by T. Styles
I heard about Miss Tyrone being a Bug Chaser, someone who had raw sex so they could catch HIV. I never believed it back then, but I’m starting to believe it now.
“Look how you sound!”
“I sound real.”
“Oh really… well does Miss Daffany look positive?”
For the first time since seeing Dell with another woman Miss Dayshawn speaks. “Daffany’s HIV positive?!”
I was sorry the moment the words left my mouth. Miss Daffany’s secret was kept under wraps until now. And with Miss Tyrone knowing about her condition, I was sure the whole neighborhood would find out before long, it was just a matter of time.
“Daffany sick?” Tyrone asks.
“What, you didn’t know?” I ask sarcastically. “Since you seem to believe you can tell who got what just by lookin’ at ‘em.”
Miss Tyrone stares out ahead and says, “Well I think he was safe. I’m not too good with guessin’ when it comes to fish since I don’t fuck ‘em no more. I had fun with him and he could fuck. After it was over, he gave me my money back plus my chicken dinner with biscuits!”
“So you fuckin’ for chicken now?” I pause. “And you don’t think that’s stupid? You ain’t even got a place to stay right now, Tyrone. I’m the one comin’ out of my pockets for a hotel because I don’t want to see my friends out on the street.”
Miss Tyrone fans me away and says, “I ‘preciate what you doin’ and I told you that already. But we are gay men, Wayne. This is what we do. This is the life for us. Right, Dayshawn?”
Dayshawn remains quiet but nods in favor of his bullshit.
“All gay men don’t act like this! Hell I’m gay and I know everybody’s first and last name I fuck! Can you say the same? What was the Chicken King’s last name you just fucked, Ty?”
“Look, that’s you. Not me.”
“I guess so because if I’m gonna give a nigga a piece of this crystal, he betta damn sure be worthy. Givin’ me fried chicken with extra biscuits just won’t do.”
“Like I said, that’s you,” he says shruggin’ his shoulders. “But most of us carry it like the way I just did. Me, Dayshawn and Adrian included. If you can’t get with it then I understand, but that’s your thing not ours and you shouldn’t knock us for it. I fuck what I want, when I want and where I want. It’s as simple as that. I’m grown, Wayne.”
Sad ain’t it? And as much as I’d love to argue, she’s tellin’ the truth. Sex between gay men is unlike anythin’ that can be explained. It’s more passionate, it’s more addictive and it’s more competitive.
I know competition may be a strong word for people who don’t live this life to understand but it’s true. Fuckin’ as many men as you can in some ways makes you believe you’re more desirable…more wanted. Not to mention you can bust a nut at the same time. And in a world that rejects you on a daily basis, to some men sex is everything.
But after hearing this, I had an idea. Since she’s a whore anyway, I decided it would no longer be for free. I had plans to tax that action and that goes for the rest of my crew too.
When my phone rings I take it out of my purse and say, “Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello? Who the fuck is this?” I yell louder.
Miss Tyrone and Miss Dayshawn stop what they are doing and look my way.
“You betta mind the company you keep.” The caller says…and then he hangs up.
I wonder who that was and my gut tells me its Big Boody Brandy. But if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that it’s usually the person you least expect.
The Meet
Queen Paul
Queen Paul and four of his crew members stood in front of his incinerated house waiting on Big Boody Brandy. Money had exchanged hands but Tyrone, Dayshawn and Wayne were still walking around breathing and Paul needed that to stop.
Paul just finished meeting with a shift investigator from the fire department and an insurance agent at the property. Through it all, he couldn’t believe the house he’d been raised in most of his life, was burned to the ground. His mother gave him the house on his eighteenth birthday and it meant a lot to him. But if things went his way, he may get compensated for more than it was worth when the investigation was over.
All of the queens were dressed in drag and at first look, you’d think they were a bunch of linebackers playing a joke on Halloween. All of them wore stringy wigs, run over shoes and fake purses. They were definitely hard on the eyes.
“I hope she hurry up!” Kevin says to Paul. “My cousin who’s doin’ security at the private poker party I was telling you about said the game is goin’ down tonight. So we gotta hurry up if we gonna hit it.”
“There her truck goes right there.” Paul points.
Big Boody Brandy parks his black Toyota Tundra at the curb and grabs her Teacup Yorkie to approach Paul. Four queens open their car doors and follow. Now the crew Big Boody ran with was official. They spent money to have work done on their breasts, lips and hips. And the clothing they wore was always from a designer label. With one look you could tell who was getting real money between the two houses and who wasn’t.
Big Boody Brandy ran with a drag house she called The House of Diamonds and she was the overall mother. And one thing she didn’t play was having members in her crew who didn’t look the part…especially out in public.
“I ain’t know you were bringin’ nobody. I thought this meeting was private.” Paul says looking at his crew and then his dog.
“I can’t tell…you brought all your rag stars…I mean…rock stars with you.” She smirks. “Besides, if it ain’t no problems between us, it shouldn’t matter who’s here. We got a problem, Paul?”
Paul grins and says, “I don’t think so.”
Big Boody takes a look at the burned house and says, “Damn, I ain’t know the shit went down like that. You know what happened yet?”
“Naw…but I do know Tyrone, Wayne and Day are still walkin’ ‘round. And since you got my money I’m wonderin’ how that’s the case.”
“I got plans for them that are already in motion. And just so you know, I almost took care of them for free when I blasted in the house that night, but shit didn’t work to my favor or yours.”
“So you did shoot out the windows.”
“What you think?” She laughs. “But like I told you over the phone, too much shit happened including this fire for me to do anything else right now. Plus Betty Badge been everywhere because of this Drag Queen Slayer bullshit. But I’ma take care of that for you when shit cools off.”
“When?!” Paul yells. Maxie raises his head and barks wildly in Paul’s face and he and his scared ass crew jump backwards.
Big Boody laughs and says, “Look, Paul. I know you probably use to queens just runnin’ around town suckin’ dick, since I hear that’s all you and your crew do, but that’s not my thing. I run everything around here and I need to make sure my supplier and my customers are happy. Murder is just my hobby. Now I’ma take care of that for you like I said, but you can’t make me do shit. Do we mesh?”
Embarrassed by his comment Paul says, “I don’t care if you suck dick or fuck your mother,” all the queens gasp hearing that comment, “if you don’t do what I paid you for, there’s going to be problems.”
Big Boody Brandy looks at her girls and then back at Paul. They all laugh.
“Bitch, you got me all the way fucked up. So I’ma tell you what I’m gonna do. I’ma take your money and let you live long enough to get out of my face. Got it?”
Paul’s crew moved toward Big Boody and in turn Brandy's crew moved in sync. If someone even breathes the wrong word at this point, a fight would kick off.
Big Boody says, “Stop girls…ain’t no need in gettin’ ourselves all messy today.” Then Big Boody turns to Paul and says, “I was gonna take care of your little problem for you since Tyrone set me up and got me mixed up in some shit. But since you bein’ campy, you can consider yourself five thousand short. And if yo
u wanna see me, you know where I be.”
When Big Boody walks away, Paul looks at Kevin and says, “Don’t worry…I got somethin’ for that bitch, believe that!”
“What about Wayne and them?” one of his other queens asks.
“I got somethin’ for them too. But I want Brandy first.”
Trash Talk
Miss Wayne
“Tyrone! Tyrone! Open this damn door!” I yell with my hands on my hips, the red silk gown I’m wearing sweeps the floor. I would not have known he was breaking house rules if the bed in his room wasn’t banging up against my wall.
Since I rented this house from Miss Rick two weeks earlier, Tyrone has turned completely reckless. And I wonder even more, if whoever called me in the car at Popeye’s, was talking specifically about him.
“I know you’re in there, bitch! Open this fuckin’ door!” I bang. “You got one nigga in the bed and anotha nigga out here on the couch rollin’ up a blunt!”
I take a look at the Mr. Thug trade sitting on our new red leather sofa wearin’ nothin’ but pink boxers and butter colored Timberland boots. He licks the sides of the blunt and runs a fire under it. The thing is, he appears totally unmoved by my irritation with him. His nonchalance ain’t doin’ nothin’ but pissin’ me off even more!
“Who the fuck are you anyway?” I ask him.
“Doctor, sweetheart. And why you actin’ all mean? If you want, I got somethin’ right here that’ll make you feel good.”
“You ain’t got shit for me, Sharpie! And I’m mean because you in my damn house.”
Just then Adrian opens his bedroom door and slides into the hallway wearing a pink silk gown and pink furry slippers. His hands and neck are still covered in white gauze to protect the second-degree burns he sustained from the fire.
“What’s wrong, Miss Wayne?” He asks rubbing his eyes. “What, Tyrone do now?”
“Don’t worry about that. You supposed to be in bed. It’s only been two weeks since you been back from the hospital and you still haven’t gotten your strength back.”
“I’m tired of bein’ alone,” he says with sad eyes.
“So I take it that you still haven’t heard from Chris yet.”
“He calls… I don’t answer the phone. But Miss Wayne, I’m finally ready to talk to you about what’s been going on with me.”
“I already know what’s goin’ on.”
“You do?” He asks surprised.
“Yeah…Tyrone told me everything.”
He holds his head down and says, “Okay. I just didn’t want to keep anything from you that’s all.”
I want to help him more but my irritation with Miss Tyrone’s manly lookin’ ass won’t allow me to at the moment.
“On another note,” I continue pointing to the living room. “Tyrone continues to break the rules around here and I’m tired of it. So we gonna have a meetin’ this mornin’.”
Adrian peeks into our living room and when he does, he smiles when he sees the thug on the sofa with his feet propped up on the glass table. The man looks at him, winks, and smokes his blunt.
“Oh my gawd! He’s…beautiful!”
“Not hardly.”
And then I notice something that drives me mad! This homothug must’ve jerked his dick off waitin’ on Tyrone because his boxers are stained with white shit.
“You just couldn’t wait could you?” I ask pointing at the mess.
He smiles and says, “No.”
I’m not even worried…because in fifteen minutes, his ass is out of here.
“Well…well…well,” Dayshawn says slyly, walking through the front door. He places a grocery bag full of food on the table in the kitchen and looks long and lustfully at the man on the sofa. “What do we have here?! Tyrone stay with the eye candy.”
Then he joins us in the hallway. “It’s not funny and ya’ll need not encourage this type of behavior!” I yell at him.
“Well I can take him in my room if you want. Trust me, it’s not a problem,” Dayshawn continues as he looks at him again.
When Tyrone finally opens the door, a man wearing a blue hoodie pushes past us, drops some money on the breakfast nook by the kitchen, and walks out the front door. Miss Tyrone places his hands over his face and laughs but ain’t shit funny.
“He was soooo good.” He smiles. “I haven’t been fucked like that since the twelfth grade.”
“I know you lyin’ now because you ain’t make it past the ninth!” I tell him.
“You still got energy for me?” the stranger on the sofa asks standing up.
We all look at him.
“The only thing that’s ready for you is the front door!” I say walking toward it, opening it wide.
He looks at Tyrone who covers his mouth in embarrassment. Grabbing his pants, he angrily places them on before snatching his shirt off the floor.
“Call me when you’re serious,” He tells Tyrone before leaving.
I slam the door behind him and say, “This is it, Tyrone! It’s time for a meetin’ in the lady’s room ‘cause I see ya’ll think I’m playin’.”
When someone knocks at the door again, Tyrone goes to answer it. Then he looks at us and says, “Give me a second.” And steps outside.
I figure that dude called him outside and that pisses me off. I can’t wait to put Tyrone’s ass in her place. Five minutes later she comes back inside and for some reason, she looks scared. I don’t know what happened but I never saw him like that before. Be that as it may, that ain’t got shit to do with me.
“I’m glad you’re finish, Tyrone. ‘Cause I’m sick of ya’ll.”
“Ya’ll?” Miss Dayshawn says. His hair is neatly cut and his brown face glows brightly…which lets me know that he must’ve recently treated himself to a boy’s day at the spa without helping out with the rent around here. Who do they think I am? Mr. Drummond? “I ain’t done shit.”
“And what did I do?” Tyrone adds.
“For starters we’ve only been here for two weeks and you’ve had more men in here than a federal prison! Not to mention the fact that you ain’t bringin’ in no revenue. And you Miss Day stay at the nail salon! Where you gettin’ the money from? And you, Adrian…when was the last time you brought some money in here?”
Tyrone walks up to me, pulls his satin blue robe together and says, “I don’t know ‘bout them but I’m makin’ money. And as far as I can tell I’m the only one.”
“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Dayshawn ain’t trickin’ because she’s still in love with Dell and Adrian too busy not bein’ in love with Chris. I feel like we’re on that old ass show Heart to Heart around here!”
Miss Adrian gasps. “I don’t mind trickin’ but I don’t want just anybody.”
“What about you, Tyrone?” I ask.
“Yeah…you claim you’re makin’ money but I don’t see shit but weed and cheap liquor. So let’s see how much you made today,” Miss Dayshawn adds.
I walk up to the table, pick up the money the stranger dropped and count ten dollars.
“You call this gettin’ money?” I ask holding the money tightly.
He tries to snatch it away but you must be more than just quick to take something from my clasp.
“You need one dollar before you can make a million.” He tells me.
“Yeah well you got a long fuckin’ way to go!”
When I look at them I believe I’ve made a big fuckin’ mistake. After all, I had Miss Parade FED-EX all the money I had left in the world, to Miss Rick’s house, where I stayed for two days until it arrived. Tyrone Adrian and Day slept in Adrian’s car because Miss Rick doesn’t trust Tyrone and didn’t want him in his house. And after hearing the rumors of the recent rape shit along with all the drama she’s been involved in since I’ve been back in DC, I don’t blame him. Tyrone just isn’t the person I thought he was.
The day the money came from FED EX, I put two thousand dollars on Miss Rick’s five-bedroom rental house off of
28th place in Southeast DC. That only paid us up for two months. Then I bought an old Honda Civic to get me around town. The rest I spent on groceries for the house. But I know Miss Rick, if I don’t come up with the rest of his cash when the rent is due, friend or foe, he’s gonna put a queen out on the street. And I can’t have that. But these cunts don’t seem to give a fuck!
Don’t get it twisted…the two thousand dollars I spent on this house was an investment. I knew that if there were two things in the world they liked, fuckin’ and parytin’ was it. So I came up with the idea to throw private weekend parties for gay and closet queens. Our parties provided them with a place to go where they wouldn’t be judged. In translation I’m running a whorehouse, girl! The fee? $100 at the door. No pay no play.
Charging that kind of money and getting it was another story. First, I had to convince my loose boody crew to entertain our guests first and negotiate fees for other services later. They needed to be personable and sexy so the guests would come back. They needed to take care of their clothes, make sure their faces were beat and their bodies and feet were cute. But if you saw Miss Tyrone’s feet, which look like DC’s battered streets after a snowstorm, you wouldn’t think it was possible. So trust me when I say I have my work cut out for me!
All I know is that Miss Daffany needs me. And if my plan works, I’ll be able to send her money weekly for her healthcare and legal expenses. Our attorney alone who is helping us get access to our funds again, costs me eighteen hundred dollars a month. And yes she could get on Medicare to save us money on healthcare expenses but I need the best of the best doctors working on her. Because of her doctor now, Daffany’s CD4 T-Cell count stays over 360.
Some of ya’ll may think I’m wrong for pimpin’ my friends out. And you probably think that as the overall mother, I should teach them the game and the right way to live the gay life. But my question to you would be, ain’t that what I’m doin’?
“Tyrone, I expect you to earn real money if you wanna stay here.” I say. “If you don’t want to, you have an option to get your own place. But if anyone comes in here outside of the four of us in this room right now, they must pay the mistress of ceremonies.”
