My butt puckered as I ordered a screwdriver.
"Coming right up," he said, and he worked his magic getting the drink ready. At one point I swear he was rubbing ice cubes on his nipples and six-pack abs as the water trickled down his happy trail and finished in the promised land. Again, Paul had to push my shoulder. "Your drink is here."
I looked down and quickly grabbed my drink as my fantasy bartender was already working on the next round of drinks. "I will call you bun bun," I said to myself.
"He has that effect on everyone," Albert said. "But he never gives his number out or goes out with anyone from the bar."
"A man of mystery. I'm feeling a little verklempt," I said and proceeded to chug my drink. "Let's dance!"
With my confidence booster working its way through my bloodstream, I summoned all my courage as we entered the cluster of sweaty men. We managed to bump and grind our way to the middle of the floor and were surrounded by a swarm of hard, chiseled, muscular men. I usually am not attracted to shaven men, but this much beautiful muscle made me hotter and sweatier.
Paul pulled out a small brown bottle from the pocket of his sport shorts. He placed it under his nose and pinched one nostril closed as he took a deep breath through his nose. There was a look of euphoria over his face. As he came back down, he grabbed my hand and placed the bottle in the palm of my hand. "Give it a try," he screamed over the music.
"I've never done coke in my life," I yelled back to which Paul started laughing.
"It's not coke," he said, "It's only poppers."
"What?" I yelled.
"Poppers!" Paul screamed.
"What are poppers?" I asked.
"It used to be called rush back in the day. It makes you feel warm all over and horny as hell," Albert said. "Just hold it up to your nose and pinch one nostril shut and inhale.”
"This won't kill me, will it? If it does, you guys are going to have to deal with Daisy Mae and Marjorie."
They assured me I would be perfectly fine.
I cave into peer pressure so easily. The bottle was at my nose, one nostril pinched closed, and I inhaled. It has a distinctive smell that you can never mistake for something else, just like pot. As I inhaled I felt the wave of warmth rise from my lungs to the top of my head. Every pore of my body was alive, and I had become a cat in heat.
Paul briskly grabbed the bottle, "That's enough for you junior," he said.
A hot, blond muscle boy from the group had been staring intensely at me as his body swayed to the music. He broke from the herd and was immediately face-to-face with me, gyrating his hips against my groin. He must have felt the heat from my body as I started to sweat. He gently tweeked my nipples, which sent shivers down my spine. He grabbed my hand and rubbed it up and down his tight abs and all over his built pecks. He finally cupped my hand over the front of his paint-spattered tightie whities, where I could feel his manhood rising. I quickly spun around and shoved my crack hard against his ever-expanding underwear. I could feel the blood pumping through his cock as it stiffened and straightened up.
He thrust it between my cheeks as he grabbed my chest and pulled himself tighter. All I could do was grind back, thrusting my ass up and down as I felt his cock slip out of his underwear and my underwear pulled down in the back. I couldn't stop myself. Nothing was said between us as his cock kept rubbing over my sweaty hole. His thrust got faster and harder until I felt the spasm from his cock and a warm sensation on my back. I felt the back of my underwear pulled up over my ass.
I turned around to see the blonde muscle boy, but he had already vanished into the crowd. It wasn't until then that I realized the group of muscle boys and Paul and Albert had been watching us, and the front of my underwear were also stretched and stained.
"At least your arrow is washed off," Albert said.
I couldn't get back to the clothes check fast enough.
CHAPTER 12
"Am I a whore?" I asked Marjorie.
"No, boo. Everyone goes through their slut phase. Enjoy it while you can. Aren't you supposed to be volunteering this morning?"
"Oh my God! I completely forgot. I'm supposed to be at Atlanta Street Rescue already.”
"You better hustle," she said. "Luckily it's just around the corner.”
She was right. It was right around the corner, and since we were doing junk removal, all I had to do was throw on some sweat pants and hit the road.
It was a short sprint, and I arrived in time to get my gloves so I could help rip out the filthy carpet. Basil, a thin, but very spry gentleman in his sixties was the volunteer coordinator. "Thank you everyone for coming out today to improve the lives of the LGBT youth. It's volunteers like you who give of yourself so that others may start living their lives."
There was a wide variety of people volunteering, but one person stood out to me. He couldn't have been more than fifteen.
"Hi my name is Tyler," I introduced myself.
"My name is Kenny," he said.
"You seem awfully young to be volunteering. Why are you here?"
"Because I'm trying to help the people who are taking care of me."
"I didn't realize that. How old are you?"
"Sixteen. It's okay. I've been living here for a year now."
"How did you end up here, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I don't mind. When I came out to my parents, they threw me out. They are Jehovah Witnesses and couldn't take the fact that I was gay. They had no problems with my sister who does drugs and is constantly in and out of jail, but they couldn't stand the sight of me. They called me an abomination, packed a bag with my clothes, and threw it out the door."
"I'm so sorry."
"Why? You didn't do anything," he responded. "I begged and I cried, but my mother turned her back on me and slammed the door. The look on her face was ice cold."
"What did you do?
"I went over to a friend’s house and slept there. I don't have any other family. The next day I hit the road and hitched here from Tifton. On the way, I was raped by a truck driver in the back of his cab. He dumped me on the side of the road, and eventually I made it here, only to hook up with a nice man who pimped me out for money. It was horrible."
"I can't believe you survived all that," I said.
"I'm just kidding you. I googled LGBT youth Georgia at my friend’s and found this group. They took me in and probably saved my life."
"I'm glad you made it here."
"But what I told you has happened to other kids I've met. The sex slave business is alive and well in America. I'm one of the truly lucky ones."
"Is there anything else I can do?"
"You are doing what you can, and I appreciate it."
Why did it feel like I should be doing more?
CHAPTER 13
When I arrived at work, there was a flyer on the desk waiting for me. The flyer read.
"Sign up to be the 1st Miss Club Cabaret. Help raise money for your favorite charity while competing for the crown. Sign up March 1st at 5 pm. Club Cabaret Room. For more information email [email protected]."
On the bottom of the flyer was a note, "Thought this would interest you, Germaine."
A scrumptious, sparkling, diamond photo of a satellite-shaped crown stared back at me from the page. It caught my brain on fire and blinded my eyes because I'd never seen anything so brilliant. This could be mine and should be mine, but it made me wonder if this was a coincidence or was the universe trying to tell me something. I could raise some money for a charity, but I could also get something out of it that I could show off to everyone. I could even build a pedestal to mount it on in the apartment and shine a light on it so that it catches all the diamonds and spreads their prisms around the room.
So I emailed Marni to get all the details. I was shocked that she responded back so quickly.
"Dear Tyler, the Miss Club Cabaret competition is an opportunity for all of us to give back to our community. Each drag queen participant will be partnered with a chari
ty of your choice to raise money for them. The participant who raises the most money by the crowning on December 7th will be named the first Miss Club Cabaret and receive the tiara that is in the display case in the club. It is that simple. I hope to see you on March 1st. Thanks, Marni."
Did I really want to make that big of a commitment? I'd never done anything like this before, but I could get something really shiny. At least people would remember me for the crown.
As Germaine had said to me before, "There can be no reaction unless you take action."
It was my turn for action.
CHAPTER 14
Panic set in as I realized I had no clue what I was doing. I called the boys to see what they could do to help me especially since one had a drag queen stalker and the other was a drag queen aficionado.
"Help me!" were the last words out of my mouth.
"Slow down," Albert said. "Tell me what you are doing again. I couldn't understand a single word until help me. How much caffeine have you had today?
"Too much. The guy at Coffee Ole must think I want to date him because I've been there like ten times already today. He's really cute in a nerdy kina way, but with such great arms and a perfect bubble butt. I guess that is from lifting all the bags of coffee and putting them in the grinder. Speaking of grinder, I wonder if he is on Grindr? If he is, I can see if he is a top and what he is looking for and what his likes are and hit him up to see if he would be interested in going out. But where would we go? Maybe dinner or a movie or both…"
"Stop!" You're making me crazy!" Albert yelled. “You need to slow down and start at the beginning. What do you need help with?"
I spoke slowly this time. "I am entering a drag queen contest to win a crown and possibly raise money for Atlanta Street Rescue, and I need your help getting ready. I have no clue what I am doing and desperately need some advice."
"You need help from me because I have a drag queen stalker right?" Albert asked.
"No, I need your help because you have impeccable taste," I responded.
"I thought that's what you said," he replied. "So what do you have to do for this show coming up?"
"From what I understand, we are meeting earlier in the day with all the contestants and then performing two numbers at the inaugural Miss Club Cabaret show."
"Do you have any idea what numbers you want to do?" he asked.
"No clue," I said.
"We need a think tank. I'm calling Chas and Paul and letting them know we have a grade-one emergency," Albert said.
"What is a grade-one emergency?” I blindly asked.
"Grade one is a flaccid prick. It is a minor inconvenience that should be easily rectifiable."
So I had to ask, "Are there more levels?"
"Of course there are my dear boy. I'm glad you asked. Grade two is a chubby. It is an excitable state, but with no immediate resolve in sight. Grade three is the Standing Hampton, but the bottom doesn't have a clean bat cave. Grade four is the irritated starfish. That's where the butthole is too swollen to allow anything in. And finally, stage five is the dildo killer. That is where the asshole has grown teeth and chews up the dildo and spits it out. This requires everyone's participation to solve the problem," Albert finished.
"So you all can help right?" I asked.
"Of course we can. It is in our genes." Albert slapped his own ass. "Plus, this one is only a chubby."
CHAPTER 15
I felt a sense of relief as we stepped through the doors of the Junkman's Daughter in Little Five Points. L5P is the melting pot of Atlanta. On any day, you can see everyone from skin-heads to Rastas mingling on the street corners and going in and out of the various shops. This is the place to come if you want crystals to skateboards to pizza and a ton of eclectic clothes shops. Hence, the Junkman's Daughter is the best place to start.
The first thing I see as I enter is the giant Jack Skellington from “The Nightmare Before Christmas” propped up in a back corner next to a coffin. I absolutely adore that movie so I knew this was the right place.
Chas, Albert, Paul, and I started strolling through the racks and racks of clothing from vintage to current. Chas grabbed a lovely beaded short dress and held it up. "Honey, you are a size 10. This will fit you beautifully, plus the blue brings out the natural color in your eyes, which are as deep as a Caribbean sink hole in the Bermuda triangle."
I blushed. "How do you know I'm a 10?" I asked.
"After working at the Gap for five years I can tell your size just by looking at you. I can also guess your weight by looking at you, but I'm much more accurate if you sit on my face," Chas said.
"Really?" Paul said, "I'm trying to keep breakfast down here.”
"Well there is nothing like a good tossed salad, I say," Albert chimed in.
"Can we please get back on point? Do I have to remind you why we are here?" I asked. And with that the boys became more focused.
It was incredible watching Paul peruse through the racks. He was laser-focused as he studied each blouse, skirt, and pants as he pushed it down the rack. He would methodically study each piece, trying to get a feel for the song that would go with the outfit. His concentration was broken when he popped his head up to ask, "What songs are you doing?'
"I don't know," I said.
"You got us down here, and you don't even know the numbers you are doing? No. No. No. This is just not right. I can't use my expertise and be expected to pull a rabbit out of my ass if you don't know your music!" Paul exclaimed. "You need to know the songs you are going to do, otherwise you can't get your outfit. You are trying to do this ass backwards. The music is important because it tells your story and you need to feel it. I had an ex who had a mountain house outside of Boone, North Carolina and every time I play ‘Bloodletting’ by Concrete Blond, it takes me back to that moment in time. That is what your music should be doing for you," he finished exasperated.
"When is the show?" Chas asked.
"It is next weekend," Albert responded. "So we don't have much time to get him ready."
"No music. No makeup. No accessories. This is going to be a disaster," Paul whimpered as he thoroughly looked disgusted. "If you are going to do this, you need to do it the right way."
"Be nice to our little girl," Chas said. "This is her first time, and it is for charity."
"My God! Let's just find the three outfits and get out of here," Paul said.
"Three outfits? I only need two."
"No, no, my dear. You will need three. Two are for the show, but you need a walk about outfit for when you get there," Albert said. "Just like when that crazy bitch Miss Gigi shows up for her shows. You never see her perform in the outfit she wears when she gets there. It would be unseemly. Plus, it will help you get friendly with the patrons, which in turn will get you more tips."
"If the patrons feel like they know you, then they will truly be more generous. I speak from experience on this," Paul said.
"Here are three perfectly acceptable outfits," Chas said as he held up his arms, which were draped in one red satin mini dress, a vintage 60's outfit, and a yellow and white pin stripped shirt and pants combo from the 70's. "This will get you through the first show. Shoes are over here, so come over and slide that petite size 9 into these flats. I don't think you are ready for heels yet. Remember when you buy women's shoes, they will be two sizes larger than your foot size, so that means you need size 11 in women's shoes."
"Marjorie said she can do my make up for the show, so I'm set there. I just need some wigs."
"So the chubby is on its way to being solved. Get these, Desiree, and we can go to the costume store for the wigs," Albert said.
"Why did you call me Desiree?"
"I don't know. It just felt right," Albert responded.
So Desiree was born.
CHAPTER 16
It was time to transform myself. I shaved very closely to make sure none of what little facial hair I had would show up, and I did as Marjorie said and sat in front of her Hollywood mirror
without my shirt on. The lights surrounding the mirror frame were very bright.
"The better to see you with, my dear," Marjorie said as she pulled out her bag of tricks. "It's time to beat your face."
"What do you mean beat my face?"
"Time to paint you, honey. No harm will come your way unless you don't do as I tell you. Now sit straight up and face forward."
"Knock Knock," “The Package” said. "Sounds like something you said to me in bed last night.”
"And you enjoyed it," Marjorie replied.
"Can I watch?" he asked.
"Only if you keep bringing me cocktails," I said.
"Anything in particular?" he asked.
"Something fresh and fruity. I don't want to feel bloated," I said.
"I'll just have a Fresca," Marjorie said. "I want to keep my skills sharp."
With that, she put a head band on me to hold my hair back and started to work her magic. She took her hands and rubbed my eyebrows. Next I knew, she had grabbed a pair of tweezers and was plucking and tweeking my eyebrows. "They’re a little bushy for a woman," she said. She stared at me intently to make sure they were even and shaped up. "One final thing," And with that, she plucked some stray nose hairs that made my eyes water. "You have to remember that a lot of people will be looking up at you."
Next, she applied some base to cover up my stubble and spread it around with a sponge. I don't have a lot of facial hair to begin with, so it covered up pretty easily. It evened out my entire face, but boy was I pale. "We have to start with a clean palate and then add to it," she said. I started seeing Tyler disappear and Desiree appear. It was an odd feeling to see yourself become someone else. Who was Desiree and what kind of person was she? I guess I would find out when I hit the stage.
From there, it was time to start with the eyes. She went with a deep sea green color for the eyelids. It really made my blue eyes pop. It was amazing how much I was starting to disappear in the mirror. She put a little bit of white eye powder in the corner of my eyes, which really opened everything. The mascara was applied next to make my eye lashes look fuller. Top lashes and bottom lashes. She finished the eyes by putting a little black eyeliner on the bottom lid. She then took a step back to study my eyes. "I've got to make sure they are even and you don't have wonky eye."
The Crown Is Mine Page 4