Drag Queen Beauty Pageant

by Malachite Splinters

  I drank the tea so that I wouldn’t have to say anything. But he was looking at me, and expecting me to talk, and I felt a creeping sense of panic growing in my chest. My eyes fell on the clock mounted on the wall next to the refrigerator. “Oh,” I said, breathing an intense sigh of relief. “It’s almost five. We should get going or we’ll be late for the meeting.” I stood up.

  He stayed silent for what seemed like a long time. Then he said, “The meeting isn’t until six forty-five.” He was sitting there with his hands wrapped around the mug. Finally he said, “Was I too rough with you last night? When I pushed you through the door? And—and—” he flushed. “When I came, I thought—”

  Yeah. Actually, you were. I looked away from his gaze, remembering how he had overwhelmed me yesterday and again today with his weight when he came.

  He stood up. I noticed his hands twisting together anxiously. “Is that why you left last night? And why—why won’t you answer any of my messages?”

  I looked at his face, all worried, and his thin hands clasped together. He’s pathetic. I felt nauseous just looking at how pathetic and weak he was right now. He was trying to make me feel guilty and I really did not appreciate that. It was incredibly unfair for him to be making me feel bad when he was the one who had been rough with me. “You were too rough when you came,” I said. “You’re really strong and you practically crush me when you grab me like that when you come.”

  “I’ll be more gentle. I promise,” he said, looking aghast. “I’m—I’m used to sleeping with big guys—”

  I felt highly offended. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not one of your usual beefcakes.”

  “Anthony, I just—I just told you I like you the way you are,” he said. “Why didn’t you say something last night? I would never try to do something you didn’t want me to do—”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really? So what was that in the bedroom just now?”

  His face was as white as a ghost. I could actually see him trembling. “I hate myself for doing that,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I—I was still angry with you. I am still angry with you. And—and that’s why I ignored when you told me to stop.”

  I backed away from the intensity of his gaze until my butt hit the fridge. “You’re angry at me?” I repeated.

  “Yes. We shouldn’t have had sex while I was so angry last night. And the same again today. We should have talked about things calmly. I think you were angry, too.”

  “We shouldn’t have had sex??” I felt my stomach drop away into a pit of hurt. “You regret it?”

  I had thrown myself at him—I had lost my virginity to him…

  “You keep misunderstanding everything I say,” he said, and there was a harsh edge to his words.

  “I most certainly do not,” I retorted. I could hear my voice rising in pitch and volume with every word I said. “I can hear what you’re saying loud and clear. You’re angry, you regret having sex with me, I’m too small and breakable, and you prefer bigger guys!”

  He stood there, gaping at me.

  “And don’t call me princess any more,” I snapped. “I hate that nickname.”

  “I’m trying to be honest with you!” He nearly shouted. “You didn’t say a word last night! You let me call you princess for days! If you don’t tell me things, how am I going to know how you feel? I can’t read your mind!”

  I was backed up against the fridge, staring up at him. “I wouldn’t want you to,” I said quietly. “Your so-called honesty is very hurtful.”

  He seemed to sag in the middle, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t deal with this,” he said in a hollow voice. “You’re impossible.”

  “I’m impossible!” I spat. I hated every cell in his body. All I could see now was how unattractive he was. How his body looked bony at certain angles, at the enlarged pores in his nose, at the unevenness of his haircut at he nape of his neck, how scruffy the short, fine hairs were there.

  He sat back down at the kitchen table and put his face in the crook of his elbow, the picture of defeat.

  I stood there, my heart racing, the blood roaring in my ears, and looked at him for maybe two seconds before I walked out of the kitchen, around the book case and wrenched the front door open—

  I’ll deal with the two of you on Monday. I’m calling a full house meeting.

  I stopped.

  If you value your sweet ass, you’ll be here at 6:45.

  A full house meeting… me, Marcus, Brooklyn, Machyl, Duane Tyrone and Damaris.

  Damaris is gone.

  I felt as if I was going to collapse onto the ground again. She had brought me into Ellegrandé. She had justified to Duane Tyrone why I should be let in. She had defended me to Machyl and DT when I failed. When I failed over and over again, she had been there to tell them I should be allowed to stay.

  And now Damaris was gone…

  Who’s leaving?

  No-one’s doing any leaving. Okay, baby?

  Had Damaris told DT she had left? The mere thought of Duane Tyrone finding out made me quake in my kicks.

  But Duane had called Damaris a whore and she had stormed out, and somehow I didn’t think she had told him yet. I didn’t think she had told anyone. She had sneaked all her clothes and possessions out of the apartment so that she could leave quietly, without making a fuss.

  Duane Tyrone wanted to call the meeting to discipline Marcus and I for breaking his rule. We had been found fraternizing. If I showed up at that meeting without Damaris, it would just be me, Machyl and Marcus.

  I turned around slowly, went back over the threshold and back into the apartment, closing the door behind me. I walked back past the bookcase, past the couch and into the kitchen area. Marcus was still sitting there at the table. He looked up when I came back.

  Don’t throw it away just because you want to impress the idiots in this place.

  “I—” I stuttered. A huge weight seemed to be pressing on my chest, making the discomfort around my heart even more painful.

  Don’t do it just because you want someone to like you.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus,” I said. “You’re right,” I continued. “I was angry.”

  His face was pale and sad as he stared at me. “I’m sorry, too,” he said.

  “You—you didn’t really hurt me that much,” I said. “Just—just be more careful in the future. Okay?”

  He nodded, “I will—I promise I will. I swear I’ll never hurt you again.”

  When I started to cross the distance between us, he started up, then stopped, and sat down again. I kept walking toward him even though I wanted to walk backward and away. When I got close, I reached out my hand and he took it. I met his eyes even though I didn’t want to.

  I went closer, and sat down on his lap, my hands on his shoulders. I could feel myself wavering between wanting to keep my distance and wanting to give in as he sighed and met my eyes again, so much closer to him now.

  I moved forward, wrapping my arms around his neck. He sighed again, more deeply, and his arms came around me.

  “Why were you angry?” He breathed in my ear.

  Couldn’t he just accept the apology I’d offered? I searched frantically for an answer that would satisfy him. “I—I was—jealous,” I whispered.

  His arms tightened around my waist and back. “Jealous of whom?” His lips trembled against my ear.

  I closed my eyes and what I said was the truth and a lie, at the same time. “Damaris.”

  He pulled back to look at me. “Damaris?” He said, and his hand came up to brush my hair out of my face. “Babe… didn't we talk about this already?”

  “How come you were attracted to her?” I stared into his eyes. “You said you liked men. I—” I dropped my eyes. “I’m bi.”

  “Oh, babes…” he trailed off. “I thought you were.”

  “You did?” I frowned.

  He nodded.

  Did Machyl tell you that? I didn’t want to say that, though. How did he know? Was it written
on my face? Was I so obvious, the way I acted around women?

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It just seemed to fit. And I—I heard it on the grapevine, I admit. But I don’t have a problem with that, if you’re worried…”

  “You don’t?” I heard myself saying hopefully.

  He shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said with a small smile. His fingers brushed my cheek again. “And with Damaris… I already told you I don’t like her any more, but I don’t know if that’s what you’re concerned about. You… used to have a crush on her, didn’t you?”

  “What?” I yelped in alarm, so shocked that I almost tried to get up off his lap. My heart started going like a jackhammer and I felt as if he had just ripped a huge tear in my innards. Did Machyl tell him that, too?

  “It’s okay,” he said soothingly, smoothing his hand up and down my back. “I know you don’t like her any more. But is that why you—were jealous?”

  Say yes. Just say yes. I nodded.

  He smiled and tightened his arms around me. “You were worried I was going to hook up with Damaris again?”

  I nodded more emphatically. Yes. Yes, that was what he needed to think.

  “And—I can see that would be complicated for you because you used to like her,” he said gently.

  Oh, St Sebastian… His body heat, his closeness, his gentleness, it was touching me, touching the ragged pain that had burned in me ever since Damaris walked out the door. If I could still cry, I would be crying right now. Instead I hugged him and pressed my face into his neck. He held me tightly and ran his hands up and down my spine and shoulder blades.

  “God, you’re so—” he breathed. “I just want to protect you.”

  I lifted my head and met his eyes, and the pain in me raged as I leaned forward and kissed his lips softly.

  “You’re such a sweet,” he kissed me back, “little,” kissed me again, “hot,” another kiss, “wanton—”

  I sealed my mouth over his and dipped my tongue into his mouth and traced his hard teeth with it. I unwrapped my arms from his neck and ran my hands down his chest, feeling the hard planes of his pecs and stomach as his tongue ran across my hard palate. He moaned and his fingers became grasping on my hips. I felt his arms and the lean muscles in them and one of his hands wrapped around my leg above the knee, and started to move up my thigh.

  “Ah—” I gasped, despite myself, and took hold of his neck with both my hands, turning my head to the other side, the feeling of his mouth sliding against mine and his hand sending a thrill through me which reverberated painfully through my insides.

  “Oh god,” he breathed, his hand reaching the top of my thigh and coming dangerously close to my crotch.

  I could already feel him getting hard, the lump in his jeans pressing against my ass where I was sitting on top of him. Heat was pooling in my groin and I knew I was following him in arousal.

  “Anthony,” he breathed onto my lips, “tell me what you like about me.”

  I kissed him harder, trying to stifle the words with my tongue.

  “Anthony,” he said again, breaking the kiss, and I wished he would stop saying my name.

  I stood up, straddled him and sat back down, lower on his thighs, so I had access to his fly. His erection was clearly outlined underneath the thin denim. My fingers went to his top button and undid it, then started unzipping his fly. He was breathing heavily, holding onto my legs, his eyes lazy. He slouched down in the chair, making his crotch easier to access, and I leaned back against the table behind me as I started to ease his zipper down.

  “Anthony,” he said again.

  I planted my feet on the ground and scooted up his body so our hips were aligned. I leaned forward and kissed him, hard. My pulse was pounding in my dick and I ground my erection against him. The painful feeling in my chest had been growing as I became aroused, and it was only getting more and more intense.

  Marcus broke the kiss abruptly and stared at me, confusion in his eyes.

  Say something!

  “You—” I stuttered, the pain in my chest so intense that it seemed to be stopping me from speaking. “You’re hot.” I tried to focus on the arousal, the atmosphere between us. I tried to remember that nude he’d sent me, but it was hard. It was really hard. “You’re tall and—you’re very attractive. You—you look super hot as Bone China,” I admitted finally.

  His fingers lifted my chin and there was a small smile playing around his lips. “Do you think I’m hot in drag?”

  I nodded, my face getting warm.

  “You little…” he chuckled, nuzzling my neck. “So you like to kai kai,” he kissed the sensitive skin behind my ear, then enveloped my ear lobe with his lips.

  “No,” I protested quickly, thinking of Machyl’s narrowed eyes and sharp smirk. “I don’t.”

  He smiled at me. “I met my ex when we were both dragging at Madam Blovary’s in Soho. No-one there gave a rat’s arse if two queens were screwing. It wasn’t like it is here.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “You’d like it there,” he said, still smiling slightly.

  My face was still burning with shame, and his smile didn’t help. I fantasize about you. Fucking me. With your dick.

  “You—you don’t think it makes me a tranny chaser?” I whispered. I didn’t know why I said it. I felt as if I had just taken my own two hands, dug them down into the soft flesh of my stomach and torn it open like a victim in a zombie movie.

  “What?” Marcus said, his voice sounding alarmed.

  My eyes were burning now, too, as if aching with nonexistent tears. “Tranny. Chaser.” I said again, my voice hard. “That’s what I am.”

  He shook his head. “No, babes, what are you talking about?”

  “That’s why I hurt Damaris,” I said.

  “No, Anthony,” his arms clasped my upper arms. “That’s—that’s not…”

  “I am,” I growled. “And I fucking hate myself for it.”

  “That’s a horrible word, Anthony. Why do you think it applies to you? Because you like men in drag?” He blinked. “I think I know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  I sat there astride him, feeling like shit. My arousal was long gone.

  “Honestly,” he said. “That’s just part of drag. It’s part of—the gay world. And it’s not something that trans women should be part of if they’re not comfortable.”

  His words shook me out of my shame and I stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

  A frown appeared in his forehead. “You’re talking about Damaris, right? Because she was harassed by men at the club who were looking for dick?”

  “I can’t believe you just said that,” I said.

  “It’s drag, Anthony. It’s men in frocks. There’s an expectation that goes with that. And yes, some men—and some straight men—like it to be a game they can play, where a woman turns into a man. That’s nothing to do with being trans and if you’re not into that, then in my honest opinion, you shouldn’t be in drag.”

  “Damaris wasn’t in drag,” I said hotly.

  “I mean in drag like as a business,” he said. “You shouldn’t be doing it as a job if you don’t want men to perceive you as a man in a dress.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re blaming her,” I said angrily. “I’m—I’m speechless.”

  “I’m not blaming her,” he said. “I’m saying, maybe drag isn’t right for her.”

  “You just said that men expect to be able to harass drag artists and play a game of finding out if they have a dick,” I said. “That’s literally what you just said.”

  He shook his head. “You’re putting words in my mouth again.”

  I stood up and staggered off him, with some difficulty due to his proximity to the table. “For your information,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s not right to go out to a club and act as if the artists there are—subservient to you, they don’t deserve any respect and you can just do whatever you want to them, touch them, exp
ect—”

  Marcus stood up. “Has someone been trying to touch you?”

  My heart was racing. If I told Marcus, he was probably going to tell Duane Tyrone. And if he told Duane Tyrone, then Duane Tyrone would know that I couldn’t do mingle duty. And if I couldn’t even do that, then I was useless to the House of Ellegrandé and there really was no reason to keep me there any longer.

  But Anthony, Damaris said in my mind. I’m not at the House of Ellegrandé any more. Wasn’t I the only reason you wanted to be in drag, anyway?

  I stood there, struck with shock as if I’d been struck by lightning. Without Damaris, the House of Ellegrandé was nothing more than a pit filled with sharp sticks waiting for me to fall and impale myself.

  So you don’t need to be there any more, Damaris continued. So you can leave.

  Leave? I felt my eyes darting around the room as if trying to find something to settle on, but finding nothing, and I didn’t seem to see anything, my eyes didn’t seem to be taking anything in.

  Without drag, what was I? I had shamed my family by dropping out of high school, I didn’t have a high school diploma and the only money I had was—scratch that. I had no money. All I had was tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt.

  No. I couldn’t leave. But if I told Marcus, and DT found out, on top of finding me and Marcus in the storage closet, Duane Tyrone was probably going to kick me out of his own free will.

  But if I didn’t tell someone, I wasn’t sure how I could go on. This poisonous secret had been eating away at me, turning everything wrong. If there had been a tender rose within me, this had turned it sickly, made mold spots appear on its green stem and withered its petals, and at the centre of the rosebud was nothing but rot, gray, slimy and dead.

  “It happens whenever I go on mingle duty,” I said heavily. “It—I—I hate it,” I said. But that didn’t seem to do justice to it, and I felt panic and fear fighting in my chest, straining against a cage that seemed to prevent me expressing myself, like electricity contained within a Faraday cage.

  “Did something happen?” Marcus said, coming closer to me.

  I frowned and crossed my arms. Yes. No.

  “Come and sit down,” he said quietly, leading me back to the table.