drama

Drama
Robert Hyers

…Drama…

John had short, chopped hair, frozen in place from massive amounts of styling gel. His lanky wrists hung from his forearms. He wore black shoes and black dress pants with white pinstripes. A tight black shirt, with gray lettering that read BOYS SUCK, accentuated the slightly developed chest given to him through genetics.

He was insignificant.

...Drama...

John heard from the next room the unknown queen who spoke on top of a pounding tribal beat coming from the large speakers chained to the ceiling. Her voice was altered, slowed down by the producer. She sounded like a demonic goddess.

He hoped Justin would be waiting.

…Drama…

He paid the ten pound cover charge to a fat woman with a large mole above her upper lip. He knew from past conversations that she was a kindergarten teacher by day. John wondered if she told stories about this place to the other teachers in the faculty room, debauched stories that good kindergarten teachers shouldn't know.

…The drama…starts…here…

He walked onto the dance floor. A large chipped and scratched triangle that had faded over the years from a bright pink to an almost white was visible in the dance floor's center.

Only a handful of young fags were dancing.

A series of elevated bars surrounded the dancers. They served as places where the old queens could drink their bottles of beer and watch the young queens dance. The ritual of display had begun for another night. Most of the dancers had slender builds, wore tight shirts like John's, and hid any imperfections on their bronzed skin with cover-up.

John walked the surrounding bars and watched the old queens watch the young dancers. Most of the old queens were balding. Some shaved their entire heads bare and others left a faint trace of hair that came around the back and sides of the skull in a semicircle. They wore tight shirts and straight legged blue jeans that showed off the bodies they tried to keep looking young with intense exercise regiments and the meticulous monitoring of caloric intakes.

He kept his eye out for Justin, a friend with a car who would serve as his ride home.

Beyond the bars was the staircase that led to the roof and another room, but John wasn't interested in going up there just yet. At the nearest bar he purchased an overpriced bottle of water. It had a white label with blue letters that read PRIDE, with a small pink triangle replacing the dot over the i. He surveyed the club to make sure the security guards couldn't see him and put the pill on his tongue. He drank the water and waited for the ecstasy to kick in.

John recognized a dancer and admired the flawless face that needed no cover-up. The dancer’s hair shot out in spikes, reminding John of a crown.

It was Damien.

Damien had been a freshman when John was a senior. So Damien could only be of legal age now, so either he used his charms or a fake ID to get in previously.

Damien was a queen among queens, the loudest and most obnoxious.

He was dancing with a drag queen John didn't recognize. She wore a red, china doll dress with gold designs that hugged her curves. She had wrapped her black wig in a bun and secured it with two chopsticks. Only her broad shoulders and Adam's apple revealed what was really beneath the dress.

Poor girl.

She was just Damien's newest entertainment to be enjoyed and discarded

…Everywhere you turn...

He watched the crowd grow. If they felt the same as John, they poured in to escape their barren suburban prisons that surrounded this sexual oasis. You were free to be whatever you wanted here. Whatever persona you'd created in the privacy of your bedroom, in the safety of the night, could be displayed here, five nights a week if you could afford all that cover charge.

John felt the familiar sensations of the ecstasy start.

Justin should've been here by now.

It first appeared in his stomach, then branched out through his legs and arms, into his fingertips and toes, and, finally, his brain. It was an inexplicable, synthesized felicity that engulfed his body and mind. He compared the different variations of ecstasy to voodoo gods; both were created and destroyed in accordance with their followers' needs. In the past few weeks John had tried playboys, 007s, and mitsubishis.

Tonight he had taken two turbos. He knew they were cut with a large amount of speed. He wondered what they would do to him, how these pills would be different from the last.

John looked for Justin again but with no luck.

An anonymous Adonis danced, wearing white sneakers and tight dark blue jeans that showed off his toned ass, caught John’s eye.

Golden skin covered the guy’s well-developed chest and arms. The artificial happiness intensified and took the weights of self-loathing and inhibition from John's body.

He moved through the crowd and started dancing with the Adonis.

…there's something dramatic waiting to happen…

The Adonis told John his name, but it floated into the gray secondhand smoke before John could catch it.

So John slid his fingertips up and down the Adonis' arms. They were smooth and moisturized. The sensation was almost transcendental, and John had to pull away. They continued dancing.

“My boyfriend is watching from the bar…and he's big."

John noticed Damien walk by. He walked slowly, acting as if the dance floor was his stage. He looked directly at John as he passed. John locked eyes with him. The speed rushed up from John's abdomen and into his limbs, and he turned his attention back to dancing with, and touching only the arms of the Adonis.

"You shouldn't tease me so," John said. His tongue was numb in mid-sentence, and he tripped on the few words.

The Adonis smiled and brushed his golden hand across John's cheek.

A new sample was introduced on top of the consistent tribal beat. He concentrated on it. It sounded like the peculiar noise the Tupperware would make when John's mother scrubbed them with determination in a steaming sink after dinner.

Then John heard a new queen's voice, slightly sped up:

…So wacha ya wanna talk about?…

In the few minutes it took to concentrate on that sample, John lost the Adonis. But he didn't care. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

…So wachya wanna talk about?...

He turned and saw Damien dancing. Damien's eyes periodically rolled into the back of his head and then returned. His breath reeked of gin.

They began dancing. John looked around and saw no signs of the china doll drag queen. The two danced closer and held each other.

…So wachya wanna talk about?… Havin' sex?…

Then they kissed. John wished Justin was here to see this. The queen among queens was kissing the insignificant John. This revelation made John feel safe and warm. The kiss seemed to last an eternity.

Their mouths slowly drew away.

…So wachya wanna talk about?… Havin' sex?…

Damien's pupils rolled back into his head again and his body wavered back and forth. He wrapped his hands around John's neck for support. When his pupils returned he lowered himself to John's crotch and gently nibbled at his pants. John laughed. Damien rose and cupped his hand around John's ear.

Without waiting for an answer, Damien led John through the crowd and stale cigarette smoke, through the old queen bars, and up the narrow flight of stairs to the roof.

An old gray wood fence lined the space. Pieces of colored neon from signs on the surrounding buildings shone through its cracks. During the summer the roof was filled with clubkids who needed fresh air. But it was too cold for that now. Once on the roof, John heard house music. It came from the other room that stood at the far end of the roof. The security usually left the door propped open, even in the colder seasons, because of the room's poor ventilation. The two moved to a small, partially hidden alcove. John leaned against the fence and unbuttoned his pants.

John had always wanted Damien. If not him, then the power he embodied.

The full rapture of the ecstasy both energized and fatigued him. It was too much to handle. John grabbed the pointed tips of the fence with all his strength. He couldn't feel the splinters digging into his skin. His eyes felt heavy. He let them fall. Damien covered John with his warm mouth. The warmth felt good against the cold air that touched the exposed area of John's torso. John wanted to open his eyes and watch, but his eyelids were still too heavy. He wished Justin were here to see this, to witness the queen among queens blowing the insignificant John.

When Damien finished, they kissed. Damien unbuttoned his pants and the two switched places. When John started, he felt Damien's muscles tighten. Gradually, he wanted to feel Damien's power transfer to him. All that Damien was; the stunning good looks; the cocky attitude; the slicing wit; all traveled from Damien's center, through his cock, and into
John. He siphoned as much of it as he could. Damien's muscles tightened more. Damien let out a small moan. John felt the power traveling.

…Drama…

John heard a different mix of the same song. The bassline and melody were different. But the tribal beat remained, and the voice was still the same: slow, demonic.
A set of long fingernails scratched the back of his head, dug into John's styled hair and pulled, leaving a bridge of spider web come connecting the swelled tip of Damien's cock to John's mouth. The fingernails pulled his head back and down. John found himself looking up at the China Doll Drag Queen.

The rapture disappeared.

Fear gripped him.

She threw John up against the fence and kicked him in the groin. The pain shot through him and he felt dizzy. She punched him in the stomach once. Then twice. Her black wig came undone and spilled onto her back. The chopsticks fell to the ground. John couldn't respond.

His arms and legs felt like jelly. She punched him a third time. Her wig moved, revealing the netting underneath and her true reddish brown hair pressed down beneath that. John's body slid to the ground. The fence creaked and curved as he slid.

…Drama…

The China Doll Drag Queen yelled something at Damien and slapped him. She fixed her wig and told Damien to pick up the chopsticks. He did. They joined hands, kissed, and walked back downstairs.

…Drama…

A thick, warm substance ooze from John's mouth. He wiped it with his hand. White and crimson liquids drew away from his lips in a mess of random and confused fibers.

…My life…

John tried to get up. He felt bursts of pain as beaten muscles in his abdomen expanded and contracted. His mouth hurt now too.

…is a drama….

He braced himself and tried to get up again. He stood and looked at the stairway.

…with a beginning…a middle…

He needed to get back downstairs and find Justin. He was ready to go home now.

…and no end…

***

Robert Hyers writes fiction and spins uk hardcore outside Philadelphia. To read his other writing while listening to some great edm at 160 bpms, just go to roberthyers.com.