Friday, December 19, 2008

I'm Your Man

I'm Your Man

by Jon Catron

Bobbie looked at the mirror and applied the lipstick slowly, making a slow kissing sound toward the reflecting surface. Lipstick was always the hardest to put on, you really had to *sell* it, force people to look at your lips, make them want your lips, make your lips make *them* want you. They say that first impressions are the most lasting. If it’s done right, it’s all they need to see.

This was especially true for Bobbie, whose lips were arguably his best assets. He had little going for him beyond his full lips and demure manner; the rest was carefully crafted to conceal everything in the most alluring way. He pulled on his black “bob” wig, his personal joke, and closed his right eye to begin applying the eyelashes.

He’d begun cross dressing several years ago, but he’d nearly given up his dignity several failed relationships before that. The women and men he’d paraded into his life back then had been a panacea for the ache in his soul, but never the cure.

All of them walked away in the end. Bobbie reached over and cranked the radio volume up as an old raspy voice asked him if the Moon was too bright, or the Chains too tight. Bobbie smiled and winked at the mirror. “Please….”

Of course the smile was faked; everything about Bobbie was faked though. Everyone faked it. Everything was fake now. Roses all come from drugstores. Love songs are sung sweetly by heartless bitches. Paychecks reward those that back stab their coworkers. Churches eat the innocent.

And the chaste look for Bobbie with discreet needful glances.

Everybody knows the End is coming, but they hide in their shiny houses, shiny cars, shiny clothes, shiny lives. Everyone knows the pain is out there and everybody hides from it in their own way. Bobbie was just playing the game better than anyone else.

He slipped on his dress, letting it slide down like a cloak, hiding him from the world; from the pain. Who was anyone to judge how he hid himself? Everyone is a Liar in their heart. How many promises hung broken and abused in the world? How many people gaped in shocked betrayal at their friends, their lovers, their family?

……….how could she?

He dabbed a hanky at his eye and pursed his lips as he grabbed his purse and coat and slipped out the door.

“Maybe I’ll get a Promiser tonight…. Yeah, that would be the trick.”

Bobbie hit the bars with bashful eyes and a tight, almost inviting smile on his perfect lips. He found his lover quickly, the aging John promising sweet, sweet nothings, obviously trying a little too desperately to hide a pale band of skin on his left hand. He was charming. He was handsome. And he was *so* smooth, so faux earnest in his declarations. His words were as empty as he was, dead things vomited out of a dead mouth. He was a dead man wanting to fuck a make believe woman.

He was perfect.

The taste of Leonard’s cock still sat in Bobbie’s mouth like a diseased toad, dry and befouled. His lover was gagged and thankfully bound in the other room as Bobbie cried just a little while he rinsed his mouth in the bathroom. He didn’t dab the tears from his eyes as he slipped from the dress and stalked into the bedroom, eyes finally as cold as the heart inside his chest.

Bobbie pulled the wig from his head as Leonard stared wild eyed at him. The illusions were gone now. He’d found the ring in Leonard’s pocket, but it didn’t matter. His own member stood erect, pointing at Leonard’s horrified gaze, but that didn’t matter either.

There was nothing to hide.

There would be so much to hide.

Bobbie held up the switchblade, his dead eyes moistening in anticipation.

“Baby,” *shnickt* “I’m your man.”

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