The Queen & the Homo Jock King (9 page)

“Some of us were
sleeping
, Paul. And no more alcohol.
Ever
. I mean it.”

“What? Sandy, it’s almost ten thirty. We’re getting to your house in like, thirty minutes.”

“
What
?” I screeched. “Oh my
god
, my
frittata
!”

I launched myself out of bed, throwing my phone across the room, already trying to figure out if a subpar frittata was better than no frittata at all.

When I opened the bedroom door, I realized many things at once.

First, I was completely naked.

Second, there was a used and sticky condom stuck to my thigh, along with what looked like dried spunk or glazed frosting. Since I was not a donut, I figured it to be jizz.

Third, I was
never
drinking again.

Fourth, I was still heavily intoxicated.

Fifth, my makeup was dry and cracked on my face.

Sixth, Corey stood on the other side of my door, hand raised to knock again. He was startled when the door swung open.

And then he screamed when he saw me.

Unsure of what was happening, I screamed too.

“Crawl back to the depths of hell, you foul beast!” he shrieked at me.

“What is even happening right now!” I shouted right back.

“
Sandy
?” He gasped, taking a step back, hand over his heart. “Oh my god, I thought you were some sort of nude hellhound coming for my soul. What the hell
happened
to you?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m totally fine. Obviously.”

He grimaced at me. “Um, no offense, but I don’t know if that’s true. You look like the aftermath of a fraternity gang bang gone horribly wrong.”

“
What
?” I yelped. “That’s the worst description of
anything
I’ve ever heard!”

The condom slipped off my leg and landed on the tile floor with a wet plop.

“That’s unfortunate timing,” I said.

“It really is. Imagine it from
my
point of view.”

I burped. It tasted like fried food and tequila. “Oh my god, I’m still drunk.”

“You’re swaying a little and you’re slurring a lot. Good assessment.”

“This isn’t my fault,” I said. “Someone else did this to me.”

“Uh-huh,” Corey said. “So. You being completely naked in front of me is apparently a thing we do now.”

“Stop
looking
at it!” I covered my dick with my hands as I tried to push past him down the hall and into the bathroom. I needed a mirror and I needed one now. I didn’t want to go back into my room because there was a naked man in there, and I was getting these weird little flashes from the night before, and at one point, I’d apparently told him to spank my boypussy because I’d been a bad, bad girl. That was not something you wanted to deal with first thing in the morning.

“I
can’t
. Your penis is
right there
. Holy shit, do you have a Brazilian?”

“It’s
classy
. LaFonda at the salon is a wax
artiste
.”

I opened the bathroom door and flipped on the light.

I screamed at the horror that was my reflection.

My lipstick was smeared across my cheek and teeth. The thick kohl lines around my eyes had trailed down my face, either from sweat or tears. I had dried come on my chin. There were bags under my eyes that were not sanctioned by Louis Vuitton. My hair was flat on one side and sticking straight up on the other. There was something orange and crusty on my left ear. My face was pale and I had three hickeys on my neck, one of which was the size of Cuba. Apparently the unknown man in my bed liked to suck on things. That
asshole
.

“What have I become?” I cried at the mirror, shielding my eyes. “Oh, monstrosity! Take this vision from me, sorcerer!”

“Um,” Corey said. “What.”

“Shakespeare,” I snapped at him, reaching for the makeup removal cream. “Or Christopher Walken. I don’t know. Same thing.” I burped again, a horrible thing that crawled from my chest and gave birth in my mouth. “Excuse me,” I said like the dainty flower that I was. “That was a wet one.”

“Oh my god.” Corey started to gag. “I can smell that from here. It’s like you ate a chicken covered in burning hair.”

“Shut up.” I accidentally thrust my whole hand in the container of cream. “Why the hell didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

He rolled his eyes. “I
tried
. Since nine. It probably didn’t help when you stumbled in at three in the morning, complaining loudly about how your dick wasn’t getting sucked right then, only to announce to the household when it
did
start getting sucked. In fact, I was lucky enough to hear an entire play-by-play of the sexual prowess of the man you dubbed Cockasaurus Rex because, and I quote, ‘your dick is like a dinosaur, its vision is based on movement,’ end quote. What does that even
mean
?”

I hiccupped and threw up a little in my mouth. It didn’t taste very good, so I coughed and discreetly spit it into the sink.

“You just threw up a little, didn’t you?” He sounded fascinated. Horrified, but fascinated.

“A little,” I admitted. “It’s okay.” I started to wipe my cream-covered hand on my face, great blobs of white hanging from my cheeks. “Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be just fine. You’ll see. Everything will be fine. Well, except for the frittata, of course, because
someone wouldn’t wake me up to make it
.”

“Your door was locked and it smelled like an Italian bathhouse in the hall,” Corey said. “I’ll admit, I didn’t try that hard. I wasn’t sure if I was ready see what was behind it. And trust me when I say it was far worse than I thought it could be. And also, I started the frittata myself. I followed your recipe. You’re welcome.”

“I
love
you,” I gushed, trying to reach over and give him a hug. Corey shrank back, and I realized I was still naked and now had a face covered in cream. “You may have saved brunch as we know it.”

“Except you’re still drunk and your one-night stand is passed out in your bed. What’s his name?”

“I’ll be honest,” I said, trying to smooth out the cream on my face. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“You fucking whore.” Corey fiddled with the light switch. “What the hell brought that on? One minute you’re snapping at Paul, and the next you’re drowning in tequila.”

“Hey,” I said. “Judgment free. I am allowed to get blitzed out of my mind, have sex with a stranger, and then wake up the next day still drunk and covered in jizz. This is why we fight in wars and have elections. Anonymous gay sex is as American as apple pie. Just ask senators and priests. It’s my
right
to do this.”

“I think you have teeth marks on the back of your neck,” Corey said.

“Oh my god,” I groaned. “Why was he
biting
me?”

Corey shrugged. “You were screaming at him to. At around four thirty this morning.”

“How much am I going to have to pay you to never speak of this to anyone?” I asked him seriously.

He grinned. It was sort of evil. “Oh, I’ll think of something.” A timer went off in the kitchen and he looked over his shoulder. “Frittata’s almost done. Take a shower. You smell like what sad dreams are made of.”

That sounded like the most amazing idea to have ever been thought of. I was pretty sure there was dried lube on my ass crack. He shut the door behind him and I flipped on the shower.

It was as I was shampooing my hair that I realized that today wasn’t going to be so bad. So I got shattered and fucked a random. Who
hadn’t
done that before? And we obviously were in right enough minds to use condoms. My ass was pleasantly sore, so it must have been at least
some
what of a good fuck. Sure, I probably looked like death warmed over (and felt like it too), but the hangover would pass and I would eat a shitload of greasy food and curl up on the couch afterward and watch the Hallmark Channel with movies about a small-town sheriff with a haunted past who falls for the new waitress at the diner because he gets One Last Chance at Love.

It was going to be a good day.

And then I remembered Darren was coming to brunch.

“Well I’ll be fucked,” I said.

And then I screeched because soap got into my eye and I was
dying
.

FIRST THINGS
first: I had to look
amazing
.

Not because I was trying to impress anyone, but because I wanted to make sure anyone that came into
my
house knew that I was the Queen here, too.

I wrapped myself up in my fluffiest robe and went back into the bedroom, already planning my outfit. Something that said I wasn’t trying too hard, but also said that I was the best thing to have ever existed and that certain people were lucky to even be
acknowledged
by me. I had this. I
had
this. I opened my bedroom door.

And immediately stepped on the used condom.

I choked off a loud moan of disgust.

First things first: I had to throw the condom away.

I peeled it off the bottom of my foot, feeling my gorge rise a little as the tip stuck to my heel and it
stretched
before snapping wetly. I held it away from my body between two fingers. If I wasn’t so grossed out and short on time, I might have been impressed with how
full
it was. Obviously, the mysterious stranger had been eating his Wheaties. Probably rocked with his college-boy cock and—

Oh fuck.

I looked back at the bed.

A broad back rose and fell with each breath, a shock of dark hair against my eggshell sheets.

First things first: I had to wake up my one-night stand.

I dropped the condom in the small trash can and cinched my robe tightly so that said college boy wouldn’t get any ideas (granted, I didn’t know if he even was
in
college, but he had tribal tattoos on his back and arms, and I thought that only college boys got such idiotic-looking things, so). My bedsheet was pulled low on his back, he had these adorable little dimples above the swell of his ass, and maybe if I had time, I might have tasted them with my tongue, but we were close to this being an Actual Emergency, and I needed him to be awake and gone. Maybe I could send him on his way with a muffin if they were finished. That seemed like the nice thing to do.

I poked him in the shoulder. “Hey.”

Nothing.

I poked him again. “Hey, you. Guy I had sex with.”

Still nothing.

“I can’t remember your name,” I told him. “Mark? Flavio? Pat?”

Absolutely nothing.

“Hey. Hey.
Hey
.”

He snored a little.

I pulled the sheet off him.

He was naked. Like,
really
naked.

“I can see your balls,” I told him. “You’re squishing them between your legs. That can’t be comfortable.”

He had a nice ass, though. At least Helena knew how to pick a great ass.

The clock on the nightstand said it was ten till eleven, which meant people were going to start showing up soon. Maybe he could just sleep it off in here and I could kick him out later. It wasn’t ideal, but I didn’t have time to handle my tragic messes. I had to look amazing.

I opened the walk-in closet. It was completely filled with hundreds of articles of clothing, dozens of pairs of shoes, belts, and scarves and almost anything that my heart could desire. It was a wonderful place.

And I had absolutely nothing to wear.

Ten minutes later, the walk-in closet was a mess and I was having a slight mental breakdown because I wanted to wear that
one
shirt I’d worn that
one time
, like
five years before
, and I couldn’t fucking find it.

The doorbell rang.

I balled a silk scarf into my mouth and screamed.

It felt good.

Two minutes later, my bedroom door flew open and Paul Auster entered.

And then stopped.

He stared at the naked man in my bed.

He then looked over at me collapsed dramatically in my closet buried in a pile of clothes and screaming into a scarf.

“I don’t know what it says about my life,” he said, “that nothing about this situation is surprising.”

“He won’t wake up,” I said. “And I can’t find a single thing to wear.”

“Is he dead?”

“Probably,” I said. “I couldn’t make my frittata, I boned a guy to death, and
Darren fucking Mayne
is coming over to my house. This day couldn’t get any worse.”

“Well then, we just need to make it better,” an old lady announced as she hobbled into my room behind Paul. She paused, glancing at the college buffet on my bed and wrinkling her nose. “Corey was right, it smells like really potent salami in here.”

Nana. Paul’s grandmother. The greatest gift to old ladies anywhere.

Today, she wore a floral print muumuu, the fabric orange and the flowers blue. It was really quite hideously amazing, and somehow, she pulled it off. She’d told me that she was starting to lose her hair and had taken to wearing some of my wigs. Today she was wearing my permed Cher from the seventies wig, great black curls cascading down her shoulders, and I swore it was like she was turning back time.

To cap it all off, she was wearing her old-lady slippers because, according to her, bunions were a great big son of a bitch and she didn’t have time for heels anymore.

In other words, she looked like epic.

“Why are you pouting in the closet?” she asked me. “You haven’t done that since you were thirteen years old and didn’t know what your dick was for.”

“I killed a man with my asshole,” I said morosely. “And now I can’t find anything to wear to show up my archnemesis who Paul invited for brunch, that bitch. Also, I’m still drunk.”

“I’m not a bitch,” Paul muttered. “
You’re
a bitch.”

“Ah,” Nana said. “Sounds like my normal Tuesdays. Paul, you get rid of the body. Take it to the bathtub, chop it to pieces, and then dissolve the remains in acid. I’ll help Sandy get dressed.”