Welcome to the sequel of Confessions of a Drag Queen and a Girl Named Dot!
-Let all of those strangers who come upon this randomly know that there is a FIRST part to this story that I recommend reading before this one. It is in my profile, under the name of Confessions and a Drag Queen and a Girl Named Dot. It's easy to find, and hopefully fun to read. That way you can get all the origins of everyone.
-Summary: Best friends Dot and Eddie find themselves in more drama and disaster as their relationships prove more volatile than they planned. Despite it all, their support of one another pulls them through. Slash AND het.
1—A Boy Named Esmerelda—1
"You know what I love about marshmallows? There is absolutely nothing in them that is good for you."
Dot picked her marshmallow off her stick, plumping it with two fingers to test its warmth. I tuned out the sounds of Oliver's guitar pluckings and Hector's latest update on the state of his rat-infested apartment downtown. It wasn't a hard feat, since I found myself ignoring them even when they told me important things.
"There's gotta be something good," Peaches insisted. I had to lean forward to see past his knee. While our position was cozy and quaint, it wasn't exactly beneficial to my peripheral vision.
"Nope. Not a single milligram." Dot took a honking bite out of the marshmallow and squashed the rest into her mouth.
"What about lollipops?" Miguel asked, stretching out his legs toward the bonfire. "That's just pure sugar."
"Yeah. But lollipops suck." Dot smacked her lips in satisfaction. A white speck of marshmallow clung to her chin.
"You have to fit your opinion into everything," Peaches chuckled.
When Oliver suggested we go down to the beach and start a fire, I thought he meant something else. Usually when Oliver suggested any get-together, he meant beer, sex, and illegal drugs. So naturally, when he brought up the bonfire idea, I ignored him. However, when he bothered to clarify it was just some good, clean fun (well, he brought two six-packs, but to Oliver, you couldn't get any cleaner than that) I took him up on the idea. Everyone from the band Venom was invited. Zared was the only one who declined, and that was expected. He wasn't into pow-wows, apparently.
Even though it was technically the band's party, Dot, Miguel and I tagged along. After all, Dot needed to break up the all-male company and she wasn't going to come without her beloved Honduran boyfriend. I, of course, couldn't be separated from my beloved either.
"Hang on," Oliver called when Griffin started in on some wild tale. "I want to play another song."
"All you've done is rework the lyrics to other songs," Griffin groaned.
"We've had it with your gross revisions," Dot stated, getting to her feet and plopping down beside Miguel.
"But this song is about you," Oliver insisted, then began to play a random ditty on his guitar that I didn't recognize.
"Who? Me?" Dot asked.
"About everyone." Then Oliver began to sing in his mediocre voice.
"There once was a mulatto named Dot . . ."
"Okay, I already hate it," Dot snorted.
"A skank and whore she was not."
"You better believe it," Dot grumbled.
"There once was a blonde kid named Eddie . . ."
"Oh geez," I mumbled.
Then Oliver must have lost his rhyming momentum, because he plowed on with absolutely no cadence. "He dressed like a girl and . . . uh . . ."
"Had blonde curls?" I asked.
Peaches grunted in amusement.
"Great. Had blonde curls. Then he got AIDS at the annual gay parade- Ahh!"
I had thrown my stick at him, which had a tip that still glowed orange from the fire. Oliver brushed it off his swimshorts and burst out laughing.
"Don't make fun of a guy that can beat you up," I warned him.
"You can't beat me up."
Oliver pushed the guitar off his lap and faced me with a trace of amusement. "Okay. Prove it."
"If you get your ass beat by a gay guy, I'll never let you hear the end of it," Griffin assured him. Griffin, of course, was playing the typical brother role.
"And if you beat up Essie, I'll kick your ass," Peaches said, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm supposed to be afraid of a gay man who dresses in drag and his peace-activist boyfriend?"
"You don't know how Peaches fights," Miguel interrupted. "He could be the next Muhammad Ali."
"I'm glad you all love me so much," Oliver grunted, crossing his arms over his perfect pale chest. When it came to physical perfection, Oliver had no competition.
"Oh, we love you," Dot informed him. "It's just that we all love Essie better."
No one moved to deny her. Oliver snorted and stood.
"I'm going to the car to get more beer."
We didn't even say good-bye to him. Oliver would get over it. It was only that he wasn't used to an audience so unmoved by his charms. Usually there was a girl or two who would drop to his feet and lick his toes. Or another part of his body I didn't want to think about.
Griffin smirked. He shared Oliver's exact flawlessness: the black hair, the fudge-colored eyes, the muscular frame that any girl with half an iota of a hormone would lie down and die for. However, he didn't share Oliver's recklessness. He restrained himself (well, at least when he was sober.) He was still prone to one-night stands with vulnerable girls and a few drinks on a bad day, but he wasn't a perfect example of what not to be like his identical twin was.
"As long as we're cracking gay jokes, why don't you throw in some black ones?" Hector suggested. "I feel left out."
"Oh, shut up and go play some basketball," Griffin said.
Hector leaned back and sighed in satisfaction. "Ah. Now I am complete."
Dot didn't say anything, even though black jokes partially affected her.
"We are a pretty multi-cultural group," Miguel murmured.
"Yeah. You're Mexican."
Miguel pursed his lips in mock annoyance. "Honduran."
Griffin smirked and took a chug from his beer.
"Gays, blacks, and a Honduran," Dot murmured. "Hey, Griffin. What about you and Oliver?"
"We're Goth. That's kind of like being a minority."
"You can help that."
Griffin shrugged. "Not really. It's in our blood."
"Goth rights," Hector snorted. "That'll be the day."
Oliver plopped back down onto a log, cradling a pack of beer under his arm. His white chest practically glowed in the firelight. Was he really that pale? I never really noticed underneath the dim lights of The Smoke, the fabulous bar where I worked.
"Hey, guess what?" Oliver was smiling. Bad sign. "There's this group of girls further down the beach having a 'camp-out.'" Oliver made quotation marks with his fingers. "We should totally go raid their party."
"How old are these girls?" Hector asked, perking up.
"I don't know. Seventeen?"
"Damn." Griffin and Hector alike looked disappointed.
"Well, then again . . ." Oliver rubbed his chin. "They could be older. It's kind of dark out."
"Were you spying on them?" Dot asked. "You were only gone for five minutes."
"For your information," Oliver began haughtily, "they were camped behind our car. I was not spying. Just observing."
"Were they hot?" Griffin asked. Dot groaned, burying her face in her hands. We were all expecting that question.
"I don't know. Let's go find out."
Hector and Griffin didn't waste any time. Within seconds the twins and Venom's main guitarist vanished into the darkness, guffawing over something that was probably vulgar. Now it was just Miguel, Dot, Peaches and me.
"Finally," Dot grumbled, slouching. "I thought they'd never leave."
"Now, Dot . . ." Miguel warned with a smile.
"I don't even know why I agreed to come out here."
"It's romantic," Miguel told her.
Dot rolled her eyes. When it came to romance, Dot was never impressed. Too bad she ended up with one of the most romantic Hispanics in L.A.
"I like listening to the waves," I murmured, closing my eyes. "It's very soothing."
"Did you get that off a gift card?" Dot asked.
"Forgive me if I'm corny. It's Peaches job to come up with the profound stuff that doesn't sound dumb."
Peaches laughed. I twisted around and craned back my head so I could see him. The fire cast an orangish-red glow across his soft expression. I figured it didn't really matter what the lighting was. Peaches always looked good.
I leaned my head against his thigh and took my own advice. I listened to the waves. It was a beautiful sound, almost as beautiful a sound as Peaches's breathing or Peaches's laugh.
"Give me another marshmallow," Dot ordered Miguel, breaking the silence.
"You're letting them show us up," Miguel argued, jabbing his thumb at Peaches and me. I smirked and sat straighter so that I could see more beyond Peaches's leg.
"Miguel, I've come to terms with their relationship. They're perfect."
"And we can't be?"
"No." Dot grabbed the bag of marshmallows and ate them straight from the package.
Miguel frowned and sighed. Poor Miguel. Pessimistic girlfriends should always come with a warning label.
"Oh, don't mope," Dot warned. "I have sex with you. Isn't that enough?"
Peaches snorted and laid his hands on my shoulders. I hid my face in his leg to keep from bursting out laughing. Dot's blunt manner was usually inappropriate.
Miguel just stared at her.
"Oh, like they don't know!" Dot muttered, motioning to Peaches and me.
"Dot," Miguel replied finally. "Wouldn't it be a good idea to keep our personal life . . . you know, personal?"
Dot scowled and turned back to the fire. It didn't take much to make Dot angry. Miguel got used to her fiery nature a long time ago. Unfortunately, that didn't always make it easy to take.
Peaches's hands gave my shoulders a squeeze. He was happy he got stuck with the constant optimist and philanthropist (and he reminded me of this fact about once a week.)
Idle conversation passed for awhile, then some silence. Peaches and I couldn't do much in the presence of Dot and Miguel. Okay, maybe just the presence of Miguel. Not much disturbed Dot. She'd gotten used to all the gay action over the time she'd become best friends with me.
Finally I heard Hector, Griffin and Oliver approach. They were laughing up a storm.
"What is it?" Peaches asked.
"They were totally sixteen years old," Griffin replied, chortling. "But they were so into us. I mean on the sand drooling."
"You didn't do anything to them, did you?" I asked, always the one concerned for others' well-being. It was a trait some adored (Peaches) and some used as material to make fun of me (Dot.)
"Nah. But it was so funny watching them swoon over Oliver," Hector informed us.
"If I was a sixteen-year-old kid, I so would have hit on them," Oliver explained. "They were pretty hot. Especially that one chick . . . what did she say her name was?"
"Yeah. She had these . . ." Oliver held his hands over his pecs, " . . . enormous tits. God, if only she were a little older."
"Spare us the details of your underage victims," Dot chastised sourly. "Were there any men with them?"
"No. They were a bunch of high school girls camping by themselves. Their parents must be idiots."
"Yeah. There are sexual predators like you out there," Dot shot.
"I did not even bring up sex," Oliver grunted.
"Just thought about it," Griffin chuckled.
Oliver smirked and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. "I humored them. I won't lie and say I didn't flirt." He lifted his eyebrows, and his eyelids drooped. It was his usual sex-god expression, and it worked on nine out of every ten girls. Girls like Dot were the only ones that didn't fall for it.
"Oliver told them he was twenty."
"Liar. Try twenty-three."
Dot rolled her eyes and went back to looking miserable.
2-A Girl Named Dot-2
It wasn't my fault I was in a bad mood.
Ever since Monday, nothing had been going right. My car's radiator sprung a leak. My roommates invited over their obnoxious and arrogant boyfriends who looked down their long noses at me all night. Two weasly old guys hit on me at the supermarket in the span of a half an hour (which had me thinking the universe was collapsing or something, because men and I didn't mesh so well. Especially the rare, very rare man who found me attractive). The cash register went haywire at work and I had to blow a bunch of money to buy a new one that wouldn't arrive for another two days.
And to top it all off, Oliver, Griffin and Hector were jack asses.
After our little bonfire party was done, Miguel drove me home. I knew I should have said something apologetic. Maybe "I'm sorry I was such a bitch" or "I'm sorry I'm behaving like a bitch" or how about just "I'm a bitch." God knows it was the truth. Essie put up with me because she put up with everyone. I didn't know why Miguel put up with me.
Instead, I was silent.
Of course, Miguel wasn't particularly loquacious tonight either. He was unusually subdued. Usually when he was with Peaches he found some political outrage to vent. But tonight he was quiet.
"Are you okay?" he asked as he stopped at a red light.
"Yeah. Well, no. This week has sucked a donkey's ass."
Miguel sighed and flicked on his blinker.
"You?" I asked.
"Um . . ." He trailed off. "Well, it hasn't been particularly spectacular."
"Why not?" He knew all about my problems, of course. I ranted to him about them all the time. He was a little less forthcoming. It was a trait he and Peaches shared.
"Bills," he murmured.
"Oh. Sorry." As an artist, Miguel was not the wealthiest guy around. He was actually broke most of the time. It had been worse lately. I had to pay for our meals together, much to his displeasure. Miguel took great pride in his ability to provide for me, which made no sense. This was America. Women pulled their own weight here. I guess in some aspects he still dwelled in his homeland.
"People are nuts. You're a crazy talented artist. A lot better than all these 'abstract artists' everyone freaks out about."
"I mean, the fact you can't find outlets for your work is ridiculous. You just wait. People will wait until your dead before they try to auction off your work as some 'secret genius.' God, I hate people."
"Dot, por favor." Miguel threw me a forlorn glance. "Just leave it."
I crossed my arms and sulked.
"I want to take you to El Ojo de la Playa tomorrow."
"Why?" El Ojo de la Playa was some ritzy place along the beach. I didn't want to end up spending a bunch of money on tiny portions of crappy food. I was pretty sure Miguel didn't have the money to pay.
"I just want to."
I noticed his hands were tight on the steering wheel.
"So I have to dress up and shit?" I asked in disapproval. Dressing up was not my forte. I only wore dresses when Essie insisted.
He looked a little upset so I decided to drop it. I hoped my sex comment before hadn't bothered him. I mean, I'd told Essie all about my sexual escapades. To an amateur like me, Essie's advice was extremely valuable. And I wasn't sure, but I always believed men bragged about their girlfriends' "abilities" to their male friends. Not that Peaches would want to hear about me, but still . . .
Miguel pulled up to my apartment building. The lights weren't on in my apartment's windows, so I adopted a bit of hope that no one's annoying boyfriend was hanging out in my room.
I got out of the car, but I stopped when I saw Miguel staring ahead, clearly worried about something. I reached across the passenger's seat and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Huh?" He looked over at me.
"Why don't you come up with me?" I offered.
Miguel sighed and tried to smile. "I know you're in a bad mood. It would probably be best if I left."
I widened my eyes in feigned offense. "Por favor?" I asked in my terrible accent. Miguel always tried to help me with it, but no matter what he did my r's would not roll. It sucked that someone with as white an ass as Essie could roll her r's flawlessly, and I could not.
No matter what his mood, my terrible Spanish always made Miguel smile. "Well . . . maybe for a few minutes."
"You can park in there." I pointed to the building's parking lot. "I'll wait for you."
He parked and joined me by the front door. I often reviewed the impossibilities of our match in my head. He was somewhat attractive and I was not. Check. He had a personality and I didn't. Check. He was bilingual and I was not. Check. He was talented and I was not. Check. He had passion about such things as politics and art and I only had passion about the size of soda cups at gas stations. Check. He'd had three thousand lovers before me, and I'd had none. Check.
I could not screw this up.
Luckily, my roommates were not home. They were usually working at the hospital, so it was no surprise. I offered Miguel some cookies, claiming I cooked them myself. I didn't. They were in fact from Essie the day before. However, I was desperate to cheer both of us up.
"Essie made these, didn't she?"
Damn. He knew me way too well.
"I was there when she made them, if that's any consolation."
Miguel grinned and wrapped his arms around my waist. He wasn't very tall (barely five-foot-five) but he was taller than me. He laid a light kiss on my forehead and then pressed his face into my hair. If I ever had a doubt about our relationship (I usually didn't, but whatever,) it was all erased when he touched me. Even now, almost a year later, his contact still shot sparks up my spine.
For some reason, he held me tighter than usual tonight. It was less like a I-love-you hug and more like a I'm-going-to-Siberia-for-ten-years hug. It disturbed me. I pulled back a little and eyed him suspiciously.
"Something's wrong, isn't it?"
"No." His eyes met mine in all honesty.
I gave him a quick once-over in doubt. "Uh-huh."
"Mi querida," he murmured, and just like that I couldn't think straight. Goddamn his Spanish nicknames. They made me feel all warm and cozy, which didn't make sense. They were just words. Well, words in an incredibly sexy accent . . .
"That's not fair," I told him defensively.
Miguel grinned and pulled me close again. He pressed his lips against my ear and whispered, "Te quiero."
Miguel used this phrase so often that I had to go to his sister to ask her what it meant. Now that I knew, it wrapped fingers of pleasure around my heart.
I slouched against him, my arms slipping around his neck. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. It wasn't much of a scent, but I could catch a hint of burnt marshmallows.
Those girls that lived alone like me (well, there were my roommates, but they weren't home at all anyway) didn't know what they were missing before they had the opportunity to wake up next to their spectacular boyfriend. There was something incredibly intimate and satisfying about it. Every time it happened I always allowed myself a whole ten minutes to bury my face in his shirt and just lie there, grinning. Esmerelda didn't know how lucky she was; she lived with Peaches and got this opportunity every morning. Poor schmucks like me were forced to wake up alone.
Perhaps if you were married for twenty years, waking up next to your husband or wife or whatever wasn't so great. But for me, it was heaven.
Especially when I wake up with Miguel's arm folded around my waist like it was now.
After my ten minutes spent squishing my face into his shirt and smiling, I rolled over and glanced at my clock. I woke up unusually early. Of course, I hadn't worked until three this morning.
When I looked back, Miguel blinked at me. His short hair was one huge cowlick on the side of his head. The side of his face emerging from the pillow was red. He also sported a little black shag around his jaw. He looked the best and worst when he first woke up.
"Hello, bonita," he purred, smiling gently.
I asked his sister (well, one of his sisters) about this word as well. He used it often.
"Don't flatter me," I replied, but my insides rejoiced. At least he thought I was pretty, even if I was totally unimpressed by my reflection.
"What time is it?" he groaned.
"Nine-thirty. A new record for me."
Miguel yawned so wide I heard his jaw crack. Then he rolled over me and smothered me with his bulk.
"Ahh! Get off of me!"
"No, I'm comfortable like this."
The next five minutes was split between cracking up and trying to escape his weight. By the time I broke away, I was suffocating on giggles. I nearly fell off the bed and only Miguel's quick reflexes kept me from spilling over. He hauled me further away from the edge.
"Where are your roommates?" Miguel asked, perching himself on his elbows.
"Probably off curing cancer or something." I scratched my scalp and sat up too.
"Is there a chance of you making breakfast?" Miguel asked me.
"Not really. Besides, this is a new era. Now it's the man's job to cook."
"Well, if I'm not getting breakfast here, I might as well drive over to Essie's."
"Can Essie do this?" I grabbed his face and kissed him hard. Miguel chuckled against my mouth and slipped both arms around my waist.
"Probably," he answered when he pulled back.
"Fine. She can't do this." I grabbed my breasts and pushed them high enough so that my cleavage could be seen above my shirt's neckline.
"True." Then Miguel ducked his head and shoved his face in my boobs. I shrieked and pushed him away, giggling.
"This is rape," I protested.
"Mmhm," he replied doubtfully, tilting his face to give me the eye. He began to kiss the slope of my breasts and my collarbone. I nearly moaned in pleasure. I'd forgotten how I managed without him.
"You and your Latino charms," I grumbled when he buried his face in my neck. "You're cruel."
"Latino charms?" he asked, finally pulling up his head.
"Yeah. You know the stereotype. Latino men woo American women and then leave when we're pregnant."
Miguel lifted his eyebrows. "Uh-huh."
"I'm just saying."
"I'm no unfaithful novio, Dot. I thought you knew me."
"So you aren't going to take off without a word?"
Miguel began to smile, but suddenly his expression went cold and he looked away. He quickly slid off of me and slipped off the bed. I was curious at his abrupt change in attitude. Miguel usually didn't suffer from mood swings. It was the only reason he could put up with me. I guess his disposition hadn't changed since last night.
"What?" I asked. "Something wrong?"
Miguel didn't answer. He left the room, headed for the bathroom.
I sat in confusion beneath the covers. Maybe if I called Essie she would know what was wrong. She always understood men more than I did.
A/N: Just a note. I have re-done Confessions of a Drag Queen and a Girl Named Dot recently, so there may be some things in this story not mentioned in the first; that's because this is referencing the original Confesssions, which has since been tweaked. I WILL re-do this version at some point. It's a project in waiting. XD