Drag Queen Beauty Pageant

by Malachite Splinters

  “Are you kidding?” She laughed. “I’ve been picturing him naked for months. Come on, tell me you won’t hold back.”

  I tried to laugh as well, but a mental image of Marcus nude and staring at me had just invaded my mind and all I could do was try to swallow around a dry throat. “I’ll update you later,” I promised.

  “Good,” she said. “You know I love mixed-heritage people.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Enough.”

  “You try to be coy,” she said. “But it’s such an act. And,” she said, sounding more than a little triumphant, “this is the perfect opportunity for you to finally get over Damaris.”

  I scowled. She just had to go and say that. As a matter of fact, I had already decided to get over Damaris on my own. I didn’t need her to tell me do it.

  “You remember how much time I wasted over LaClaire Johnson,” she said in an obnoxiously reasonable tone of voice. “She was never going to notice me and I could have been enjoying my life instead of obsessing.”

  I rolled my eyes. There were no parallels between my situation and Sue Ellen’s high school infatuation with LaClaire Johnson. None whatsoever.

  She cleared her throat. “Okay, my turn now. Can you go and look at those messages I sent last night?”

  What? No, I needed to go and talk to Marcus now. It could not wait.

  Furthermore, I wasn’t about to look at my phone before I talked to him, because if he had told and it was all over my phone and possibly social media—who knew what Machyl was capable of—then I wanted to be mentally prepared before I actually looked at any of it.

  “My phone’s still not working,” I protested.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “It so is.”

  “It isn’t,” I said. “Why d’you think I’m talking to you through this shitty old wall phone?”

  She let out a groan. “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

  “No you can’t!” I snapped. “I have to go now.”

  “Fine,” she fumed. “Just go, then.”

  “I’m going,” I scowled, and slammed the receiver back onto the cradle.

  I nearly knocked the smoothie glass onto the floor as I stalked out of the kitchen to find my laptop.

  Sue Ellen Filbert would just have to wait.

  Right now I needed to deal with Marcus Fong.

  Gay Town Date

  It was actually a beautiful day. The bench in the small park was hard under my thighs and the two small trees whose branches spread overhead had red and orange leaves rustling in the cool breeze.

  To distract myself from my feelings, I had spent almost two hours showering, doing my make up and getting dressed.

  I had chosen billowing white silk chiffon cold shoulder blouse with sleeves which belled out from the elbow and tied into bows with long, trailing ties.

  It had a deep v-neck which lay flat against my chest and looked, I thought, pretty stunning in the way it revealed my clavicles and the space between my pectorals.

  With an oversized pearl drop pendant on a long chain right in the deepest point of the V, I thought that looked overall pretty fucking fabulous, especially with gold tone accessories and just an understated highlighting regime on brow, cheek and lip.

  Looking down at the ground, I saw Marcus’ shadow approaching before I heard him.

  “Princess,” he said. “You didn’t reply to my text.”

  I looked up, pulled down my shades, sharp jet black and angles, to contrast with the blouse, and looked at him over them.

  “My phone is updating or something,” I said. “It wouldn’t turn on. I left it at home,” I added, to prevent him wanting to look at it and try to fix it.

  “La principessa,” he said, smiling, not seeming to notice what I said about the phone, instead sitting down next to me on the bench, taking my hand and kissing it. I let him, although it was enough to make me uncomfortable.

  If you don’t like this, Anthony, I dread to think what you’ll make of the rest of the date.

  “I love this,” he said, brushing the sleeve of my blouse and taking me in.

  I was glad I was wearing the shades, so I could avoid his direct gaze, which was looking at me, searching out my eyes.

  “Take these off,” he said, and I cursed him as he lifted the sunglasses off, folded them and held them.

  The sun was still warm enough that I could carry my jacket, but there was a chill in the air. The sky was blue and the clouds hurrying by overhead were fluffy and white. It was gorgeous.

  I wished I was on a date with someone I actually wanted to be on a date with. Like Damaris.

  “Are you feeling better?” He asked.

  “Not really,” I said, because I had called in sick for tonight as well. There was no way I was showing up at the club if Marcus had told them what happened last night.

  “Poor baby,” he said, and stroked my cheek with the back of one finger. “Love your make up though.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “So what is it? Have you got the shits?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said quickly. “Something I ate, I don’t know. I had lunch in Chinatown on my way to the club yesterday. I sort of felt it coming on all afternoon but it, um, hit me big time when I got to your place.”

  “Aw babes,” he said. “You could have used our toilet. Alexis wouldn’t mind.”

  I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. This conversation was making me want to crawl out of my skin.

  “Did you vomit?” He asked.

  I squirmed. “Yeah,” I said.

  “How many times?”

  Jesus, what is he, a fucking doctor?

  “I can’t remember,” I said. Tried to look more sick.

  “It wasn’t a Chinese restaurant, was it?” He asked. “Which one?”

  Hmm. I didn’t think of that.

  I actually had had barbecue pork noodle soup yesterday, which was why the lie came so easy.

  But on second thought, that had not been a good choice to associate Chinese cuisine with food poisoning. Marcus probably knew a lot of the restaurant owners. His father was somehow involved with restaurants.

  “Um,” I said. “I don’t think it was from the Chinese food. For breakfast yesterday I finished a smoothie that had gone fizzy. I don’t think it was good any more.”

  “That sounds disgusting,” he murmured.

  I laughed awkwardly. I started fiddling with the ties on my right sleeve. Maybe I should have dressed down.

  His fingers covered mine, took my hands, away from the bow, held them and he leaned toward me. He was trying to kiss me. I braced myself.

  “I love your style,” he murmured. “It suits you.”

  His lips touched mine, gently. When I felt his breath on my lips, I felt a spark of desire within me start to spread its tendrils warmly through my chest. Damnit.

  He kissed me closed-mouth, chaste. When he pulled away, my cheeks were warm too.

  “You’re like a Brazilian high class kept woman,” he said, smiling and still holding my hand, which felt icky, and I wanted to pull away. “A manicured rich bitch.”

  “Wow, thanks,” I muttered, offended. “I’m Dominican, actually.”

  “Aww babes, don’t take offense,” he grinned. “I meant it as a compliment. Like one of those beauty queens.” He smiled and touched the white gold and crystal bow with oversize pearl drop in my left ear. “I love that earring.”

  I smoothed my hair. “Okay,” I said.

  “I know where you’re from,” he said. “I was just—you’re not really upset, are you?”

  I sort of was. But really, I was irritated at him because I was sure he had told and was lying about it. I suddenly wished I had my phone so I could check and see if there was any evidence he had told.

  But no, you’re too much of a coward, the voice laughed in my mind. You did this to yourself, you idiot.

  “That was a bloody stupid thing to say,” he was still talking. “You’re—classy, babes, you’re Fashion, you know?
I think it’s stunning, I really do. Not many people have the guts to dress like that on the street, it’s great.”

  Another backhanded compliment. Did he even realize he was doing it?

  “Okay,” I said, just to get him to shut up. “I’ll take it as a compliment,” I muttered, even though I didn’t, really.

  I got a lot of shit for what I wore and always had, since I started actually dressing myself and not just wearing church clothes all the time.

  “Anthony,” he said more insistently, “I’m sorry.”

  I looked away from his gaze, which was too open, too intense. “It’s—it’s okay,” I said, feeling bad.

  I saw him sigh. A worm of nervousness squiggled through my stomach. I looked at him hesitantly.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk properly?” He asked, his eyes searching my face.

  “Sure,” I said, my voice higher than I wanted it to be.

  We both stood up and left the park, crossing the street onto the main boulevard of New York’s famous Gay Town.

  I had told him I wanted to go on a date as an excuse not to have to go to his apartment, or have him come to mine.

  I wasn't going to find myself alone in a room with Marcus Fong again if I could help it.

  I knew what would happen if I did.

  He cast about, looking up and down the street, reaching for me and putting his arm around my waist. I almost wiggled away out of his grasp, but the physical contact also felt kind of good, and in the end I just let him.

  He leaned down to me, close. He was a good six inches taller than I was.

  “Let’s go to that little place right there,” he said. “See it? The gelateria?” He whispered into my ear. “I want to put something sweet in your mouth.”

  A shiver ran up my spine and I half closed my eyes as a wave of desire washed over me.

  I bit my lip and felt myself lean into his embrace, despite myself.

  “I love it when you bite your lip like that,” he murmured, and turned me to him and kissed me, not so chaste this time.

  His tongue ran over my lower lip and then over my front teeth. A rush of electricity through the core of my body made me part my lips and I grasped his arms at the elbow.

  He made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat and kissed me harder, finishing with a smacking sound, and stood back, grinning at me.

  I tried to smile back, and halfway succeeded. My heart was pounding and the electricity from my core had travelled down into my crotch.

  I tried to ignore it, and started walking again, but then I realized I was licking my lips and Marcus was looking at me doing it.

  He found my hand and held it, and kept walking like that.

  I didn't want to hold his hand. I wanted to take my hand back. I didn’t want to be attracted to him. I hated myself for being attracted to him, but I was.

  I liked his lean frame, I liked the light muscles I had seen on his chest last night, I liked his pretty face and the ashy color of his hair.

  I felt the guilt of disloyalty again, and tried to take myself sternly in hand and say: Anthony, this is a good thing. You need to get over Damaris. And this is going to fix everything, remember?

  The gelateria seemed to be mostly for passing trade, with the ice cream freezer and serving window onto the street, but there was a tiny seating area behind it, and when we got in there it seemed that they did coffee as well, because there was the smell of roasting beans in the air and a big chrome espresso machine hulking behind the counter.

  “I want the salted pistachio,” I said, spying a little chalkboard the shape of an ice cream cone sitting on the counter, with Daily Special painted cutely on top in white letters, and the gelato flavor written below it in white chalk.

  “Are you okay to eat?” Marcus said, frowning at me, still holding my hand.

  “Oh,” I said. Dammit. I pursed my lips in annoyance. “I guess you’re right,” I said, unable to keep the sulk out of my voice.

  “Aww,” Marcus said, cocking his head to one side and smiling at me. “I know how that is. When you’re better enough to want to eat normal food but ill enough that you still can’t.”

  I smiled weakly. “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “Do you want anything?” He asked. “Maybe some water?”

  “Yeah, just some water,” I said, trying for the wan smile of the sick bay patient. Right at that point, my stomach gurgled in hunger. I was starving. As soon as I got home I was going to eat the shit out of some Italian. Pizza, maybe.

  He clearly heard my stomach grumbling.

  “Aww,” he said yet again, making a sympathetic face. “You’re still not well, eh? Bless you for making the effort to come on a date.”

  I forced my face into a smile. “I’ll sit down while you order,” I said.

  “I didn't mean to rub it in that you can’t eat—” he apologized.

  “No,” I said. “You’re right. We should sit down and talk.”

  I sat down to wait for him, at a minuscule table set into the floor in front of a high upholstered bench which ran the length of the back wall of the tiny place. There were two other tables evenly spaced out next to it. Probably space for six people to just about squeeze in.

  The ceiling was quite low as well and the recessed lights were shining quite brightly in my eyes. I fiddled with a shiny paper flyer on the table which turned out to be the menu.

  The only staff member visible—it seemed to be a one-man operation—was a short buff Arab guy in a white and blue striped sleeveless skin tight sailor-type top with hairy tattooed arms.

  Marcus, still standing at the counter, looked up and our eyes met.

  Fuck.

  I broke eye contact and tried to read the menu to distract myself, but my eyes kept glazing over. All I could think of was the couch at his place last night, and how warm and heavy his weight had been on top of me.

  I could feel a vein throbbing in my groin, blood pumping down there. I needed to do something about this. I didn’t know what.

  I felt slightly faint as Marcus came over, cutting through the bright lights overhead, stepping up onto the raised bench and fitting himself into the narrow seat, his legs sticking out angular and his knees poking out of his ripped jeans.

  He placed a sweating bottle of water in front of me. I unscrewed it half-heartedly and took a sip. It was ice cold and it hurt my teeth and chilled my tongue and throat as it slipped down.

  He had a small cup of gelato which he started spooning into his mouth, his pink lips closing around the shiny metal spoon, his tongue darting out to lick off the traces of ice cream.

  I focused my gaze on the back of the ice-cream-shaped Daily Specials sign. It had a cheap-looking plywood stand on the back holding it up. Not very good quality. Poor workmanship. It was really too bad when a poor finish affected the overall— “So,” Marcus said.

  I could feel his eyes on me. I turned to look at him unwillingly.

  The lights were making him squint and illuminating his bright brown eyes. The lights were making his skin glow.

  I saw his hand moving and quickly grabbed the menu, pretending to scan it, just to avoid having him take my hand again.

  He waited as I stared blindly at the menu. I wanted to ask him if he had told Machyl, but I couldn’t seem to make my mouth form words. I cleared my throat, then took another sip of water.

  “Last night, I—” Marcus said, and then trailed off. He had his hands in his lap, looking down at them. Even under the brights washing him out, I could see he was going pink all over his face.

  I didn’t say anything, just waited for him to keep talking. If I kept my mouth shut, it seemed like he would keep talking and fill in the silences. I decided to try it now.

  Marcus licked his lips. I tried not to watch.

  “I said…” he hesitated, then looked at me. I looked back. He was squinting slightly against the lights. “These lights are way too bright,” he muttered, raising one hand to block them out. Shade fell on his face.

/>   I didn’t even know what I was doing as I leaned forward, placed my hand on one side of his neck and kissed him behind his hand shielding us from the light. When I pulled away, he made a little uh sound, then pulled me back.

  Turning his head to the side and putting his arm around my waist, he parted my mouth with his tongue and plunged it in deep, until the electricity crackled through me again and the vein pounding in my dick seemed to turn to an artery, carrying the life blood to pulse in bursts of anticipation and pleasure.

  I disconnected, and mindful of where we were, glanced at the guy behind the gelato counter. His back was turned.

  “Just ignore him,” Marcus whispered, pulling at me. “It’s fine. He’s gay anyway, come on.” Marcus kissed my neck. “Can’t we go to yours?” Marcus’s voice hummed in my ear. “We can talk about this later. You don’t have a roommate, do you? ”

  Oh God no. Oh God no you can’t come to mine. Goosebumps were running up and down my skin over my entire body to the point that my chiffon blouse felt like a burlap sack. I tried to breathe and my breath hitched.

  I put my hands on his chest and disengaged, took a sip of my water and the cold soaked into my teeth again and hurt, and reminded me of what I was doing.

  “You’re right,” he said, “we should talk.” He took a deep breath and looked at me. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to keep this a secret.”

  Is he admitting that he already told Machyl? He might be saying this so that when he finally admitted that he had already told, he would have an excuse.

  “But you did with Damaris,” I pointed out.

  Her name seemed to fall into the space between us like a torpedo, and I felt a twinge of something like excitement in my chest when I heard her name fall form my own lips. Damaris.

  He inched away imperceptibly, picked up his gelato and started poking at it. It was melting, condensing the paper cup and his fingers were starting to drip.

  I tried to look away from them.

  He shook his head. “I told you, it was nothing. We weren’t a couple.” He glanced at me. “I told you that last night.”

  It didn’t change the fact that he had slept with her. Didn’t change the fact that he had slept with her who knew how many times. Damaris.