Thrill the competition

It’s not much fun giving a blow job,” Taryn remarks over the noisy gush of heat hitting my hair. “Although

I think every lesbian feels that way, don’t you?”

“Only if they can speak from experience,” I reply, wincing as Taryn continues to torture my tresses. Taryn winces, too—for an entirely different reason. “And I seri- ously doubt that the judges are going to inquire about my sex life, oral or otherwise, during the interview.”

“Agreed.” She puts down the blow-dryer and picks up a hairbrush. “A better question would be: why did you get involved in beauty pageants?”

I smirk. The answer is out of the question. I got involved in beauty pageants because I wanted to meet girls. I could care less about the sash or the cash or the crown that glitters like a dinner plate in an advertisement

for dishwashing soap. That doesn’t mean I don’t take pageantry seriously. It just means that I’m not in it to win it.

I used to think pageants were sideshows, populated with aspiring anchorwomen who