"Ice would be great," Roger said and he slowly lowered himself down on the wall. When he sat down you could see that his right knee had been scrapped up and was bleeding a little.
As I headed to the door, Marjorie shouted, "You know which one it is, but just in case, third floor unit 10. The door is open. There are some Band-Aids in the bath vanity which is down the hall. Grab those too!" Marjorie's heart was racing, and she was at a loss for words sitting next to this Italian God she had only admired from afar.
"So how long have you lived here?" Roger asked.
"Almost two years now. I was renting a one bedroom while I was at Georgia Tech, but with a new job, I could afford more. I just love the fact that its right by the park and the view is killer." Marjorie started blushing as she caught herself staring into Roger's crystal blue eyes and realized he was staring back at her.
"Yeah, I run by here almost every day. I just live up the block in the Mediterranean-looking complex next to the M Hotel. I think I've seen you out here a time or two."
"Our parking lot is located half a block behind the building on a side street. Our paths may have crossed once or twice." Marjorie reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a tissue. "Here, at least let me try to clean that up for you," she said as she gently wiped at the blood drip on his right knee.
At that moment, I yelled out from the sun-room window, "Where are the Band-Aids? They’re not in the vanity."
"Look in the hall closet. There should be a full box." And with that, I disappeared again. "I'm really sorry all this happened," Marjorie said apologetically.
"Don't worry. I'm not. I wouldn't have met you otherwise. Would you like to go to dinner sometime?" Roger asked.
Marjorie swooned for a second and then regained her composure. "That would be lovely."
CHAPTER 6
For my first night in town, Marjorie took me out to Club Cabaret with three of her gay friends. Who knew that Marjorie was not just my fag hag, but had her own posse?
Club Cabaret was a glittering palace on the outside with spotlights and a large neon sign spelling out Club Cabaret in a Moulin Rouge script. It looked so glamorous.
The inside was divided into several spaces. There was the interior courtyard with several palm trees, a Tiki bar, wicker furniture, low lighting, and low music blowing through like a summer breeze. The main bar was a large gathering space with a lit up glass cubed bar with stainless steel top and stainless, spinning bar stools. This was the main cruising room for anyone looking for their hook up for the night. The dance space had thumping music and many sweaty men with their shirts off in this tight, darker space capped at the end by another bar. There was also a billiards room if you preferred a little quieter entertainment.
The crowning jewel of the club was the Cabaret Room. The room had three levels of seating for the patrons divided by metal railings. The lower level had hardwood floors and your basic two-top round tables and chairs. The second level had cushy chairs and tables for four. This is where we sat. The final level had a row of comfy looking couches with table tops that swung back and forth so you could move your drinks out of the way if you had to go pee. The final space behind was standing room only. If you were here, you had to make sure you didn't block the bar service area and the way to the restrooms. All of this focused your attention to the red, satin curtain that was hiding the stage where the Club Cabaret Gurls would perform their feats of talent for the drunk crowd.
The leader of Marjorie's pack was Chas, who was tall and slender and extremely funny. He could crack a joke or tell a story that would have you rolling. He could also be very catty, so I learned you had to watch what you said to him. He was dressed flamboyantly with a very loud print shirt and red pleather pants and shoes that complemented his short blond hair and glasses. It seems he never met any attention that was unwanted. His drink of choice was a dirty vodka martini, which never seemed to leave his hand.
Next was Albert, who was an early-20's conservative gay. He was trim, dressed in a button-down light blue Oxford, khaki pants, and dusty bucks. He was the quiet one of the group, but when he had something to say, he would chime right in with the rest of them. His eyes kept darting around the room on a regular basis as he slowly sipped his Cape Cod, so I finally had to ask, "Albert what are you looking for?"
"One of the drag queens here is in love with me," he said, "So I have to keep an eye out for her."
"Don't you mean him?" I replied.
"Not in this case," Marjorie responded. "This one is so fishy she leaves a stench and a snail trail behind her everywhere she goes. Her name is Miss Gigi."
At that moment, Albert sprang from the table, "Gotta go pee." And with that he bolted to the bathroom.
Chas snapped his head and then pointed, "There she is by the door." Standing at the door was Miss Gigi in all her glory hole with her tight, one-piece, red, beaded bodice with red feathers for shoulders showing off her ample cleavage and curves. Her neck was covered in a multi-tiered rhinestone necklace with matching dangling earrings. Her make up was flawless and she had a jacked-up "The Rachel" blonde wig that framed her face exquisitely. She had legs for days and obviously was tucked extremely well because there wasn't a bulge to be seen in that outfit. To finish out the outfit was a pair of rhinestone shoes with five inch spikes for heels. She looked around the room briefly and then strutted back to the dressing room.
Paul, the third member of the posse, grabbed his phone. "I'll text him the all clear." Paul was a furry bear who liked his beer. He was of medium build with big meaty hands and arms and a full beard and dark hair hidden under a Bud Light ball cap. He had a deep gravelly voice that just turned me on. "Have you ever been to a drag show?” he asked.
"No, this is my first one. We don't have this type of entertainment up in the mountains."
"What type of entertainment did you have in the mountains?" he asked.
"Let's say that if you didn't like the outdoors, you were pretty much screwed. There was bingo at the VFW hall every Thursday if you didn't mind playing with the grey hair crowd.”
"That sounds like the Colonnade Restaurant here. You're either gay or grey if you go there," Chas said. "We'll have to take you there one day.”
Albert finally slunk back into his seat. "I saw the crazy one go into the dressing room. I need another drink. Waiter! Another round here."
The waiter looked and nodded.
"I hope this round is on you. We can't be crazy patrol 24/7," Marjorie said.
"Yes, yes. It's on me. I know I need to do something about it," Albert acquiesced. "I'll talk to her after the show."
"Thank God for that," Chas quipped. "Because we don't need no drama before the show starts. I am not Mary J Blige. Miss Gigi is just a little high strung."
"If she is so crazy, why do y'all come here?” I asked very naively.
"Because we know the staff, and the staff takes care of us. Plus, where else can you go and get fucked up this cheaply in this city?" Paul stated.
"Yes, there's that," Marjorie jumped in. "But I also like the entertainment. They do some wonderful group numbers here that none of the other shows in town do. I get tired of the pretty girls standing there pulling cabbage."
"What is pulling cabbage?" I asked.
"Pulling cabbage," Chas started, "Is when the pretty bitch is too tired to do something except stand there and model. All she does is a slow ballad and collect the coins that these low-brow patrons tip because they think this is high entertainment. She looks from left to right collecting the dollars. They need to get off their ass and do something different for once."
Marjorie jumped to their defense, "I like the slow diva ballads. And low-brow Paul here is one of their biggest tippers."
"Yes, I do enjoy a slow diva ballad, and if it is done right I will tip them. Not everyone deserves a tip," Paul clarified.
Finally DJ Scott came over the PA, "Five minutes to show time. Five minutes to show time."
"Looks like they are starting on d
rag time," Chas said.
"What is drag time?" I had to ask.
"The show was supposed to start at 9:00 pm, and here it is 9:30, so that is drag time. They just seem to start whenever their nelly little asses are ready." Chas finished.
"I'm excited. I don't know what to expect," I said.
"Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show." Albert said. "And duck if Miss Gigi comes our way."
And when it started, I was not prepared. It was all a coordinated masterpiece in my eyes from DJ Scott to the queen with a clipboard to the entertainers. The show MC, Kit N Kaboodle, masterfully controlled the show's tempo and entertained the crowd. She made everyone feel welcome.
It was one queen after another. Some were the stand and model girls doing the power ballads from Celine Dion to Whitney Houston, but there were some incredible dancers who shook and shook. It was hard to believe that all these girls in crinoline, wigs, high heels, panty hose and sequins were men in dresses. Some you would have never guessed that they were men in a million years. There is an art to female impersonation, and they made it look so easy.
I was in awe of their talent.
CHAPTER 7
It was a brisk night as Marjorie and I left the bar. We were starving after the show, so we walked to Peachtree Street and strolled down to Mama Ninfas, the late-night Mexican restaurant. "You'll love this place," she said, "It's the melting pot once everybody is good and drunk. You'll see everything from twinks, leather daddys, bikers, skin heads, drag queens, and straight people and the bar staffs as they get off coming here to hopefully get off." And she laughed.
"What's the nightlife like here?" I asked since I had never been down to visit.
"It was really hopping until the city of Atlanta, in its infinite wisdom, decided to eliminate the 24-hour liquor licenses," she sighed. "There were a couple of bars that were just fucking off the chain at night. They would have loved you there, baby."
"You're so kind to me."
"You deserve it," she said and then yelled, "Hey Wendy!" and waved to a gaggle of girls. The girls all waved back and came running over and started a hug fest.
"Ladies, this is my new roommate I was telling you about. Tyler this is Shelby, Wendy, Glady, Mary, and Terry. Ladies, Tyler."
"You didn't tell us he was this cute," Wendy said.
"And such a fine ass," Glady said. "Turn around and shake it for us."
With a couple of cocktails in me I couldn't resist and I started twerking for the girls until they all squealed. When I was finished, I slapped my ass.
"You go, sex kitten," Mary said.
"Come on sex kitten," Marjorie said as she pulled me to a table followed by the whole gaggle. "Slide around, Tyler. We girls like to be close to the bathroom." So I slid all the way to the back of our brown, leather, curved booth. I felt like a trapped animal surrounded by a bunch of cackling hyenas as the volume went up as the drinks kept flowing. It was hard to get a word in edge wise, so I sat there observing and eating the chips and salsa. The chips were warm and crunchy, which is the sign of a good Mexican restaurant, and the salsa was fresh and had just the right kick. I hate it when restaurants try to pass off store-bought chips as fresh made because you can tell all they did was open a bag of Tostitos and dump them in the baskets.
At least the girls had the sense to order some appetizers. When the nachos and taquitos arrived, it brought the table conversation down to a dull roar from the screaming pitch that it had been. I was almost afraid to reach out for any of the food because hands were grabbing at it so quickly. I was afraid to stick out my hand and pull back a bloody stump.
"So Tyler, what type of underwear do you wear?" Shelby asked. "Tightie whities or boxers?"
"Leave the boy alone," Terry said, "He looks like he is shy."
"He's not that shy. Once he gets to know you he can't shut up," Marjorie said.
"Thanks, mom," I responded.
"Well I prefer silk panties," Shelby followed up. "But tonight I'm wearing a thong."
"Ever wear a thong, Tyler?" Terry asked.
"It would really accentuate your ass," Mary said. "And frame it just right."
"I've never worn a thong, but I do prefer colored boxer briefs because they hold my goodies and give it that little push out front," I said proudly.
"Honey, you never use your goodies. You just need to work those hot buns of steel of yours," Marjorie said.
At that moment, all you could hear was a banging pot. It was the shooter girl wearing a sombrero and what looked like a native costume you would see Miss Mexico wear at the Miss Universe Pageant. "Shots only three dollars," she said with a very heavy Mexican accent. "We got two flavors, strawberry and lime," as she held up the two bottles that looked like they were just coated in dripping sugar.
Little did I know these girls were in it for the long haul on my initiation night to Atlanta. The next thing I knew, there were seven shots, a salt shaker and lime wedges on the table with each girl reaching for their favorite flavor. I was left with the lime tequila shot. It smelled just like a margarita. I never had any experience at doing shots, but I was learning quickly. Each girl grabbed a lime wedge and held it between their thumb and forefinger, then filled the cup formed at the base of the thumb and forefinger with salt. Then they held the shot in their other hand.
"Alright girls," Wendy said. "Let's all say welcome to our new friend. Tyler, may you find a pole in every port. Cheers!" And with that, each of the girls licked the salt, chugged the shot, and sucked the lime wedge.
I followed suit only to find another round of shots already on the table. Our shooter girl was earning her money tonight.
"Why don't you try on Shelby's thong?" Wendy said.
"Yeah. Come on, Tyler. It will really show off your ass," Shelby said.
"I don't know. I've never worn women's clothes before," I said.
"Well there is always a first time for everything," Glady said.
With that, Shelby stood up and made the other girls move out of the way in the booth. She then grabbed my hand and dragged me through the restaurant. I felt like everyone's eyes were on me, but I'm sure that was just the tequila talking. She stuck her head into the women's room and then pulled me in. We immediately went into one of the stalls and she started unbuttoning her pants.
"Whoa, I'm not into girls," I said, frightened at this point.
"I know that, silly. Now unbutton your pants," Shelby said as she grabbed my zipper and pulled it down. "If I'm gonna give you my thong, I need your undies, because I don't go commando." And next thing I knew, my belt was undone.
By this point Shelby, had already removed her pants and her hot pink thong. "Hurry up, honey."
So in the next minute, I was naked from the waist down and then slipping on a hot pink thong. She was right that it really did show off my butt. As I pulled up my jeans, it was a strange sensation because I had never felt the rough material on my bare cheeks before. It sent a tingle down my spine and into my penis.
As we stepped out of the stall, there was a line of women waiting to use the restroom. We both immediately went to the mirror where we fixed our hair and washed our hands. There were a lot of nasty looks as we slipped by the waiting line and exited.
"So how does it feel?" was the first question from Glady.
"Is pink your color?” was the second question from Mary.
Finally Shelby interrupted and said, "These feel great. There is so much room here! My pussy finally has a chance to breath."
"Honey, your pussy is always breathing over every Tom, Dick, and Harry it sees," Glady said.
I finally did give them the answers, "Pink is not my color, but these make my ass look great. Unfortunately they cut off the circulation upfront."
"If that's the case, then you need to push your balls up into the cavity where they descended from," said Marjorie. "Just like the girls we saw tonight."
"Ewwww. That would hurt. What if they never fell back out?" I asked.
"Don't worry. You
can grow another pair," Wendy said as they all started to laugh.
And with that, the party was over. We all had to head out and get some sleep. This was a very interesting evening for my first night in town.
CHAPTER 8
I had to find some gainful employment because the little money I brought with me wouldn't last forever. Plus, I could only live off the generosity of Marjorie for so long before I felt like a parasitic leach. I do have some skills, so I am employable, but it's hard to break into a city where you don't know anyone. Thankfully, Paul had a lead at the M Hotel, which was just up the block from our apartment. A friend of his was the HR director at the hotel, and they had an opening for a front desk agent.
Before my interview, Paul gave me a brief history of the M Hotel from what he could remember. I just hope he wasn't pulling my leg. Here is what he told me.
The M used to be a Sheraton Hotel until it was sold, and they came in and did a massive renovation. From what I understand, the Sheraton Hotel used to be a very popular destination during what used to be called the Hotlanta Raft Race, which ended many years before my time here. The raft race would bring in hot, hunky men from around the country for a weekend of parties and sex all based around the Mr. Hotlanta contest and the Raft Race, which was just an excuse to float down the Chattahoochee River and party. And the hotel hosted the Miss Hotlanta Pageant, which was for female impersonators. People who lived in the August Tower across the street used to spend many hours that weekend watching the hot, horny men fuck in their rooms with the curtains open. I guess if you are on the tenth floor of a hotel, you don't think anyone is watching, but there are eyes everywhere. Once it became the swanky M Hotel, it was a much more upscale crowd. His final bit of history was that the M Hotel is actually the hotel they used when American Idol came to town for auditions. Even though the contestants used to perform in front of Miss Lopez and crew with a view of Olympic Park in the background about three miles away, somehow they manage to pop out of the ballroom of the hotel and into the motor lobby. The grass wall is a pretty dead giveaway.
The Crown Is Mine Page 2