I Am Not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell Page A

rock?” the tall one asks.
    â€œI don’t do that,” I reply. Should I offer the blow I have in the kitchen instead? No. I need that for tomorrow night. I won’t have any chance to sleep until Saturday.
    â€œDo you mind if I take off some of this costume?” I ask. It’s that weird moment. Does he want to have sex with me the drag queen, or me the boy? And do I really care one way or the other? At least he wants to have sex with me. Fuck Jack.
    â€œYeah, sure. Do whatever,” he says.
    Thank fucking God. The beautiful vodka haze blocks out most feeling, but no amount of alcohol can block the pain from the corset forever. The oppressively hot skin-tight vinyl costume is so soaked with sweat that my clammy dehydrated body chafes with every tiny movement and I thank fucking God that I can take it all off. Please let me be able to take off most everything without falling over.
    So far so good. I lose my balance slightly while taking off my pantyhose, but that seems completely understandable, right? It’s tricky. I balance against the armoire and take another swallow of vodka. Is this robe sexy enough? Does it ride the line between looking like me-the-guy and me-the-drag-queen he brought home? I hope that my makeup is covering any stubble grown through the night. My grateful untucked dick starts getting hard. I’m proud of this and remember the time one guy told me that even though I’d blacked out from drinking an entire bottle of vodka, I’d never lost my erection the whole time I was having sex with him and his two friends. I’m a champ. A great sport.
    The taller one seems a little nervous now. No. Don’t. Don’t run. Don’t. Leave. Me.
    The shorter one comes in from the bathroom. He’s wearing one of my other wigs. Its platinum shine looks completely out of place against the dark skin of his face. He makes a faggy spin to show off, and swivels his hips as he walks over to his brother. He’s seducing his brother. It becomes clear from their easy familiarity with the scene that the taller brother has been having sex with the shorter brother for probably their entire postpubescent lives. I realize slowly, dully through the vodka muddle in my brain, that this is their life story. And I realize that it should be very sad, but I think that it’s kind of sexy, and wrong, which makes me want to be a part of it even more. If Jack can beat the crap out of old men for money, then I can be part of a threesome with two brothers. The older one sips at his drink and peers at his brother seductively. This is his normal .
    â€œTouch each other,” he says very seriously, nodding at his brother and me.
    And the younger one reaches over and brushes his hand across my bare chest under the robe. Suddenly, even though a second ago I was repulsed by the sight of this feminine boy, I’m now sucked into his world of wanting to do anything to please the taller, sexy brother. Even if it means taking part in some crazed pseudo–lesbian transvestite sex show.
    It’s hard to stand. I reach to caress him back, more than anything to keep my balance. My hand grabs his crotch through the dress. It’s hard and huge and I think that maybe he’s hot after all, and the room is spinning a bit and I’ve reached that point where between every action I take and the time I register what I’m doing is a moment of slow motion lag, and I’m not going to be able to stay upright much longer, and I lean in to kiss him to try to steady myself and my sloppy lips meet somewhere near his nose and he pushes me with all his strength into his brother and I hear the taller one scream. “FAGGOT! YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!! DON’T KISS MY BROTHER, FAGGOT! I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!” Why is the femme boy laughing?
    CRACK.
    And the light, the bright fucking light, and I am on the ground and the taller one is punching quick, sharp punches to