Page 72 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“You can suck your own dick?” I whisper.

He winks at me. “Be a good boy and maybe you’ll find out.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, because yes, please.

“You know you can’t fuckin’ whisper,” Meadows barks from behind his camera. Well, from behind Miles’ phone, I guess. He’s been using it to film us for the last hour or so. “How the fuck are they supposed to hear you?”

I asked Meadows to tag along with us to document Miles’ first time at Pride for his podcast. Did I realize that would entail him barking orders like a goddamn drill sergeant? No, but it could work in our favor if Miles’ internalized homophobia rears its hideous head. He’s getting better, day by day, and that’s what counts.

For the last eight months, I’ve lectured our church, and Miles, about queer history. We’ve had a few missteps along the way, but I know he wants to do better. To be better. The rest of the congregants have been hit and miss. Most have been talked down from believing gay sex is a sin worthy of death to believing maybe it should just be a fine. I’ve told them several times if I ever get charged a fine for fucking my boyfriend, I’m taking it out on their faces. They probably thought it was my way of threatening them with severe battery via fist, but I was thinking of a glitter cannon. Something that would scare the ever-loving hell out of them without gravely wounding anyone, since Miles has forbidden me from assaulting people again.

There have been a few surprise turnarounds, though, and each time it happens, it feels like I’m Moses, walking all those sweaty, stinky (I mean, probably. It’s not like they had a whole lot of chances to bathe.) bastards through the desert. It feels good to lead them to the light. I can see why Miles enjoys it.

“Now,” Meadows says, as an unmasked, ungagged Pet approaches. “Can we film this fucking thing already? Benito’s been bugging the shit out of me all week, wanting to watch one of the drag shows.” He points a vicious finger at me. “If my boy doesn’t get to see an elderly man dressed as Liza with a Z, performingAll That Jazz, I swear to God, there won’t be a holedeep enough for you to hide in. I’ll never hear the damn end of it.”

My eyebrows fly up in surprise. Not from the death threat. From what he just called Pet.

“Benito?”

Meadows nods, blushing. “He insisted I take him on a date. A real one.” He looks over at an approaching Benito, scowling. “He’s a good boy these days, and I decided to treat him. The fuck do you care for? Focus on your damn selves.”

I bring my hands to my chest and clasp them. “You’re in love!” Meadows couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.

“I’m not gay.”

“Jesus Christ. Give it a rest,” I say. “It’s getting old, Meadows. If I had a dime for every time you denied your queerness, I’d have enough to buy a gun to shoot you with.” I eye him up and down. “And maybe if you don’t just fucking come out already, I will. It’s Pride. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Pet-slash-Benito stalls in front of Meadows, blushing furiously. He’s holding a cone of cotton candy in one hand and a caramel apple in the other. The corner of Meadows’ lip curls into a smile when he spots the apple.

“Got it for you, sir,” he whispers. “I used my allowance. Wanted to do something sweet for you.” His smile stretches to an impossible length, every tooth in his head visible. “A sweet for my sweet.”

Meadows’ eyes flash with fire. “Fuck.” His hips arch forward like he’s seeking contact. Thankfully the only thing he’s fucking is air. “Good boy. That’s a good fuckin’ boy, baby.” He tosses Miles’ phone over his shoulder, and thank God my reflexes are fast, because I manage to catch it before it falls to the ground and shatters. “Film your own fucking podcast. My boy needs me.”

“Daddy,” he whines as Meadows picks him up. To my surprise, Meadows leans in and gives him a full-on kiss. It isn’t heavy orharsh, the way I would expect Meadows to kiss. It’s gentle, like Pet is made of porcelain, and Meadows is afraid he’ll crack. Their lips part, and Meadows tongue darts out of his mouth.

“Fuck,” I whisper, looking over at Miles. “Okay, that’s really fucking hot.”

Miles licks his lips and nods, dazed. “Look how easily he’s holding him up. That takes a lot of strength.” He sighs. “I don’t know why you would fall for a man like me when you could easily have someone like him. Someone who can protect you better. Carry you around on his hip all the time. Did you ever think of . . .? You know. With him?”

“Never.” I tap his shoulder, and when he glances over at me, I look down at the arm he’s using to hold me against his waist. “You’re just as strong as he is. I don’t need some hulking behemoth. I need this. I need you.”

“I need you too.” He gives me a quick kiss but breaks it just as fast, looking around like he’s trying to make sure the coast is clear. He’s still not big on public displays of affection, but I don’t think it’s from shame as much as his fear of the wrong person seeing us. He doesn’t want me to get hurt, but not sharing my love for the town to see hurts more than their fists ever could. I love him, and he’s mine, just like I’m his. I’m proud of that, and I want to show it off.

Mal walks up a few minutes later, walking side by side with someone she must have met earlier when she was exploring. I insisted she stay with us, but she wouldn’t hear it, telling us she bought a new outfit for today, and she’d be damned if she didn’t use it to land her a man. Strange, considering she’s walking hand in hand with a woman.

The woman is really pretty. She’s got long, blonde hair that reaches halfway down her back, just like Mal. She’s wearing a trans pride tank top and a pair of magenta shorts. She can’t be much taller than five-five, and she has to slightly tilt her head upto look Mal in the eyes. Each time she does, it looks like hearts are forming in both of theirs. They’re kind of adorable.

“Guys, this is Bee.” She points at Miles. “That’s him. He’s the one I was telling you about.”

Bee smiles kindly at Miles, tucking her long, blonde hair behind her ear before taking his hand and shaking it. “I hear you’re a writer.” She has a lovely English accent, which piques my interest. I think she may be the first Brit to ever step foot in Tallulah.

Miles blushes. “I dabble.”

“Dabble, hell,” Mal argues. “He’s released ten books, and each one is beautiful. He has a voice like you wouldn’t believe.” Mal beams at Miles. “This is one of Phillip Firecracker’s friends from London.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Meadows says as he squeezes Pet-slash-Benito’s ass.

“Don’t worry,” Bee assures him. “No one else does either. Not after his boy band split up in the early 2000's, at least. I met him when I was starting my transition. He followed my journey on social media for ages, liking all my posts and replying with pink heart emojis. I've been a fan since I was a kid, so it was like Christmas had come early each time I saw him in my notifications. It took me half a year to work up the nerve to message him. He may not have a lot of fans, but I'm one of the biggest. He’s a good man. An asshole, but a good man.” She looks across the city square and gazes fondly at Mayor Rivera and his husband. Phillip may have been in one of the biggest boybands of all time, globetrotting endlessly, but here, in Tallulah, Texas, he seems happy enough living as the city’s First Gentleman. “He told me The Spice Girls were reforming for one night only. If I knew he was talking about a group of rollerblading drag queens called The Spice Whirls, I would havedeclined the invitation.” She smiles at Mal, and then at their interwoven fingers before adding, “I’m very glad I didn’t.”

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