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I met Renée’s gaze, and she beckoned to me. “Don’t be scared, Sweetie. You trust me, don’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, a flare of annoyance rising in me. I hated being put on the spot, and I’d never agreed to this. I didn’t even want to.
“Go on, Peter,” Minty urged. “Don’t be a pussy about it.”
Barry’s brows were up as he looked between me and his woman. He shook his head at her scoldingly.
“Peter! Peter! Whoo, whoo!”
I groaned and rose, heading toward the stairs that led up to the stage. Hands helped me along with pushes and pats. As I reached Renée, she sat on the chair and patted her lap.
“Bend over,” she commanded.
I shook my head.
The crowd booed and shouted encouragement both.
“You need your spanking,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Rumor has it, you’ve been a very naughty boy.”
I reached out for the mic she held in her left hand. Tilting her head, she handed it to me. Sweating, I flashed back to being on the stage at Kingsley, preparing to give my dull-but-adequate speech on my photography. I tried to summon the courage of Millar instead.
“I don’t need a spanking,” I said into the mic, gazing first at Renée and then out into the audience. “Because I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m gay, and I like dick, and I’m in love with a guy, yeah. But I won’t be spanked for that. I’m not ashamed.”
The room had gone quiet as I spoke, but as soon as I handed the mic back to Renée, the room exploded with shouts. Renée stood and applauded as well. “Well, well, look at that. My Sweetie is taking after his boyfriend in the best way.”
“How’s that?” Minty yelled. “Being a party pooper?”
The crowd laughed.
“Being self-righteous?” Antonio shouted.
Renée shook her mic at him, and I flipped them both off. “By showing us all what it looks like to be a brave, out, queer man.” She looked me up and down. “In a terribly ugly Halloween costume. What are you even supposed to be, baby?”
I leaned in so the mic caught my words. “Andy Warhol.”
“Well, baby, this was your fifteen minutes—” she pretended to glance at a watch, “—no, make that three minutes of fame. You have twelve minutes left over for some other time in the future. Take a bow.”
I obeyed.
The audience clapped and hollered.
Once they’d quieted, Renée said, “Now, who wants to get their ass busted?”
The number of volunteers was enormous, hands swinging in the air, and shouts of “me, me, me” coming louder than the chant of my name had been.
By the time I was seated by Daniel again, she’d chosen a twink with sparkling dark eyes and a pert bottom.
She proceeded to spank him while shouting out her usual pejoratives, until he was biting his lip, near tears. The crowd roared. The room shivered with energy and excitement. She looked at me, raised her hand, and ended her performance with, “This one is because you’re not as proud as Peter.”
Slap.
Part XII
November 1991
Chapter Twenty-Seven
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