Page 7 of This Time Around
At first, I thought he’d had his fill of me, but then I found out he was busy remodeling Josh and Gabe’s newly purchased home. They were eager to get in before the wedding, so Andy was working long hours. I still saw him every single morning I worked when he stopped in for tea and a muffin. He continued to give me that flirty smile but stopped trying to make small talk after I shut him down for a week. Was he waiting for me to make the next move or was he just tired of my rejection? Even I realized it was shitty behavior on my part to accept the glorious orgasms he’d given me without so much as a thank you. Maybe he’d just had enough. If that was the case, what was I prepared to do about it?
A month or so after he returned home, I realized that there was more going on in Andy’s life than just work. I overheard his busybody neighbor tell her gossip-mongering friend that Andy left every Wednesday night around six o’clock and didn’t return until eleven. I wanted to ask how she stayed up so far past her bedtime, but I didn’t comment. I was too crushed, even though I should’ve been happy. Andy had moved on, and I should do the same thing.
Then why was it that Andy still looked hungry and horny when he looked at me? Was his Wednesday-night fuck buddy not getting the job done? Did he leave Andy hungry for more? Was one guy not enough for Randy Andy these days? He was the trifecta of trouble; he made my mind spin, my heart yearn, and my dick hard. Andy was no good for me, and the sooner I accepted it, the better off I’d be.
“Sweetie, I’m not the one putting the extra pep in his step these days. That would be Mr. Wednesday Night giving him a boost with an extra dose of protein.”
Faith cringed, and I realized that was probably taking things a tad too far. Then I realized her discomfort had nothing to do with me implying her brother was a cum slut. She looked like she wanted to tell me something about Andy’s activities, but I knew she wouldn’t. One, she deemed herself neutral, and second, she’d never betray Andy’s trust—or mine for that matter. So, even though I wanted her to tell me I was wrong, I knew she wouldn’t. She was in a tough spot, and I wouldn’t do or say anything that would cost me her friendship. It was time to change the subject.
I clapped my hands excitedly, startling both us and half the queens around me. “Okay, help me pick out the perfect dress for tonight. I haven’t performed in more than a year, so I need my return to be flawless.”
“What are you performing tonight?”
“There will be two large groups in attendance that have requested performances to entertain the guest, or guests, of honor. One is a birthday party and the other is a bachelor party for two grooms. I’m thinking Marilyn would be perfect for both. I’ll sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to one and ‘My Heart Belongs to Daddy’ to the other. Of course, I’m going to have a little fun with the lyrics for Daddy.”
“I love when you do Marilyn,” Faith sighed. “Is someone recording it?”
“Absolutely. I’ll make sure you get a copy. So, obviously, I must wear the iconic white halter-top dress for one of the performances. Which one?”
“Definitely the birthday boy,” Faith said then began looking through the glitzy dresses hanging on my rack. “Oh, this is stunning and would look amazing with your complexion and beautiful blue eyes.”
Faith held up a floor-length, sequined gown that was slit up to the hip and had a plunging bodice that presented an extra challenge for people who didn’t have real cleavage. I would take that challenge and master it. The sequins on the dress were various shades of blues, turquoise, and teal, giving it almost a peacock feel. I often preened like a male peacock completely obsessed with its feathers, so it seemed appropriate to me.
“Don’t forget the fake diamonds,” Faith said. She glanced at her watch and frowned with genuine remorse. “I better go, or I’ll be late meeting Nathan for thatworkthing.” She hugged me quick and kissed my cheek. “I love you, Peach.”
“I love you too, Faith.” I waited until she was almost to the door before I yelled, “Work it, girl.” Yeah, I knew what she was really working.
Faith turned around and smiled. “Own it,” she repeated back to me.Pretty Womanwas one of our favorite movies, and we tried to fit the lines into our conversations whenever we could.
Once she left, I began putting my makeup on. I started by gluing my eyebrows down, and while that dried, I started dabbing on a thick foundation around my lips, chin, and jawline to cover up any chin hairs I missed with the razor. I’d already shaved once that day, but my whiskers grew back fast. I wanted flawless, ivory skin for my performance. After I was satisfied with the foundation, I started in on my contour and highlighting. It took me longer than normal since I was out of practice, but it was like riding a bike. I was pleased when I started blending all the various shades on my face to form a flawless complexion. My cheekbones looked high and cut, and my nose, forehead, and even the little dip above my lip were highlighted to perfection. I wasn’t finished with my transformation though.
I spent another twenty minutes on my cheeks and eyes before I busted out the shimmery powder to accentuate the look I had created with the cream highlighting stick. I turned my head to the left and right, admiring my handiwork in the mirror.
Saving my two nemeses—eyebrows and false lashes—for last, I looked in the mirror to give myself a pep talk. “They just need to be sisters, Milo. They don’t have to be twin sisters.” I blew out a breath and started in on the left eyebrow. I drew it to perfection, and I danced happily in front of the mirror. I got off to a rocky start with the right eyebrow but pulled it out in the end. After that, it was child’s play. Once I had my eyelashes looking amazing, I painted my lips in a daring red color that my drag mother called cock-sucking red. I imagined quite a few guys would imagine my lips wrapped around their cocks by the time I was through performing. The final step was to paint a mole to mimic Marilyn’s on my face.
“Almost showtime, Peach,” the stage manager, Tony Sopranski, said. “Fifteen minutes.”
That sounded like a lot of time, but I needed to manufacture cleavage, put on my wig, and shimmy into my first dress. “Which is first, Tony? Birthday boy or the wedding party?”
“Wedding party.”
Double damn because I had to add all the costume jewelry. I released a nervous breath and got my shit together so I could give the future grooms a night to remember. I stood before the full-length mirror with only a few minutes to go. “Fuck, I look…”
“Fuckable,” Tony said from behind me. “You’ll have them eating out of your palms tonight, Peach. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I told Tony as I followed him down the steps and took my position next to the curtain, waiting for my turn to take the stage.
Mistress Dazzle D came off the stage fanning her face and smiling from ear to ear. “Amazing crowd tonight, Peach,” she told me. “Knock ’em dead.”
I had walked across this stage, and many others just like it, more times than I could count. I could perform these songs in my sleep, but I couldn’t deny that I was overcome by nerves as I waited for my introduction.
“We have a very special treat for you tonight,” the announcer, Jim, said from his booth high above the action. “Back by popular demand, our very own Madame O-Feel-Ya Peach has returned to the stage at Queen City Divas. Hold onto your hearts and your cocks, and please note that management is not responsible if you jizz your pants.” I snickered at that part. “Let’s give our Peach a warm welcome.”
I waited a few heartbeats as adrenaline raced through my body from the crowd’s enthusiastic reaction. Instead of parting the curtains and walking onto the stage, I stuck my long, perfectly toned leg out, knowing that the spotlight was on it. I heard the catcalls when I ran my hand over my stockings and teased the lacy edges of the band around the thigh.
“Peach! Peach! Peach!” the crowd chanted.
I held my microphone up to my smiling lips and winked playfully at Tony. “Who, me?” I asked the crowd in a whispery baby-soft voice, lifting my leg higher against the velvet curtain.