Look Homeward Dairy Queen
by Cookie Crumbles
An empty picture frame is suspended in the air.
A brunette walks up in a bathrobe, carrying a toothbrush.
As she starts brushing her teeth in the mirror, we hear her thoughts.
Well, today is my anniversary! I can't believe another year has slipped away from that very special night. The thrill of victory as I accepted the acclaim of my fans! Like every little drag queen, I knew I was worthy of a crown... It all seems so close, I could almost reach out and touch it…
She stops brushing and reaches out to her image.
Blackout.
Lights up on the drag queen in full regalia: glamorous gown, blonde hair, tiara, bouquet of roses, and a winner's sash across her chest.
Thank you, thank you. I'm overwhelmed. I can't believe I've won. When I lost the swimsuit competition AND the talent competition, I never dreamed my little essay “Cheese: the Foundation of Civilization” would be so strong. Go Cheddar!
I promise to be the very best Queen that Wisconsin has ever seen!! I understand that along with this great honor I also I have a great duty to bring peace and prosperity to the world…or at least to South East Wisconsin.
Phone rings.
She turns her back to the audience to answer phone.
A sign on her back says “Three Months Later.”
What? Tonight? I can't possibly get there in time. They'll fly me out of Timmerman Field? Well, that's different. OK. Give me the details again. I need to be at Cappy Wick's Cheezz Torte in Wisconsin Dells at 9 pm? OK then.
Driver, Mr. Limo Driver! You're certain this place is Cappy Wick's Cheezz Torte?? It looks kinda out of the way here in the middle of the dark woods. You're sure? Uh huh…
And you'll be back to pick me up????
She addresses the audience.
I watched as the car roared off with a rooster tail of gravel. Well it turns out that it wasn't Cappy Wick's Cheezz Torte, it was Capt Dick's Gay Resort.
The bartender said they were in dire straits. The MC for the annual amateur strip show hadn't shown up, and according to him, I looked to be exactly the girl they needed to fill in for her!
I went to the bathroom to freshen up for my duties as the Carol Merrill of beefcake, and—I couldn't believe my eyes—there, tuning up her mascara at the bathroom mirror, was my classmate from the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, Ginger Gagnon!
She told me that her friend Gloria had brought her to Capt Dick's to help her get over her broken heart. Why is it that the sweetest girls always have such miserable cads for boyfriends?
Ginger and Gloria were sharing a cabin just past the little bubbling brook across from the main lodge, and they invited me to stay overnight. I thanked them kindly but mentioned that my limo was due back by midnight.
The strip show was more fun than any of the milk and cheese contests I had previously judged in my official capacity as Dairyland Queen. As my hand passed over the head of each hunky young man on display, it lingered over my favorite contestant to invoke the fevered applause of the audience. The two finalists were equally adorable, but MY favorite won…somehow.
To my great disappointment, none of the strippers seemed to have any interest in girls, not even a bona fide crowned queen such as myself. As charming as I was—and am—I took my leave. I knew I would not be in the running for their after hours plans.
I blended into the crowd, where a group of thirty-something guys were playing pool. They needed a fourth to fill out partners and asked if I played. Their skill level didn't intimidate me, and though they weren't strippers, they weren't exactly hard to look at.
I played way over my head. Me and my partner, Bruce, won three games in a row. All our hooting and hollering attracted the attention of my girlfriends. Ginger hadn't hooked up yet. She came over with Gloria about the time the bartender announced last call, which made me suddenly realize that my limo driver had stood me up.
As we left the bar, Bruce, looking right at Ginger, asked, “Would you girls like to come back to our cabin for a glass of bubbly or two?” We said, “Uh… SURE!”
The boys' suite was deluxe: two fluffy chairs hugging a big overstuffed love seat, a huge red Jacuzzi with four pulsating jets of atomic scrubbing bubbles, hot men and cold champagne…
I hadn't been in a room full of naked men since High School, and back then I wasn't wearing an evening gown with four inch pumps…although I certainly wanted to be!
Two of the boys were watching the tub fill, while Bruce lay languidly on the love seat. His little soldier was ready for sentry duty. But Miss Gagnon was in the boy's shower, stripping off her paint, and I—in a moment of weakness—fell on Bruce. He was a comfortable mouthful—not the sort of thing that wakes you up in the middle of the night with lockjaw, but nice.
The shower noise finally stopped, and Miss Gagnon appeared behind me.
“Heyyyyyyyyyyyy,” she whined, speaking volumes in that single elongated syllable. Being dedicated to public service, I relinquished her barely used beef jerky.
However, loath to be a mere bystander, I moved up to his nipple. Tugging at
Gloria's sleeve, I brought her down to his side where she joined in on his other nipple. We made a lovely geometric figure: Two bejeweled, high-heeled drag queens topside with the freshly scrubbed Miss Gagnon—now all boy—working the fire down below.
It was all the clenching, moaning, writhing, tight action a first rate porno director could have asked for—had there been one!
After a time, the splashing and giggling in the hot tub drew our attention. Gloria and I rolled off Bruce's chest, and Miss Gagnon took hold of her beau, returning with him into the sea, as it were.
All four boys were naked and wet and getting wetter. Gloria and I settled into the two comfy wing chairs to enjoy the water show. Sadly, there was no popcorn. So we contented ourselves by holding up Olympic score cards. Nothing less than a 9.9 of course. After a while, we looked at each other and said, “Our work here is done.”
They never even noticed we had gone…
Blackout.
Cookie Crumbles is a drag queen, monologist, crafter, biker (both kinds), cook, and friend...not to mention incredibly old—or at least she feels that way every morning when she entreats her joints to move. Ms. Crumbles is the NewTown Writers' Webmistress and has been associated with the group since 2002. She has performed in many of the group's shows and was honored to appear in Off the Rocks Volume 11.
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| Photo by Robert Klein-Engler |