“I think Darren was a little miffed when we said no strippers. But then I reminded him that I don’t like twinks like he does, so.”
“He better not still like twinks,” I said with a scowl.
“Not like that,” he said. “But aside from Sandy, you know his type. I think he wanted to go to Phoenix to go to Dick’s.”
“Gross. Both the going-to-Phoenix part and the going-to-a-gay-strip-club part. There is nothing attractive about getting a lap dance. Unless you want me to put that dong in my mouth, you have no business flopping it in my face.”
Vince looked amused. “You don’t mind my floppy dong in your face.”
“That’s because I put it in my mouth.”
“Right.”
“Besides, you’re a chubby chaser. You wouldn’t like those skinny little bitches anyway.”
He rolled his eyes. “I do like meat on them bones. More than a handful when I need it.”
“I don’t know whether I’m offended or turned on.”
“Second one. And I’m not a chubby chaser. I’m a Paul chaser.”
“Ow, my heart.”
“Just your heart?”
“Why are you sitting back in the chair and rubbing your hand across your chest?” I asked, voice high-pitched.
He shrugged, hand moving slowly down his chest to his stomach until his fingers rested just underneath the waistband of his shorts. “I’m wearing that jock strap you like,” he said lightly.
“The red one?” I squeaked.
“With the white straps.”
“Holy sweat balls,” I breathed. “I want to put my face on your face.”
He grinned wickedly. “You get to be the coach this time. I’m your star player who happens to get a leg cramp and needs you to help me work it out.”
“What sport?”
His face scrunched up as he thought. “Cricket.”
“Cricket? I don’t think anyone actually plays cricket—oh what the hell. Good game, Taylor. I see you scored the field goal touchdown thing with the sticky wicket.”
“Yeah, Coach. I did good. But ow! My leg hurts. It’s cramping.”
“So much thigh,” I whispered. “I mean, yeah. That’s terrible. Here, let me rub one out—er, rub off on you. Goddammit. Fuck this. I am going to eat out your ass while you’re bent over this table and still wearing the jock strap. You game?”
His shorts were already around his ankles and he was resting on his elbows on the table by the time I finished speaking.
“I’m going to do so many bad things to you,” I growled.
He grinned at me over his shoulder. “Bring it, Coach.”
“I AM not wearing this,” I snapped at Helena as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. We were in my room, Helena next to me with her hands on her hips, looking absolutely phenomenal in complete Jessica Rabbit mode—sparkling red dress with oversized breasts, waist cinched tight accentuating killer curves. Her makeup was flawless, lips large and pouty, red wig that hung down in a wave over her right eye. The purple gloves were dangling from the hanger on the door, the spike heels sitting on the floor next to her bed. She told me she was experimenting with makeup and style in case she decided to pursue the Miss Gay America pageant. She was already Miss Gay Tucson, having won that one in early February, and had a good lock on Miss Gay Arizona that would happen in a few months in the hellhole known as Phoenix. She didn’t talk much about it, but I knew she was weighing her options. Darren had told her he had her back either way, but I could see he was hoping she’d go through with it. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone look more proud of her when she’d won Miss Gay Tucson than him. I didn’t get to see Darren like she did. He was still cool and aloof, but there were moments when that Homo Jock King mask slipped and I saw the fierce loyalty he had for both Sandy and Helena. They bickered a little too much for my taste, but I trusted Darren with Sandy’s heart, even if I thought he was still a dick.
So Sandy looked wonderful. Corey did too: tight black slacks that showed off his slim figure, Salvatore Ferragamo dress shoes on his feet that’d been a gift from Sandy for his near 4.0 GPA last semester, and an olive dress shirt with the top few buttons opened up to his smooth chest. His hair was perfectly styled into a curly afro, the ringlets tight and colored lightly at the tips.
And there I stood, wearing a sparkly tiara with a sash around my chest that read CAUTION: BRIDE TO BE, bookended by pictures of a gigantic, veiny black cock.