Page 2 of Drag Me Up

Don’t fuck coworkers, Eric. You can’t afford to lose this place, not now.

“As for where I’ll be,” I glance through the side of the curtain at the edge of the stage and spot Lucky, Spencer, Scott, and Toby cutting their way through the unruly crowd. “My guys just showed up, so I’ll be around if you want to hang out a bit. But only as friends.”

Tyson isn’t fast enough to hide his disappointment before he nods and heads back out to his post behind the bar. Betty staggers off the stage while I’m still staring at the baby gay’s ass moving through the crowd.Part of me really wants to give him a ride he will never forget.

Don’t fuck coworkers, Eric.

I know it’s a bad idea, but a rather large portion of my brain doesn’t give a flying fuck about consequences. Sometimes it really sucks being bipolar with ADHD. Being responsible is getting more and more difficult. I probably should get my meds adjusted again with the recent stress, but I keep forgetting to make the appointment. I’ll do it tomorrow.

“…not even worth it to do the finale with this group. They’re not gonna settle and they’re making the stage downright dangerous with their spills. It’s like they are on a mission to get us out of here.”

Catching the last bit of Betty’s whisper to Cleo, I am shocked. Wealwaysdo the finale. Even if there are no paying customers, we will do the full show. I’ve never seen Cleo allow less, and I’ve been working here for almost four years. Hell, I’ve been coming here for longer, ever since my father ran me out of his house.

“I’m calling it,” Cleo announces and pulls out her phone. After tapping a message, she grabs the wireless microphone from the shelf in front of me. Cleo becomes Clarence for a second, twisting her head from side to side. I hear the crack of her neck before she adjusts her posture from black-belt Clarence to her usually regal self and saunters onto the stage in the sudden silence when all the music is killed.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, and everyone in between,” Cleo announces from center stage, her voice booming throughthe sound system. “Unfortunately, our finale performance for tonight willnotbe happening. It’s time for our little butterflies to transform yet again, so please return next month for our new show here at the Monarch Room.”

Next month?!

I can’t take a month without performing! Not now. I need the distraction, especially with the trial bringing it all back to the surface a few months ago.

I race back to the dressing room and rip off my wig. I grab my phone out of my locker with one hand while I rush through tearing away the clothing, padding, and costume jewelry associated with Miss Sassy Frass. I’m leaving the makeup for now since it will work better to keep me anonymous when I pick up some nameless cock to ride for the night.

Kink Manor Queenie:

Going out. Don’t wait up.

I hit send on the message to Spencer and turn my phone off before he can reply. Spencer might be my closest and oldest friend, but he would only try to tag along. I don’t need the boy scout Daddy with his adorable ace little cock blocking me. I need to get railed hard tonight if I’m facing a month without performing.

“What are you doing, Eric?” Cleo’s sugary voice calls out to me as I finish typing my code into the time clock to punch out. “It’s only nine o’clock and you’re on the schedule until eleven.”

“Fuck off, Clarence,” I grumble as I turn for the door.He doesn’t get to pull my safety net out from under me and then give me grief. I can find another fucking job if I have to. Hell, I don’t even fucking need to work. Flipping him off over my shoulder, I head for my Mini-Cooper and race toward the South Side.

Fuck my meds. Fuck my job. Fuck all the people who claim to give a shit. I’m going to feel alive for a fucking change and to hell with anyone who gets in my way.

2

MATT

I’m officially an old man. Here I am on a Friday night in the middle of March, sitting at my mother’s kitchen table, browsing through listings to find an affordable place to live. I missed the deadline for most of the decent housing near the campus, and what is left would put me next-door to my students which would definitely not be conducive for anyone.

When I moved back to the South Hills of Pittsburgh last summer to help my mother with her chemo treatments, it was supposed to be a temporary leave from the university in Boston. I didn’t expect to get the job at Wrenshaw University, let alone to enjoy it. Originally, Syl was sold on the lower cost of living to move here, but in the end, her career and family are in Boston while mine are here. We gave it a fighting chance long distance and had even planned on moving into a townhouse near the university at the end of the holidays, but it became glaringly obvious that we aren’t each other’s forever whenshe didn’t show up at the airport when I was waiting over three hours for her.

I also got screwed over when she neglected to tell me she took her name off the application for the townhouse. As a result, the landlord denied me the house by myself when I didn’t go in to fill out a new application. Sylvia canceling the new lease with the landlord behind my back created a clusterfuck for me. I mean, our breakup is about as amicable as one could be in this day and age, so I know it isn’t vindictive. She just didn’t think about how her decision would affect me. Her friends are blaming me for somehow breaking her heart, and my friends blame her for not bringing me back to Boston. There’s a bit of a comment war happening on social media, but she and I are both staying out of it.

*DING*

I glance at the bottom corner of my laptop instead of getting my phone from the living room. I was skeptical at first if I would like having my phone linked to my computer, but at times like this, it is really convenient.

Jax:

Up 4 drinks?

LMB:

Who is going to be there?

I don’t want to deal with drama, and I really need to find a new place pretty much ASAP. I love my mother, but finding out that I no longer had a new place lined up two days before I was moving out of my old one created thisnecessary discomfort of living in my mother’s living room. I’m in my thirties. I’m tired of feeling like a teenager. I want to be able to jack off without worrying that my mother is going to hear or walk in accidently. It happened only once, when I was sixteen, but that was enough for me to be overly paranoid about it.

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