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“Welcome,” I said, “to Blue Divine’s drag paradise.”
Ryan gave me a gay gasp that fed my entire soul.
11
Ryan Diaz
Elijah opened the door and revealed an absolute drag paradise. It felt like walking onto the set of a TV show. The walls were painted a pastel blue, with bold pink polka dots on the left side and zigzags on the right, glitter alternating between the bands. There was a long red table at the far end of the room where a sewing machine sat with a few bright garments draped over it. There were golden-framed photos of various female icons hung up above and around a makeup station: Whitney Houston, Britney Spears, Madonna, Celia Cruz, Kylie Minogue. Each of the photos had something bedazzled, making Britney’s hair shine and Madonna’s cone-bra sparkle. Next to that workstation was a glass display stand with some impressively styled wigs. A sign sitting on the top of the display read, “Please don’t feed the wigs after midnight.”
I stepped onto the plush carpet, half expecting to turn into a drag queen from simply entering the room. “This is incredible, Elijah.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got to paint it all back to asylum white before I move, but whatever. It was worth it.”
“You did this all yourself?”
He nodded, lips turned into a tight-lipped frown. I noticed that seemed to be his default expression.
I walked over to a clothing rack holding some floor-length dresses, the colors arranged so that it appeared like a soft and shimmering rainbow hung off the hangers. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, a breeze following with it. “I’m shocked. This feels like a theme park or something.”
“Sit over here and strap in. The ride’s about to start.” Elijah stood next to the workstation with a hand on the chair, the frown flickering into a playful smile for a brief moment.
Damn. Elijah has such a nice smile. I need to see it more often.
“Do I pass the height test?” I asked as I took my seat.
Elijah put a hand out, around level with his chest, and looked me up and down. “Yup, you pass. Now drop your pants for the next part of the test.”
That got a surprised laugh out of me. I feigned unzipping my pants, which Elijah moved to stop me from doing. “You didn’t look very committed to stopping me,” I teased, settling back in the comfortable purple velvet chair.
“Want me to tase you the next time you threaten to take off your pants?”
Another laugh. They came so easy when Elijah was around. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”
He crossed his arms and cocked his head, the grin spreading across his face. The light played across those high and sharp cheekbones, drawing me into his vibrant green eyes. Those lips, whether he smiled or frowned, were plump and shiny with a lip gloss that I was sure tasted like strawberries and sex. He had his hair buzzed down, and his eyebrows were plucked to within an inch of their life. His thick chain-link necklace complemented the soft pink coloring of his cheeks, a walking contradiction of hard and soft, feminine and masculine, happy and sad.
Perfect and perfect.
“All right,” I said, prying my gaze off Elijah and focusing on the mirror instead. “What’s first?”
“First, we cover this up.” Elijah grabbed a blue sheet and tossed it over the mirror. “Then we cover this up.” He motioned at my face with his teal-colored fingers.
“Should I be nervous?” I asked as Elijah got to work setting up the makeup and brushes he needed for the transformation.
“Are you deathly allergic to anything that’s in this ingredient list?” Elijah raised a worn-down container of foundation, the ingredients having rubbed off at some point.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Great,” Elijah said, setting the container down and uncapping it. “Then you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about.”
And we were off to the races. Elijah got to work, cleaning my face with a wet wipe that smelled like eucalyptus. His touch was gentle yet firm, his fingers applying pressure over my forehead and nose, soft over my lips and eyes. He lingered a little around my chin. I cracked my eyes open and noticed his stare seemed to be locked in on my mouth.
His eyes flickered away when he realized I was looking. He tossed the wipe and started to explain the next steps, figuring out what color matched me best before working the base onto my skin. I could tell that Elijah felt centered in his element, confidence accompanying his every move. He gave me the sense that I could blindfold him and he’d still manage to turn me into a stunning drag queen.
Then, of course, that train of thought took a sharp left, images of a blindfolded Elijah starting to float across my closed eyes. Zero brushes or makeup palettes in sight, only Elijah lying down for me, silk blindfold around his eyes and legs spread open, hands behind his head and a delicious smile painted across those pillow-like lips.
