Cherry!

If procrastination were my middle name I’d probably change it but first I would put it off for like 3 months. With that said, I’ve been putting off this entry for like 2 weeks now. My apologies. Now to dig in the depths of my ethanol riddled brain to unearth the details of that faithful night. Ready. Steady. Go.

It was a Saturday like any other. Nothing particularly fascinating. I had spent the night with Ms. X on Friday and had spent a lazy afternoon watching movies at my apartment in her company. She had been invited to a house party, by a friend of a friend of a friend (you know how these things go) and I was to be her date. What I knew of the evening plans were this: Go to house party. Have a few drinks. Go to Cherry! Sounds simple enough. I only knew two people at this party. Ms. X (obviously) and our mutual friend Broch. I was slightly worried about this, because I tend to get nervous and shy around large groups of people that I don’t know. I figured I could suck it up and put my social anxiety aside for the evening and have fun. I just needed a long moment and a few drinks.

When we arrived there were a handful of about six or seven people were there. Including Broch. The theme for the party was maritime (I didn’t know there was a theme or I would’ve worn my pirate costume). So it was primarily a bunch of bois dressed as sailors. Introductions flew around the room quickly, none of it mattered to me, I knew I wasn’t going to remember anyones name. I’m terrible with names. Jessie, Lex, Lauren… uh, some girl in a skirt, the one with the cool tattoo’s, the one with the shaved head. This is how my brain reduces names in a party situation. I got a drink and sat on the couch coercing myself into being social, but it wasn’t happening. Ms. X is rather the socialite and had fluttered off to make interesting conversation. So I sat with my drink an awkward, bumbling mess. My savior was Broch who engaged me into conversation. I was glad hy was there – except that since meeting Broch I’ve always been kind of shy around hym. It’s one of those things that I can’t really put to words. There is kind of a history behind that, but that isn’t really what this post is about. Another time maybe…

Amidst this, I befriended Lex. Who proceeded to impale my hawk with little plastic swords. The kind you find in drinks stabbing your garnish. That was entertaining me for a while, when I heard Ms. X cackle wildly from the other side of the room. Curiously I padded over to her with a raised brow asking what was so damn funny? What I found is that Ms. X and Jessie had been entangled in a heated conversation about bois who date bois, and bois who date femmes. Ms. X has kind of an ongoing rant about bois who date bois – as she is a femme and there seems to be an ever decreasing number of lesbians interested in femmes. While Jessie is a boi who also likes bois. They had been talking about a date that Jessie went on with a handsome boi, who she was interested in. However, at the end of the date she thanked her and informed her that she was into femmes. After this story there had been a brief exchange where Ms. X said something akin to, “Well if you find anymore cute bois who like femme’s send them my way.” After which Jessie proceeded to eyeball me and say, “Maybe we could switch for the evening.” which is what cued Ms. X’s eruption into laughter. So Jessie thinks I’m cute. I smiled internally, but honestly it made me a bit nervous.

Segue time! I’ve always dated femme’s, and girlie girls. It’s who I’m attracted to, it’s in my nature. Furthermore I was raised as a young homo in a very butch/femme environment. Almost all the exposure I had to gay people as a youth was of that dynamic. It is only in the last year of living in Seattle that I’ve really had my eyes opened to the boi/boi thing as more than a fetish for femme girls to gawk at. So where as I was open to the idea, it kind of made me a bit nervous and uncomfortable. Especially in the middle of a party where I didn’t have time to process it.

Getting back to the party, everyone was making travel arrangements to be on our way to the ReBar, where Cherry! was happening. I had never attended a Cherry! before, but had heard it was worth the overpriced booze and unintentional gropes from strangers in a crowded place. As we entered, the drum and bass pounded against my ears. The DJ was good. In these types of situations I’m usually quite the wallflower. I don’t really dance, and I turn into a people watcher. But something about the atmosphere, a certain je ne sais qua, or perhaps it was the 5 captain and cokes was evoking me to play the part of the extrovert for the evening. So despite everyones expectations I went out on to the dance floor and danced. Ms. X had found the company of someone she knew from The Cuff’s line dancing classes. Since my date was busy dancing with someone else, I decided to do the same thing. I believe it was at this point that I was grabbed by Jessie. Who then began dancing with me. We began dancing feet away from each other, but as dance floors tend to do, the space between us started shrinking as more dancers joined the floor. Until we were right on top of one another, and she was placing my hands on her hips, and her hands in my hair. It was at this point I turned my head to see Ms. X and Amanda (her friend from The Cuff) making out. I smiled, because… well, it was hot. That in turn must’ve prompted Jessie, because that’s when she turned my head and began to kiss me.

(I apologize for the long hiatus between entries and will try to be better.)

-Cole

Modern Chemistry and the Bar Scene

My Friday afternoons have been appropriated to alcohol and coworkers at various local drinking establishments. In that respect, it was a Friday like any other. Hiram, Jennifer, Rico, Anton, and a handful of others made a brief jaunt up the hill, to Black Bottle. Where the drinks are strong, and the service is good. If you can hold your breath long enough to avoid the smell of pretentious assholes in cardigans and argyle it’s a pretty decent place to get a drink. As the sun sank our usual conversations ensued. Talk of work woes and frustrations. Tidbits of our personal lives slip out, and for a moment you know work fellows a bit better. I glanced down at the digital readout of my phone that reported the time back to me. I was trying to leave by a certain time, in order to attend a martial arts class.

For this segment of todays episode, I will inform you of my three vices. Beautiful women, alcohol, and fighting. I’ve been a martial artist since I was very young. I like to think it is for this reason that I’ve always had a tendency to enjoy the violent side of life. Be it football, boxing, or just your average street fight. My current fixation in this realm is a Brazilian style of martial arts called Capoeira. It is a hybrid of break dancing, martial arts and music. I had been attending classes fairly regularly for the last two months. I continued to watch the time as the evening dragged on, until it was 630PM. I stood to excuse myself – if I caught the Metro now I would just be able to make it on time. Amid my coworkers came heckles of, “Leaving already?”, and “C’mon, you should stay.” I spent a fair portion of time convincing them I had to go, so much time in fact that I missed my bus.

I was up and packed and couldn’t really stomach the uppity clientele that had infested the bar. So I convinced Hiram to walk with me from the bar to Capitol Hill. The problem was that The Whiskey Bar is on the way to Capitol Hill from where we were. The Whiskey Bar is one of my favorite bars in Seattle. For several reasons. A spectacular selection of bourbons, competent bartenders, and a nice atmosphere. We stop in front of the bar and linger for a minute. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?! So we duck in and poke around for any points of interest. My attention is drawn at once to the table containing an assorted collective of girls dressed as animals (Not like furries, that’s just creepy). Hiram has excused himself to the rest room at this point, so I take it upon myself to find out the story behind the groups attire.

A whiskey and coke in hand I approached the table, questioning about the costumes. In the center a small dark-haired girl proclaimed it was her birthday. My eyes drifted around the table, a pirate, a cat, a bunny, a t-rex (the only boy at the table), a warthog and a bear. Interestingly enough they were all very receptive to me, and by the time Hiram returned from the bathroom I was already entangled in conversation with both Bunny and Cat. My Texan friend (Hiram) sat at one of the tables occupied by my new friends and began a conversation with a few of them himself. Soon after our arrival, another member of the party showed dressed as a pirate. Anyone willing to dress as a pirate automatically has my attention. Can you blame me? Pirates are bitchin’! Sitting in my spot of choice between Cat and Pirate, a conversation about masochism springs to life (I would tell you how it got to this point but I honestly have no idea). A bit of common knowledge about me is that I am a bit of a masochist, and that I have a bit of a biting fetish. With the revelation of this truth my two companions asked if they could bite me. Beautiful women being one of my vices I couldn’t exactly say no. They both took an arm each into their mouths and clamped down impressions that could be used as dental records in the event of their untimely demise. These bite marks would become the object of my ridicule for the next week. I wasn’t really thinking about that at the time.

Wanting to leave a lasting impression on them (as they had left their own impressions upon me) I opted to buy a drink for the girl of my choice, Cat. I purchase a rum and coke for each of us and drifted back over to the table. Forsaking the conversation I had been having with Cat I began talking randomness with Bunny and T-Rex. Pictures were taken, Fake noses were worn, it was a good time. When I returned to my seat aside Cat she was grinning happily and asked me if I wanted to kiss her. I did. So I did. Texan had also been hitting on Cat for the duration of the evening, but by this time he was not in any way to be hitting on anyone. The whiskey had gone to his brain, and he was a giggling mess for the rest of the evening. Amidst kisses from the Cat my phone rattled in my pocket. I received a text from Ms. X asking for my latitude and longitude. We were supposed to go back to my house for the evening. I responded that I was at the whiskey bar and FYI’ed her on the fact that there was a girl there kissing me.

After answering my phone, I never got around to informing Cat that my date was coming to pick me up and whisk me away to my apartment to do deviant things. So when Ms. X showed up and started kissing me Cat was less than thrilled and brushed past to kiss me good night, and left the bar in a huff. I had gotten her phone number earlier on in the evening but I never called her. It’s probably for the better.

-Cole

Statues Without Eyes

The days that followed were filled with guilt that a Catholic priest would be proud of. The truth is, that I still really like Ms. Y – regardless of the fact that I hooked up with Ms. X. That was the deal, wasn’t it? As long as Ms. Y and I were still a thing, there would be no bitterness? Right?! Isn’t that what she said?! My chance to make up for it was Thursday. The Scrabble master of ceremonies herself, Heather was hosting an event called Seattle SPIT. A gay and lesbian monthly spoken word/open mic night at The Wildrose. I’ve always been a fan of writing (I know, you’re shocked) and it would give me time to spend with Ms. Y. Among other things, it’s common knowledge that Ms. X doesn’t like spoken word. So, there was no fear of crossing energy streams (/Ghostbusters reference). Still feeling a bit guilty, I called on my Jessi to be there for moral support.

Interesting segue: Before heading to SPIT Jessi and I decided to have a beer at the Canterbury. A local dive bar up on 15th. Cheap beer. Shitty service. It’s all I ever wanted from a bar. On my way there I ran into my most recent ex, Lauren. It wasn’t really shocking, as she both lives and schools on Capitol Hill. I hadn’t seen her in a while and stopped to trade niceties. In the midst of this, I extended the offer to come have a drink with Jessi and I. So the three of us sat In seats of torn vinyl, cheaply held together by duct tape and awaited our beers while exchanging stories of recent past (mostly, what you’ve read here). My ex spent most of our conversation eluding to a threesome with my best friend and I. I was aware that she had always had a thing for Jessi, but was kind of taken aback by her forwardness. The first few times it was mentioned I brushed it off as a clever tease. However as the hour trudged on, I realized that it was no longer a joke. About the time that this realization sunk in it was time to head off to see some butch dykes spilling their hearts out on a microphone. There was an awkward hug, and an exchanging of looks between Jessi and I before we parted ways.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled program, already in progress: We arrived at SPIT just after it started. For being my moral support I offered Jessi a drink. The scene was as I expected it to be – Heather on stage announcing some poet I’d never heard of waring a smashingly adorable getup. Ms. Y and a table full of Heather’s entourage sitting and watching attentively. Through the dim lights of the room and over the top of my Sailor Jerry & Coke my eyes were drawn to the crimson lipstick that is Ms. Y’s trademark. She smiled back at me and I placed myself precariously at her side. She was instantly amorous towards me. Touching my hand and caressing my leg softly. This actually settled my nerves for a long moment. My anxiety bled out as she brushed her hands through my product riddled hair. We watched a few of the poets intently. Some were very good, others were very not. As the rum coursed through my system everything was rainbows and unicorn giggles. The evening was wrapping up, and my intention was to go home with Ms. Y. But things never go according to my intentions.

The clock glared 10PM across the neon of the room. Ms. Y joined Jessi and I as we cackled at the misfortune of others and ensured our places in hell by just being awful people. Ms. Y’s eyes widened and I heard her shout, “I thought you weren’t coming?” over my shoulder to some phantom figure yet to be identified. Before I heard the response, I knew that it was Ms. X who had come thinking the spoken word portion of the evening was over. I painted on a smile and turned to greet her, while my brain asked me, “Do you have any awkward last words?” and my body decided it was time to switch to double Rum & Cokes. I excused myself for another drink, while reaching for my phone. This is when the texting began. Frantically the texts flew back and forth. Me to Ms. X, Ms. X to Ms. Y, Ms. Y to me, me to Jessi, etc.

I settled my nerves by finishing my drink quickly, and rejoined the conversation. When I sat among the others, the conversation already in progress was the ’six degree’s of gay separation’, also known as ‘the chart’ in some circles. If you are unfamiliar with this, the concept is that everyone in the gay community can be linked via sexual partners by 6 or less. However, if you all live in the same city it tends to be more like 2 or 3. At this point all of the evenings drinks began to catch up with me. I remember Ms. Y asking, “I wonder how many it takes to link you to me?” as directed toward Ms. X. My eyes sank into my glass as I hastily finished the rest of my – well, at this point it was just rum on the rocks. After the giggling subsided, there was a follow up question, “Did you guys sleep together?!” pointedly asked towards Ms. X and myself. That question left me gasping, and I had to excuse myself to the rest room.

There was apparently a careless excuse thrown out to explain the laughter while I was hiding out in the bathroom stall reading bathroom graffiti. To the best of my knowledge the question was never answered. It was shortly after that that our little group decided to disband. As you might imagine the details of this portion of the evening are a little foggy due to the rapid intake of alcohol. I was sure Ms. Y knew. She and Ms. X left together and I was positive that the consequences of the evening would be an angry email awaiting me via Facebook in the morning. However little was said about me on their walk home, curiously little.

Jessi and I stumbled towards her apartment around roughly 1AM. The next morning I awoke to contemplate the lessons I had learned. “What did you learn, Cole?” my brain prodded at me for an answer, but the truth was, I had learned absolutely nothing.

-Cole

Oh Yes, There’s More.

At this point in fact, there is much more. I’ve been a poor blogger. No, actually, that isn’t true. I’ve been busy. Doing what? Keep reading and you may find out. In this issue of Adventures Of A Morally Bankrupt Fag, we return to see our hero trudge through the swamps of temptation, race through the canyons of anxiety, and climb the cliffs of self-loathing. Who will come out on top? The truth is probably no one, but I’m willing to test the waters anyway. I’m aware that I changed tenses. It was for dramatic purposes. So leave me alone.

My Monday was spent contemplating the obvious. What is going to come of this? Who am I possibly going to hurt? How many cans of Mountain Dew do you have to drink to die of caffeine poisoning? I shared my dilemma with a few coworkers and close friends, to gather input and possible feedback. As usual, most of my friends were no help at all. In fact, I was met with most unfavorable results that ended in me being lectured. Bah, Humbug anyway. This was my uneventful Monday to precede my troublesome Tuesday.

Tuesday was the grand reinstatement of the meeting of the Seattle Scrabble Bitches. My Tuesday night game of Scrabble that has been on hiatus since the organizer got a girlfriend and stopped doing anything interesting. I get more excited than I should about playing Scrabble with a bunch of middle-aged lesbians who regularly alternate between ridiculing me and schooling me at word games. The trouble is, both Ms. X and Ms. Y are members and therefore privy to my Scrabble exploits. It is in fact how I met both of them. Now, for some back story! Long long ago, in an interwebs far away I decided to give the online dating thing a try. My local rag of choice, The Stranger has a section called Lovelab. So one cynical, half-hearted afternoon I decided to make a profile for myself. It worked impressively well. This is where I met Ms. Y. Our first exchange read a little something like this:

“Hi, I don’t know if you are interested but, I go to a weekly game of Scrabble with some friends. We gossip, and drink and play games. If you are interested, show up at The Wildrose on Tuesdays at 7PM.”

Reading this, I really wasn’t sure if she was flirting with me, and trying to find a safe, public, first time meeting spot (The blogosphere is a dangerous place, kids) or just being polite, and inviting me to an outing. Regardless, I love Scrabble. So it was worth a shot. If nothing else, I get to meet some nice people and play a game that I like already. Win-Win situation. I won’t go into the pointed details of the evening, but this is where I met Ms. X, Ms.Y, and a few other choice characters. /back story

Walking through the doors of the Wildrose, I saw my compatriots already in the midst of a game. I looked at my phone, the numbers shown back: 7:30PM, so I was a little late. I found my place at the end of the table, between Ms. X and Ms. Y. My brain suddenly recalling all that had happened Sunday night. My anxiety kicked into high gear and I found myself once more looking at my feet and trying to regulate my breath. One of the other regulars had brought a friend who was new to our group. She was a professional hacker. For a moment I was able to forget my worries and be a computer nerd. The game was over fairly quickly. Heather – who I would call the chairperson of the group, if it had one. Had to quickly leave as her newly acquired girlfriend beckoned. 9PM and a I shared a table with Ms. X and Ms. Y. We bantered and did our best to keep normal conversation, but at some point it died off and Ms. Y looked at her phone, claiming a booty call from her ex. Which left Ms. X and I, once again, unattended. I think Ms. X, sensed that this was probably a poor situation to put ourselves into and said, she too was leaving. Keeping in the theme of being the naive 25 year-old, I offered to walk her back to her apartment. It wasn’t very far, and I had to go that way to catch a bus anyhow. At least, that’s how I justified it in my head.

Once Ms. Y had gone, the conversation flowed a bit more easily. Although, I still worried that the obvious flirtatious nature of Ms. X and I’s conversations had been why she had left in such a hurry. However, I was walking down Broadway, having good conversation, enjoying my company. At one point during our walk there was a particularly long wait for the crosswalk to turn. During which she took it upon herself to go about her normal teasing ways. Once again bringing her mouth centimeters from mine and simply waiting there, smiling. I am weak. My willpower is poor. These are things I know about myself, for this reason – I kissed her. I kissed her in the street. I kissed her at the stoplight. I kissed her at the intersection closest to her apartment. I kissed her in front of her apartment. I kissed the hallway of her apartment building. I kissed her in her apartment. I kissed her on her couch. I think you can see where this is going.

As I buckled my belt and dialed Yellow Cab she told me, “You know, I didn’t mean to have sex with you. I just thought we would make out.” So much for will power?

-Cole

Sunday Night Part II: Electric Boogaloo

Breathe deeply now. Remember where you are, you are in a fetish club, with a girl who you aren’t allowed to touch – if you are at all a good person, you will not sleep with your fuck buddies friend. I pointed my eyes at the ground and fixed them there for lack of a better place to look. The door to the club swung open and I walked in ahead of my ‘non-date’. In order to enter this club, I have to sign a disclaimer. A disclaimer that reads a little like a survival horror manual. After skimming through what I was signing, I quickly decided it was probably for the better if I didn’t read it and just signed my name at the bottom. My pen flicked the last few letters of my name announcing that I would not pursue legal action in the event of my injury. I remember this moment, because that is when the screaming started. A blood curdling yelp of pain echoed into the hallway where I stood, thinking, “Is it too late to take my signature back?” As Ms.X shuffled me along inside of the club my eyes still decidedly fixated on the ground in front of me.

As we approached the end of the end of the hallway and I lifted my head to take in exactly what I had gotten myself into, I was shocked and relieved all at once. Yes, there were people tied up. Yes, there was flogging going on. Yes, there genderqueer people fucking and sucking in all corners of the room. However, I realized that this is what I was expecting. It made it a bit easier to breathe. After all, I had other things to worry about. I stayed close to Ms.X’s back, not knowing anyone there and without any real desire to be separated from her. She made conversation with people she knew, I listened, interjected and watched the events of the club with intrigue out of the corner of my eye. Ms.X’s friend Andy was particularly sweet and we ended up having some pretty decent geek chatter. There were a few folks I recognized from the local lezzer bar, but other than that I was pretty much there alone with Ms.X. One familiar face was Wendall – the leather daddy from The Cuff who was fitting me with collars, cuffs and leash. He recognized me and approached me, probably to tease about the permanent blush I had sustained since then. To which Ms.X joined him in by touching me suggestively and implying acts of deviance. Which for the second time in a row turned into the running theme for the evening.

As kind of a segue – I wanted to talk about some of the interesting sites I saw while there. I’m not saying that to be sardonic either. Aside from the standard flogging and fucking you might expect at an even such as this there was also some really interesting rope bondage, which I have always found to be both beautiful and tempting. Although, I think Ms.X was a bit more tempted by the woman performing the bonding. I had a brief run in with learning Japanese Rope Bondage but it never panned out. A pity. Besides that, there was a bit of fire play. Being the pyromaniac I am, of course I was fascinated by this. The subject, unfortunately, was someone I knew from a much more clothed universe. Who, I preferred to never see naked. C’est la via. I really wanted to ask the person performing the fire play what chemical compound she was using, but for fear of looking like a further nerd than I had already proven myself to be earlier in the evening. I mostly kept my mouth shut. The only thing there that bothered me was someone doing a bit of knife play. Not flaying anyone, mind you. Just pushing it to their jaw, dragging the tip across his back. However, given my experience with knives, let’s just say I get a little nervous around them. For this portion of the evening, I had to stand with my back to the floor.

After all was said and seen, roughly 2AM, Ms.X was showing signs of tiring. We left the party and she offered me a ride home. Remember when I said I was going to do something bad? I recognized this as the part of the evening to walk away a good person. But I am weak, and my will is not that strong. I climbed into the passengers seat of her vehicle and nervously bounced my leg as we traveled speedily towards my apartment. Ms.X had discussed with me in a previous, more casual encounter, taking my hedgehog off my hands (no, that’s not an innuendo. I own a hedgehog. I’ve been trying to give him away to a good home.) It was at this point I remembered that interaction and without thinking about it spouted, “Hey, would you like to meet my hedgehog.” She said, “Yes”, and I had the realization that I had just invited her into my apartment at 2AM after going to a play party. For the record, I am not normally this naive.

I stood at the entrance of Apt. #2 unlocking the door and maintaining my resolve. Repeat after me, “I am strong, like an oak. I am a beckon of morality. I will not be lead astray by temptation.” This practice is also known as ‘lying to yourself’. I turned the key and allowed for ladies first. I did exactly what I had planned to do. I introduced her to my hedgehog. Cthulhu, this is Ms.X. Ms.X, Cthulhu. He self-anointed and burrowed, and I laughed. So far everything was fine. I was not a bad person. After giving the nickel tour of my apartment I sat on the couch in my living room, and pondering the night, I just had to know one thing. I turned to Ms.X and with curiosity in my voice I asked, “Are you into me? Or is it just that you like teasing me and making me blush?” Even as I spoke, I tried to reel the words back in.

The look on her face was obvious at this point, I knew I had just opened a can of worms. “I do like you, but you are Ms.Y’s property.” Slightly offended, I replied that I was no one’s property, then pouted. Her response went something like this: That sleeping with me was not worth ruining her friendship over, and where as she really liked me she maintained a steadfast resolve to stick to her guns on this one. Furthermore, we all know that Ms.Y is moving at the end of the month. I nodded with understanding, glad that someone had some will power, because lord knows it wasn’t me. With that thought, I felt hands press against my shoulder shoving me back on the couch Ms.X pressing her lips to me, as I sat astonished. “But, after she leaves town, I make no promises.” She brushed past me and began gathering her coat and shoes.

“You are leaving now aren’t you?” I called to her still facing straight forward, knowing it was probably better not to look.

“Yes I am, and it’s a good god damn thing they don’t serve alcohol at that club.” She left my apartment without turning around. Probably for the best.

-Cole

A week ago…today. (I have strange pillows on my bed)

Alright, so I am going to take a step back and write about last Monday because it is awesome, hilarious, and moderately dangerous.

It starts out with Corey coming up from Tacoma to hang out with Sam and I (Sam was here from the previous night, which is not going to be written down b/c it is not part of the “good parts”) and between the three of us and Andy, we watch this hideously boring movie called “Alice”. Don’t get me wrong, visually it was very interesting, but I thought that by the end of the movie popping out my eyeballs and feeding them to pet cockroaches may prove to be more exciting.  I am pretty sure Corey felt the same.  Anyways, once those two hours of my life that I will never get back are done, we all decided to head to King Cobra.

THE AWESOME PART:

On our way there, Corey and I begin to skip b/c I am WAY under stimulated d/t that movie.  Also, swearing and teasing each other.  Oh, and wrestling and a speed walking competition.  Needless to say, we were ahead of Sam and Andy.  We get to the bar, where Noah and Erica show up whom I haven’t seen in forever.  I was really excited about that part.

At some point in the night, Andy decides he wants to leave, so I go outside to smoke a cigarette and find out what is wrong.  About an hour later, I come back into the bar, head towards Corey and he says to me “I am so fucking bored”, to which I responded, “Lets go hang out with the pretty people” and we proceeded to spend the rest of the night up at the bar with Ambyr and Russel having a god damned blast.  I can’t remember the last time we’d had that much fun together just being stupid and rowdy.

THE HILARIOUS AND DANGEROUS PART:

So when we left the bar, I realized that I had forgotten my coat.  I tried to call Ambyr to no avail.  So we went out to the back of the bar and decided to wait for them to leave to retrieve such coat.  Well, we got a bit distracted and began making out (like we do).  So, it is no secret that Corey chokes me when we fool around and this time was no different in that sense.  What WAS different is my waking up on the ground wondering where I was and what was going on with Corey over me going “OMG, RU OK??? you just passed out and whacked your head against the pavement.  I was slapping the shit out of you and you wouldn’t wake up or breathe for like 5 good long seconds.”  AHAHAHAHHAHAH.  I thought it was hilarious b/c I didn’t have to watch any of it.   Hell, I don’t even remember any of it.  He, however, was fucking terrified. *giggle*.

So we move on.  Our raging hormones will not let us move on far however, and we end up having sex in a strangers yard for probably close to an hour.  We all know I am not a quite person…so there is a good chance they were not home b/c we were not arrested   The reason we leave there yard?  The fucking AUTOMATIC SPRINKLERS went off.  Ahahahhaha… as I scramble to put on my clothes, I realize I HAVE NO SOCK, which to this day may remain in that persons yard.

The night ends with us finishing our sexual outing in my room for probably another good hour or so.  And when it was all said and done and we were ready to go to sleep, I realize my door was open the whole time.

OOPS.  There consisted of apologies to Andy the next day.

1, 2, Buckle My… Handcuffs?

Now for the epic continuum of our previous entry.

When we last left our hero (that’s me) she was caught in a double-bind, both literally and figuratively. Still clad in leather and embarrassment I was dragged from one end of Capitol Hill to the next. It was at roughly this point in the night that my phone began ringing over and over and over again. Almost as though someone was trying to get a hold of me! I looked down at my phone and realized the person who had been placing the phone calls was my dear friend Carlos who was supposed to be staying with me for the weekend. I had told him to call me when he was done running errands and walking around the hill to find out where I was and where we could meet up. It was at this point that I realized after trying to call me for half an hour he gave up and just went to my apartment. This is – for good reason, where I am going to end this night. I caught a cab in order to beat Carlos to my apartment, and a very irritated Ms.Y went home alone.

/Friday

I’m going to skip Saturday and jump directly to Sunday evening. Which is where the story continues. I had been invited by Ms.Y to go to the closing ceremonies and after party for the Festival Of Babes which had been going on all weekend in Seattle. For those of you who are unaware. Festival Of Babes is a gay soccer leauge. The stage for the evening was supposed to be set at Cowgirls Inc. However, at around 5PM I received a phonecall from the lovely Ms.Y, stating that she was not feeling well and and encouraging me to go to the FOB party regardless. Injecting statements into the conversation such as, “It’s going to be a lot of fun.”, and “You will have a good time without me!.” My brain (being the paranoid that I am) read this as Ms.Y being upset with me. I began compiling a comprehensive list of all the reasons she could be mad at me.

1. Because I had to ditch her on Friday in order to meet Carlos at my apartment.

2. She noticed that I was flirting with Ms.X and did not appreciate the implications.

3. She is getting jealous over me and doesn’t want to come off as overbarring.

Etc. etc. etc… After agonizing over this for the next few hours I, in my paranoid state decide that in a past life I was a hitman who killed her parents and burned down her village, she recently partook in past-life regression therapy and figured all of this out. While luring me into a false sense of security by sleeping with me she has me now, right where she wants me, and intends to kill me next time I sleep next to her. After convincing myself that there is no way that could be true. I re-examined the facts and figured she was probably slightly resentful over me taking off on Friday. I did my best to write it off for the evening as I did not want to be in a state of anxiety until I had the opportunity to deal with it. It is roughly 8PM now and I really don’t want to go to Cowgirls Inc. stag. So I remembered Ms.X saying that she had been contemplating attending. I rang her up and filled her in on the situation, and asked if she wanted to join me for the evening. She informed me that she may have already made plans for the evening, but would ring me back if they fell through. An hour later my phone rings and it is Ms.X on the other end, “Hey, my plans tonight are to go to The Wet Spot, did you want to go?” From the moment these words were uttered my brain and stomach knew that it was probably a bad idea. My body has never cared much for my brain or stomach anyway.

For those of you who don’t live in WA, or for those of you who live under a rock: The Wet Spot is a local fetish club/community, they throw play parties, and is very popular in the leather community. I had never been, but I have had friends who were members in the past. Alas, it perked my interest and gave me soething to do for the evening rather than show up stag to a party where I didn’t know anyone. I found out this club was actually pretty close to my apartment. So I walked there.

I met Ms.X in the parking lot of a office supplies store that was across the street from the club, as it is a members only club and I needed her with me to guest me in. When I saw her standing next to her SUV my body was finally let in on the joke. She wore a simple black dress with short sleeves and an under bust corset over the top. Finished with shiny black high heels. My jaw dropped, my eyes bulged, and every other cartoonoy gesture you can imagine happening to Daffy duck when he sees Bugs Bunny walk by in the swanky dress and blonde wig.

I was in trouble. I was going to do something bad.

-Cole

The First Parts

This is an experiment in endurance. To see if my best friend and I can keep a blog going for more than a week. Wish us luck, because if this is successful it has a great chance of being highly humorous and possibly even prophetic (someone cue the spooky, mysterious music). Alright kids, deep breath, here it goes.

In recent days I have been locked in a moral dilemma. In order to explain – we have to go back roughly a month to when I broke up with my most recent girlfriend. Who I dated for only two short months. The reason behind this short lived romance is mostly because of the fact that I had sworn off monogamy due to the sticky taste in my mouth it tends to leave. I am the epitome of all I ever wanted to be: a 25 year old, alcoholic, non-monogamous, lesbian. Whoop-di-fuckin’-doo.

Enter the second character in our story, who we will call ‘Ms.Y’ for the sake of privacy. Ms.Y and I have been dating on and off since roughly March of this year. She is aware of my status as a non-monogamist and accepts it. I have had a few partners while she and I have been dating. It has never bothered her. Until last Friday. Ms.Y invited me to our mutual friends birthday party at a local gay club called The Cuff. The Cuff is part country-line-dancing-cowboy-fags and part leather community. The point I’m trying to prove here, is that it’s not really my scene. I showed up waring flip-flops so to ensure that no one would make me do any dancing. Regardless of the terrible music, and social anxiety that courses through my veins, I was having a pretty good time. I sat with my captain n’ coke in hand watching the leather daddies and cowboy fags getting their proverbial freak on. Ms.Y pointed out people in the crowd and filled me in on any sordid drama they may have been involved in. Each in turn introduced themselves to me, and had a brief conversation. Usually consisting of:

“Hi, my name is ______. How do you know the birthday girl?”

“Well, my name is ______ and we met at the ______.”

One person in the mix was, unbeknownst to me, the reigning international miss leather. Who took it upon herself to drag me around the bar by the wrist introducing me to everyone in the local leather scene. Amused as I was, I went along with it. Standing near the back of the bar, she introduced me to a gentleman who seemed to be making fetish gear he was clad in leather vest, leather chaps, a leather hat, a leather… well, you get the idea. I introduced myself because it’s the polite thing to do. At this point both Ms.Y and the birthday girl had caught up to me and were giggling maniacally. It was at this point the night took a turn for the weird. The guy making all the fetish gear asked me to ‘model’ some things for him. I didn’t get a chance to answer before I was volunteered by Ms.Y and friends. The modeling began with leather wrist cuffs and a collar, and continued with a strap that connected the two behind my back, and a leash which was ever so generously put in the hands of Ms.Y and the birthday girl, who at this point I will call ‘Ms.X’.

The two of them began teasing me relentlessly. I think I was blushing from the tip of my fauxhawk to the tips of my flip-flop clad toes. Ms.Y would yank me down by the collar, while Ms.X would place her hands on my hips and begin pressing herself against me suggestively. At some point the leash got passed to Ms.X, and Ms.Y disappeared. Ms.X took this as an opportunity to begin running her fingers along my cheek and placing her mouth centimeters from my own (I don’t think blushing is even the proper word to express what I was doing at this point, it doesn’t seem intense enough). After 15-20 minutes of this merciless provocation Ms.Y re-emerged from the crowd. With cash. The next few moments of this evening are a blur, all I can remember is Ms.Y saying, “I just bought everything you are waring, you should come with me now.” followed by laughter from the small but attentive crowd that surrounded us.

We left the club – Yes, by the way, I’m still waring all of the fetish gear. Ms.Y decides she wants to parade me all over Capitol Hill in her newly purchased garments. As much as she would like to come Ms.X has a camping trip in the morning and has to leave the two of us in order to be rested. She teases me a last parting time and takes her leave. As I am being tugged down the sidewalk it occurs to me, that I may have in the duration of the evening developed a little crush on Ms.X. Which poses this problem: If I am not in a monogamous relationship – or a relationship at all with , Ms.Y and I want to get with Ms.X what’s stopping me? The answer is: their friendship. I would feel like a total douche-nozzle for ruining their friendship. So I suck it up, and keep my head down (literally, as it still has a collar around it). Until Sunday night. To be continued. (DUN DUN DUUUUUUN).

-Cole