Adelyn tilts her head and lifts a brow. “Is someone drag-curious?”
Does that mean the same thing as bi-curious? “No. Just plain ol’ curious.”
“It’s different from person to person. Some take female hormones. Some have undergone full-on sexual reassignment. Some have man parts with breast implants. Some are plain men who’ve done nothing besides glitter and sequins.”
“The ones without real tits stuff their bra?” I use the word real loosely.
“Well, yeah, but not like a pre-puberty girl. No socks or tissues. A lot of them buy the same products as women who’ve had mastectomies.”
I don’t understand this. The thought of dressing like a woman has zero appeal to me. Don’t want to be or look like one. Only want to be inside one. And often.
But I guess the same can be said for these men. A lot of them probably have zero desire to ride a motorcycle or pound their fists into a punching bag or slide their dicks into a tight, wet pussy.
Or maybe they do those things and this too. I don’t know. Don’t really care. I’m only here because Adelyn asked me to come.
Pussy Galore announces a group of five performers as they dash onto stage. “Damn. They move fast in fuck-me pumps.”
“I’ve been wearing heels for fifteen years but there’s no way in hell I could do that without turning an ankle.”
The group breaks into song and dance to “It’s Raining Men.” Fitting. “The first performance of the night is always a group.”
There’s one African American performer on stage. “Is that Maurice?”
“No. He’s probably in the dressing room putting on the final touches of his makeup.”
“What did he say when you told him you were bringing me?”
“I didn’t tell him. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
I can’t imagine getting on stage and doing something like this is easy. “Would he be nervous if he knew we were coming to see him perform?”
“No. Maurice doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of him therefore he doesn’t get nervous. I thought it would be in your best interest if he didn’t know ahead of time.”
“My best interest? What does that mean?”
Adelyn laughs. “You’ll see.”
Pussy Galore returns to the stage when the first performance is over. “And now, ladies and gentleman, put your perfectly manicured hands together for one of our club favorites. Miss Wet Me Houston.”
The crowd erupts into cheers and catcalls. Big time. “Looks like the crowd loves them some Wet Me.”
“Yes, they do. She’s very interactive with the crowd.”
“Which is it? He or she?” Adelyn is confusing me bouncing back and forth between the two.
“Different for everyone. Maurice hasn’t had sexual reassignment or breast implants so he’s fine with being referred to as he. But it’s she when he’s in drag.” This is confusing as hell. I thought he wore feminine clothes all the time. Is that not considered drag?
I immediately recognize the Whitney Houston song Maurice is going to sing. “All the Man I Need.”
“You said he was interactive in the crowd. What does that mean?”
“Relax. Sit back. Enjoy the show.” Not sure I like that mischievous grin on her face right now.
Maurice, or Wet Me, comes onto stage and I’m shocked by how genuinely feminine he looks. He isn’t tall and awkward like a lot of the queens. I would totally think he was a female if I saw him out on the street. “He looks just like a woman.”
“I know. Pretty amazing, right?”
He opens his mouth and I’d swear it’s a woman’s voice. “That’s his real voice?”
“Yup.”
“That is crazy.” Makes me wonder how many times I’ve seen a woman who isn’t really a woman.
One of my fraternity brothers was making out with a girl one time and she turned out to not be a girl at all. I always thought it was bullshit, that maybe he was gay and trying to hide it after getting caught. But I see now how it might be possible to get it wrong.
Wet Me comes off stage and snakes her way through the crowd. She briefly stops at the tables in her path and flirts with men not in drag. Touching them. Serenading them.
She zigzags around the tables, and I know I’m in deep shit when she stops at ours. Oh. Fuck. No.
She’s wearing a headpiece mic so her hands are completely free. Free to remove her feather boa and toss it over my head. Free to pull me toward her. Free to plop down in my lap and put her arms around my neck.
I’ve never, never, never had a fucking dude in my lap. Ever.
Adelyn holds up her phone to snap a picture. “Oh, fuck, no.”
She’s saying something but I can’t hear her over the music and singing in my ear.
I’m not going to be a dick about taking a picture with her friend. But I’m not happy about it.
I lean in for the photo and Wet Me presses her face to mine while she continues to sing about all the man she needs. All right. I’m going along with the picture, dude, but don’t push it. You’re still a guy with a dick and you’re sitting in my lap.
I’m grateful when Wet Me gets up and moves on to another table. “Did you know she would do that to me?”
“I had high hopes.” She turns her phone around to show me the picture she took of us. “That is nothing but awesome sauce.”
Fuck, no, it’s not. “No one sees that. Ever.”
“Don’t worry, Thorn. Just another secret to add to our growing collection.”
The audience applauds like crazy when Wet Me finishes her song. “You’ve been a really good sport about coming here. Most straight guys wouldn’t set foot in this place.”
“It was entertaining. Maurice, or Wet Me, is very good, but I can’t say I want to come here for our second date.”
Adelyn tries to hide her smile behind her hand. Unsuccessful. “There’s going to be a second date, huh?”
“I’m hopeful.”
“What do you say we go back stage and see Maurice before his next act so we can slip out and continue this first date elsewhere?”
Hell, yeah. That earns her a smile. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
&nbs
p; Adelyn leads me to the back of the club. Many people call out to her, giving hugs, kisses, and hello darlings as we pass. All while eyeing me.
I’m blocked by a brunette queen who meets me eye to eye. Feels very confrontational. I might find it a little intimidating if I weren’t so confident in my ability to defend myself. “Hey, newbie.”
“Hello.”
“Back off, Cherry. He’s with me.”
“Just looking, doll.” Her eyes roam my body from top to . . . crotch. “Mmm. We don’t get many like him in here.”
“Leave him alone. He’s straight.”
“Honey, they all say that.”
Adelyn grabs my hand, and we push through the crowd. I’m not at all comfortable with the level of physical contact happening as we pass. “Whoa. Fuck. Somebody just grabbed my dick.”
There’s only one person in this place who has my consent to do that.
“Ah, shit. I’m sorry.” She moves in front of me and backs up until my cock is pressed against her ass. “Stick to me like glue.”
F.U.C.K.
My body is smashed against hers but it’s impossible to move together without breaking contact. The more I try to walk with her, the more we counteract and I end up unintentionally thrusting my cock against her ass with every step.
My now rock-hard cock.
I’m in a drag club with a huge hard-on.
Nothing about that is right.
I’m still behind Adelyn with my hands firmly on her hips when she knocks on the door to a dressing room. “It’s Addie.”
“Get in here, darlin’. And bring that motherfucking delicious honey with you.”
This isn’t Wet Me. This is Maurice.
“First of all, bitch. What the hell you coming up in here without calling some-damn-body first?”
“If you knew we were coming, you’d have done something far more outrageous than giving him a lap dance.” It was not a lap dance.
“But yes. You were right to not call.” Maurice looks me over. “So this is your Oliver Thorn?”
Her Oliver Thorn? What has she said about me to give him that impression?
“Good to meet you. Enjoyed the show.”
Maurice looks at my hands cupped over my crotch. “Liked me sitting on your lap that much, huh?”