Still Got It

This year, the drag show has a mixture of sad, funny, and poignant acts. Marcie goes first, which is astonishing in and of itself – Nate usually opens the show himself. I’ve never really spoken with Marcie outside of our encounter backstage last year, and I am surprised when she announces to the audience that she’s positive. She cleverly pounds that point home with a play on the words: “Some of us are going to get sick: I’m positive. Some of us are going to die: I’m positive.” She launches into a heartbreaking rendition of Amazing Grace. After a few bars, the audience joins in and finishes the song with her. The mood is melancholy when she leaves the stage, but that changes quickly when the Queen of Manhattan comes out (so to speak). She performs beautifully as usual, and is just as sassy as ever. Mary Lou performs again this year, and this time receives a standing ovation. She’s really going places, I think. She’ll be on the radio soon!

Next, in an interesting juxtaposition from Mary Lou’s performance, the sounds of pop music fill the room. Chantelle bounces out from behind the curtain to perform Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” When she starts pulling people from the audience to dance with her, Santiago mutters, “Oh, hell no.” She leans over to me. “If she tries to get me up there, I’m sending you. There is no way I’m getting on that stage.” I laugh. True to her word, when Chantelle takes Santiago’s hand and tries to tug her on stage, she places my hand into Chantelle’s and shrinks away. Laughing, I allow her to pull me onto the stage. I aggressively dance very close to her, dipping her at the end of the song, and dance her off the stage still holding her very close. I wave at the audience as we disappear backstage.

I push Chantelle up against a wall and lean in to kiss her. She kisses me back, but after a moment she pulls away abruptly, looking behind me. I turn around and see a man dressed in a bright orange cut-off tshirt.

“Hey babe. This is Katherine. Katherine, this is Sterling – my husband.” Both Chantelle and Sterling seem unperturbed by the strange situation.

“Hello!” says Sterling.

“Hi there,” I say. I glance back at Chantelle. “So, did you want to continue…?”

She glances at her husband, but I shake my head. “Not him. Just you.”

“I can just watch,” Sterling interrupts. “I mean, if that’s cool with you.” He sounds eager.

I look back at Chantelle, who shrugs. “Okay, sure,” I say. “But let’s go outside, where it’s dark. Everyone else is inside watching the show, so it will be more private.”

They follow me outside via the stage door. I waste no time in pushing Chantelle up against the side of the lodge. I’m feeling aggressive tonight. My left hand holds her there by her throat as my right hand scratches her leg gently, starting at her knee and trailing up her inner thigh. I watch her face as my hand snakes up her skirt, and… oh.

“No panties, huh? You must have been hoping for some action tonight.” She gasps as my fingers make contact with her wetness.

I hear the rustling of clothing behind me. I’d forgotten Sterling was there.

“You love showing off for him, don’t you?” I taunt as I penetrate her. “Teasing him, showing him what he can’t touch?” I remove my hand from her neck and lean forward to nibble  the sensitive skin just behind her ear. She moans. I blow softly into her ear and pinch a nipple through her dress. I can hear wet, slapping sounds behind me. “Your husband is going to cum watching his wife get fingered by a lesbian,” I whisper into her ear.

Music is blaring from the window above us, and I can hear people hooting, “Yeah Reginald, WOOO!” Chantelle’s breath becomes shorter. She’s getting close. I keep fucking her while I play with her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps. Her hands clench into fists.

I can hear Nate thanking Reginald for his act just as Chantelle starts moaning her orgasm. I guess she’s a screamer. She pounds the window frame as she cums, and I can hear Sterling moaning behind me. “That’s it, straight girl. Cum for me.” I grin to myself. I’ve still got it.

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