Beauty is something that I never really got used to. No one looked at me growing up in that way. Maybe because of where I grew up. Maybe it's because I didn't carry myself with the confidence that the other guys did. Beauty was something so foreign to me.

This story is a story about how I found my beauty. It is a story about how I became beautiful.

“I made it,” I say walking off the train platform.

My mouth is dry. It's been a long fucking trip. My name is Israel Mableton. I'm from the middle of Pennsylvania. I'd say the town but it didn't matter. It was literally in the middle of no where. Here I am now in Philadelphia though. The city of brotherly love. The idea of brotherly love just seems a joke to me. See...I'm gay. I always have been. It wasn't until recently I came to terms with it. I've been in the closet almost my entire life. Until this day my parents don't know that I'm gay.

“BABY BRO!”

My brother grabs me and pulls me close. He's my twin brother. We are identical. It's a little joke really that he calls me his little brother. Truth is we are only two minutes apart.

“Morocco...I missed you man,” I say grabbing onto him.

Morocco Mableton. My brother.

We embrace. A part of me does miss him. A part of me doesn't. For twins we were never the closest. You would think we were. I'm gay. He's gay. The difference is that I'm more in the closet then he really ever was. Morocco was out at the age of 11. We used to be close back then. Morocco didn't just come out of the closet. He burned the shit down. By 15, Morocco was a flaming faggot. By 17, my religious parents kicked him out of the house.

By 19...he moved to Philadelphia.

That was 2 years ago.

“We are going to have to get you shopping brother. Jesus Christ...” Morocco tells me looking me up and down.

I force a smile. That's another thing about Morocco. He is so critical of me. Here I am looking down at my clothing and just not feeling good about myself. I was always so basic to him. I was always the DL brother who he just saw as more of an annoyance than anything.

“We'll get him together. Two sexy twins. Ya'll can run the city,” a man says.

Morocco leans forward, “Oh...Isreal...this is Laurence.”

My mouth waters a little bit as I see this Laurence guy. He's sexy. He's tall. I'm not used to being around gay men. I never have been. Laurence isn't the kind of gay guy that I'm used to though. He stands at 6'2”. He's a brown caramel complexion with protruding muscles from his shirt. His body is everything. He has deep dark brown eyes.

“Hey...” I smile at him.

Laurence must be able to tell I'm nervous. He winks at me a little bit batting these perfect eyelashes before turning and grabbing my bag.

“So how long are you visiting?” Laurence asks me.

I shrug, “Just for a few weeks.”

Morocco grabs me by the shoulder, “I'm trying to get my little brother to move down here.”

“You know I can't Morocco.”

“Why not? Mom and Dad will be fine. You're going to have to cut the strings at some point in your life. Like what do they think you're down here for? Bible school or something?”

He forces a laugh. I don't find it funny. Morocco never gets off my back. He just thinks I'm the lamest person in the world. I force a smile back.

“They think I'm down here for an internship,” I reply.

“You are such a pussy,” Morocco rolls his eyes.

That's how my brother Morocco is. He's a dickhead. He's always been. His personality has just always been extra. He prides himself in being able to speak his mind no matter how that came across. And honestly that came across annoying at times.

“Damn Morocco, ease up,” Laurence states.

My face blushes when a complete stranger has to take up for me against my own brother. He's such a fucking dickhead and even though I love Morocco...I don't always like him.

“He's used to it,” Morocco replies, “That's just how I am.”

That is his excuse for everything.

Laurence nods, “Well it's ok. We'll convince your quiet little brother to stay. Maybe he just needs the right reason.”

Laurence flashes me a smile. This dude is sexy. I have to admit. I was not aware gay guys really came built like this. This guy was everything and I had no idea just by looking at him that he was gay.

“Don't...” Morocco tells Laurence.

I'm not sure what he's telling Laurence not to do. Laurence just seems like he's being nice in my opinion.

“Ok ok,” Laurence smiles before leaning forward to me, “Here...I'll carry your things to the car---sexy twin.”

Laurence leans forward and grabs my bag. He does it slowly. As he does it his hand slowly brushes up against my hand. All the while his eyes are looking at me. They stare deep into me. They make some sort of connection that I don't understand.

I watch him walking away. This muscular god of a man. He is everything that I could imagine from like a gay porn or something. They definitely didn't build men like him back home. It's not even just that either. He has swag. Him and Morocco are dressed like a million bucks. Morocco has on his little tight blazer. The other guy has on a tight shirt and ripped distressed jeans. There is something so classic and elegant about them. I look at the rags I'm in and all of a sudden the feeling just comes up again.

I'm not Morocco. I'm not as good as him.

“Don't even think about it,” Morocco tells me.

“Think about what?”

“Him...” Morocco responds, “I see your eyes boy. Don't do it...”

I didn't know that my eyes were given me away. I mean Laurence was sexy. I had to admit he was attractive. I wasn't trying to do anything inappropriate. But then it clicks.

“Holy shit...wait...are you and Laurence together?” I ask.

Morocco rolls his eyes, “Boy no. Laurence is my roommate. But you need to be careful of him. Laurence dates models and things. I'm trying to protect you little bro...you're not on that level yet. You're not ready.”

He looks at me and rolls his eyes. My heart drops. You would think Morocco was talking to a piece of shit instead of his brother. You would think that we weren't identical twins. How could someone so full of himself feel like his twin brother wasn't up to par?

“My bad,” I respond.

I'm never combative. I'm always quiet. I'm always reserved. It's just my nature. That's what I tell myself. It's just my way of reflecting why Morocco treats me the way he does.

“Don't worry,” Morocco responds, “I'll protect you little brother. We'll find you a nice little nerd or something. One of the geeky types. Isn't that your type?”

I don't know where he's pulling this shit from.

“I don't got a type...”

“Well Laurence ain't it. I mean he's sexy and shit. He's more my type. I fucked him...back in the day. But don't tell my fiance when you meet him.”

My mouth drops.

What...the...fuck?

“Fiance?”

Morocco shows me a ring at that moment, “Surprise!”

I can't get the fact out of my head that Morocco is engaged. As we get back to his loft I'm still thinking about it. The loft is a three bedroom loft. It overlooks downtown Philadelphia. It's really beautiful. I want to engage in it. I want to look at the city but I'm just now finding out that my twin brother is getting married. I don't know how to react. I don't know how to engage in this.

I want to address him but I'm not sure how. Morocco can be a little...intimidating to say the least. As we walk in the loft...Morocco instructs me to take off my shoes.

“You're rooms to left,” Morocco tells me, “Take off your shoes before you walk in. Remember to make your bed. Clean comforters are in the pantry. Don't drink my energy drinks. And don't be wandering around this city on your own. You hear me? These faggots will eat you alive. Israel. Izzy! Boy is you listening to what I'm trying to tell you?”

“I hear you,” I respond.

“Damn is the boy 12?” Laurence asks.

Morocco looks away from me, “He's been sheltered his entire life. You don't get it Laurence. You got to tell him shit a few times for it to click.”

Morocco talks about me like I'm not even in the room. I hate trying to make it seem like I'm the victim. Maybe he means well. Maybe it's just his delivery. Maybe I'm just too weak.

“Does your fiance live here too?” I ask.

I'm uncomfortable. I don't know what it is. I didn't know Morocco had a roommate. He neglected to tell me that. Laurence seems cool but he's a stranger. I didn't think I'd be living with a stranger. I also didn't know Morocco had a fiance.

“He's over here a lot. But no he doesn't stay here,” Morocco replies, “You'll get to meet him, tomorrow. We are going to have dinner. I was going to do it tonight but a bitch got plans.”

“I just got it,” I tell my brother.

He shrugs, “I got bills to pay hunny. Are you going to pay it?”

I look over at Morocco. I don't say anything.

Within an hour Morocco is gone. He leaves me in this house with his roommate who I don't know from a can of paint. Maybe I shouldn't feel so uneasy about it. Maybe if I stopped being such a fuckin baby he'd stop treating me like one.

I spend a few hours in my room. It gets dark within a matter of minutes. It's really late...almost 1 am. Morocco still isn't home. I start wondering what Morocco could be doing that could be taking this long. The apartment is beautiful. It's big. It's spacious. It's luxurious just like Morocco likes to live.

I wander into the living room...shoes off just like my brother told me. As I get to the living room I see a light on in one of the bathrooms. I wander into the hallway and there I see him. Laurence is standing there.

He doesn't have a shirt on. He has on some sexy underwear. It's not anything I've ever really seen. It looks like some bondage underwear really. Thin straps spread across his dick and his ass. You could see right through the straps. His dick is pressed up against the side of his leg. It's huge. His ass is big too. I'm versatile. Always have been. Both things are looking amazing to me.

“Like what you see?” he asks me.

I've never seen a guy like Laurence. Muscles. Sexy face. Brown skin.

“You a stripper or something?” I ask him looking down at his underwear.

“Only on weekends. This is for something else.”

It would explain the body. He had to have been a stripper. I mean regular guys didn't walk around with bodies like that. Laurence seemed comfortable having me standing there in the doorway looking at him in the bathroom. He was comfortable with people staring at his body. I could never be so brave...not in a million years.

“Like...what?”

“You ever heard of a ball?” he asks me.

“Like Cinderella?” I ask.

He answers with laughter. The way he is laughing at me makes me blush red in the face.

“Jesus Christ...you have been sheltered haven't you?” he asks me.

“Sorry.”

I start walking away at that moment. I don't know why. I'm just embarrassed. I don't expect Laurence to chase me down the hallway. He grabs me by the arm and holds me for a minute. He holds onto my arm and just grasps onto it. He keeps the grip on me.

“Wait...I wasn't trying to play you,” he tells me.

I look down at my wrist. Laurence standing there holding onto my wrist makes me nervous. I'm not used to being this close to an attractive man.

“You're right,” I respond to him, “I'm sheltered. I'm a virgin. I'm religious. My idea of fun is a monopoly. My idea of crazy is watching the Walking Dead. I'm a lame. Is that what you wanted to hear.”

“You're getting defensive,” he laughs, “I like it. Why don't you get defensive like that with your brother?”

I didn't think I was getting defensive. I didn't think I was saying it in a smart way. I guess after so long about hearing how much of a lame you are you really start to believe it. It really hits you. When you grow up feeling unworthy and when you grow up just feeling like you don't matter...it hits you that you never really do.

And that's when I say it. That's when I say the words that have been on my mind my entire life.

“Morocco is the special one.”

Laurence looks at me. It's almost like he feels bad for me. It wouldn't surprise me if he did. Everyone felt bad for me. Especially when they found out just how much personality my brother Morocco had. Morocco could walk into a room and own it. I was nothing more than his shadow. An identical shadow to my brother.

“Get dressed...” Laurence tells me.

“Wh---why?”

“Because I'm taking Cinderella to the ball...”

A sense of excitement comes over me as Laurence and I pull up to a club. It's the first time I ever been at a club. Morocco and I used to go to parties but I stopped because my conversation was awkward. I was never the conversation piece. I was the boring twin and everyone back home knew it.

“Relax...”

“I feel like people are looking at me,” I respond.

It's true. As soon as we get on line I notice a few guys staring at me. I feel naked. Laurence helped me get dressed. He gets one of Morocco's tight jeans and some shirt out of Morocco's closet. When I walk past the cars I see a reflection of myself. Even with Israel's clothes I can't carry myself the way that I want. I can't become who I want to be. I'm just lost.

“They are looking at you because you're sexy as fuck,” Laurence responds, “And knowing the faggots in this city...they feed off your energy. You seem like fresh meat. Like someone is just ready to take advantage of you. Stand straight. Be more confident...like Morocco.”

Be like Morocco. I've been hearing that all my life. Even from my parents. They wanted me to be like Morocco up until the point that Morocco straight up abandoned their asses. Then I was there to pick up the pieces he left them with. They didn't want me to be like Morocco then.

“I've never seen so many gay people in my life.”

“That's what this function is all about,” Laurence tells me, “It's a ball. And I'm walking tonight.”

He taps onto his bookbag.

“Walking where?”

He laughs a little bit, “Come on. I'll explain it.”

We get into the club. The place is hot as hell. My heart is racing. So many gay people are everywhere. They are outlined around a runway. There are club beats playing on the speakers around us. I am standoffish as I watch Laurence walk through the crowd speaking to people that he knows. It's clear that he is popular. I have no doubt that if he's Morocco's friend that he is really popular. The fact that he can come into a place in a big city like Philadelphia and no anyone blows my mind.

There is someone on the mic. He's a flamboyant man dressed in slacks. He has a purse on and he has heels. Yeah...these are the kind of gay people I was expecting.

I'm so uncomfortable as I look around. No one's staring at me now but I still feel so...naked here. I feel so exposed.

“Come here...” Laurence tells me, “See that man on the mic?”

“Yeah...”

“He's a commentator,” Laurence explains, “Now ballroom culture describes an underground LGBT subculture where people walk. And when I say walk...I mean you walk for trophies and prizes at events known as balls. That's where you are now. You're at a ball.”

“Is that what they are doing right now?”

I notice some people walking up to the stage. The commentator is saying something. I look on not really understanding the heaviness of what he's saying. He's using a lot of slang. A gay boy is spandex is standing at the end of the runway. He begins to dance in the most feminine fucking way I've seen in my life. His fingers twirl in the air over and over as though he's attempting to capture butterflies or something.

Laurence laughs, “Naw man. That's called voguing. I know what you're thinking. Yes...it's supposed to be feminine. Use the vogue elements of hands, catwalk, duckwalk, floor performance, spins and dips. Watch it. I'll be right back.”

“Wait you can't just leave me standing here...”

“Enjoy the performance. They don't bite. And hell if someone does bite, who knows? You might like it...”

Laurence walks off at that moment. He's laughing. He's enjoying the fact that I'm uncomfortable. I realize at that moment I shouldn't have come here. I should have listened to my brother.

As he walks off I feel alone.

He is talking to some people for a while then heads off to what looks like the bathroom. I look around. I'm completely lost.

It isn't until a woman walks up to me.

“You have face for days,” the woman tells me.

“Excuse me?”

She's pretty. She's tall. Her body is slim. She looks like Naomi Campbell honestly. The dark skin...the lean body and the full lips are exactly like Naomi. She had on an elegant gown which really blows my mind because this isn't what I would really call an elegant place. The gown flows to her feet.

“You have face for days, sweetie,” she tells me, “You're gorgeous.”

Is she hitting on me?

“I'm actually gay,” I tell her.

I wouldn't have been comfortable saying it anywhere else but right now I want to be left alone. That includes not wanting to talk to this woman. As gorgeous as she is I'm not interested in women at all.

“And I'm not really a female hunny,” she says.

I look at her.

I literally have to take a step back. Holy shit. The woman...or tranny or whatever has breasts. She has full breasts and a beautiful shape. Her lean figure curves in the most feminine way that I've ever seen. The only thing I could compare her to were runway models in the 80s or something. She fans herself when she realizes I'm in a shock. A smile crosses her face.

“Jesus...christ...”

I say it off the cuff but I'm really shocked at this. I've never seen a crossdresser or tranny or anything like that save off Jerry Springer back in the day. And the ones on Jerry Springer looked nothing like this. This woman was...everything.

“I'll take it this is your first ball,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“How do you like it?”

“I'm not sure what's going on?”

“Competition hunny. Houses are competiting for trophies,” she states but then emphasizes when she sees my reaction, “Houses hunny. Gay families. Groups of people who are together under gay parents.”

“Are you in one...a house?” I ask her.

“I am Mother...watch. Hold my drink. Watch. Learn...”

I grab the drink for the pretty woman. I hold it for a while as she walks away. For a minute I must have forgotten that she gave me the drink to hold. Maybe my nerves are getting towards me. Because I drink it.

It tastes...odd...

Just at that moment the commentator is calling out on the microphone, “The Category is...Female Figure Face...”

It doesn't take long for me to realize what this category is. There are other women walking up. Some of them are clearly men. All of them are beautiful in the face. I watch as one at a time they walk up to the judges in the most dramatic way ever. They pace themselves spinning and highlighting areas of their face with their hands. One a time either they get 10's...meaning they can move forward in the competition or they are Chopped. The judges are standing at the front holding up huge signs that say 10s.

At first I don't know what Chopped means but when I see the female figures walking back down with a look of disappointment on their face it's clear that they didn't make it through. The judges hold up an X if the person get's Chopped.

Then she goes.

“Naomi...Balmain,” a voice says next to me.

There is a boy standing there. Jesus Christ. Someone else walking up to me. The boy looks at me for a second. I wonder if he knows me.

There is a boy there. My eyes are dizzying.

“She looks like Naomi,” I register.

The woman who was spoking to me walks up on the stage. Just at that moment I am amazed by how elegant she looks. A crowd forms around her. They are chanting something. They chant it over and over. I've never seen someone get so much life ever. I've never seen people gather around someone and just immediately look at her like she was a walking God.

“Tens! For B-A-L-M-A-I-N!” The chorus erupts.

She is like a goddess. Naomi glides across the stage. Not only did she steal Naomi Campbell's name, but she still her grace. He struts across the stage owning it. The crowd goes into an uproar. It continues.

“TENS! FOR B-A-L-M-A-I-N!”

The entire place is erupting. They are loving her. Every moment of her being up there is causing people to just get stir crazy. I watch mesmerized by it.

“She is...everything,” I state...

“You ok?”

I don't realize I'm staggering forward. The boy catches me. He holds me up. There had to be something in Naomi's drink. I shouldn't have drank it. She didn't tell me to. She told me to hold it. But here I am clearly drugged off it it.

I look at the strange boy next to me. He's...gorgeous.

“No...no I'm not...”

==========================

It's the last thing I remember. I wake up to a morning at that moment. A part of me is hoping that somehow Laurence found me and took me back to the room.

I'm wrong. I look around. There is no Laurence here.

I turn to my right. There is a guy laying there.

“No...no...no...”

It's the guy from last night. I take a good look at him. Hell. He's beautiful. I have to admit that. His face is fucking perfect. I mean Laurence is sexy but if I was a judge at those balls I would have given this guy a 10.

He has dredlocks that are dyed red. He has a full facial goatee. His face looks like something out of my childhood fantasies. He has a strong face and a haircut that seems like he had someone line him up very recently. He had a tiny forehead and a strong jaw. He can't be black but he can't be white either. I'm sure he's mixed or maybe some sort of Spanish. He has smooth light brown skin. As he sleeps I could swear it is Rob Evans laying down next to me.

Did Rob Evans fucking take me home?

Just as I'm convinced it's Rob Evans...he opens his eyes and reveals the most beautiful shade of emerald green eyes. Fuck. He's even sexier than Rob Evans!

“Good morning beautiful...” he tells me.

HE was calling ME beautiful? He was the same one who came over to talk to me last night at the ball. I can't remember a thing after that though. I look aroudn the apartment. It doesn't look familiar. Then I notice something. I notice the wetness of my asshole.

I notice the pain in my asshole.

All of a sudden I'm afraid, “Did you...did you fuck me?”

“Not exactly,” he laughs.

“Oh thank god,” I reply.

“You fucked me too,” he responds, laughing.

Fuck I had sex with him! I LOST MY FUCKING VIRGINITY TO A MAN I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW!

What the fuck was in Naomi's drink? What the fuck had I done!

I find myself jumping up at that moment. I'm naked. I'm completely naked. The sexy guy laying down that looks like Rob Evans gets out of bed with me. He makes his way towards me. He stares at my naked body studying me.

“God no. This is the worst!” I find myself saying.

“Hell no. That was the best...EVER! I thought you were a bottom. Last night was something...else...”

“Wait you thought I was a bottom?” I ask, “Did I tell you that? Last night?”

He shook his head, “Stop being silly...”

“I really want to know what happened last night. I'm dead serious...”

“I dunno. You were acting a little bit weird,” he responds, “Then you hopped up on the stage. And you started to walk a face category. You won too.”

My mouth drops.

“I did...WHAT?”

“You won face. I mean no one expected it. Everyone you walked up against was relatively well known. You won 500 bucks. I thought you hated balls. I didn't know you knew how to serve your face like that...”

I had no idea what this guy was talking about. Serve my face? What the fuck did he mean? If he was attempting to say that I had the balls to walk up on that stage and participate in a ball he must have not really known me.

“Listen. I need to leave...”

“What's the problem baby?” he asks me grabbing me.

He presses his naked body up against me. I look down at his dick. It's big. It has a pink head. He has perfectly shaven everything. A part of me is getting erect just looking at him. A part of me thinks this is the best thing that ever happened to me in my life but the bigger part of me is terrified. I was so fucking attracted to this guy and what scared me was that this guy was probably the man of my dreams but I ended up sleeping with him before I could.

“Look. You are sexy as fuck. And I'd love to get to know you,” I honestly respond to him, “I mean you are like...wow. I mean. But I'm embarrassed. I usually don't do one nights with complete strangers. Maybe you can give me your number or...whatever...you know. Maybe your name?”

He looks at me weird.

“What the fuck did you take last night?” he asks me.

He grabs on my hand. He looks me up and down. He looks...concerned. His pink lips pucker up and line my body up and down.

“I dunno. That's the scary thing.”

“Did it give you amnesia or something baby?”

“Why do you keep calling me baby. I don't know you man.”

“Morocco. It's me. Your fiance. Valentine.”

My eyes get wide. Oh. Fuck. No.

As if things don't get worse there is a knock on the door. Someone has let themselves into the apartment and is knocking on the bedroom door...

“Valentine! Baby! Why the hell you keeping your bedroom door locked! Open up!” my brother's voice said.

It's at that point my brother's fiance looks up at me. His dick is still dripping with precum and still semi hard. He looks at the door. Then he looks back at me again.

This has to be the worst fear in my life.

I did not just have sex with my brother's fiance.

To read the next chapter go to www.crushedcrown.com