The Eclective: The Pride Collection

by The Eclective

  “Don’t worry, sister, you’re gonna knock ‘em dead.” Sharon Sharealike had her satin-gloved hand on Shero’s arm. The feel of the satin alone was enough to soothe Shero’s inner beast.

  Shero smiled wide and winked a glorious false eyelash. He remembered that Fiend was out in the audience. Having his love to support him made everything easy. Even the most challenging of obstacles seemed trivial so long as his darling love was nearby.

  The MC opened the curtain and stepped a stockinged heel out. The crowd when nuts. Catcalls and dollar bills flooded the stage.

  “Oh darlings, darlings, we don’t even know each other’s names! Let’s take it slow, shall we? You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine!” The familiar opening line never failed to bring the audience to their feet — granted it was only to see them dropping their pants and waving their little boys in the air, but it worked every time.

  “Ladies and girls of Conjunction Funxion, we have a lovely surprise for you tonight. Our opening act is not on the ballot, but is in each and every heart among you tonight. This girl needs no introduction, but to be kind, I’ll at least give you her name. Everyone, I give to you — Shero!”

  And the crowd went wild. Literally. It took nearly five minutes before the crowd managed to bring it down a notch enough for the sound engineer to pump out the tunes without them sounding overly distorted. When the audience realized the strumming guitar belonged to that of Brian May, they knew what they were in for.

  Or did they?

  As the pink velvet…

  …curtain lifted, the sight of Shero, clad in a frumpy robe and house slippers, brought the entire mass of people to their feet. With his vacuum in hand, Shero reenacted the Queen video to perfection. At one point, every voice in the theatre sang along to the beloved tune.

  All but one. That long voice sat in silence, fuming at the joy being shared in the name of mockery and pageantry. It had to end, and it had to end now.

  Mayhem stood and pulled out the Jizz Lobber (Patent, from the Latin patere. Pending, from the French pendant.).

  “You are all powerless and will kneel and kiss my boots, else you suffer the sticky sorrow of my Jizz Lobber!” Mayhem screamed out. To his surprise, no one screamed, ran, wet themselves, or bowed down. The reason was clear — the music was too loud. Instead of repeating himself, Mayhem raised the Jizz Lobber and fired. The sticky white goo shot out over the crowd, an epic money shot. As soon as the creamy liquid emulsion splatter-painted the audience, their muscles locked into place. The screams of terror went silent. Freddy Mercury’s voice faded away. Shero stood on stage, staring out over the audience, his eyes nearly blinded by the spotlight.

  A low laughter crescendoed into a maniacal cackle.

  “It’s the very Queen of Embarrassment herself — Shero. Do a dance for me, freak. Lift up your skirt and show us that massive cock I’ve heard so many stories about. Or better yet, unzip that dress and show us all the tits you don’t have. Actually, why don’t you just drop to your knees. It’s a position I’m sure you’ve assumed plenty of times before. I just need to be able to see over your freakishly big head when your fellow embarrassments arrive on the stage. I want to see their faces as I shoot each and every one of them with my Cum Gun. Oh, I know… my language is so vulgar — it probably hurts your sensitive ears. That’s okay. Those ears won’t be hearing much more soon. I’ll have my hands cupping them as I chicken neck your head until the original Jizz Lobber (that patent SO NOT pending) empties a — ”

  “Enough!” Shero ran across the stage, kicked off at the edge, and flipped into the air. As he flew into the space above the house seats, he struck a pose so incredibly beautiful, Ang Lee wept openly. The pose was new to the repertoire of Shero — the Crouching Tranny. It was as much an homage to the girls he would be judging tonight as it was a tribute to all things femme.

  When Shero landed, he was feet from Mayhem, his katana in hand ready to fight to the death.

  “You are no match for my jizz lobber (…nah), Shero.” Mayhem’s voice was low, it reached a depth of tone almost unnatural.

  Shero waved his katana around in front of him, the steel singing a song so beautiful it went back in time and replaced Celine Dion’s song as the Titanic’s timeless anthem. Celine joined Ang Lee and wept openly.

  Mayhem raised the jizz lobber as if were nothing more than a flesh-colored sword. When the katana of righteousness met the tool of evil, a dissonant music was played to shame John Cage. Shero and Mayhem backed on another around the audience.

  “You go, girl!”

  From the stage, the familiar chant for Shero could be heard. Shero backed Mayhem around so he could see who was serving as his cheering section. It was the show girls — with Sugah Brown leading the way.

  “Smack that bitch up, Shero! Wooo, honey!” Sugah cried out over the din of the transvestite Rice Krispies.

  Pow!

  Crash!

  Go down, you white trash!

  Mayhem managed to squeeze out a load from the Jizz Lobber (patent…meh), just missing Shero’s hair. The smell of the salty fluid enraged Shero as it splashed down on an unsuspecting victim behind the superhero.

  Shero held his Katana of Might above his head and began spinning it in a perfect circle to make those around him weak and powerless. The blade spun down and began making figure eights around Shero’s body so fast, it was nothing but a silver blur. The hum of the steel was a sweet song to anyone who had witnessed Shero fight — which was everyone.

  “Come to momma, big boy. Dare you shoot your load at Shero now?”

  The look of fear and confusion melted over Mayhem’s face. But before he could collapse onto his knees, in a position of supplication to Shero, he pointed the Jizz Lobber (patently delicious) toward the oncoming superhero. When Mayhem pulled the trigger of the JL (PP), the love juice shot out and all … went… into… slow… motion.

  Read that back again, this time very, very slowly.

  Now, wasn’t that sexy? Yum!

  The trajectory of the lob of jizz was perfect. Mayhem knew, with one hundred percent certainty, Shero was about to get a money shot he’d never forget.

  Or so it would have gone, had the narrator not intervened.

  Bwahaha!

  Mayhem forgot to take into consideration the katana was spinning so quickly it was, effectively, a deadly fan. The sperm bullet came within five feet of Shero before it was summarily sent packing back to the shooter. Before Mayhem could call out to God, it rained man-juice all over his torso. The gooey liquid instantly hardened, trapping Mayhem’s arms.

  Mayhem made to run, but Shero was ready with a cocked fist.

  Glam!

  Bam!

  Thank you, ma’am!

  Three punches from Shero’s satin-gloved hand, and Mayhem was out cold.

  “Oh, bitch done got hisself a cream pie deluxe!” Brown Sugar’s booming voice punctuated the moment with the much needed comic relief.

  Now wasn’t that sweet of Sugah Brown?

  *

  After Sentinel’s cleanup crew removed the mess that was Mayhem, everything in Conjunction Funxion returned to, as they say, normal. The drag queens put on one hell of a show, but when it came time for Shero to announce the winner, it was Sugah Brown that stepped to the front of the stage. At first everyone assumed Sugah’s ego had taken over (as usual) and she was merely saving Shero the time of making the big announcement.

  Sugah had much different plans.

  “Hookahs, ya’ll just bess settle yo snatches down. Sugah Bown has something special ta say. And when Sugah Brown talks… ”

  “Every bitch bess listen!” The crowd finished Sugah’s famous tag line.

  “Now, we was all up in this house ta pick which of us queens out-queened all other queens. But I thinks we all knows they is only one real Queen in this town and that, mah pretty babies, is Shero. So girlfriend, I don’t give a twelve inch dildo what ya’ll wrote on that piece of paper, we can only crown one true woman tonight �
� and that is you. Shero, you is the Queen of Queens.”

  Annnnnd the crowd went wild. Stockings flew up in the air. Silk panties rained down from the heavens. It was a miracle. A transgender miracle!

  Fade up Queen’s ‘We are the Champions’ as the drag queens hold hands and take a bow. They all gesture for Shero to stand in the center.

  Shero bows solo and then steps back to take the hands of Sugah Brown and Kitten Kaboodle.

  Company bow.

  Everyone does their best royal wave.

  Curtain.

  The End (patent pending)

  #

  Jack Wallen is the pen behind the saucy narrator’s voice in the Shero series as well as the mad bastard who came up with screamers, moaners, and boners in the I Zombie series.

  Find more information on Jack and his books at www.monkeypantz.net, or follow him on Facebook and Twitter

  Books by Jack:

  I Zombie Series:

  My Zombie My

  Die Zombie Die

  Fringe Killer:

  A Blade Away

  Gothica

  Endgame

  Shero

  Shero

  Gay Angels in Heaven

  Alan Nayes

  The chair is positioned just right, in front of the window and just below the wood ceiling beam. A rope is coiled on the carpet. In a few moments the morning sun will show its orange crown above the eucalyptus trees. The sky is clear, not a wisp of clouds anywhere. Only a crystalline sheet of blue. Yes, a perfect day.

  A perfect day for a hanging…

  Isabella touched the tiny gold crucifix hanging around her neck. Briefly, her eyes settled on the anguished figurine of Jesus Christ nailed in miniature to the cross. The church symbol had been a gift from her mother two months ago on her seventeenth birthday and Isabella wore it religiously, though more for her mother’s sake than her own. Isabella had never considered Jesus a significant part of her life. But she couldn’t deny the necklace’s delicate metallic beauty.

  She stepped into a crosswalk just as a Mustang convertible zipped by, forcing her to leap back to the sidewalk.

  “Watch it, assholes!” she shouted, angry at how close the speeding vehicle had been to clipping her. Didn’t the driver see her? She recognized Joe Bob and his football cronies—the studs of Metropolitan High. None of the athletes even acknowledged her as she gestured angrily with one finger. Which was nothing new really. Isabella had been pretty much ignored her entire high school life until she and Eileen had become an item. Yeah, well, fuck ’em all. So what if she was gay, a dyke, a lesbo—she’d heard it all the past several weeks, ever since she and Eileen had been caught making out behind the school auditorium. Some girl had snapped a photo with her cell phone and now the entire school was aware of the “gay odd couple.” Fuck you, Facebook.

  Isabella reached the high school a few minutes early. The last two days had been a blur for her, and she couldn’t figure out why. She didn’t do drugs and drank only at parties so why were the last forty-eight hours of her life an empty slate? She wanted to find Eileen and see how her best friend—and lover—was holding up under the ridicule. Damn, she hated school now. Even the teachers were looking at her differently. Let them look. What she and Eileen had was special, and if others didn’t understand then fuck them too.

  Isabella approached the front courtyard where students congregated before the bell to first period. She seemed to float over the ground and the odd sensation gave her a vague queasy feeling dead center in her gut. Though the sun was up and the concrete bathed in sunlight, Isabella found herself shivering. Her entire body felt cold, like she’d stepped out of freezer. Except for that tight ring of skin around her neck that burned like fire. Weird. Just nervousness, she told herself. What she needed was Eileen by her side. They were so perfect for each other: understanding their common desires to be together in spite of what Eileen’s parents, the school administrators and the other students thought. Isabella’s English teacher had even recommended counseling. For what—because they were in love?

  Ahead near the entrance, Isabella spotted two students that, until the now infamous photo had spread across the student body like a runaway virus, she’d considered her friends. Becky was a cheerleader, and Isabella had never held it against her that she dated Joe Bob. Next to the pretty blonde, Rose, a brunette, was dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex.

  “Hi,” Isabella said, attempting to be cheerful.

  Both girls ignored her. What’s with this? All we did was kiss. Isabella gazed a moment longer at Rose. Why was she crying? Hey, Mondays were bad but not worth weeping over. Try going through what she and Eileen had been subjected to. It was enough to make a girl want to—the queasy sensation squeezed more at Isabella’s midsection making her feel as if she’d been sucker punched. A cold steely feeling followed in its wake. Did she have breakfast this morning? She couldn’t recall. This memory lapse was irritating. It was as if Saturday morning to today had become a blank void in her life. She’d find Eileen and together they would share a snack before first period. Which reminded her—there was something she needed to talk over with her girlfriend. But she was having difficulty concentrating even on that. She just knew she had to hurry and it was important. Very important.

  Isabella adjusted her pack and strolled on past the two girls. “Bye,” she said.

  Still the girls didn’t look her way, making Isabella feel all the more like a high school pariah. Screw ’em both. Whatever was upsetting Rose wasn’t her or Eileen’s problem.

  Just before Isabella walked out of earshot she heard Becky say, “Supposedly they’d made some sort of love pact.”

  “God, how could someone do something that crazy?” Rose asked, visibly upset.

  “Now we’ll never know,” Becky frowned.

  The two girls vanished! Whoa, what just happened? Isabella froze, staring around her. She was in the school hallway in front of the locker she and Eileen shared. How did she arrive here so fast? One moment she was standing outside getting the cold shoulder from Becky and Rose and now she was here. She didn’t even remember walking in. That was really strange. But Isabella’s momentary confusion was rapidly replaced with anger when she began to turn the combination lock. “Shit,” she cursed. The lock had been manually busted open. Our notes.

  Isabella looked up and down the hall. Students moved past her without giving her a second glance. She tried smiling at a boy from her homeroom class, but he stared right past her. “John,” she called, thinking she could ask him if he’d seen anyone messing with her locker. But he didn’t even slow down to greet her.

  Isabella tried telling herself that perhaps he hadn’t heard her. But how could he not see her? Blowing it off, she turned her attention back to the locker. Inside, she found what she’d always feared the most since her relationship with Eileen had bloomed. All the private notes she and Eileen had written to each other were missing. Damn, the bastards. Why couldn’t the school just leave her and Eileen alone? Isabella sensed her eyes watering. It wasn’t fair. Those letters were theirs to read and share—no one else’s. If the romantic missives showed up on Facebook she would sue for sure. And poor Eileen. She was so sensitive and sweet. Isabella wasn’t sure how Eileen would respond. More than ever, Isabella needed to find her and talk to her, before Eileen did anything rash—another wave of freezing cold washed over Isabella, causing her to shiver strongly. Again, that worry was back, like she was supposed to warn Eileen about something, but her mind was blank. Was it regarding their love notes?

  Isabella folded both arms over her chest squelching a momentary tinge of panic in her midsection. They were just notes, she reminded herself—very private, yes—but not enough to make her feel so utterly despondent. And where the hell was Eileen? They always met here before class. Administration. Yes, Isabella would report the locker break-in at the principal’s office, then she would go find her friend and lover.

  “Oh crap,” she muttered. Sauntering down the hall cam
e Joe Bob and a buddy. She tried to stare daggers at him but he simply looked past her. Hey, dumbass, you almost hit me out there on the street, Isabella wanted to scream at him. But she kept her mouth shut. Why stoop to their level?

  “Yeah, rumor is one on Saturday morning and the other one yesterday,” the jock was saying.

  “Just a couple of lesbians,” his buddy said.

  Joe Bob shrugged lamely. “Still, maybe if everyone had laid off them…” then they were out of earshot.

  Puzzled, Isabella stared after the demeaning football players. Had Joe Bob actually just sounded remorseful? That would be a first. This day was really turning out strange. She couldn’t wait to tell Eileen. Maybe the school would finally leave her and Eileen alone. It wasn’t like they had some disease—they were gay lovers, that’s all. Isabella still hadn’t confided in her parents, and she wasn’t looking forward to their response. Eileen’s father had not taken the news well. But it was Eileen’s life to live as she chose.

  And my life too.

  The sick sensation in Isabella’s gut refused to leave on the way to the office. What was wrong with her? And on top of her upset stomach, a burning in her throat was making it difficult to swallow. Damn. Shitty Monday was taking on a whole new meaning.

  Isabella lurched. It happened again! She gazed around her. She was standing outside one of the school counselor’s offices.

  I didn’t even open the door!

  Inside the office she heard two voices—Ms. Jenkins, one of the counselors and a man’s voice she didn’t recognize.

  “No, they were both good students , As and Bs,” Ms. Jenkins was saying, though her voice sounded upset.

  The man cleared his throat. “What about this pact?”

  “That they would go together?” The counselor paused a long moment. “I was told the two girls were gay. And recently they’d been subjected to some unflattering comments and bullying.”

  Isabella imagined the man nodding because his next statement came out somber and heavy. “Could that have caused them to…” His voice trailed off.