Summer squeaked and sat back down. She might have been stupid, but even she knew better than to cross me as Helena. Summer was mouthy and she was stupid, but she wasn’t completely idiotic to think that I’d let her continue as she’d been. She averted her eyes, attempting to feign distraction by digging through her makeup case. She thought if she made herself smaller, I’d forget.
I never forget.
The others were all in various stages of makeup and costumes, half queen, half man. I had asked them to get partially ready in order to make the homo jocks get more comfortable, so they could see all that it would entail. We weren’t going to make them tuck or anything, because while it didn’t necessarily hurt, most men weren’t keen on pushing their balls back up into their body, then wrapping their dicks in the loose scrotum. I also thought that there might be something sexy about seeing the bulges of their cocks through the costumes while they were done up in makeup and wearing tight, revealing fabrics. A sort of mixture between the world of drag and the world of the homo jocks, muscle and makeup. It was sex I was going for.
And we were doing it for the children.
And to save the gay bar.
But mostly for the children.
And it would go off swimmingly, even if I had to rely on someone like Summer Zeeve. I hadn’t asked her to do shit, but she’d overheard Mike talking about the auction and had all but begged him to be a part of it. I wasn’t clear on whether or not a messy blow job had been given in exchange for a spot on my team, but I wouldn’t put it past Mike. He usually wasn’t a queen chaser but when Summer was her usual self, he was a twink named Tristan and Mike liked twinks almost as much as he liked his partner.
(And no, Darren hadn’t fucked Tristan, much to Tristan’s dismay. In fact, now that I thought about it, I didn’t think Darren had done anything with any queen of mine. Or any other queen, for that matter, twink or not. Granted, I didn’t know (or care!) about his complete sexual history, but I assumed it probably resembled a graduating class from an all-boys Catholic school, but still. I didn’t know how to feel about that.)
(Not good. Definitely not good.)
Summer looked sufficiently cowed when I said, “Now. Where was I?”
“The men,” Georgia said. “How Summer wasn’t going to molest them and we were going to make them beautiful.”
“Right,” I said. “They are doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, and the art of drag is a glorious thing. Combining the two should be nothing short of miraculous.”
“Unless they’re not doing this out of the goodness of their hearts and just want an excuse to put on makeup,” Sofonda said.
“There is that,” I said. “And we will cater to their secret makeup kink and not shame them because we, as drag queens, do not shame anyone unless we are performing. Then, everyone in the audience is fair game, but that’s expected.”
“One time,” Crystal said, “I made fun of a man in the audience so much so that I thought he was going to cry. I felt bad.”
“Bless your heart,” Georgia said. “Of course you did. What happened to him?”
“He turned out to have a humiliation kink and wasn’t about to cry. He was about to come. So I fucked him in the bathroom of the hotel I was performing at. You know that Holiday Inn by the airport? The one where that cult mass suicide happened when they were trying to get to Mars or Venus or something?”
“They have a really fantastic continental breakfast,” Sofonda said. “Eggs and butter and cereal and bagels.”
“Exactly,” Crystal said. “So I fucked him in the bathroom while calling him an asshole because he liked it.”
“What happened then?” Summer asked, voice low as if she thought she’d spook me into railing at her again. “Did you leave him there in a pile of his own come and never see him again?”
Crystal shrugged. “I took the little piss-pig home with me and now we’ve been together for fifteen years.”
Sofonda, Summer, and Georgia all sighed.
“That’s true love right there,” Georgia said. “Continental airport breakfasts and piss-pigs. They should make more movies like that. That’s realism. I swear to god if I have to see another romantic comedy with Kate Hudson, I’ll fucking choke her with my weave.”
“Speaking of love,” Sofonda said, a gleam I didn’t like in her eye, “I feel like we should be addressing the pink elephant in the room.”
Summer looked around the Lair. “What pink elephant? I don’t get it.”
Georgia and Crystal did, though, if their matching grins meant anything.
“Helena,” Sofonda said. “Should we address it?”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” I said, sure my tone of voice would end that line of conversation.
Alas, I was wrong.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Georgia said. “After all, the tension between you and the Homo Jock King was practically legendary. Everyone knew about it.”