Beautiful Losers - Part Four

Baby, baby, we like your lips.
Baby, baby, we like your pants
All aboard for funtime **

It gets little crowded when everyone wants the bathroom mirror at the same time. On the other hand, eyeliner always looks better when some one else puts it on you.

"Don't move an inch, you gorgeous tramp," I commanded, sitting astride Jean's lap and lining his upper lids. "We need a clean line here at the corners and my hand is going to shake if you keep kneading my ass that way."

"I like your ass," whispered Jean. He wore as earnest an expression as one can effect with only one eye painted. "Will you let me have it?"

"Ah... I have a perfectly good orifice at the front. Why can't you use that?" The conversation was making me nervous. In principal, I didn't have anything against anal sex, just as long as it wasn't my ass. "Close your eyes again and I'll do the other one."

"Think of it as initiation." He grinned as he closed them. Seeing him blind with his head tilted up made me want to kiss him in the worst way, but he'd just done his lips and the sealant was still drying.

"Oh, so if I don't let you, I don't get into the club? Is this blackmail?" I ran the liner from the outer edge of his eye upward, with a flick of the wrist. "How come I could never get it this perfect on myself?"

Jean opened his eyes. Wicked temptress eyes. Black fringed sapphires. "Don't you trust me?"

I froze for a second. "Okay, you're done!" I went to get off his lap, but he pulled me back down.

"You didn't answer me," he said sulkily. "Don't you trust me?"

Did I trust him? About some things, certainly, but in this particular area, would I have trusted anyone? Fuck, I had no idea.

"I don't know. Maybe just not yet. Hey, I'm not the only virgin here - metaphorically speaking."

"Will you let me know when you do?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll make her beg for it," interjected Sebastian. He was finishing his coiffing process. It was the most effort you could put into making it look like you just got out of bed.

I scrambled off Jean's lap. "Can't you say anything without it sounding perverse?"

I stood beside Sebastian at the mirror and fixed my own hair. It wasn't really standing up the way it should. Sometimes too many cooks can spoil the broth - I teased it mercilessly.

Sebastian caught Jean as he walked by and pinned him to the bathroom counter, crushing his hips against Jean's leather-clad backside. "We could just stay home and fuck like animals." Sebastian smiled lasciviously at my reflection.

Jean rewarded him with a backwards grind, but his words were to me. "No, he can't. That's why I love him."

It was incredibly hot to watch. I wrenched myself away from the spectacle. "If we're not going out, I'm not going to bother with the rest of the make-up, so someone decide now!"

They were still at it, grinding away at each other in the mirror. "Oh, absolutely not," said Jean breathily. "We are going out! We have to celebrate and the world needs to know!"

Sebastian backed off Jean's ass. He had the most massive hard-on, clearly visible at the crotch of his black jeans. He gave me a mock frown. "Dinner, Clubbing... do the make-up, Shirakins. Jean needs his audience."

- - -

It was almost midnight by the time we reached the Warehouse. We'd burned three hours over sushi and chased each other round the tatami room with sundry types of raw fish. I had graciously tolerated the myriad female anatomy metaphors that might haunt any Japanese restaurant: wait till the sashimi gets warm, it feels just like pussy; inner lips on the hokagai; oysters - well, you can imagine.

Walking into the club did feel a lot like an entrance. It was a small scene and everyone knew everyone. Now, it was Jean's mission in life to inform the entire population about how things had changed. He grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of a mutual friend.

"Stan, I'd like to introduce you to my new wife, Shira."

Stan, tall, statuesque, owner of a hair salon, looked understandably confused. He looked from Jean, to me, and back to Jean. "I beg your pardon?"

Sebastian walked up behind us and slid his long arms around both our shoulders possessively. "We two are now three," he pronounced solemnly.

"Oh MY GOD!" screeched Stan at the top of his lungs. Half the bar area looked around. "You're joking! Tell me this isn't true, Shira."

I didn't really think it was worthy of quite the hysterics Stan was ascribing to it. "What answer would you prefer?"

"IT IS! Oh my LORD, it IS true! Well smack my ass and call me a Dorothy! You're fucking these fags?" wailed Stan. "Couldn't you get a real man of your own, Shira?"

This was rich, coming from Stan; he was already halfway through a gender reassignment. I didn't appreciate the implication that I was poaching either - that was just pure bitch - but it was slowly dawning on me that this might not be a socially comfortable state of affairs. "A real man - you mean, like you?" I asked innocently.

"Touche," whispered Sebastian in my ear.

Stan surveyed the three of us for a moment, faked a shiver down the spine and said, "This is just too weird. I need a drink." He turned on his heels and walked off to the bar.

But the interchange lingered with me. The music was pounding and Jean had me in tow, doing the social rounds, but I really wasn't paying attention. Real men. What wasn't real about these men? The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. Had the accusation been that they weren't real fags - that I could have accepted; I was a little confused about that one myself.

I excused myself and climbed the stairs to the ladies washroom. It was packed to the tits and there was a line-up for the stalls.

"Shira! Fuck girl, you look good!" Blonde and teased to within an inch of her life, Phaedra kissed me on the cheek. Thank god for lipcote.

"Hey, Phaedra."

"I just heard something -well - kind of wild. So I thought I'd come to the source."

"Oh, yeah. What's that?" I asked dryly. Were we all still at high school?

"Are you doing Sebastian and Jean at the same time?" Phaedra was nothing if not direct.

I swiped away a little lipstick over-run on my bottom lip. "Yes."

"And?"

"And what?" I looked up from the microcosm of my mouth to see the whole of the ladies washroom looking at me in the mirror. "For fuck's sake. Do you all mind?" I demanded, turning on them..

"And? Well? What's it like?"

I eyed Phaedra coldly. I actually liked her; we'd worked together at an import record store for a short time and had a lot of fun. "I'm not going to talk about it in front of the cheerleader squad. Buy me a drink."

She grabbed my wrist and hauled me out of the washroom so fast I thought my shoulder was going to dislocate. Settled in a quiet corner of the upstairs lounge, Phaedra dutifully lined up three flaming Sambuca shooters and handed me a straw. "Talk."

I blew out the blue flame on the first shooter glass, plunged the straw in and sucked up the sweet, licorice fluid. "What do you want to know?"

"Is it good?"

I restrained myself from being heartless and asking her if she meant the drink. "Yes."

"Damn it, Shira. I didn't buy you three shooters for one-word answers. I want details."

"It's very good."

Phaedra glared at me angrily and then decided to try again. "I've heard that Sebastian is hung like a horse - is it true?"

"Yes."

"Does he know how to use it?"

"Yes."

"Argh! Shira. Details please!!!"

"Geez Phaedra, it's just a little strange. I don't know how you gauge someone's sexual prowess when there are more than two of you in a bed. Does he marathon fuck? No. Could he? Yes, I think so, but I don't know who'd want it. It gets a little painful after a while."

"That's the sort of detail I was after!" Phaedra grinned suggestively and then turned serious. "Now, do they both fuck you at the same time?"

"No." I sank my straw into the second shooter and sucked it down in one long pull.

"Why not?"

Suddenly, I just didn't want to be that open about it. It was too new and raw and I didn't want to scrutinize it to death like I did with most things. "We only did it twice. It's kind of new for all of us. Okay?"

Phaedra looked puzzled. "The way I heard it, you guys have been together for ages and were keeping it a secret."

I gave her a dubious look. "A secret? Who the hell can keep a secret in this town? Certainly not Jean, probably not Sebastian either."

"All the queens are saying nasty things about you. That you're a fag hag who doesn't know her place."

"Yeah, I kind of got that feeling from Stan."

"Well? Are you just going to let them say that about you? Aren't you going to defend yourself?" demanded Phaedra.

I contemplated the question while sucking down the last Sambuca. It was hitting my bloodstream, and not a second too soon.

"What am I gonna say, Phaedra? Whatever I say, they're going to be pissed. Maybe they're right - maybe I am a fag hag whose overstepped." I shrugged, poached a cigarette from her pack and lit it. "But I want to know who sets the bounds. I didn't go shopping for this, you know? It just sort of happened - and at their invitation, I might add."

- - -

Downstairs, Sebastian caught my arm and pulled me onto the dance-floor. It was something heavy-based and slow, but still deafeningly loud. He stooped a little and kissed me on the cheek.

"Where's Jean?" I yelled in his ear.

"He'll be down shortly. He's just in the washroom." Sebastian let his hands slide over my ass and pressed me into him.

"I don't think our arrangement is going down very well on a social level."

"Fuck them. Kiss me."

"That would just exacerbate the whole situation, don't you think?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," he chuckled, and pulled my face up to meet his.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized how tall he actually was. Even with four-inch heels on, I still had to crane my neck back. The way he kissed me made me feel even smaller; he practically lifted me off my feet like a rag doll. I closed my eyes and everything disappeared but the music, his mouth, and his hands on my ass. When he finished, he nestled his lips close to my ear and said, "Here comes our sweet boy."

I turned around to see Jean dodging people lithely to get to us. It was wonderful to watch him move when he didn't think he was being observed. He did glide, eel-like. Despite his small frame, he rolled his shoulders as he walked in a deliciously predatory way. When he reached us, he flopped his arms limply over my shoulders.

"Isn't this wild? Everyone thinks we're going to burn in the deepest pit of hell - everyone!"

I slipped my arms around his waist, pulled him against me and spoke into his ear. "You, Mister Jean, are a trouble-maker, you know that?"

"I certainly hope so. Wouldn't life be a bore if no one was?" Jean responded. He began to dance against me, slowly, sinuously.

I felt Sebastian's body behind me. They were making a sandwich of me - there in front of the whole fucking world. Okay, I admit it - I was a little scandalized - but I was damned if anyone else was going to know it.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked. But the question was redundant. Jean had a thigh wedged between my legs and I could feel the stirrings of an erection at my hip as he moved against me. Sebastian was unquestionably happy; his hard-on was biting into my lower back.

That's when I wondered if this wasn't all about performance. Why be so public? Why did everyone need to know so badly, or so fast? Was I just a prop in their outrageous party piece?

The music changed to something a lot faster and harder, but neither of them seemed to notice. They were too busy using me as a scratching post. Sebastian's face was in the crook of my neck, feeding on me like a vampire and I was eating all Jean's lipstick off. Between the rubbing and the grinding it got so bad I had to concentrate on not doing something as declasse as orgasming in public on a dance floor.

"Jean," I whimpered. "You're thigh, sweetheart, you're going to have to stop doing that or I'm going to lose it right here. Please... I'm not joking."

"You're outrageously easy to get off," Jean hissed in my ear. He looked up to Sebastian. "I think it's time to get our little Shira home, Seb," he yelled.

"Why?"

"Don't ask questions," retorted Jean. "Let's go."

__________________________

**"Fun-time", Pop/Gardner

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