Author Topic: SHATTERED CEILING - LGBT Adult thriller/mystery  (Read 68 times)

Offline JEC112

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SHATTERED CEILING - LGBT Adult thriller/mystery
« on: April 03, 2021, 11:58:07 AM »
TRIGGER WARNING: Drug use, blood and violence, sex, drag queens. The MC is high on heroin.




Chapter 1 - Flashes

Corbin Michaels was surrounded by the sounds of sex. He sat alone in the darkroom at a nightclub called Flashes. The air reeked of salty sweat and lube while everyone around him engaged in carnal relations, cloaked in darkness so God could not watch.

Corbin felt no jealousy at his solitude. He had no need for human companions when his most cherished friends came in liquid form. His finger in the darkness traced along the calloused and scabbed skin along his forearm, a perfect line to indicate the vein he sought. An invisible smile spread along his face as the metal pricked his skin. His thumb plunged the liquid glee straight into his bloodstream. Euphoria caressed his brain with her supple fingers and he lolled his head back with a contented sigh.

In the chair behind his, another dude moaned. The fleshly slurp of someone enjoying a large lollipop told Corbin everything he needed to know. He gave a soft laugh at the sounds, then turned his head toward the dude enjoying an anonymous mouth.

“The stupid bitch tried another intervention today.” This time he gave a high-pitched sigh full of amusement. “Fourth one! Can you believe it? And she calls herself my best friend. Ha!”

“Yo, dude,” said the deep, dulcet, baritone voice that could only come from an African-American, “I’m in the middle of something here, so unless you wanna come swallow this anaconda too, shut your f**kin’ mouth.”

In the darkness, flashes of color overtook Corbin’s vision. Circles of pinks, purples, and blues popped up in rhythmic effect to the techno and dance music DJ Jankey Jake kept pounding until sunrise. This was the only pleasure Corbin sought.

“Nah, dude, I’m straight.”

Anaconda gave an amused scoff. “If you here, you sure as hell ain’t straight.”

True. Flashes was one of the most popular gay nightclubs in the whole of New York State. But saying “I’m straight” was a hell of a lot easier than saying, “I’m an asexual bisexual.” It didn’t jive with most people. Then again, most people sucked.

Corbin removed the needle from his arm, then waved the syringe around to conduct music with his own invisible symphony. His smile deepened, exposing his teeth to the demons thrusting and grunting in close enough proximity that the wind of their movements kissed his skin. Their carnal agony became his divine pleasure, preordained like Manifest Destiny. He smiled at everyone while smiling at no one.

Time passed. Minutes? Hours? Who knew. Who cared? Life was meant to be lived, and damn it, Corbin was gonna live it, baby. Whoo! He dropped the syringe on the floor then pushed himself off the chair, wiping some sticky substance best left unknown on his jeans. Walking provided a newfound sense of freedom. It gave him a method of escape from the darkroom, that cage, that box of immorality. His legs worked, carrying him toward a new journey beyond the hallway connecting the darkroom to the dance floor.

Once he left the corridor, the temperature rose by a million degrees. Green lasers cut into the air. Hundreds of bodies wearing Glo-Sticks and matching plastic jewelry gyrated on the dance floor, which alternated between the colors of the rainbow. A man in a clown suit with his face and hat decorated like an upside-down strawberry ice-cream cone grabbed his arm, dragging him to the floor. His feet and ass moved of their own accord, thrusting and bumping this way and that to Kylie Minogue’s latest single, “Love at First Sight” followed by “The Sound of Goodbye” by Perpetual Dreamer.

“This is the sound of goodbye,” Corbin said, waving to the clown. His words came out distorted. Muffled. A mouth filled with cotton. Was he even speaking English?

While dancing was fun, it wasn’t how he wanted to pass the night away. He could do that any weekend. His legs carried him toward the front of the nightclub until a voice awoke him from his euphoric trance.

“Yo, Corbin!”

Corbin turned to the bar to see tall Raul motion him forward with two upright fingers. Corbin meandered over to the bar, walking up the black steps that were hard to see in this interior rave-lit twilight. Black steps in a nightclub? Whose brilliant idea was that? He passed several patrons and workers; one particularly muscular, crème-skinned newbie word a tight golden speedo that left little to the imagination. He carried a tray of neon shots, but gave Corbin a coy smile as he passed, his ice-blue eyes twinkling in the laserlight.

“SU-U-U-UP?” Corbin asked the bartender, who placed two bottles of beer in front of him.

“Run those to the VIP section, will you?”

Corbin pursed his lips at the bottles. “Am I on duty tonight? I don’t think so.” He wagged a playful finger in front of the man’s nose.

Hermano, with the way you’re tweaking right now, yes, you are. That’s the energy we need around here. I told you I got the good stuff. Take it to them, and I’ll only take half of what they tip you, comprende?”

“I don’t understand comprende,” Corbin said. Then he tilted his head back with another delighted cackle. His vision was still fuzzy, but he saw someone who looked exactly like him in the mirror attached to the ceiling, complete with short blonde hair, green eyes, and half-shirt exposing his thin midriff and blonde happy trail.

Hey, who stole my face? Give it back, you bastard!

“Yeah, all right,” he said once his gaze returned to the bottles. “Be right back, Jeff.”

“That’s jefe,” Raul corrected, not for the first time.

Corbin’s butt shook its groove thing once he was back on the dance floor. He held the bottles high so as not to hit the uncoordinated dancers stepping side to side and rubbing their naughty parts into other naughty parts. Cher’s “Believe” asked his opinion in life after love, though Corbin found the question moot.

“Your beers … have … arrived,” he said to two gentlemen in matching navy-blue suits. A little chubby, bearded, pierced, and tatted. Anyone else would have said “Yes, please!” to these beautiful bears. Rawr!

“Can we order a tall cup of you too, handsome?” asked one of the bears, checking him out by lowering his glasses a bit.

The other stopped kissing the man’s cheek long enough to say, “Ooh, yes. What are you doing once your shift is over?”

Corbin raised his arms in a fake apology. “Sorry, I’m actually getting my testicles pierced in about ten minutes.” All three burst into laughter, then the two tipped him a Benjamin. Cha-ching! “Enjoy your night.”

He returned to the bar, slapping the bill down in front of Raul.

“Very nice,” said the bartender, holding it up to a light to ensure it was real. “You want your half now or later?”

“Later.” A special code between them. “Now” meant cash. “Later” meant whatever good sh** Raul could get his hands on. And the man was a goldmine. “I’m taking off. I wanna find Caroline while I’m feeling go-o-od. I think she’s at the Rodeo.”

Raul clicked his tongue and shook his head, revealing a set of star tattoos on the side of his neck, leading down to his body hidden by a clean white dress shirt. “Mang, I thought she kicked you outta her life again.”

“You know me,” Corbin reached his hands out to Raul’s tan, scruffy face. He squished the man’s cheeks, giving him fish-face. “Once we’re friends, we’re friends for life.” Then he planted a smacking wet kiss on Raul’s lips before releasing him to another wide cackle. Raul wiped his lips but joined in the laughter.

“Man, you are really feelin’ it. I got some stronger stuff if you wanna put your cut toward that but … I dunno mang, you might not be up for it.”

“I’m up for anything!” He threw his fists in the air, “V” for victory. “Whoo!”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Go have fun groveling. She’d be stupid to take you back.”

“Freebie says she does.”

“You’re on.”

With that, the two parted ways. Corbin ventured to the front of the club, still floating on cloud nine. It had been a while since a hit worked like this; he wanted to experience everything life had to offer.

Just outside the club, a long line of awaiting patrons gathered for entry into the building. A bunch of Club Kids dressed in their own styles of drag whooped and hollered as they passed around a joint. Some of their costumes barely classified as such (i.e. very little) but others like Shakwanna Doreem and Miz-Er-Ee-Laine had made quite a name for themselves in the club scene. Tonight Shakwanna wore a tight pink latex dress and the largest breastplate Corbin had ever seen. Twice as big as his head. In her white fingernails she held a small black purse. A stuffed Chihuahua’s head poked over the brim, watching everything with plastic beady eyes.

Miz-Er-Ee-Laine wore a faux-fur Dalmation print business suit with matching face paint, black and white swirled wig, and amber cat-eye contacts giving her slits for pupils. Her glittering white pumps glistened under the light of the flashing Flashes sign. She held a Fucci clutch close to her body.

“Looking good, ladies!” Corbin said as he passed them. “Can’t wait to see you at the pageant tomorrow!”

“Boy, is you leavin’ already?” Shakwanna asked, her bobbing head throwing her Ramen-noodle wig all over the place.

“Gonna go find Caroline.”

Miz-Er-Ee-Laine clutched her chest in faux shock. “I thought thee kicked your ath to the curb again.”

“A simple misunderstanding,” Corbin said as though that explained everything. “Gonna go apologize. See you tomorrow night!”

He took a left down a nearby alleyway. A single light above a garbage can spread a halo of clarity wide enough to show a group of older teens tagging the wall opposite the light.

The stars in the night sky seemed extra close until he realized the stars were airplane lights moving overhead. This made him sputter with laughter at his own ridiculousness.

“Whachu laughin’ at, man?” asked a burly white dude holding a can of paint. He stood up, anger etched in every line on his semi-shrouded face.

Corbin held his hands up in truce. “Sorry. I’m not tryna start no trouble. Just trippin’ balls is all.”

“Yeah, I’d say you like balls all right,” said a thin black dude with gold teeth and half his body hanging out of a wife-beater undershirt. “You just come from Flashes, huh? Part of that fag factory?”

If this continued much longer, it would ruin his high. He’d be out a lot of precious money. “Come on, fellas, we’re all friends here. Let’s just—”

He never finished his sentence. A fist sporting several rings made the wind in his lungs explode from his chest upon impact.. Corbin fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, gasping. The heroin masked all the pain. A second fist soared directly for his face, catching him right in the mouth. Blood and a loose tooth ejected into the air. The pain seared and burned, but the chemical in his veins prevented him from fighting back. Instead, all he could do was laugh.

“Oh, you think this is funny, huh?” asked the white guy. “Get ‘im, boys.”

The next thing Corbin knew, he lay on the ground while boots and sneakers rained down kicks and stomps upon his head, sending the world into a flurry of white, black, and red.

And all Corbin Michaels could do was laugh.