The Queen & the Homo Jock King (At First Sight 2)
“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.
Chapter 1: A Dick for You and a Dick for Me
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.