Monday, February 22, 2010
In this excerpt from Dee Dee Day by Mykola Dementiuk, a young man arrives in NYC - it's a new city, with new dreams…but will he be able to forget the old and start anew? He rents an apartment from Dee Dee Day…who gives him a little bit more than he expected—love, passion, sex with her…or is that with him?
This work is dedicated to Victor Banis and Ann Bannon
Dee Dee Day
Publisher: Extasy Books (February 1, 2010)
Cover art by Angela Waters
Like all basements, it was musty and dimly lighted with spider webs in the corners. There was something sinister and evil about the entire cellar, rather like a dungeon meant for someone to be trapped and chained there, not one who came here just to check out the environment. I shook my head. I certainly didn’t want to be here.
“I’ve seen enough,” I said, turning back and wanting to return upstairs.
“But they’re right here,” she said, her hand atop a box that was stacked with other boxes in a corner. She opened the top and a sly smile broke on her lips. “Oh my, I forgot I had these.”
I stopped, turning back. “Have what?”
She pulled one out and then reached for another one, holding a slim paperback in each hand. They were dusty and moldy, but she had a sinister, dreamy look about her. “You know, I read every single word in these, seems like yesterday.”
I picked up a book. Moldy, certainly, made you want to sneeze and cough. Sex in the Shadows read the cover, a half-dressed girl was sitting on the floor as another paced about behind her. I picked up another one, Tutor from Lesbos, and rifled through others. Gay Girl, Gay Wrestlers, Man Hater, S & M Office Girls, on and on it went. I scowled, flipping the books down, “Just girl stuff, not my cup of tea.”
She looked at me, “Yes, I forgot, you’re a man and you like other men, is that right?”
I was about to say something, but decided not too. She winked at me and moved the box her feminine books were in, then was looking into another one. “How about this?” she smiled and handed me another paperback.
The Gay Underworld it read and showed a male figure in garter belt and nylons, the bulge in his crotch a clear indication that he was aroused, and was bare-breasted with a blond wig atop his pretty made up face. I was instantly aroused.
She smirked, “I thought you’d like these.”
I picked up a few more, Naked in the Night, The Greek Affair, The Cruising Class and others. “Some nice titles you have here.” It was too much for me. I started sneezing, but I was able to say, “Bring these upstairs.” I sneezed again and ran up the stairs.
Upstairs the air was cleaner, not so musty or stuffy with old books and withered paper. I had another cup of coffee and reminisced about old times in bus stations around the country. In most every town I was in, I seemed to gravitate to the bus station, where I’d travel via bus most everywhere I went. Of course many times I had to hitchhike and save whatever money I had and get to a town as broke as when I started.
Dee Dee came up the stairs and in each hand, she held two or three paperbacks and was smiling at me.
“I never thought I'd find this,” she said, holding one out. I Am a Woman by Ann Bannon. “I have one for you, too.” She showed me, The Why Not by Victor Banis.
“And the others?” I asked, gesturing to the other books she held.
“Oh, this? Just a reminder to George—it would be interesting if he still remembers.”
I looked at the books for George. Disciplinary Action, Penthouse Maids, Lady Cabbie and it was obvious these were crossdressing books. I blushed again.
“Does George like to get dressed up?”
She smirked. “No matter how feminine he tried to be, he still looked like man dressed in girly clothes. Some guys just can’t do it, you know?”
I knew that very well. With Randy, we played at it, but I looked like a ridiculous sham so I got out of the clothes and let Randy dress as he knew best.
“Gee, I never read this,” I said, flipping over the pages of The Why Not. “What’s it about?”
She laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She winked at me and began to read her book, I Am a Woman.
I looked at the back cover of Why Not and read gay throng of third sex and looked at the front, again. “Victor J. Banis’s scorching excursion through the gay world of the lost and the not-so-sure…” That certainly sounds like me.
“You know what we should do? Start our own bookstore for the connoisseurs.”
I smirked. “With these books? Doubt you’ll sell any.”
“I’m not talking about—” she looked at me. “What’s the name on the place you work?”
“Yeah, not no hoity-toity place like your store.” She winked at me. “Rather, a
place where only the select can enter. That’s because we give them what they’re
looking for. Don’t you think that’s a grand idea?”
I looked down at the book I was holding. “Can’t say it doesn’t have its merits,
but you really think anyone will come in for this?” I held out the Banis book.
“And what’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing. Except they just aren’t collector’s material, that’s all.”
She snorted. “As if you know what’s collector’s material?”
I shook my head. I was having enough of this hopeful but hopeless dream of hers.
“I suppose,” I said, flinging the paperback to the coach. “I should get dressed.
The day isn‟t getting any younger.”
“Yes, you do that,” she said as she buried her head in the Ann Bannon book, I Am A Woman.
I looked at her, and imagined that‟s the way I looked reading a paperback in bus stations. I shrugged, then shut the front door and went up to my room.
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