by Violet Blue
Joe exhaled deeply.
Lying on his bed alone, he didn’t believe she would. In fact, he knew she’d break up with him if he told her, then she’d tell everyone he was a man. His happiness—a happiness he had never thought possible; the camaraderie he shared with the other kings and the community he’d become a part of over the last four months, would all vanish. Poof, into thin air. The other kings would no longer accept him and might even beat the hell out of him. He wouldn’t be able to show his face at the Kit Kat. He wouldn’t be able to perform. He would also lose Tina.
He’d have to find a way to smooth this over or he’d have to break up with her.
By Wednesday of the next week, Tina still hadn’t returned any of his calls. Joe got ready for the drag show. His ritual was second nature by now. After showering, he tucked his cock back between his legs then plastered on the tight-fitting panty that held his dick in place—a trick he had learned from a drag queen website. The first few times he did this, his cock felt uncomfortable, but Joe got used to the new location of his dick. Now he felt uncomfortable if it was anywhere else. He stepped into the harness and jostled it over the panty, then placed the pack-and-play through the O-ring and pulled each strap until everything was firmly in place, exactly like the woman at the sex toy shop had explained to him.
Joe had been terrified by the idea of going into the sex shop to buy these items. He had walked around near it for over an hour before the cold had forced him to either go inside or leave. Having already invested so much time in the venture and desperately in need of things if he was going to continue his new identity as a drag king, he forced himself to go ahead. He’d been seeing Tina for almost two weeks and had been stalling their first time having sex.
The young woman at the counter greeted him without as much as a bat of the eye. No one rushed over and pointed a finger at him screaming, “He’s a man, get him out of here.” Nor did any of his other nightmarish fantasies about what was going to happen actually happen. He browsed at the video section, attempting to look nonchalant, but unable to read any of the information printed on the boxes because he was so nervous. As his heart started to slow down, he ventured into the vibrator section where he looked but didn’t touch anything for fear it would start to buzz and draw attention. In the book section, he started to feel more comfortable. Books were, after all, familiar to him. He selected The Drag King Book and The Whole Lesbian Sex Book. With these in his arms, he walked with what he hoped looked like confidence over to the dildo and harness section.
Joe was immediately astonished by the selection of dildos. The sizes, shapes and colors made his jaw drop. The variety of sizes, ranging from pencil thin to mammoth, impressed him, but when he added the shapes from lifelike to twisted in the form of Godzilla, he couldn’t believe women would need this many options. On the wall were harnesses displayed on plastic pelvises and below them on a shelf were flaccid and semihard cocks complete with balls in a vast selection of varied flesh tones and lengths. This was what he had come for. He’d learned about this from a drag king website a week ago. He had done some quick research to figure out what to do to have sex as a drag king.
After the last customers in the store left, Joe finally asked the clerk to help him. On her advice, he selected a washable harness made of nylon for easy cleanup and a pack-and-play, which in theory allowed him to pack a softy then flip it around for insertion into a partner. What Joe discovered later was that he needed an actual hard dildo to fuck a woman properly, and, what’s more, Tina liked different sizes—different lengths and thickness—at different times. He still preferred the semifirmness of the pack-and-play for packing when he was in drag. It created a semihard, semiexcited bulge in his pants that Joe imagined was hotter than a soft cock, and it had sentimental value being the first dildo he had fucked Tina with. But now he always kept a hard dildo in his bag for after the show.
It was almost time to leave for the Kit Kat. Joe wanted to arrive late, but before the show started. He pulled on the close-fitting boxer briefs, then his Levi’s, rolled at the ankles to expose his white bobby socks. Joe wrapped an ace bandage around his chest. He put on a white tank top with a white T-shirt over it, black Doc Martins, and a plain black belt with a big buckle. Joe shaved carefully so as not to cut himself. He didn’t have a lot of facial hair, a fact he was never happy about until recently. With a makeup brush he dusted his face with brown eye shadow to simulate a five o’clock shadow. He slicked back his hair in a pompadour of sorts, looking at himself in the full-length mirror. Joe felt like a modern-day James Dean: a rebel without a cause. He’d never, in all his life, thought he’d ever feel like his hero, James Dean.
What would Tina say if he told her the whole truth?
When Joe arrived at the club, Titillating Tom Teaser and Dick Desperate, his closest drag king friends, and their girlfriends, Stacy and Ann, were already at a table. Joe scanned the club for Tina and her clipboard, but she was not there. Tom, who was about Joe’s height but thirty pounds heavier, was dressed as a suave 1950s lounge host, complete with a blue sharkskin jacket and matching tie. He was a regular favorite at the club. As soon as he saw Joe, he jumped up and went over.
“Hey, come join us at the table,” Tom said, placing a hand on Joe’s arm. Joe made eye contact with him. “She’s not here. She called Ann and asked her to register everybody. Said she was sick.” Tom squeezed Joe’s arm making him realize that Tina had said more than that to Ann. Joe nodded. The two of them walked over to the table.
Dick, dressed as a cowboy, pulled up an extra chair and placed it between his own and Tom’s as they approached. “Glad to see you,” he said, rapping the seat of the chair for Joe to sit down. “I was just running to the bar, could I get you a beer?” Dick was extra thin and tall, lanky with wispy blond hair.
“Sure,” Joe said reaching for his wallet.
“On me, man. You get the next one.” Dick playfully punched Joe’s arm before heading off to the bar.
“You performing tonight?” Stacy asked, bumping Tom with her elbow. “Ann’s got the sign-up sheet.” Ann looked at Tom then pushed the clipboard toward him without stopping her storytelling.
“Thanks, hon,” Tom said, rolling his eyes.
“No. I’m just going to watch,” Joe replied. “I don’t feel up to it.”
“Not feeling well? Maybe you have what Tina has,” Stacy said.
Before Joe could answer, Dick returned with beers for the table. Ann and Stacy went back to their discussion and Tom and Dick talked about a new king who had performed well last week. Joe sat between them all, in silence, lost to his thoughts.
Maybe he should just leave. The tension at the table was almost unbearable. He could go home or pick up some flowers and go to Tina’s apartment. He could attempt to patch this up. But what could he offer her to make it better? Or he could just break up with her. Maybe he could get Tom or Dick alone and tell them about the fight. He couldn’t be the only stone butch in the room. Maybe someone could give him some advice on how to smooth this over with Tina. Before he could act on any of his plans, the MC took the clipboard from the table and walked up to the microphone.
Joe got up and headed to the bathroom. For show nights, the Kit Kat covered the normal male/female door signs with KINGS and NOT-KINGS signs made of paper. He went into the King’s bathroom. Standing over the sink, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Joe felt sick to his stomach. He splashed cold water onto his face and pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser. He looked more closely into the mirror, remembering his makeup too late, the paper towel in hand and water dripping off his face.
“Blot it,” Jack, a pre-op FTM who was a regular at the club, offered from behind Joe. “Don’t wipe it, you’ll fuck up your beard. Just pat it.” Joe hadn’t moved so Jack took the paper towel out of his hand and dabbed at Joe’s face. “See, no smudges.”
“Thanks.” Joe looked in the mirror once again and started to dab at more water spots.
“Bad night?
” Jack asked, washing his hands in the next sink.
“Bad week.”
Joe could see Jack’s reflection in the mirror as the king dried his hands. He was checking out Joe’s ass. Joe turned around and made eye contact. Jack shrugged and tossed his used paper towel in the trash while walking toward the door.
“Want to get out of here?” Jack asked.
Joe knew what Jack meant. For a second, he thought of Tina, then of Jack. “Yeah, I live a few blocks from here.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
They walked in silence to Joe’s apartment. He unlocked the door to let them in. Jack pushed the door closed with a bang behind them. He grabbed Joe by the arms and slammed him against it. For a minute, Joe thought he was going to be beaten up, but then Jack sunk against him. The boy kissed him hard on the lips with an open mouth and ground against his pelvis. Joe kissed him back.
“I knew you liked boys,” Jack said as he released Joe.
Joe smiled awkwardly. His mind was spinning. Did he like boys? Jack was after all pre-op, so he was technically physically a girl. Of course, Jack was more of a guy than he was himself. But then, he was a real guy, except he was a girl dressed as a guy, as far as Jack knew. “The bathroom’s over there,” Joe said, pushing the confusion out of his mind. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
Jack took his backpack with him into the bathroom. Once the door was shut, Joe rushed to the bedroom, undid his jeans, and slipped the pack-and-play out of the harness. He tossed it into the nightstand drawer where he retrieved the eight-inch black dildo. Unsnapping the bands that held the O-ring, Joe replaced it with a larger one to accommodate the bigger dildo. He stepped into the harness before rebuttoning his jeans. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. Jack appeared seconds later, the bulge in his pants substantially bigger.
Jack grabbed Joe and pulled him in. Their sleek muscular bodies seemed at odds with each other, struggling for domination as their tongues explored each other’s mouth. Joe could feel Jack’s hard cock against his leg. It turned him on, and confused him. He wondered if Jack would let him fuck him in the ass or if Jack would let him fuck him in the cunt. And Joe worried that Jack would want to fuck him.
Jack grabbed Joe’s hair and pushed him to his knees. Joe was at eye level with Jack’s bulge as the boy undid his belt and pants. Joe had never sucked cock before and he was a mix of nerves and excitement. Jack pulled his hard cock from the pocket of his tighty-whities. It was at least eight inches long with a raised vein and circumcised head. “Suck it,” Jack ordered as he hit either side of Joe’s face gently with his cock.
Joe licked the tip then gingerly took the head into his mouth. Does this mean I’m a fag? At first, he felt as if he’d choke on the cock. He wasn’t sure if this was because he was unaccustomed to sucking cock or if he was having a physiological reaction to the act itself. I want this, don’t I? Joe adjusted to the feeling of the dildo in his mouth and slowly started to work his way up Jack’s cock with each inward slide.
“That’s a good boy. Take your cock out and work it with your free hand,” Jack instructed Joe.
He awkwardly undid his pants and pulled his own dildo from his boxer briefs while still keeping Jack’s cock in his mouth. Joe worked his dildo with his right hand as he held Jack’s in his left and continued the in and out motion with his mouth. He wanted to please Jack. He was turned on and freaked out at the same time. Is Jack a girl or am I? Are we both guys? Am I gay, or what?
Joe gagged and Jack eased off on his thrusts.
“Suck it, Joe. Take more of my cock in.”
Joe, excited by the order, tried. Jack’s hips started to pump in and out with the rhythm of Joe’s strokes.
“Let me fuck your face hard. Take it, boy,” Jack grunted into the air.
Joe let go of his fears. Driven by the verbal descriptions, he increased the speed and force of his strokes on both his cock and Jack’s. Fuck it. Who cares what we are? His body relaxed into the pleasure of the fuck.
“What the hell!” Tina’s familiar voice screeched from the doorway. Joe dropped his own cock and pulled away from Jack, whose hips thrust in the air one last time before he realized what was happening. They were both exposed as they looked at Tina and she looked at them. “You’re kidding me,” Tina said as she turned and ran down the hallway. Joe got up and ran after her, tucking himself in.
“Tina,” he shouted as he reached the living room. She was at the door.
“If you are going to fuck someone, at least lock the door.”
Joe saw the bottle of wine and flowers on the counter. “What are you doing here?
“I went to the club,” Tina said turning around with tears streaming from her eyes. “They said you had left so I came over to apologize. I wanted to say that none of it mattered.” She shook her head. “Apparently I don’t matter.” She opened the door.
“Can’t we talk? I want to explain what happened.”
“You could have just broken up with me.” She stepped into the outside hallway and shut the door.
Joe stood there as if at any moment she would reappear. Instead, Jack emerged from the bedroom with his coat on and his backpack over his shoulder. His big bulge was gone.
“Hey, I’m going to go,” Jack said kissing Joe’s neck. “I left my number by your bed. When things calm down, call me.”
Joe nodded. Jack left.
“Wait,” Joe yelled and grabbed the flowers from the counter. He ran into the hallway. Jack was at the top of the stairs ready to go down. Joe hurried to him and held the bouquet out, “Take these. A beautiful boy like you should have them.”
Jack took them. They both smiled. Joe watched Jack go down the steps and out into the night.
STRIPPED
Anastasia Mavromatis
It is written. My family adores the phrase, sprinkling it over every expired relationship and personal disaster. It was written that I should flee the family home and reside with strangers, just as it is written for me to perennially incur my father’s wrath. To my family, I was the changeling, born into the incorrect family or as my father said, the personification of a divine punishment; he must have done something terrible to receive a daughter who’d lie and defy his authority by having her back etched with ink at the age of eighteen.
Alone in the sunroom, I stare at a finished canvas, fantasizing about the men within the remainder. I belong here as I did on the day of my arrival….
“What do your parents think about this, Alexandra?” Anthony asked, peering through a pair of rimless spectacles.
“About?” I drew my knees together. I needed to pee.
“You sharing a residence with three men.”
Damon’s blue eyes met mine. Tobias interrupted by asking me whether I took sugar in my coffee, and Anthony waited.
“Well?” Anthony frowned.
“Look, we’re busy as it is. We don’t have time to wrestle with frantic parents and ethnic concerns,” Tobias stated while Anthony turned to eye his friend with surprise.
“Ethnic?” I replied. If that were supposed to offend, he’d have to try harder. “If everything is different to what you’re accustomed to, it’s ethnic,” I spat and it was intentional. I needed to live away from my family home, be away from my dad and his Cretan outlook.
“We have no qualms about that. You seem a splendid candidate.”
I adopted the logical male view. “It’s either a yes or no, guys.”
Tobias, at that moment, graced us in a pair of close-fitting ancient jeans and a ragged tank top, more resembling a brick-layer than an internationally renowned photographer.
“You are aware of our confidentiality clause?” It was Tobias, bending over the coffee table. The four coffee mugs were deposited on four matching coasters.
I nodded.
The clause, which I read just before Anthony returned from work, stipulated the standard expectations of such agreements. See no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil summed up their three page do
cument, which I had to sign and return.
I eventually lugged my luggage through the hall and individually, up the stairs while the others were at work. My room, the converted sunroom on the first level of the old terrace house, was blessed with a partial view of the harbor. The house, of yellow-brown sandstone, in its previous life was once occupied by an English official who was also Anthony’s great-great-greatgrandfather. The room, vast and tinged with a sweet-sour musty smell that diffused through the walls, would serve as a studio.
The first night was spent lounging on the plush black leather sofa watching satellite TV. After laughing at Brit comedy, I poured myself a glass of Coke and wandered into my room. Unzipping my leather portfolio, I examined my last set of sketches. I baptized the series Nobodies as they featured people seen in passing, sitting at bus stops and eating lunch in the city. The inspiration to draw or paint dwindled at home. My parents scoffed at my chosen path, suggesting fruitful occupations that would give me enough clout to impress a potential (and good) family-in-law. During my first year in college, studying art, I’d reject every potential suitor, including those who’d make their way from the old country. I’d reject them all. In my parents’ eyes, I was intact. My muse, squashed up against the wall or suffering the equivalent of an anxiety attack, begged me to do something to change the status quo. Announcing my new plans threw my destiny up in the air. Dad exploded. Mother looked at his face and knew she’d have to transform into a Mata Hari of sorts to remain in contact with her daughter.
“You will not speak to this child. She is no longer welcome to my house.”