Black Butterfly for Dove

This story is set in the 1920's era, thus the slang =3 if you want information on the words used here go to: http://local.aaca.org/bntc/slang/slang.htm

(this story will also be coinsiding with the Era racially (black and white gay love) and the problems faced on both sides
*this is also my first yaoi story =D so please, do be kind, and rate/read/revied

All character belong and were created by me(C)

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Chapter 1: Black Butterfly

The speakeasy was packed full of people. The whites sat down at the front of the stage, smoking and drinking and chatting it up as the band played one tune after another.
"I’ve never been to one of these things before..." whispered the reporter nervously.
The boys turned to him and laughed.
"Man, my old lady drags me down here all the time...she loves what these fairys wear..."

The speakeasy was a medium-sized, well-hidden bar called "The Sapphire" that was located in somewhat of an apartment building. It had many rooms for those who were, well--looking for a good time--to come on by.
"I'm just here to write about the show," said the young man. The boys laughed.
"Listen buddy, we don't judge 'ya, we know's why you’re here." he then proceeded to pat the man on the back, practically making him swallow his cigarette. "Just make sure you don't look too closely at the Black Butterfly.."
He cocked an eyebrow, "The Black Butterfly...?"
"You've never heard of her..?" spoke the woman to the side of him; she was dressed like a flapper, "She's adorable! Just the bee's knees! She always has the best silks on...I don't know how she does it!"
"Marian, please.." said her husband, "Don't get all happy. I ain't buyin' 'ya no more dresses this month...'Ya damn near spent into all your allowance I gave 'ya..."
She huffed, then whispered into the reporter's ear, "The boy's tell you not to look at her, cause she's fooled many straight guys into her arms..."
As Marian spoke, the lights dropped down and focused on stage.
"Ha-ha, ok boy's knock it off...." the host quieted the band, "Welcome to The Sapphire's 2nd Annual Drag Ball! We're proud to have our number one dame, the sultry Black Butterfly back with us from her travels in Paris. How does she pay those piper's off?!"
The audience laughed, and some of the men winked and lifted their liquor up in a friendly, knowing gesture. The reporter watched the man speak his peace, then welcome the 'girls' onto stage.

What came filling out those dresses were men, but under the darkness of the dimmed lights, and the band playing that new Bessie Smith joint, you couldn't tell if it truly was a man or not...
The young reporter started to rise up from his chair, until Marian held his arm,
"Where 'ya goin, honey?" she smiled.
"I'm going closer to stage..." he tried to pull away, but instead, she got up with him.
"I want to see too!" she said excitedly, pulling him along behind her. He had to hold his notepad tight in his hands as she wound through the tables.

The 'dames' filed in, did there posing--like they were French models--then turned back around and exited.
"Aren't those dresses just wonderful?!" Marian smiled, talking loudly. Her wavy, black hair was short and close to her head, as was the rest of the 'girls'. She looked up to them for style he assumed.
His eyes started to drift away as the music change. The lights shifted and the stage suddenly darkened. From somewhere, a voice boomed: "We welcome our most gorgeous girl, our Black Butterfly to center stage..."
A 'girl', about five feet and some inches high, walked out. Apparently, she had a thin frame, her waist was small and her stomach was flat. Her clothes were completely see through and were a shimmering white.
He could see the bulge in his tight, silky underwear, but he didn’t focus on that...he focused on the boys feminine features--especially his face.
Never had he seen a face so soft. It didn't seem right there were some ugly dames walking around cause they missed whatever class this boy went to. His eyes were soft and grey, glowing softly, and his soft, brown skin seemed to look wet...or was it the lighting. The wig he wore was stark white, only adding to the look.
The whole of the room had quieted. Every man was staring, every woman was looking...everyone had stopped.
The girl bent over stage and saw the two crouched down by stage. He smiled and pointed a small, soft hand at the reporter who had stopped writing and was simply gawking at the effeminine boy.
"...What's your name, Daddy..?"
He blushed subcontiously at her voice, so soft and accented...I think its Southern, the man whispered to himself.
"I-it's Fellows...James Authur Fellows...from the World Newspaper, down the avene..."
"Ah, nice to meet you Daddy Fellows."

***
"Can I speak to her? Just for a moment..?"
Fellows was arguing with a bouncer outside of Butterfly's powder room. He tried to see through the small porthole that was centered into the metal door, but was blocked by the huge man.
"I am a reporter, you know! I have power over this situation." he hissed.
"Dun lookit to me, softy."
James cursed him then backed off. It was then Butterfly stepped out. He was dressed in navy blue overalls. No shirt, either, showing the soft contours of his muscular body. In his mouth was a lit cigarrett, his hands in his pockets. He still wore the white wig as well.
He walked over to James and smiled, "I remember you, Daddy..." he laughed, "Is Rosco givin' you a time..?" he looked over to the huge man who smiled angrly at the reporter.
"Don't be so protective, doll.." Butterfly smiled. He turned to look at Fellows who was blushing up a storm, but didn't seem to notice it.
"Your kinda cute, Daddy--Daddy Fellows isn't it?"
James blushed deeply, and tried to hide a growing smile, "Yes, it's Fellows.." Butterfly smiled and took a hand from his pocket and took a drag from his cigarette. Then held it in his lips again, taking Fellows hand instead.
"Come with me outside for a smoke, Daddy." the boy said, dragging him along.
They sat outside on the steps leading from the back stage and into the parking lot. James sat close to Butterfly at the boy's wishes.
"Your adorable, Daddy...Your all red.."
James tried hard to supress this feeling rising up in him, but he couldn't and was swept away in Buttefly's grey eyes.
"Adorable..?" he repeated.
"Mm-hm, Daddy. Your just plain adorable."
He took a cigarette from his lapel pocket and asked Butterfly to light it.
"What's your real name, Butterfly..?" James asked softly, "I-I need to know it--for my report on the ball..."
"Oh really, Daddy? It's ok that you like the way I look...the way I act..." he smiled and winked at the man, who smiled subcontiously back, "My name is River Stallard."
"That's..a nice name." James said in his mind Butterfly's name over and over...then in a more sentual tone...He could imagine calling the boy 'sugar' as he held him..
River laughed, "Wow, Daddy, how red can your face get?" he laughed louder as James tried desperately to hide his face.
"Aw, Daddy...don't hide it...I love the way white men's faces look when they blush..." he soothed, taking his hands on James' and pulling them away. The size of the boy's hands was pratically dwarfed as he held James'.
"I'm your type...?" he said softly.
"I like men, honey. I don't think I have a specific type...Unless you wanna give me a shot, Daddy.."
James blushed deeply, but didn't look away, or try to hide it.
"I feel strange..when I look at you."
"Well, your looking at a strange boy...your in a strange place..."
"No, I think I mean...attracted to you..." He said it more like a puzzle, and River could hear it. He pulled away and smashed the head of his smoke on the step he sat on.
"There are so many men who've said that to me...They just want to try me out cause I'm 'novel' and 'feminine'. They don't wanna be with me..."
"I want you to give me a shot."
River turned to James and looked into his eyes. Finally, he could place the color--it was hazel. Their color switched each time in the light; this time, they were sad and grey, like River's.
"And what if I do, Daddy? Will you get up and leave, too?"
"I don't know. But honestly, I haven't laid eyes on a woman who looks better than you do."

***