I squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”
He smiled as he took a sip of his whiskey. “Just wait.”
“No, seriously. What are you—”
The music cut off. The lights dimmed.
The crowd roared as everyone turned toward the stage.
A spotlight shone on the curtain as an absolutely filthy beat of music growled through the speakers, heavy on the bass. So much so, in fact, that the booth was vibrating.
“Ooohhhhhh,” Helena Handbasket moaned from somewhere off stage. “I smell men.”
The men were very appreciative of this.
A long leg stuck out from behind the curtain. The foot had a black heel on it with a stiletto spike. The calf and thigh were wrapped in what looked like black tape.
“Oh Jesus,” Paul said. “She really went for it.”
Before I could ask what he meant, that same beat rolled through the bar again and the curtain parted.
Helena Handbasket stood on the stage, and Paul wasn’t kidding. She really went for it.
As it turned out, the black wrappings around her leg pretty much constituted her entire costume. It must have taken hours to get it just right and still be technically legal, though I was sure she was violating something.
The tape was strategically placed around her entire body. She did have on a flesh-colored leotard, but it was so close to her actual skin color that it was barely noticeable. The tape wrapped around her legs and arms and chest. Her wig was a black bob cut sharply around her face. Her makeup was smoky and dark. She looked amazing.
But then I was distracted by the man sitting in the folding chair on the stage behind her.
It was Darren Mayne, the Homo Jock King.
He wore leather pants and his chest harness. He was scowling, so at least that was normal.
The music began to play, something about sweat and writhing and fucking, and I was shocked when Helena began to just use Darren like a prop. He’d never been part of her show before. For all that the Homo Jock King was, he didn’t necessarily like being the center of attention. Sandy had tried to get him on stage following the auction at Jack It, where he had made a terrible queen, but he’d refused.
He had apparently given in now, though.
And what made it even more astonishing was that it seemed to be choreographed. Helena straddled his lap, looking over her shoulder as she lip-synced into the microphone. When the music hit another sharp beat, Darren’s hands came up to her waist as she fell backward, and he held her in place as she moved from side to side, hair bouncing around her face. Her hips gyrated against him as he pulled her up, a large hand spreading over her back, holding her against his chest. She sang down to him, running a long fingernail over his bottom lip.
A moment later she was up off his lap, prowling around him, her hands on his chest and stomach and shoulders. He was starting to glisten with sweat, and if I didn’t know they were already together, I would have been convinced I was witnessing the elusive mating dance of the dragitus queenlia. I wondered if Darren knew that after they had mated, she would devour him whole.
I thought he probably did. And that he didn’t have a problem with that.
“Wow,” Vince said. “I do not want to see this happening to my brother.”
Yeah, I could almost see his point. I was going to have to have a few words with Sandy about how giving his friends erections in public was not okay.
Fortunately, the song was over quickly. It ended when Helena gripped the sides of Darren’s face and mauled him on stage. The crowd bellowed their appreciation, and Darren looked dazed when Helena pulled away, his lips smeared with her black lipstick.
Helena was panting as she turned to face the bar. She grinned and winked at our table. “Hello,” she breathed into the microphone. “I must apologize. I didn’t see you all standing there. I hope you don’t mind that little display.”
They absolutely did not seem to mind.
“Good,” she said. “I sometimes forget myself when I have such a pretty little plaything.” She yelped when Darren reached forward and smacked her ass. She glared at him, and I knew that hadn’t been choreographed.
She must have been fine with it, however, because Darren was allowed to keep his hand. “Thank you, boo,” she said to him, her voice echoing around the bar. “I do love you so.” Darren stood, and she reached over to wipe the smudge of lipstick off his face. I grimaced when Darren sucked her finger into his mouth, cheeks hollowing. She pulled it out with an audible wet pop that was going to haunt my dreams. He arched an eyebrow at her as the crowd roared. She covered the mic and whispered something to him. His expression softened in a way I wouldn’t have expected when I’d first met him. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek before grabbing the chair and walking off stage.
“Goodbye,” Helena said. “How does the old expression go? I love to see him go, but it’s even better when I get to see him coming.” She turned back toward the crowd, a nasty curl to her lips. “And he comes a lot.”