as I could. “Yes, Phil, I’ll come.”
I didn’t know if I was saying yes simply because I was becoming antsy to move somewhere new again, or if I really did want to find a place to actually settle down. I guessed it wouldn’t be long before I found out.
June 28th, 2012.
Soundtrack: “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones
I stared around at my new apartment in the heart of Dublin city, visualising where I was going to put everything. My furniture had just arrived, but it needed organising. I’d spent the last three weeks on the coast with Phil, and he’d been right — it had done me a world of good. I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol and my body was thanking me for it.
My mind was clearing, too. I felt like I was headed for a stable period, and this time I planned on making it permanent.
Phil had broken up with his boyfriend a couple of months ago, so it was just the two of us and his little chihuahua, Pickles. We walked on the beach, sunbathed, ate good food, and talked a lot. At this point I didn’t think there was a single moment from my past that I hadn’t recounted for him. All of the talking helped me to sort my head out. Phil had kind of become my unofficial therapist, and since he’d had his fair share of rough times himself, he was able to relate to my many internal struggles and gave me good advice for overcoming certain obstacles.