The Queen & the Homo Jock King (2 page)

“Exactly.” I ground my teeth together. “I am Lulu Deerdancer and I am twenty-nine years old and I am perfectly legal to enter this here homosexual establishment and partake in beverages and repetitive techno music.”

“Because you both have been here before.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Hmm,” the bouncer said.

Then Paul sneezed and his mustache flew off his face and landed on the cheek of the bouncer.

The silence that followed was slightly awkward.

“Huh,” Paul said. “I guess that’s easier than shaving. It’ll certainly revolutionize the facial hair industry.”

I choked on my tongue as the bouncer slowly peeled the wet mustache off his cheek, looking less than amused. And he might have been much, much older, but there was no doubt he could squash us both with his freakishly large hands.

He held out the mustache to Paul.

Paul took it back. He grimaced as he put it back under his nose.

“So,” the bouncer said. “This must be really awkward for you.”

“You have no idea,” I said.

“Well, maybe we should—”

“Charlie! Yoo-hoo.
Charlie
. Be a dear and help me, won’t you? I swear, my lady balls are about to pop out all over the sidewalk. We certainly can’t have
that
happening, now can we?”

And then
she
entered the world.

There are definitive moments in everyone’s life, moments that will help shape and define who you are and who you will become. Meeting Paul was a moment. Realizing I was gay was a moment. My parents’ death was a moment.

And this six-foot-four drag queen stumbling our way carrying an armful of shiny costumes, the sequins flashing in the street lights, multiple wigs tucked under her chin, barefoot with red vinyl thigh-high boots slung over her shoulder… well.

She
was a moment.

“Who is
that
?” I whispered.

No one heard me, but I didn’t expect them to. I didn’t know if I’d have heard an answer anyway, given that all of my attention was on this glorious creature who moved like casual chaos. The bouncer (Charlie, she’d called him) moved toward her and caught her right before she dropped everything onto the sidewalk. She grinned at him, all lipstick and sharp teeth. “Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armor,” she purred. “Saving little old me from certain doom. Why, if I didn’t know any better, kitten, I would think you were trying to court me.”

Charlie huffed out a laugh. “Darling, if I was courting you, you’d know it. Most likely because you’d have ended up over my knee with that pert little ass stinging from my hand.”

“Ooh,” she moaned. “The thought alone is enough to make my thighs
quiver
.”

“An image I will now never be without,” Charlie said. He began to relieve her of her burdens, draping the shiny material carefully in his arms.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “How fortunate for you. You’re one of a very select few who…. Okay, we both know that’s a lie. I’ve spent so much time with my legs in the air, I’m thinking about getting a sign that says open twenty-four hours a day.”

“Holy shit,” Paul choked.

She locked onto Paul and me with her razor-sharp gaze over Charlie’s shoulder. “Well, well, well,” she said, arms free now that Charlie held everything. “What have we
here
?” She pushed her way around Charlie,
slinking
her way toward us, hips rolling, one foot snapping out in front of the other as she
prowled
. “I didn’t know we were having a middle-school field trip with us today. But I suppose it’s better to recruit early than not at all, hmm? I mean, that’s what the zealots are all concerned with. May as well prove them right.”

She came to stand in front of me, eyes coolly assessing. I forgot to be nervous because I was completely distracted by the amount of bangles she had clinking along her arms and the gaudily large hoop earrings in her ears. Her makeup was expertly applied, carefully straddling the line between
just enough
and
far too much
. Even though she wasn’t much taller than I was, she seemed larger than life, and I
adored
her.

“I want to be you when I grow up,” I breathed.

And she
laughed
. “Well now, aren’t you adorable, chicken.”

I scowled at her. “I’m not a chicken.”

“Oh, pocket gay,” she said, running a perfectly manicured fingernail across my cheek, “you are the perfect definition of such. Now. Why are you here and not at home doing Pokémon or whatever the devil it is children do these days? Tic-tac-toe? I don’t know even know anymore.”

“I was doing that yesterday,” Paul said. “The Pokémon thing. I’m going to catch them all.”

“Good for you,” she said. “This place isn’t for you. Either of you.”

“I’m old enough.” I scowled at her.

Charlie snorted. “Ms. Muffman, may I introduce to you Lulu Deerdancer and Buster Cleveland. According to their IDs, both are in their twenties. Lulu here likes to fellate a sucker on his finger while laughing like a hyena. Buster is a self-proclaimed leather cub who sneezed his mustache on my face.”

Ms. Muffman threw her head back and laughed, a low throaty thing that made me want to know all her secrets immediately. “Oh, this is
delightful
. I am
delighted
by the two of you. But this is no place for little boys. Shoo, little boys. Come back when you have hair on your balls.”

“Uh,” Paul said. “I have several, so….”

I thought myself in the presence of something reverent. “We just wanted to come here and see what this was all about. We weren’t going to do anything. Honest.”

“You said drinking and blow jobs,” Paul hissed.

“Drinking and blow jobs,” Ms. Muffman said, rolling her eyes to Charlie. “Were we ever that young?”

“Speak for yourself,” he said. “You’re not
that
much older than they are.”

“Liar,” she said fondly. “But I’ll allow it because I love you so. Kiss, kiss. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a show to prepare for.” She started to turn away.

“A show?” I asked. “What show?” Because I couldn’t let her go without finding out as much as I could.

“Why, the greatest show on earth, of course,” she said. “It’s a performance for the ages.”

“I see your Spice Girls outfit in here,” Charlie said mildly.

“I see what you did there.” She glared lightly at the bouncer. “You’re lucky I think the world of you, otherwise I would have made slippers out of your testicles long ago.”

“But,” Paul said, “you have big feet.”

I gaped at him.

Charlie shrugged. “I have big balls.”

“How nice,” Paul said faintly.

“And since
when
do you tell a lady she has big feet?” Ms. Muffman scowled.

“Um, never?” Paul guessed.

“Good answer,” she said. “You may live.”

“Oh thank god,” Paul said. “My parents would have killed me if you’d have murdered me.”

“As lovely as this has been,” she said. “And trust me, it
has
been lovely. Probably more so for you than me. But still. A queen never leaves her subjects wanting. Well. Maybe just a little.” She winked and started to walk away.

But I couldn’t just let her
leave
. Not without finding out the most important thing in the world. “Who
are
you?” I demanded.

“Oh, here we go,” Charlie muttered.

She turned and smiled at me. Up close, it felt like watching
Shark Week
in 3-D with all those teeth. “My dear little chicken,” she said. “I am the tallest bitch in captivity. I am
revered
. I am
feared
. I make all the straight boys
queer
. I am the exalted one who
plucks
little chickens such as yourself.” She leaned forward and her lips scraped against my ear. Her breath was hot against my skin as she whispered, “I am the drag queen Vaguyna Muffman.”

She pressed a sticky kiss against my cheek, a perfect imprint of her lips I would find hours later, a furious shade of magenta that would be a bitch to wash off.

And then she spun away, the door to the club opening as if on cue, music spilling out and lights flashing. She disappeared inside, leaving behind a trail of glitter and feathers trailing from the boa around her neck.

“Scram, chickens,” Charlie said, following Vaguyna Muffman. “Don’t make me bend you over my knee. You won’t like it when I do.”

The door closed behind him.

“Holy shit,” I managed to say.

“I told you this wouldn’t work,” Paul muttered.

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that we hadn’t made it into the club right then. It didn’t matter that there was no drinking or blow jobs. It didn’t matter that Paul had sneezed off his mustache or that I had basically gotten to third base with a Ring Pop.

No, none of that mattered.

None of that mattered because for the first time since the day the guidance counselor pulled me from AP English to hear from Matty and Larry Auster that my parents were dead, I felt something like fire bloom within me. It was strength and passion and the urge to become something
more
than what I already was.

It was another moment.

She’d given it to me, whether she knew it or not.

And I was going to run with it as fast as I could.

It felt good, having the decision made.

“I’m going to be a fucking drag queen,” I said in awe.

“Oh sweat balls,” Paul sighed.

SO.

You’ve heard my origin story.

Like any superqueero, I had a beginning.

Maybe part of it was tragic, though the trauma was not the focus.

But it helped to shape who I’ve become.

I am not
defined
by tragedy.

Instead, I made it my bitch.

Because there is one thing you should remember above all else.

I am a
Queen
, motherfuckers.

And I demand respect.

You ready?

It’s time to rock out with our cocks out.

AS I
was on my knees in a back room of the club Jack It, my lipstick smeared and my eyes watering as I choked on a dick, I had a rather indulgent thought: if cocksucking could be considered a form of art, then I was the Leonardo da Fucking Vinci of fellatio.

I couldn’t even really remember how I’d ended up back here, my tights stretching along my knees as I worked the magnificent dick in front of me. It was thick and fat, a gorgeous dark vein running underneath that I worshipped with my tongue. A great set of balls hung heavy between his muscled thighs. He grunted as he started thrusting into my mouth, his hands coming up to my head.

I pulled off his dick and batted his hands away, glaring up at him. His face was obscured in shadow, as he leaned back against the wall. “You touch the wig, baby doll,” I purred, “and I’ll rip your fucking dick off and shove it down your throat. Do we have an understanding?”

He grunted, his hands falling to his sides.

“Good boy,” I said, running my hand up the length of his cock. It felt spit-slick and hot in my hand. “Now, where was I?”

I took his dick in my mouth again, fisting the base and jacking him slowly. I opened up my throat and took him in down to my fingers, my nose brushing against his pubes. He groaned, his hands twitching at his sides, obviously fighting the urge to reach out and take control. That poor, sweet boy. Probably college frat boy, from the way he moved. All cocky and confident, thinking he was the one in control. After all, he was the one getting his dick sucked.

But in all my years of experience, I’ve learned it’s the one doing the sucking that’s in control. And that’s what I liked. That’s what
she
liked. Helena Handbasket didn’t have a goddamn submissive bone in her body.

Unless she wanted it there, of course.

He was getting close, I could tell. The muscles in his stomach were jumping underneath his tight shirt. His hands were fisted now at his sides. His thighs were trembling, the poor dear. He’d probably go back to his frat house with my lipstick rings around his dick and tell himself he’d fucked that queen good, that he really gave it to her hard. But in the back of his tiny little mind, he’d wonder just how little control of the situation he’d had.

And he’d be right.

Someone else came into the back room, but I ignored them. At least until they’d pressed against the frat guy above me at his side. I was annoyed, and I glared up through my false eyelashes, trying to relay my disdain with a dick in my mouth. It was a look I’d mastered many times over.

But the new guy was rubbing the chest of the frat boy, their faces pressed together, still hidden in shadow. They were kissing, so either I was blowing someone’s boyfriend or they were really close in this frat house. I wasn’t in the mood to double fist or have multiple cocks in my face, at least not tonight. Whatever. He was going to come and then I’d leave him with—

The cock in my mouth jerked when the man moaned, “Sandy.”

I immediately pulled off the dick because
what
and
who
the fuck was this guy to know my real name? I was in drag. I wasn’t fucking
Sandy
.

“Excuse me?” I snapped, voice croaky and hoarse from exertion. His dick jerked again and brushed against my cheek.

“Close,” he said as his friend sucked on his ear. “So close, just—”

And then he leaned forward to touch my face, to pull me back onto his dick.

Vincent Melody Taylor grinned down at me as his precome smeared against my lips. “Come on. Just finish. I’m so close.”

“Yeah,” his buddy said. “Come on. You know you want to finish. And then it’s my turn.”

And I
knew
that voice.

That mother
fucking
voice.

Darren Mayne.

The Homo Jock King.

Who was sucking on Vince’s
neck
.

His half
brother
.