Demon Stories

Beau: The F Word, 1984, New York City

Beau

The F Word

1984, New York City

It happened one late night on a subway platform. No idea what time it was, or what caused this young man to say it. All I know is, Josephine and I were alone with this boy. 

Josephine was leaned against a partition, looking pretty sexy to me. She wore a red mini dress with built in corset, fake bosoms, and tall black high heels. Her black fishnets were calling me. I supposed to some she could have looked like a hooker, but to me? Perfection. I was fingering her long red wavy hair at the tips somewhere near her waist, totally lost with myself. 

Something I said made Josephine giggle, and being so late at night and so alone, she didn't giggle her normal way. She giggled with her deep, masculine voice that I adore so much. 

Immediately, behind me, I felt that boy's head snap up from his New York Daily News. 

I cleared my throat and adjusted my faux leopard fur mini jacket about the collar. I knew why he looked up. 

"Beau, don't. You're pulling my hair, it hurts," Josephine teased, using her masculine voice still. I was so enchanted by her using that voice, since it was so rare. 

I could feel that boy looking at Josephine, through my back. Staring at her legs, how they were muscular and long. Maybe they didn't look entirely like a lady's legs could, but they were perfect to me. But something about his silence was eerie. 

"I love you," I whispered to her.

"I love you, too," she sighed back, smiling to me with her beautiful red lips and white teeth.

"Faggot," whispered a small male voice behind me.

My eyes looked sideways. Josephine's smile was gone. 

There was silence for a few moments. Josephine was staring at me, delicate light orange eyebrows raised in shock, a slight ashamed blush to her cheeks. Because of her facial expression, I knew there was something that had to be done. 

No one calls my Josephine a faggot and lives. 

"Excuse me, sir?" I asked, turning around.

"Oh, great, there's another one," he said, rolling his eyes and flicking his newspaper up to his face, trying to look like he was ignoring us now. 

"How flattering," I sighed. I strode over to him in my leopard print high heels which meant business.

Seeing me in front of him, the boy put down his newspaper. "What the fuck you want?" he asked, a superior look on his face.

I just smiled. Josephine rolled her eyes at the boy's petulance. She stayed next to the partition, wanting no part of it.