Tell Me It's Real(8)

“I know you are,” she snapped. “And that’s the problem. You’ve become complacent. Stuck in your routine.”

“This whole tough-love thing is kind of hard to take seriously when you just taped your balls back in front of me,” I said.

Helena stood up and gave herself one last look over. “Go ahead, Paul. Make jokes. Brush it off like you always do. But deep down, you know I’m right. I harp on you because I love you and I worry. I don’t want to see you alone and full of regret after having wasted your life by shying away from the chances you could have taken.”

“How could I possibly be alone?” I asked her quietly as I tried to look away. “I’ve got you.”

She looked at me in the mirror for a moment before turning her sad, expertly sparkled eyes to me. She stayed rooted where she was, but leaned forward and kissed me gently on the cheek. I knew she’d left the perfect imprint of lips there, like she was Marilyn Monroe and the most perfect specimen of womanhood ever. “And you will always have me,” she whispered in a throaty voice. “I love you, baby doll.”

I grinned at her. “I love you too.” And I did. I do.

“How does Momma look?” She stood up straight and preened and posed in front of me.

“Like the hottest, most fiercest thing to ever walk the face of the earth,” I told her in all seriousness. “There was never one more beautiful than you.”

“You’re too good to me,” she breathed dramatically. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Find another homo to stroke your ego?”

“No one strokes me like you do,” she purred. “You sure I can’t convince you to come down?”

I shook my head. “I’ll just stay up here with Charlie.” Charlie heard his name mentioned and grunted at us. He’s the old guy who handles the spotlight and video camera for the drag performances. “You’ll be my boyfriend for tonight, won’t you, Daddy?” I called over to him.

“Whatever you say, boy,” he rumbled at me without even looking. We all think he used to be some big Tom of Finland leather queen back in the day, though no one knows for sure. He’s got to be in his seventies or eighties now, but you can still see the striking big man buried under all that saggy skin. I’m one of the few people who can get away with calling him Daddy. There’s nothing sexual about it; I just think it makes him feel better. I do what I can for the elderly.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered to Helena. “He called me ‘boy’ again. Maybe this will be the start to our beautiful D/s relationship and I’ll call him Master or Sir and we’ll live out the rest of our sadomasochistic days together in perfect fisting harmony. My asshole is all aquiver just thinking about it.”

Helena gave a very unladylike snort. “Yeah, I remember when you thought the Dom/sub route was going to be your next big thing. That leather daddy bent you over his knee to give you your first spanking, and you tried to lecture him with statistics on domestic abuse in Arizona.”

I scowled. “It’s not my fault he misinterpreted my intentions. I just wanted to get tied up for a bit. How was I to know he was going to go all hard core the first time around?”

“Oh, darling,” she sighed. “If spanking is hard core to you, then it’s probably a good idea he didn’t introduce you to a cock cage to start out with.”

“I don’t even want to know what that is,” I assured her, even though I kind of did. A cage? For your cock? Like it was some sort of chicken?

“Helena, you’re up in two,” Charlie called over his shoulder.

“Showtime,” she said as she took a deep breath.

“Break a falsie.”

She flashed me a wicked grin before she headed down the stairs.

I listened to make sure there was no thump thump thump, the telltale sign of a drag queen in high heels falling down the stairs. There wasn’t, so I moved to the balcony that overlooked the dance floor and stage and sat down next to Charlie.

“You going to need that spanking, boy?” he asked me with a twitch to his lips.

“Oh, Daddy,” I said as I blushed.

Moments later, she took the stage and the show was on. I’m sure you’re thinking that if you’ve seen even one drag queen perform Lady Gaga before, then you know what to expect. But it’s not even close. There’s just something about Helena that forces you to watch her work the stage and the runway, stealing kisses in exchange for dollar bills. Drag is not an easy thing to do, especially if you’re an athletic performer like Helena. It’s more than just strutting about and lip-syncing. It’s art. It’s performance. And, in the case of my best friend, it’s also gymnastics, and I winced slightly as she did a cartwheel and then fell into a full-on split during the middle of “Poker Face.” Of course, the crowd went wild, and I was probably the only one worried about her balls. But, as the best friend, if I didn’t worry about them, then who would?