Scandal in the House of Titan
The Kiss
“You can’t tell anyone.”
It’s dark. Light struggles to break through the beads and feathers hanging off the clothes rack. Her typically dark blue eyes appear black and full of worry beneath long, fluttering lashes.
“Neither can you.”
I hear her nod, the smudge of clown white body paint on her lips bobs up and down. I feel hands on my waist, shaky, restrained. Acrylic nails are digging into the nylon stretched across my lower back so tightly I can hear some of the tiny threads begin to snap.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Are you? If it just happens maybe the urges will go away and we can move on.”
“I hope so…”
She trails off. I reach up to wrap a hand around the back of her neck. I feel her tense up, her heartbeat prominent against my own restless fingers.
“Just kiss me already!” I whisper urgently. She shushes me, cupping my face and pulling it up to hers. I feel her shallow breaths across my lips. I know she’s terrified. So am I, but we both know we’ve been giving each other the eyes for weeks. It’s all been leading up to this. Maybe it is our mother-daughter style relationship that makes this feel dirty and wrong, but knowing our boyfriends are on their way to pick us up is definitely high on the list of reasons that Molly and I should not be shoved in a corner of the dressing room pressed together like two hot and bothered teenagers at prom.
I lean forward, not wanting to wait any longer. The darkness causes me to overestimate the distance between us. Our teeth clash together. Her hands clutch desperately at my lower back. I break away, gasping quietly. Her forehead presses gently against mine. Her smile becomes a flash of white behind the overflowing clothes rack.
“Gracie, this is wrong, but I really liked that.”
“I did too…”
Our lips press together again. Feeling braver, I inch closer until our stomachs touch—a weird crunching of sequins can be heard over the sound of our breathing. It continues until we hear a door slam. A cold chill runs down my spine. We look at each other. Her makeup is completely botched and I imagine mine is too. There are makeup wipes laying on a nearby vanity. I burst out of the clothes rack and throw a wipe to Molly. I hurriedly get rid of as much makeup as I can. I hear my boyfriend call my name from the front of the studio. I look back at Molly who has emerged.
“Good night,” she mutters, having difficulty looking at me.
“Good night,” I reply, walking towards my boyfriend and my vanity. I am nervous, anxious for the rest of the night, desperately wanting to text Molly, but I don’t. We survived. I narrowly made it through breaking one of the most important rules I know—never hook up with your drag mother.
It’s dark. Light struggles to break through the beads and feathers hanging off the clothes rack. Her typically dark blue eyes appear black and full of worry beneath long, fluttering lashes.
“Neither can you.”
I hear her nod, the smudge of clown white body paint on her lips bobs up and down. I feel hands on my waist, shaky, restrained. Acrylic nails are digging into the nylon stretched across my lower back so tightly I can hear some of the tiny threads begin to snap.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Are you? If it just happens maybe the urges will go away and we can move on.”
“I hope so…”
She trails off. I reach up to wrap a hand around the back of her neck. I feel her tense up, her heartbeat prominent against my own restless fingers.
“Just kiss me already!” I whisper urgently. She shushes me, cupping my face and pulling it up to hers. I feel her shallow breaths across my lips. I know she’s terrified. So am I, but we both know we’ve been giving each other the eyes for weeks. It’s all been leading up to this. Maybe it is our mother-daughter style relationship that makes this feel dirty and wrong, but knowing our boyfriends are on their way to pick us up is definitely high on the list of reasons that Molly and I should not be shoved in a corner of the dressing room pressed together like two hot and bothered teenagers at prom.
I lean forward, not wanting to wait any longer. The darkness causes me to overestimate the distance between us. Our teeth clash together. Her hands clutch desperately at my lower back. I break away, gasping quietly. Her forehead presses gently against mine. Her smile becomes a flash of white behind the overflowing clothes rack.
“Gracie, this is wrong, but I really liked that.”
“I did too…”
Our lips press together again. Feeling braver, I inch closer until our stomachs touch—a weird crunching of sequins can be heard over the sound of our breathing. It continues until we hear a door slam. A cold chill runs down my spine. We look at each other. Her makeup is completely botched and I imagine mine is too. There are makeup wipes laying on a nearby vanity. I burst out of the clothes rack and throw a wipe to Molly. I hurriedly get rid of as much makeup as I can. I hear my boyfriend call my name from the front of the studio. I look back at Molly who has emerged.
“Good night,” she mutters, having difficulty looking at me.
“Good night,” I reply, walking towards my boyfriend and my vanity. I am nervous, anxious for the rest of the night, desperately wanting to text Molly, but I don’t. We survived. I narrowly made it through breaking one of the most important rules I know—never hook up with your drag mother.