The Unlikely Makeup Artist

I was sitting on the edge of my vanity talking to my brother, teasing him because he had a big yellow zit on his forehead. “You can't go out with Yvonne looking like that; you better put a band-aid on your head to hide it.”

“Oh yeah, that'd be real hot, a nice plastic plaster of Ironman over my eye. Or maybe Big Bird, bright yellow.” He looked past my shoulder to the mirror behind me “god, that's fucking ugly.”

“Why worry about it, the only head she wants to look at isn't on your shoulders.” I knew Yvonne; she'd been fucking my brother for several months. Carl put his fingers on the pimple and started to pinch it, “Stop, I want to do it” I told him.

He glanced from the mirror to my face “You gonna squeeze my zit?”

“Sure, why not, I do my own, and after I can put some blush or something over it. Hide it with makeup.”

He leaned his head back from me and glared at me intently, “Make up? Like some sort of fucking fagot or something. I ain’t' gay!”

I grabbed his chin in my hand and held his face still “lots of guys are doing make up now, not like a woman but enough to hide things like the really charming spot on your face. Come on, let me do it for you, I promise you won't fucking die or anything.”

I hopped off the vanity then reached for the offending blister over his right eye; an angry red volcano with a white pus filled head. I pinched it between my index fingers lightly; it was so ready it erupted, pus forming as a large bubble on

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THE END