The Queen & the Homo Jock King

by T. J. Klune

  “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Hi, Sandy and Corey,” Vince said, voice sleep-rough.

  “Hi, Vince,” Corey said.

  So I squeaked, “Meep,” because I had sucked Vince’s cock. In my dreams.

  “What the hell was that noise?” Paul asked. “Sandy, did you buy one of those hairless cats and it’s now dying in your arms?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to save face. “Its name is Wrinkles McSkin and it’s dying and it’s moist and that’s the only reason I called.”

  “Sandy’s cat is dying?” Vince asked. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yes,” Paul said. “His cat is dying of lies.”

  “How dare you!” I shrieked at him.

  “I don’t get it,” Vince said. “Is that some kind of cat disease? I had a cat when I was a kid. Mom said it ran away, but I think it got eaten by coyotes.”

  “Why do you think that?” Paul asked.

  “Because I found its tail near a cactus behind the house.”

  “God, I love you,” Paul said. “And that was a sad story.”

  “Eh,” Vince said. “I got a car out of it, so I was all right.”

  “First-world problems are my favorite kind,” Corey said.

  “Sandy,” Paul said. “Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

  I wanted to tell him to guess just to see what he came up with, but my guilt was almost crippling. “I had a dream where I was blowing Vince and then he made out with Darren and they both sucked on your nipples and Nana led a parade with Captain Jack Sparrow. Or something.”

  Dead silence.

  Corey sighed. “It really is my own fault that I surround myself with these kinds of people. There’s no escape for me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “What kinds of people would that be?”

  “The best kind,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I really do feel better after getting that off my chest.”

  “You had a what about what?” Paul screeched.

  “I wouldn’t make out with Darren,” Vince said. “I’m in a one hundred percent committed relationship with Paul.”

  “Aw,” Paul said. “That’s so—wait a minute. That’s the only reason?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess,” Vince said. “I mean, he’s attractive, right?”

  “You’ll get there in a second,” Paul said.

  “Get where? It’s not as if I’m going to do—oh. Wait. He’s my brother.”

  “There it is,” Corey said.

  “Oh no,” Paul said. “Sandy. Sandy.”

  “What?”

  “What if I have a brothers kink now? What if your dream was prescient and they both latch themselves onto my nipples?” Of course he would go there. Because I’d already had the same thought. It was comforting to know Paul and I were the same. Well. Sort of comforting.

  “Yeah,” Vince said. “Doubt that’s going to happen.”

  “Because you’d fight him for the right to my nipples?” Paul asked.

  “Sure,” Vince said. “I’d fight anyone for your nipples. And also because Darren wants to bone Sandy and not you.”

  “Oh,” Paul said. “That’s right.” I could hear the goddamned smirk in his voice.

  “He does not,” I hissed. “For one, I am not a barely legal twink with more abs than brain cells. Two, there has to be attraction for that and I assure you, I am not attracted to him. At all.”

  “Denial isn’t just a river in South America,” Vince said seriously.

  “What?” Paul said. “Vince, no. It’s not in South America.”

  “Oh. Brazil?”

  “That’s still South America.”

  “Huh. It’s not Asia, because I would have seen it.”

  “Vince, we didn’t go to all of Asia.”

  “Mostly,” Vince said. “Remember when you wore that sumo wrestler diaper thing and we had sex next to the shop that sold food that looked like the carcass of a shaved Bigfoot?”

  “None of that happened,” Paul said quickly.

  “All of that happened.” Vince sounded very smug. “I made you make sex face, like, four times.”

  “So gross,” I muttered.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” Corey said, “but I really want to move back to Seafare now.”

  “Sorry, baby doll,” I said. “I have my claws in you and I’m never letting you go.”

  “But we’ll still give you the illusion of freedom,” Paul said. “Unless you step out of line.”

  “Lovely,” Corey said with a sigh.

  “Do you forgive me?” I asked Paul.

  “For having an incestuous orgy sex dream involving my boyfriend and his brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure,” Paul said. “Why not. I can dig it.”

  “Good,” I said, relieved.

  “I love you,” Paul said.

  “Aw. I love you too.”

  “But I swear to fucking god, Sanford Stewart, if I even catch you looking at my man wrong, I will rip off your fucking arms and shove them so far up your ass, you’ll be gagging on your own fingers.”

  The phone beeped as he disconnected the phone call.

  “Wow,” Corey said. “Paul can be scary.”

  “Sometimes. But usually not at all.” I yawned. “I feel like I can sleep now. Also, we should talk later about getting a hairless cat. I feel like it’s a thing I should have now.”

  “Also,” Corey said, “we should talk about that river in South America you seem to be drowning in. I feel like that’s a thing you do now.”

  “Turn off the light when you leave,” I said brightly. “And pray you don’t wake up tomorrow with your eyebrows shaved, baby doll. Now go to sleep. You have an early class.”

  He grumbled and switched off the light.

  I laid back against the pillows and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

  Denial. What did they know?

  I wasn’t in denial.

  I would know if I was. I was very attuned to my sense of self. I was a drag queen, after all.

  I didn’t believe in love at first sight, even knowing Paul and Vince.

  But I certainly believed in the exact opposite.

  I hated Darren Mayne.

  And absolutely nothing would change my mind on that.

  Chapter 2: How to Present Yourself like a Cat in Heat

  “WHAT IF he rescued a pile of wet puppies from being eaten by a rabid zebra?” Paul asked, averting his eyes as I taped my dick and balls back. “And Jesus Christ, I swear you wait until I’m up here before you start to do that. You know how I feel about your genital manipulation, Sandy. For fuck’s sake.”

  I grimaced as I continued to tuck. “Of course I don’t wait until you’re here to do this,” I grunted. “You just happen to have impeccable timing.” He didn’t. I always waited until I heard him coming up the stairs to the Queen’s Lair. His discomfort gave Helena power and she had no problem in feasting on his tears. “And why would Darren be rescuing puppies from zebras? And why the hell are they wet? Done. You can look now, you prude.” I stood, fixing the flesh-colored Spanx before closing my robe.

  He quickly glanced at me to make sure I wasn’t fucking with him. I’d done it before, so I didn’t blame him. Once he saw that my dick and balls were firmly tucked, he rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to find a situation in which you wouldn’t be able to continue with your self-professed hate for him. And wet puppies are adorable.”

  “Puppies and zebras aren’t going to change my mind,” I said, sitting in front of the ancient vanity against the wall. I turned on the lights around the mirror. I opened my makeup case and visualized pre-crazy Britney. It was important that I got the look right. Post-Justin Timberlake, not quite insane yet, but having the potential to go that way. It required thick mascara and a heavy kohl pencil and a bit of simmering rage in the eyes. Fortunately, Paul continued to bring up Darren, so the rage part
was easy.

  “Then you are a terrible person,” he said. “And you should really spend time looking within yourself to find out when and why your heart shriveled up and died.”

  “I’m not listening,” I sang.

  “Of course you are,” he said as he aired out the red vinyl catsuit I’d made for pre-crazy Britney nights.

  “And why would the zebra be rabid?”

  “Have you ever seen a rabid zebra?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly.”

  I glared at him through my reflection. “That doesn’t count as proving your point.”

  “Or does it count completely?”

  “As illuminating as this conversation is,” Charlie said from his stool on the balcony, “would you two shut the fuck up so Helena can get ready? You’re already behind schedule.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “That’s not my fault, Daddy. Sandy kept giggling and blushing when Vince and I helped him load up for his set tonight.”

  And that is pretty much true. For some reason, sucking dream Vince’s cock made me turn into a twelve-year-old girl around him. It was absolutely awful. He had grinned at me when I let them in the house and I had given a little screech and ran to my room. It had taken Paul and Corey five minutes to convince me to unlock the door and then another ten minutes of swearing that no one would ever tell Darren anything about this, for fear of evisceration.

  “A queen is never late,” I told Charlie. “As my dear mentor and savior Vaguyna Muffman used to say, ‘A queen always arrives precisely the moment she’s meant to and not a minute sooner, so fuck off, you cockmongers.’” I sighed. “Such profundity. She was like the Che Guevara or Malcolm X of drag queens.”

  “I don’t think that’s the compliment you think it is,” Paul said.

  “Vaguyna was also full of shit.” Charlie snorted. “God bless her.”

  “You have to be,” I said, applying the eyeliner. “It’s one-third of being a drag queen.”

  “And the other two parts?” Paul asked, though he knew it well.

  “Sass and sex,” I said, smudging the kohl lines. “Don’t take more shit than you’re already full of, sass always with a razor’s edge, and positively drip with sex.” It was one of the first things Vaguyna had taught me when she’d taken me under her wing after a solid three months of nagging. I was very persuasive when I wanted to be.

  Whatever else could be said was cut off when Vince and Kori came up the stairs into the Queen’s Lair. I glanced at Kori in the mirror. I tried not to frown at her, taking in her pretty dress and her hair in perfect curls around her shoulders.

  Corey Ellis, also Kori Ellis, was bigendered, or gender fluid. There were days he was Corey and days she was Kori, and while most didn’t even bat an eye at the change, I knew that the days Kori was there were days more often than not that she was feeling slightly unsettled about something. She’d told me once not long after we’d met that she felt safer when she was Kori, that it was almost like handing over the reins to someone else for a while. When she was Kori, her voice was a tad higher and slightly wispy. It could have easily been mistaken as being softer, but I knew the steel that lay in Kori’s backbone, and she didn’t take shit from anyone.

  I knew well what she meant. Helena Handbasket was my safe space, my persona I could slip into when I needed to feel in charge, when I needed to be confident. Helena was many things that Sandy was not: Daring and brave. Primal and sexual. Funny and caustic. She could be witty and charming one moment and completely scathing the next, depending upon her mood or what the situation called for. Sandy Stewart was a tall, thin man with blond hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and lines beginning to form around his eyes no matter how much tightening cream he used. Ten years ago, he was the boy next door. Now, he was just the older version of the same.

  I was her, but she wasn’t me, if that makes sense. Helena was everything that I could not be in the real world. Which wasn’t to say I was meek and mild, but very few people were close enough to see that Helena and I weren’t that far apart. Strangers and acquaintances could scarcely believe meeting me after watching Helena perform. At best, I was quiet. At worst, I could be cripplingly shy if not around people that I knew.

  But it wasn’t the same for Corey and Kori. They were bigendered, and therefore transgendered, in that they felt comfortable being and living as either gender. Corey was Kori and Kori was Corey. They could live at home or go to school being either.

  I was not transgendered. Helena was a performer, a personality carefully crafted and made for the stage. I didn’t dress like her except for when I needed to perform as her. That was a major difference between Kori/Corey and I. I knew how offensive it could be when people assumed she was nothing more than a cross-dresser or a drag queen. She was so much more than that. I, on the other hand, didn’t give two fucks if people thought I was transgendered. Helena wasn’t one for misguided opinions spouted by people who had no idea what they were talking about.

  But here Kori was, as Kori, her safe space. Granted, today could have just been a Kori kind of day. I’d have to keep an eye on her to make sure everything was on the up and up.

  Vince handed Paul his Skyy Vodka and cranberry and took a long pull from his own beer. “Hey, Charlie,” he said. “Did Sandy tell you he had sex dreams about me?”

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, brushing a hair through a blonde wig.

  “All of us have had sex dreams about you,” Charlie said. “That’s nothing new.”

  Vince preened.

  “I haven’t,” Kori said.

  Vince pouted.

  Kori rolled her eyes. “You’re not my type.”

  Vince pouted a little more.

  “Oh my god,” Kori exclaimed. “Look at that face! I just want to lick it.” She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “How did you do that?”

  Vince shrugged. “I don’t know. It started when I was a kid. I would pout and people would give me things like burritos or baseball cards. Then I got older and people would try and give me sex instead, and I just wanted another burrito.”

  “It must be so hard being you,” Paul said.

  “Not really?” Vince cocked his head. “I think being me is pretty great. I mean, being me got me you, so I must be amazing because of how awesome you are.”

  “Wow,” Paul said. “I’m touched by the sentiment and also appalled by the ego. That’s never happened to me before.”

  “I’ll fuck your butt later,” Vince promised.

  “Ah, young love,” Charlie said. “In my day, we had to go to parks and do it in bushes if we ever wanted to get any.”

  “That’s… surprisingly okay with me,” Kori said. “Maybe that’s what I need. Park sex.”

  “You better not be serious about that.” Everyone in the room stiffened just a tad as they knew Helena had entered the room. “I would sure hate to have to spank your pert little ass in retribution.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kori said.

  “Good girl. If you need some cock, you tell your dear, sweet Helena. I’ll make sure to find you some nice frat boy flesh to munch on.” I stared into the mirror, watching my eyes darken, my movements becoming more fluid and catlike. I slowly uncapped my lipstick and gave a kiss toward the Helena in the mirror. Vaguyna whispered in my ear: First the top lip, even, smooth strokes. Pout the bottom lip. Fill it in. Watch the lines. There. Now kiss, kiss. Perfect, darling.

  Helena Handbasket had returned.

  (Since last Wednesday. It was only Saturday now. Still dramatic, though.)

  “Now,” I said, my voice all silk and smoke as I brushed my finger over my lips, smoothing out the flakes. “Paul, be a dear and help me with my wig, won’t you?”

  He handed Vince his drink and walked over to the vanity, reaching into my makeup case, pulling out a cotton swab and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He dipped the swab into the alcohol and brought it to my forehead, rubbing the tip along my hairline, drying up any residual oil left from the scrub I’d don
e earlier.

  He threw the swab away, then handed me the wig cap. I stretched it out, sliding it over my head, tucking the little curls of my hair underneath, making sure there were no lines. He reached to the back of my head to pull it down tight.

  From there, he took a roll of double-sided adhesive tape and applied it to the front and sides of the wig cap. He was good and quick. I could do this on my own, and often had when Paul wasn’t there, but sometimes I needed him to do it for me so I could focus on my breathing. I was Helena, but sometimes, it felt like she was getting harder to control. I didn’t like how easily I could slip in and out of her and it was taking me longer and longer to be able to find my center where she didn’t overwhelm everything.

  Kori and Vince murmured in the background as Charlie fiddled with his new camcorder, some HD monstrosity the size of his hand but with more buttons than my phone. He had assured me in a light voice that the definition was so good, I’d be able to see my pores when reviewing the video later. I’d told him it was a testament to how much I loved him that he still drew breath after such a comment. He’d laughed and kissed my cheek sweetly.

  When Vaguyna died, she’d left me her entire wardrobe, her wig collection, and years of knowledge that I’d never be able to repay her for, no matter how long I lived.

  But the one possession she’d left me most dear to my heart was Charlie. Charlie and Vaguyna had been a team for going on twenty-five years. Charlie had come out late in life, in his forties, a failed marriage behind him and an ex-wife and children who wanted nothing to do with him. Vaguyna had taken him in much like she’d done with me, sheltering him from the world, helping ease his burdens and soothing away the heartache. I’d never been courageous enough to ask if they’d been anything more than friends, but I didn’t suppose it mattered. Because they were family.

  And before she left this world, she had made me promise that I would take care of him for the rest of his days.

  “He’s one of the most precious things in this universe,” she’d whispered, her body gaunt and ravaged by cancer, the respirator hissing through the trach tube in her throat. “You care for him and make sure he’s happy with the time he has left. I ask this of you, kitten, more than anything else in the world.”