Jessie and Stephan: A Queer Erotica Story

Jessie and Stephan

The disco ball threw sparkles of light around the dark club, and the music blared through my body like a soft hammer to my lungs and heart. My ears were already ringing, but I didn't care.

I breathed easily for the first time in a long time, the familiar constriction of my binder gone forever. I wore only one shirt, not the three I usually did whenever I went out. Gone forever, and never to be missed, were the bags of flesh on my chest that had never belonged there in the first place.

I was free.

I still slouched a little, protecting my chest from the bump and grind of the sweaty young people all around me. They danced and drank, singing or talking or making out in the laser-speared, smoky darkness. I pushed my way through them towards the stage, using hands or elbows to move people out of my way or prevent them from hitting me.

My chest was healed, but that didn't stop me from wincing away when someone brushed against me.

I made it to the empty space in front of the stage, where the karaoke rig was being set up.

I couldn't believe I had been convinced to come to a karaoke night, especially here. I didn't do bars or dance clubs. They made my skin crawl, even before I had a chest to protect.

A drag queen in an outrageously revealing outfit, a closer-to-god blonde wig with a gigantic flower bigger than her head, and shoes Gene Simmons would be envious of, took the stage with a microphone. She eyed the preparations – the setting up of a monitor and a few microphones – being completed by men dressed only in thongs, and then scanned the crowd.

"Hello there my boils and ghouls," she belted into the mic. "Are you ready for the karaoke contest?"

There were some ragged cheers and she deadpanned, "Me neither! Okay line up over here if you want to be humiliated." She waved a long-nailed and be-ringed hand at a set of stairs that led up to the stage. A few people had already lined up and were picking their songs from a range of binders with plastic sheets in them.

A sudden grab on my arm startled me. But before I could pull away, my friend Nate pinched my ear and kissed me on the cheek. "What's up, boy?" he asked. "Are you ready Jessie? Ready for public humiliation?"

I snorted and pinched his ear back. He cocked his head and trapped my hand between his shoulder and his head. I wiggled my fingers and he let me go. "Nah," I said. "You go. I'm going to keep my dignity."

"Loser," he said and then bounced over to the line, his blond hair flopping fetchingly over one eye. He saw me watching, winked and then stuck his tongue out at me. It was pierced.

I tried not to feel out of place or overwhelmed by the crowd now migrating towards the stage. I wanted to retreat to the back of the room, off to one side, but Nate would never forgive me. He'd been waiting for this stupid contest for months and had asked me to be there.

The first contestant went up, a cute girl with large eyes. She did a passable job singing, but was obviously overwhelmed by being on stage. She got only polite applause by the slightly drunken crowd.

After her came a few more people, and then, someone who caught my eye.

It had been a long time since I'd even thought about dating. I'd had so many other things to worry about. My surgery and recovery. Keeping my job. Finding another apartment when I got kicked out for being trans. Finishing school, before even all of that. This was Nate's not-so-subtle attempt at getting me out of the house and back onto the dating scene.

The guy who came up on stage next was skinny in an almost emaciated way, with long legs clad in faux-leather pants that almost qualified as leggings and a black T-shirt that hung from his frame. I recognized the band on the shirt and raised an eyebrow. I didn't think anyone liked that band any more.