It`s time for Tuesday Tales!
Today we have an excerpt from The Bachelor and the Cherry, Campo Royale #2.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
One of the lessons that I have yet to learn is that when you toss out a moronic comment that starts with “Might just as well” nine times out of then that moronic thing will bear fruit.
I disliked fruit bearing in my club. Any kind of bearing actually. We once had a woman go into labor at the Campo. I’d never seen so many queers and queens lose their shit all at one time, myself included. What did childbirth and a mango have in common? I had no fucking clue. My grasp on reality as slipping as I worked madly to get Cord strapped into a corset. Yes, he was going on stage in a darling little Chantilly lace fabric, ruched cummerbund lemon yellow cocktail dress. Donna Reed would die for it. Praise all the fucking gods he and Gigi were of the same size, skinny little twinks of the world unite.
“Do we need pearls? I think we need pearls.” Cord glanced back over the thin sleeve hugging this shoulder at me.
“Yes, buttercup, I’ll fetch you pearls. Now suck in.”
He drew in a huge breath. “Guh!” I tugged on those strings as hard as I could. “Can’t breathe. Oh fuck…”
“Then it’s just where we want it. We will not have man bodies on my stage. Babacar, can you dash to my space and fetch those beautiful Ross Simons pearls from my safe?”
“Yes, Sitka.” Off he went. Or perhaps I should say she went as he was now in his full drag and looking fucking stunning. His makeup was to die for and the bright pink boubou and headwrap was glorious. Gorgeous and glorious. Her stage name was Souley Mayne.
“I think I’m going to pass out,” Cord whimpered.
“Nonsense. You just have to take smaller breaths. Now let’s get this wig on your head.”