John is lying on his back breathing hard, gasping for air, and trying to remember how he ended up in this position. His position, on his back, feet pushing into his unyielding mattress, left hand furiously fisting his leaking cock, about to cum for the third, no fourth time in the last ten hours, is a familiar one. The song, that song, is about to come to an end for the fourth time as well. Bliss at last with a final upwards stroke ending in a rather rough twist John will later regret and he can finally think straight, well not completely straight.
His problems started last night at the show, no the night before.
John had just finished up for the night. It was two am and Funny Girls was closing up. Greg had congratulated everyone on a job well done, before heading up his offices. It was only him and The Woman left in the dressing room. John had pulled enough yellow feathers out of his hair to reconstruct a boa, and was ready to head out the door when Irene stopped him.
"Hey, John, I just wanted to say you're doing really well and rehearsals for your debut are coming along great, you're a fast study. When you first approached me about performing, I must admit I had my doubts but you've proven me wrong." Irene was flashing her predatory smile at him but her words carried a note of sincerity.
"Thanks Irene, that means a lot to me." John replied sheepishly, trying not to blush under the praise.
He held the stage door open for her as the exited the building together. Immediately Irene propped herself up against the dirty brick just outside the door and lit up a fag. This was where they first meet, that night four months ago. It felt like ages. The December air had a certain bite to it that September didn't.
"Listen; there is a show tomorrow night I want you to see. At Pussy in Boots, consider it homework for your training." Irene said huffing out a puff of smoke.
"Tomorrow night? Irene, I can't. Some of my Army mates are home on leave and we've got plans to meet up." John protested. He had booked that night off as soon as he'd found out.
"You're going out drinking anyways right? Just convince them to go to the show, it's the only chance you might get to see it, and I need you to see it." Irene sounded serious, if John showed up the next day having not seen it Irene might call off the whole project.
"I don't think-" John started his flimsy protest, "drag clubs just really aren't-"
"It's not a drag club John, they have all types of performances, and I just need you to see this one. Ditch your mates for a few minutes if you have to, you won't be disappointed." With that Irene stubbed out her fag on the brick and let the butt fall to the ground.
"The doorman's name is George, tell him you want to see the Angel show, and tell him The Woman sent you. He'll let you and your mates in for free. Go early if you want good seats."
John stood just outside the doors of Pussy in Boots his legs shaking even as he waved his mates over. After a nice diner, and stopping at two of John's new favourite pubs his mates were indeed warm to the idea of going to a show. John said he knew the prefect place.
John forgot how much fun these guys were, after returning home he thought he'd never miss the sticky humidity of the desert, the loneliness but now. John wishes he was still there with them, wishes when they go back he could go with them. He'd do shows for them when it got boring, he could be the queen of the desert. He would be an easy target for enemy fire in sparkly dresses and high heels. John's mirage of the desert evaporated as he walked back in the door of the club Billy Murray and the other's close behind.
Pussy in Boots was the exact opposite of Funny Girls. Funny Girls was warm and inviting, a place to be comfortable, with deep rich calming tones of red and cream that reminded John of his favourite jumper, with soft yellow, mood lighting as Greg called it. This club had an edgy vibe to it; the lights were either black lights or electric blue. There were well used black sofas interspersed with booths and high tables.
John managed to grab a high table with six chairs around it for him and his mates that offered a good view of the stage. The place was dressed for Christmas and the garland that hung from the ceiling was no doubt strategically laced with mistletoe. His mates all approved of the choice when three beautiful blondes walked out on stage in Santa's Elves' costumes and did a song and dance number to Jingle Bell Rock. John thought they were good, and applauded with the rest, but they were no The Woman and Irene would never have them perform on her stage.
Irene knew talent when she saw it, and she saw it in John, which surprised him. Two weeks ago she had come to him saying she would begin teaching him a routine if he was up for it. Since he started John had mostly been doing back up and getting to be the straight man for the comedic genius that was Nurse. Greg was looking for a new routine to headline his shows and John had showed the most potential. Irene had brought to him an idea she had done before and they both agreed it was a good starting place.
The blonde trio had moved on to Slade's Marry Christmas Everybody, which made John think of Doctor Who. All the recent Christmas epodes had somehow managed to squeeze that tune in. everyone was once again whistling and cheering for the girls when a smartly dressed man came out on stage and shooed them off. Hushing the crowed he finally announced what, or rather who, was coming up next.
"Hold on to your seats ladies and gentlemen, up next, what you've all been waiting for the lovely, the charming, Angel."
There was some long drawn out "oohs" and "ahhs" from the crowd as John looked around the room, but when his eyes came back to the stage his brain disconnected from the rest of his body.
A shockingly pale leg had slipped out from behind the curtain and the red strappy heel attached to that leg was, whoa. John could feel his heartbeat increase as the tune started. The leg was attached to the most graceful creature John had ever seen dressed in a red velvet teddy that was trimmed with white fur, and a voice that sung in breathy moans that made John think of all manner of naughty thoughts.
John doubted the sinuous creature on stage had indeed "been an Angel all year." His head was haloed with silky raven curls John would give anything to tug at and when his lips were together formed a perfect cupid's bow. John wanted to taste those lips. His eyes had not left the stage since Angel had appeared on it and he tracked every twirl and dip with a hunger that could not be sated. Angel finished with a wink and a smile and John was grateful he hadn't cum in his pants. He had mostly ignored the straining against his jeans until Angel had bowed his head and upon bring it up locked eyes with John where he then proceeded to wink.
It was 10 am the following morning and John had just finished coming into his own hand for the fourth time since getting home last night, shamelessly hitting the repeat button on youtube after bringing up Eartha Kitt's version of Santa Baby. He got up out of his bead to go clean up in the shower, sticky and spent. The song would never hold the same context for John ever again. He would always think of Angel, of long pale legs and silky black hair, of lips he'd never get to kiss. Angel was beautiful and intangible.
John was a broken ex-soldier who was trying to make it as a drag queen. He was short and had rough dirty blonde hair, although that was fixed with his wig. No one would ever look at John the way he had looked at Angel. Why had Irene wanted him to see this? Seeing Angel had not boosted his confidence as he thought it might, it only made him horny in a way he hadn't been since returning from the war. It made him want to work hard though. He'd tell Irene tonight he defiantly wanted to keep practicing.
John had brought his laptop into the loo with him and rested it on the counter, turning up the volume he hits play just before ducking into the shower spray.
"Santa Baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me…"