Drag Queen Beauty Pageant

by Malachite Splinters

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “I’m telling you this in confidence,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s okay with the performances DT has scheduled for her this weekend. I think he sprang it on her, like he sprang it on us.”

  “It was kind of short notice,” I agreed. I turned to him, my heart aching suddenly. “Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

  His eyes were soft. “Of course she will,” he said. Then he shifted over on the couch. “Let me give you a hug,” he said, and then his arms were around me. He was warm and solid and he smelled faintly of lemon. “You look like you need a hug,” he said quietly near my ear.

  When he pulled away, I felt uncertain. Confused. Something had changed. I didn’t know what it was, and I felt as if I was staring at one of those magic eye pictures, waiting for the hidden 3D image to pop up in front of my eyes.

  “Damaris and me are over, Anthony,” he said, trying to meet my eyes. “Properly over. We are not going to hook up again.”

  Strangeness had infused me right the way through. Instead of a magic 3D optical illusion, I was staring at blurring watercolors. Was I dreaming?

  He was looking at me with an expression I’d never seen before, and his eyes didn’t want to let mine go. Marcus had a beautiful face, with creamy fair skin, wide, slightly thin lips, straight eyebrows, incredibly light brown eyes and very dark ash brown hair.

  “I like you, Anthony,” he said, leaning toward me. I could see his eyes searching my face. “I like you a lot.”

  Oh. Sweet. St Sebastian. What?

  He seemed to sense my hesitation, and he tried to catch my eye while I looked elsewhere, out at the chasing shadows of leaves on the white walls of the room.

  “You—you like me?” I heard myself say.

  He nodded at me. I saw his Adam’s apple jump like he was swallowing nervously.

  “B-but—” I said. “You were furious at me in the dressing room today—”

  His eyebrows flew upward and he raised his palms in denial. “No, no—I wasn’t angry at you. I was embarrassed.” A crimson blush spread across his cheekbones.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Anthony,” Marcus said, in a different voice which made a shiver go down my spine and I suddenly felt very aware of my body, of the fine worn upholstery of the couch under my fingers, of the slight chill in the air, of the fabric of my shirt moving slightly against my stomach as I breathed in and out.

  “Were you jealous today?” he breathed, and his voice was husky and dark.

  I felt myself tense and at the same time, take a deep, shaky breath. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I could feel him, so close that it made my toes curl. I could smell him. I smelled tea on his breath and then I caught the musk which I had smelled in the dressing room.

  “Yes,” I said, and to my horror, my voice came out husky and low, as well. I felt as if I was a violin he could play, a strain of music running through my body that made it pliable and rapidly filling with tender need.

  I didn’t dare breathe. The dark sea scent enveloped us. I bit my lip and against all my own wishes, I looked at him. I looked into his light brown eyes.

  He looked at me. I could see his chest heaving. “Just tell me what I have to do so you’re not upset with me any more, alright?” He breathed, leaning closer to me. He pushed my hair back from my face.

  I thought he was going to kiss me and I didn’t get up and run.

  He exhaled and I saw his eyes shut and he leaned forward. Somehow, I was doing the same thing until I felt our lips touch.

  I gasped and pulled back, my heartbeat breaking into a gallop. I should have done the same thing and run out the door. But instead, I made a fatal mistake.

  I looked into his eyes again.

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  “Oh Christ, Anthony,” he gasped back at me, and put his arm around my waist, and kissed me on the lips.

  Marcus was tall, and he was lean and elegant, and he was beautiful, too, with those fine-boned features Bone China was known for.

  And now Marcus’s lips were against mine, my body revolted and it kissed back, and it made me put my hands on his shoulders as Marcus put his hands on my hips and pulled me into his lap.

  Marcus’ tongue slipped into my mouth and I gasped, clumsy, unused to this. I was already getting hard and I knew he could feel it because my crotch was against his warm stomach.

  His fingers dug into my back and then I felt a rush of intense heat to my groin as he ran his hands over my ass and squeezed hard.

  I gasped out loud as a spasm of pleasure brought my erection to fullness. I struggled back and out of his arms, back on the couch. My lips tingled. I stared at him.

  “Oh, Anthony,” he breathed, his chest heaving even more, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. “They say you don’t date. Is that true?”

  I looked back at him with wide eyes. I was so turned on, I didn’t know what to do. I had never been so turned on in the presence of another person before.

  He dropped his voice to a whisper. “They say—” he started moving forward, and I was leaning back on the couch, and I knew what he was going to do, and I all of a sudden I wanted it so much that I couldn’t do anything to stop him, all I did was lie back a little more as he got onto his knees and crawled over me until he was kneeling between my legs, and I even moved my legs apart.

  I was barely breathing as he leaned down and started kissing my jaw, and he lowered his body on top of mine, and a little sound came out of me, and I had never felt anything that felt so good as Marcus lying on top of me, fully clothed, kissing along my jaw.

  And then the hard bulge in his jeans nudged up against my balls through my own jeans and I went guh and arched my back and wrapped my legs around his hips and ground against it.

  “Anthony,” Marcus groaned into my ear and returned my grind, in spades, and I couldn’t help it, I groaned right back at him. He was stroking my flank, over my t-shirt, stroking my hair.

  “Anthony,” he whispered. “They say you’re a virgin. Is that true?”

  He kissed me and I thought I was going to die and go to heaven, or maybe just come in my pants, right then and there. He turned his face to the other side and kissed me again.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he whispered. “I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll think your cum was made of solid silver.”

  He ground against me again, slowly, and in a minute I was going to lose all control.

  Marcus leaned back, and then sat up and took off his t-shirt. The rush of cold air in between us seemed to make me wake up.

  Anthony. You’re about to have sex with Marcus. Anthony! A voice was pounding on the inside of my head, insistently. Anthony. Stop. Stop it now!

  I was so hard it was painful. I’d never been so hard in my life before. I pushed myself back on my elbows until I got to the arm of the couch, and then I started standing up.

  Marcus took one look at me and stood up as well, came toward me and tried to grab hold of me.

  I pushed him away and backed away several steps until the back of my thighs hit something and I stumbled slightly.

  “Er,” he said, frowning, panting. “Is something wrong?”

  I looked at his bare chest, lean and lightly muscled, I looked at the V-shaped abdominals disappearing into his waistband and my eyes travelled over the lump in his jeans.

  He saw me looking and a smirk quirked his lip. “Like what you see?”

  I glanced around. I had backed myself up against an armchair next to a small side table. There was a gap in the furniture to my left and a clear path to the front door. Breathing heavily, I licked my lips.

  “Marcus, I have to go.”

  I started moving between the armchair, side table and couch for the front door. I got almost to the open-sided bookshelf when he caught up to me.

  He didn’t grab me. He just reached out a hand and touched my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus,” I didn’t know wh
at I was apologizing for.

  He was frowning. “You’re worried about Duane Tyrone.”

  I swallowed. He had just invented an excuse for me, relieving me of the need to come up with something.

  “I understand, Anthony,” he said, looking directly at me and keeping his hands by his sides now. “I really do, but—look.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s a stupid rule. We’re all adults and we can do whatever we want. I want you.” He reached out his hand again, and I backed away again.

  I was getting steadily closer to the front door. Just a few more steps. Was it locked from the inside?

  He saw me backing away again and he kept talking. “We can go to Duane Tyrone. If you want. No secrets. No lies. Just tell him how it is,” he was still breathing heavily as he looked at me. “He’ll have to accept it. He can’t lose two artists, the business would collapse.”

  My butt hit the door and I tried to grab for the handle without seeming like I was grabbing for the handle.

  He saw me against the door and his desperation seemed to hike up a notch. “I’d leave,” he said. “I’d leave House of Ellegrandé for you.”

  I froze, so shocked that I just stood there, forgetting about the door knob. “What?” I breathed, in mingled horror and awe. “Leave House of Ellegrandé?”

  He stared back at me, nodding slowly. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. We’ll find another drag house. It will be the scandal of the season.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I said instantly.

  He rolled his eyes impatiently. “New York drag is fucked up,” he said. “We can leave New York,” Marcus said. “Come with me back to London.”

  In a minute he was going to get down on one knee. My hand found the door knob behind my back and I started to turn it.

  “Marcus—” I started, but what was I going to say? Admit the truth?

  Admit that I was desperately, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with Damaris?

  Admit that I hated Marcus because if Damaris could like a feminine guy like him, then why couldn’t she like me?

  Admit that I had never had sex with another person and sometimes I wanted it so much I thought I was going to explode?

  My arousal had dissolved in the surge of adrenaline surging through my bloodstream. A certain pinpoint of nausea pricked at me in the pit of my stomach.

  How could you do that with Marcus?

  My heart was pounding with the panic that preceded shame. The red flag warning that full awareness of something I had done wrong was about to burst in on me.

  Oh, no.

  I looked at Marcus, still standing there looking back at me, and couldn’t say another word. I turned the door knob and for the second time that day, I ran out and down the flight of stairs to the street, where I broke into a run, just in case Marcus was following, all the way to the subway.

  And I didn’t look back.

  Sick

  When I got home, I went to lie down on the couch, and then thought better of it. I had better avoid couches for a while. Nothing good could come from couches, this is what I had decided.

  I went and lay on my bed instead.

  I stared up at the screen of my phone until my arms ached, then dropped it on the bed.

  I couldn’t go back to the club.

  No way.

  I would have to call in sick. Would DT be angry if I did? Wha about the others?

  What does it matter if I call in sick?

  It didn’t matter, that was the truth. I was entirely dispensable, disposable.

  I closed my eyes, trying not to remember the night of my first, and last, performance at the House of Ellegrandé.

  I hadn’t turned on any lights in the bedroom. So I just lay there in the dark, as the memories started to form in my mind’s eye. There were no tree leaves blowing around and casting shadows through this window, just the light coming in from the street.

  The apartment was so well soundproofed, there was no urban soundtrack of traffic or barking dogs, nothing to interrupt the inevitable march of my thoughts back in time.

  Brooklyn had made me a one-shoulder floor-length white satin gown with a peplum and a slit on one side that opened just above the knee. I had paid for the fabric myself, and the heavy silk flowed in long, fluid lines.

  Damaris had chosen a powder-blue wig, half updo filled with gorgeous curls, half tresses which fell just below the shoulder and lay on the bare shoulder.

  I had splurged a little on shoes and jewelry at Krumpdorf’s, but it was so worth it for the final effect. The pale gray crushed velvet platform sandals and oversized crystal and rhodium plated earrings, collar, ring and anklet added suitable drama.

  Damaris had worked on my make up for over two hours before she was satisfied with it, and I was wearing my new colored contact lenses.

  When I stood up and walked to the mirror, she corrected my walk, which she said was almost perfect. And I didn’t stumble. I had, I thought, rather perfected the art of walking in heels.

  She walked up next to me as I came to a stop in front of the mirror. “Oh. My. God.”

  “What?” I said nervously, turning back and forth in the mirror. “Do I look okay?”

  She just shook her head.

  “Is it my inserts?” I said, smoothing my hands over my curvaceous butt and hips. “Are they out of place?”

  “Sweetie,” Damaris took my hands. “You look perfect.”

  At that moment, Machyl walked in the door from the side entrance, took one look at me, and dropped into a duck walk before coming back up, then dipped and fell to the ground.

  “Stop showing off, for god’s sake,” Damaris groaned. “And come look at La Tata.”

  Machyl rose from the ground like a cobra rises from its basket, catwalked over and made some complicated movements around his face with his hands.

  “Is she in grayscale?” He asked, running his eyes up and down my body and face before sashaying over to his station.

  “Giltie Conshens,” Damaris snapped. “Don’t make me get out my reading glasses.”

  Machyl leaned on the counter and looked at her. “Your girl is monochrome,” he said, indicating me with his splayed index finger. “And let her read her own literature. She’s got the contact lenses for it. So what’s her excuse?”

  Damaris glanced at me. “Just ignore him,” she muttered, and then she walked over to him and I saw her talking to him in a low voice.

  He rolled his eyes but when she came back to my side, he said in a more serious tone, “Tata, don’t forget your walk.”

  “Damaris just reminded me the second before you got in here,” I said defensively.

  “And your mark is on the stage in front of the mic. Do not miss it because otherwise it will mess up the other girls when they come in to join you for the chorus. The positions will be off and uneven from the audience.”

  “I know,” I said. I could feel my face going hot.

  A moment before, I had actually started to feel pretty. I had always wanted to feel pretty. I had always wanted to be sexy in that feminine way that women were.

  “You’ll be great,” Damaris said to me with a tight smile, putting in her earrings. “Machyl, could you help me with my gown please?”

  I went back to my station and was about to sit down when Machyl barked, “Don’t you dare sit down in that gown young miss!”

  “But—” I couldn’t keep the complaint out of my voice. “My feet—”

  “Do you want to be a drag queen or not?” Machyl pointed at my shoes. “Why did you put them on already?”

  “To test out the look, Machyl,” Damaris said. “Anthony, I’ll help you take them off in a second.”

  “No you won’t,” Machyl said sternly. “Or you’ll wrinkle up your gown something terrible.”

  “So can you do it for him?” Damaris said, sounding exasperated as Machyl zipped her up.

  “Okay, okay,” Machyl said, waving his hands dismissively.

  But he didn’t come to he
lp me take off my shoes, and I couldn’t bend over to do it myself without wrinkling the gown.

  By curtain, the balls of my feet were sending shooting pains through me with every step.

  Standing behind the back curtains in the wings, I shifted from foot to foot.

  “You’ll be great,” Bone China whispered, squeezing my arm as she waited behind me.

  “Thanks,” I tried to smile at her. She was resplendent in a cheongsam-inspired gown and an endless silky black wig. “My feet hurt.”

  “Mine too,” she grinned at me with red lips.

  But my feet really hurt. Two of my toes were numb. Somehow the circulation had been cut off.

  Then it was my cue, and I had to walk out there. I went cold all over and felt as if I was falling into an endless abyss.

  I put one foot in front of the other and tried to do the walk and keep my head up while not squinting into the blinding stage lights which blocked out all sight of the crowd behind, while also finding the indistinct piece of black duct tape which had been placed on the black stage, indicating where I needed to stand.

  I couldn’t find it. I finally looked down at the stage, which Machyl had told me repeatedly, under no circumstances, to do, ever.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  I was starting to panic. I still couldn’t see the mark. I was already messing up.

  I stood in the center of the stage, not too close to the edge, which was more or less where I remembered the mark being. The music had been swelling the entire time I was walking, and I could tell the lyrics were going to start in a moment.

  I tried not to wince as a stab of pain went through my foot. The pain was so intense, and I felt so trapped in these torturous shoes, that it caused my panic to mount. My heart was thundering in my ears and I didn’t seem to be breathing.

  Then the lyrics started, and I opened my mouth, and I couldn’t remember the lyrics.

  Oh fuck.

  Oh FUCK!

  I knew the chorus of the song. Everyone knew the chorus of this song. But the first stanza was long and had a lot of words and I had memorized them. I had.

  But those words weren’t in my brain now.