The Mary's Boys Collection

by Brandon Witt

  Vahin flinched. “Seriously? It’s a bit easier for me? Because you’re a black cop. Oh, poor you. Try growing up in a Muslim family and being gay. Try coming out to them, getting cut off from everyone you know. Try having to change your name to keep them from harassing you. Try having half the country assume you’re thinking about strapping a bomb to your chest and blowing them up. Yeah, it’s been easy to come out. About as fun as a fucking birthday party.”

  Vahin’s pulse throbbed at his temple. He looked over to see Cody standing there holding the platter of nachos, obviously wanting to run away. “Um. Sorry, Vahin. Want me to come back?”

  “No, kid. I’m sorry.” He let out a breath and attempted a smile. “Cheese, beef, and salsa is exactly what I need.”

  Cody set down the food, paused like he was going to say something else, then turned and walked away.

  Vahin let out another breath. Now he’d word-vomited all over the table, a sliver of guilt bit at him. He felt better, actually, but he hadn’t meant to go off like that. He glanced at Marlon. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to spout off.”

  Marlon studied him for a moment, his expression more open than it had been all evening. “You had to change your name?”

  For fuck’s sake. He hadn’t wanted to get into all of that so soon. He sighed and forced a calm he didn’t feel into his tone. “Yeah. After I came out… things didn’t go so well. Even after I moved. My family kept…. Well, let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant. I changed my name from Ifran to Vahin. It’s from the Hindu side of my mother’s family. Something they’d rather not think about.”

  “Shit.”

  Shit was right. Too much of an overshare, and he was bordering on being an asshole, whether Marlon was in the closet or not.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Marlon continued. “I had no idea. I guess it’s easy to think my own situation is the hardest.”

  Marlon’s expression was so genuine Vahin’s guilt increased. “Well, I did the same to you, didn’t I? I have no idea what it’s like to be a cop. Black, gay, or otherwise.” It looked like Marlon was about to apologize again, so Vahin cut him off. “Let’s just have nachos, okay? We need food. We’re good, right?”

  Marlon’s mouth worked before he finally responded. “Yeah. We’re good.” He picked up one of the larger chips, scooped up a heap of toppings, and popped it in his mouth. His eyes widened, and he let out a moan.

  Vahin smiled and relaxed a bit. “Told ya. They’re amazing, right?”

  “Totally.”

  The next several minutes were consumed by chips, cheese, guacamole, jalapeños, and sour cream. With each bite, Vahin felt better. And it looked like Marlon was feeling the same.

  After a bit, Marlon spoke again, motioning toward the bar. “So you’re a Muslim bartender? I thought Muslims didn’t drink?”

  Vahin snorted. “They don’t have gay sex either.”

  “Ah, right. Neither do Baptists, as my parents are quick to remind me.” Marlon grinned. “So you’re a Muslim who breaks all the rules. The Muslim bad boy, if you will.”

  He knew Marlon’s attempt to make light of it all was actually an effort to be nice, to smooth things over, but the words stung. Even after all these years. “Well, no. According to my family, I’m no longer Muslim. And I’m no longer worthy to be spoken to. However”—and here was the conflict, the thing he hadn’t been able to rationalize or fully understand—“I still see myself as Muslim. It’s as much my past, my heritage, as being Indian. You know?”

  Marlon nodded. “Yeah. I think I do. I don’t consider myself a Baptist anymore, and my family hasn’t cut me off or anything, but it’s still a part of who I am.”

  A thought came to him, one that always showed up on dates and in a million other situations where people were involved. “Does it bother you?”

  Marlon’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “That I’m Muslim?”

  Marlon’s expression left no doubt that he was genuine when he spoke. “No. Of course not. There are a couple Muslim guys on the force, and…. No. That doesn’t bother me at all.”

  The relief and gratitude Vahin felt irritated him. He shouldn’t have to feel grateful for being accepted. But still, he was.

  At that moment, the lights on the stage brightened, and a loud, shrill voice from the other side of the restaurant cut through all other noise. “Well, hellloooooooo, ladies!”

  Vahin instantly regretted his choice of tables. He no longer had the desire to punish or to test Marlon.

  Too late now.

  ManDonna swept through the dining room, her slinky gown dripping with ropes of crystal rhinestones and sequins, sending rainbows through the space as if she were a disco ball. She paused at a few tables, offering a wink here and a slap on the cheek there. Her unnaturally blue contact eyes widened as she spotted Vahin, then flicked across the table to Marlon. She looked back to Vahin and gave a wink with her glittering false eyelashes and continued on to the stage.

  Vahin groaned inwardly. She’d read his intent perfectly, and there was nothing short of grabbing Marlon’s hand and sprinting toward the door that would change his fate at this point.

  Taking her place on center stage, ManDonna raised both her hands in the air, popped her hip, and shook her fire-red wig, like she was in a shampoo commercial. She looked like a glamped-up version of Lucille Ball. “That’s right, boys, worship me!”

  The restaurant cheered.

  Marlon clapped along but cast a wide-eyed glance at Vahin.

  ManDonna lowered her arms and gestured toward the now quiet televisions around the bar. “You can tip me later for rescuing you from that… drivel. Baseball’s better without the sounds. You can focus on the bouncing asses and really determine how much of the bulge is their cup and how much is their own… bat. Speaking of….” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and raised her voice even higher… “Oh, booooys!”

  The crowd went into hysterics of hollers, whistles, and catcalls as six men—three running in from the back patio, and three from Mary’s parlor—jogged up to take their places on either side of the stage. Each muscled, oiled, and wearing only a striped pair of baseball pants cut off so high they might as well have been bikini bottoms. And each was stuffed with an exaggerated jock cup.

  No sooner had the men hit their marks than a techno version of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” pounded through the speakers. Vahin couldn’t suppress a grin. He hadn’t seen this particular performance before. Only ManDonna could figure out a way to gay-up that song. As it played, she glided off the stage, lip-synching in time with words in a ridiculously exaggerated manner.

  As was her normal, by the time the song was over, each of her gyrating models had been groped and had their chest hair pulled, nipples tweaked, and jocks squeezed. Though it was hard to look away, Vahin kept checking on Marlon. He seemed mostly terrified but had a slight grin on his face that seemed to grow every time Vahin checked. And to Vahin’s surprise, ManDonna hadn’t turned her attention to Marlon once during the song and even returned to the stage without so much as blowing him a kiss. Maybe it was going to be all right after all.

  ManDonna made a show of fanning herself and smoothing out her gown. “Let me tell y’all, I’ve had to take one for the team to get these guys to agree to this.” She paused, lifting a finger to her lips as if in thought. “Did I say take one for the team? I meant I had to take one from the team. All of them, honey. At once.” She closed her eyes and snarled her glossy red lips in false orgasm. “The things, the many, many things, I had to do to get them to agree to entertain you.” She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze back on the diners. “Well, you’re welcome.”

  The six-member baseball team pumped their hips.

  More hoots, hollers, and cheers. As the noise died down, ManDonna glanced at Marlon for a split second, and Vahin felt sweat instantly break out over his body. “Now, I know there are a lot of you straight boys in the audience, here with your wives and girlfriends—” She began to cough, covering her m
outh. “—beards.” She coughed again, cleared her throat, and wiped her middle finger across her bottom lip and continued like nothing had happened. “And I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you. I know you don’t want to see rugged, Colorado men dancing around with their junk flopping about willy-nilly, so I have something for you too. The fishiest fish of them all—Ariel Merman!”

  Relief coursed through Vahin as Ariel swept into the room. She was a new drag queen and much tamer than her drag mother, ManDonna. Marlon should be able to survive whatever she dished out.

  He did a double take as Ariel joined ManDonna and the ball players in front of their table. It had been several weeks since Vahin had seen Ariel Merman in action, and her skills had increased by a ridiculous level.

  She was clad in a barely there Rockies cheerleader outfit, and she might as well have just stepped out of a Playboy centerfold. Long wavy blonde hair cascaded down her back, hitting where her narrow waist jutted into curving hips. She ran her delicate hands up her flat stomach and cupped her cleavage for a brief moment—Vahin would swear they were real—and then waved at the crowd, bouncing up and down like a real cheerleader.

  Vahin was so blown away, he forgot all about Marlon’s precarious situation. Gone was the timid, boyish Zachary Cooper who could barely get two words out without blushing. In his place was one of the most beautiful women Vahin had ever seen. Her face and makeup were flawless, bringing to mind a young Christie Brinkley.

  He felt a touch on his arm. Marlon had leaned closer. “She doesn’t look like a fi—”

  ManDonna let out a screech, causing Marlon to jump a bit in his seat, his knee hitting the table. She pointed at Vahin, a wicked expression curving her lips. “Vahin, dahling, didn’t you explain to your new boy toy that one doesn’t interrupt a ManDonna show? At least not without punishment.” She lifted her hand and wiggled her finger toward Marlon in a come-hither manner.

  Marlon looked over at Vahin, genuine terror in his eyes.

  “Nope!” ManDonna shook her finger at him. “Don’t even try, honey. That hunk of Indian meat can’t help you now.” She gestured to Ariel. “Bring him up, daughter.”

  With an expression of sex and confidence Vahin had never seen her wear, Ariel took the step to their table and grabbed Marlon’s hand.

  He didn’t budge.

  She pulled again.

  Vahin held his breath. In that moment, a billion thoughts rushed through his mind. He should stop it. Marlon could easily freak out and hurt Zachary or run away. He should cause a distraction, rip off his own shirt and throw himself on the stage. Offer up free shots for everyone. Maybe….

  To his shock, Marlon stood and allowed himself to be led up to the stage, looking every bit like an abused puppy. Amid cheers, he took his place near the center, ManDonna on one side, Ariel on the other.

  ManDonna ran a finger over Marlon’s chest, causing him to flinch. “Now, what’s your name, rude man?”

  Marlon muttered something that Vahin couldn’t hear, even as close as he was.

  “Now, don’t be shy. You were all ready to talk in the middle of my performance a few seconds ago.” ManDonna reached back, lifted a microphone off the stand, and raised it to Marlon’s lips. “Here. Don’t say I didn’t have mercy. Now, what’s your name, you chocolate stud muffin.”

  A long hesitation, then finally, “Marlon.”

  Vahin couldn’t believe he’d actually used his real name. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him to lie.

  “Marlon, huh?” She ran her finger over his chest again, then paused before moving down his stomach to circle one of his shirt buttons with her fingernail—she’d know how far she could push. “I have to tell you, Marlon, you remind me of my husband, back in the day. Dark and manly, though—” She cupped his chest for the briefest of moments. “—Hershel wasn’t ever quite as built as you are.” She glanced out at the audience. “And if any of you bitches tell him I was up here lusting after another man, I’ll take you out with the rest of the trash, honey.”

  “He’d want to watch!”

  “He never just watches.” ManDonna gave a wink toward the voice in the back, then refocused on Marlon. “Now, let’s pretend we’re back in school, Mr. Sexpot Marlon. Tell the rest of the class what was so important that you had to ruin Ariel Merman’s entrance.”

  Marlon moved his mouth wordlessly, obviously trying to think of something other than the truth. Then he gave a little shrug. “I was, um, going to say that she, that Ariel, doesn’t look like a fish.” He offered an apologetic glance at Ariel.

  It seemed Marlon wasn’t so quick with the lies. The knowledge relieved Vahin somehow, as did Marlon’s willingness to play along. At least for now.

  “Doesn’t look like a….” ManDonna’s expression creased in confusion, and then she let out a laugh. “Oh!” She turned from Marlon and faced the crowd. “School’s in session, ladies. Here’s a little Drag 101 for you, as I doubt Marlon’s the only meathead not up to date. Fishy refers to a drag queen like Ariel here”—she swept her hand up and down toward Ariel, who struck a sultry pose—“one who can pass as a gorgeous biological woman.”

  ManDonna cocked her brow at the crowd. “And I may not be fishy myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gorgeous or that I’m not a lady.” She grabbed her crotch. “As many of you know.” More hoots and hollers.

  “Nor does it mean Ariel looks like a fish. Though she is a rather stunning mermaid, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Mary’s burst into applause, and Ariel did a little Marilyn Monroe shake while blowing the audience a kiss.

  She turned back to Marlon. “Understand now?”

  He nodded.

  “Hmmmm… I think you might need more of a lesson, actually.” ManDonna called toward the back, “Put on Shania’s ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman.’” Then she turned to face Vahin. “We’re about to molest your man. Oops. Sorry ’bout it.” She took a step back. “Ariel, my dear. Teach away.”

  Trumpets blared from speakers, followed by the twang of bass, and Ariel moved behind Marlon, completely hidden by his mass. Her sparkling long-nailed hands shot underneath his arms and began to run over his chest and stomach.

  Marlon’s eyes went wide and found Vahin.

  Again Vahin wondered how to fix this. This was more punishment than he’d bargained for. He didn’t see any way to rescue Marlon. He shrugged in a way of apology and mouthed, “Sorry. Dance.”

  Impossibly, Marlon’s eyes bugged out even more.

  Ariel’s fingers moved to the top button of Marlon’s shirt and popped it free. Before she could move to the next one, Marlon grabbed her hands.

  For a second, Vahin feared he was going to crush them. Marlon sought out Vahin once more, visibly pleading. Again Vahin mouthed his apology, then realized what Marlon needed him to do. He took a deep breath, stood, and began unbuttoning his own shirt and shimmying his body. He kept his gaze trained on Marlon’s. Vahin’s shirt was completely unbuttoned before Marlon released Ariel’s hands and gave a tentative twist of his hips.

  Ariel’s hands remained where they were until Marlon’s hips began to swivel more loosely, and then Ariel continued freeing each button. Within ten seconds, Marlon’s shirt was open as well. As she gripped either side of the fabric and began to pull it down his shoulders, Vahin saw Marlon tense again. Vahin slid off his own shirt, barely hearing the roaring of the crowd as they went wild. He walked toward the stage, never breaking eye contact as Marlon’s shirt disappeared.

  Vahin stepped on stage as Ariel reemerged from behind Marlon. She held out a hand toward Vahin, stopping him in his tracks. She flipped her blonde hair, bent over, and began to twerk against Marlon’s crotch. Vahin couldn’t help himself—he smiled and lifted his chin toward Marlon in what he meant as a “Come on, I dare you” gesture.

  Marlon must have gotten the message, because he hesitantly put both hands on either side of Ariel’s hips, then gave a halfhearted thrust.

  ManDonna let out a squeal and slid behind Marl
on, taking control of his hips. “Let me show you how a real man does it!” She forced him into gyrating, exaggerated thrusts. After a couple, she released him, but Marlon never lost his rhythm.

  And, damn if Vahin didn’t get turned on by the sight. He reached out, gripped one of Ariel’s wrists, and gently pulled her behind himself. With his free hand, he ran his open palm over Marlon’s rippled stomach, then gave a slight pull on his chest hair.

  Whatever had been holding Marlon back broke free, and he reached out and pulled Vahin to him, then continued his thrusting.

  From the hard, thick jab against his hip, Vahin realized he wasn’t the only one turned on.

  Within moments, ManDonna was gyrating against Marlon’s backside as Ariel did the same to Vahin. Their combined motions pressed Marlon’s and Vahin’s bodies firmly closer, the sweat of their skin causing their bare chests to slide together in a way that reminded Vahin of the night before.

  Another blare of Shania’s trumpets, and Marlon blew Vahin’s mind by wrapping the crook of his elbow behind Vahin’s neck and pulling him into a lip-crushing kiss.

  Whether Vahin should’ve tested Marlon or not, the man had passed a billionfold, and Vahin was going to reward him in every way imaginable when he got Marlon back to his place.

  As Marlon plunged his tongue deep into Vahin’s mouth, keeping a rhythmic time with the music that matched his constricted erection’s thrusts, Vahin felt something slip inside him—a melting, a crack, maybe. Whatever it was, there was a flitting second of fear as he realized Marlon was a man who could hurt him. Break his heart in a way he hadn’t allowed in years.

  Vahin let the sensation float away, as well as the blare of the music, the pressure of Ariel at his back, and the occasional scrape of ManDonna’s nails. The only thing that existed was the push of Marlon’s hard body and the heat of his kiss.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Marlon Barton

  Late. For the first time in his career, Marlon was late. And for a two o’clock shift, no less. And there wasn’t even snow to blame. The April day was unusually warm and dry, and traffic was nearly nonexistent, at least for Denver.