Thursday, May 23, 2002

slippery when wet

My bag is tough. Tougher than Glad tough. And why the fuck did someone ever think that it was a good idea to name a trash bag company Glad? Are you ever glad about trash bags? Maybe you are, or maybe like me, you are a sensible individual who finds pleasure in meaningful things like making fun of what trash bags are called. Whatever, in fact, I really could care less what you thought about trash bags. What I was talking about before I sidetracked myself was my backpack. It's tough. Glad tough. It could kick your ass. And your grandma's in a thumbwrestling match. Even though my bag doesn't even have thumbs - it's that fucking tough, is what I am trying to say.

I sometimes refer to it as my Mary Poppins bag for its magical ability to fit so much stolen loot inside of it. This is just one thing that makes it tough. The other thing is its ability to withstand spill after spill and still not smell yucky. So many things have exploded in my backpack. I have had countless bottles of lotion explode in it. And you know what? It keeps on fucking trucking. Countless bottles of water have turned into countless empty bottles in this bag, spilling water all over the fucking place. A couple months ago, I was bringing home a box of chocolate soy milk in my bag on the metro ride home, and the shit spilled all over the place and leaked all the way home.

But, the bag survived. It always does. It survived to serve me well today when I stole two Zero7 cds from Starbucks for Sarah and I. It was equally tough, if not more so, when I stole a bottle of Cab, two wine glasses, and a bottle opener from World Market. After eating at the food court at the mall, we went to put these stolen products to use. I carried in them in my tough, tough bag to the kid's park where we were going to drink it and play on playground equipment that would most likely be too small for us. At the playground, we opened the Cab, poured it into glasses and began to drink it, as we swung from the swings, smelling the crisp, unseasonably chilly air that smelled alternatly of honeysuckle and sewage. Thankfully, for the most part, it smelled like honeysuckle, that beautiful smell that isVirginia. No smell brings me back to childhood, nearly as much as that smell - of running through the woods, of pulling the flowers off of fences and sucking out the sweet honey. The smell was so dominant and so lovely. And combined with the swinging motion and the pleasant effects of the Cab on our reaction time, it was pure heaven. The sky was clear and I swung and swung as high as I could, shaking the swingset, looking up when I would reach the peak of my swinging arc, at the sky, the beautiful night sky, void of streetlights, teeny flickering stars calling me home, reassuring me nothing bad could ever happen to me or to you or to any of us. And I swung higher and higher, getting dizzier each time, laughing at the craziness of it all, knowing that I knew nothing except how to laugh, and loving that realization, swinging back and forth, revelling in my mobility - my living. And did I mention those stars? God, they were wonderful. Fuck it, they were God - who am I referring to? They were the world, my existence - and I wanted to get closer to swing my way into them - and so what if there It fucking looked close enough, and so I swung higher and higher towards what I thought could be my salvation.

And then, a car pulled up behind us at the back entrance to the park and it had its headlights shining. And I pointed it out to Sarah, and then we began to wonder if it was a cop. And I saw him get out and shine his flashlight, and I was up quicker then I don't know what, pouring my Cab out of my glass and rushing to put the bottle of wine in my bag. Sarah was buzzed and pretty much oblivious to the possible severity of the situation. When she saw me scurrying to conceal the alcohol, then she realized that it was a cop and now there were two cars, and she went and hid behind a slide. I walked over to where she was with my bag on my back, and fucking shit, don't tell me I did. Fuck yes, I did! Goddamnit. Not you stars, that other thing, you know? I had thrown an unsecurley corked bottle of wine into my tough, tough bag and the bottle spilled all over my bag.

The cops didn't even walk up to the park, they just fucking left, and I had spilled all this wine all over my fucking bag. Upsetting for two reasons. One, being that I had spilled wine all over everything in my bag. And two, being that I had spilled the fucking wine that was so good and that I wanted to drink barrels of. A little bit had managed to remain in the bottle and we got back on the swings and drank the remaining wine, then buzzed from the wine and the swinging, we played on slides and horses and ducks and generally had all sorts of fun, remembering what exactly was so fun about being a kid, and going down a slide feeling like you are living in the end times, sliding down Niagra Falls or something much larger than yourself and the four foot tall plastic slide - that you were doing something amazing - but you weren't just thinking you were, you fucking were doing something godly. No one can tell me what we were doing was not utterly amazing. Well they can, but that doesn't mean I can't and won't tell them to fuck off.

Then I convinced Sarah to come to Wet with me, since I really wanted to go before I left for Madison, and since I especially wanted to go since it was Amateur Night, which is always red hot with lots of guys getting up to strip naked. Lots with hard cocks. And so, we were off to Wet, me so so excited about seeing naked boys. Of course, there were problems getting there, since me and DC roads are not the best of friends. We were forced off on to the totally wrong exit which ended up taking us almost to Maryland, forcing us to backtrack and wander around DC streets for too long before I spotted the Capital which we drove to, since I know how to get anywhere from the Capital (my one talent). We finally get there, and when we do, lots of people are exiting the club which makes me sad because that obviously means that we missed the contest, which was the main reason that I was so insistent that we go tonight.

We got in there and I was in heaven. The stars may have been God, but this kids, was fucking heaven. Cute, young boys all over the place, and cocks in your face. Dancers wearing nothing but socks dancing on the bar. People, I am a pervert, and am really obsessed with Wet - I love watching naked guys for a couple of hours - it is quite possibly my favorite thing. We sat on some empty sidestage until two naked dancers with the biggest cocks in the world started dancing on it right behind us. We stood for a while by the bar, until feeling awkward, found an empty table in an empty corner. We didn't care, we really weren't there to socialize. Or at least I wasn't - I was there to be a voyeur. I really cannot say what Sarah's reasons were other than that she is the nicest fag hag ever for coming with me since otherwise I probably would have not gone. The dancers really weren't that exciting tonight. Normally, they have big, erect cocks that they play with. Tonight, all of the dancers were soft and small - but they had red hot bodies and ear to ear smiles that more then compensated. Except for of course, the aforementioned guys with the hugest dicks I've ever seen dancing behind us. And then later in the night, one of the dancers had the hugest erection ever, showing the miracle and wonder of the penis for its magical ability to morph from something ordinary into something extraordinary. Mighty Morphin indeed. And the club showed their love of this miracle, as he was surrounded by gawking guys looking at something that they had not seen on that stage all night, or at least, since we had been there - we missed the amateur contest, where there were doubtless, mucho mucho hard cocks. But this kids hard cock was so pretty and so straight up. It wasn't a horizontal erect one, it was almost perfectly vertical, and we were in love. We were all those ancient civilizations that worshipped the phallus and Priapus - we knew that we were witnessing God. God is everywhere you know, not just in the stars. It's in every single erect cock, and round, bent over ass, and in every stroked calf prior to sticking a dollar in someones sock. And it's here in these headphones, and you are witnessing it now too. Touch yourself and have your own communion right now - direct religious experience. I plan on doing so as soon as I finish babbling - masturbating to recalled images stored from Wet.

I had Sarah buy me a drink, which was strong as hell and made me even more tipsy then I had already been from all the swinging and swiging. I decided that I was in love with a boy named Nicholas. Nicholas. That's really what he said his name was. Not Nick, but Nicholas. He came to our lonely little corner and started talking to me, making my night. Okay, I'm a big loser and was real excited by this, because boys never ever ever ever (and one more) ever hit on me. And the ones that do are never exciting, but this boy was so so cute. He's a grad student at Catholic Univeristy, and ahhh - he was so fucking cute, and so nice - and I really wish that I would have gone to some gay clubs earlier, instead of less than a week before I go to Madison.

And the other weird thing about tonight, is that normally Wet it is not a hot spot rife with cute, young boys - normally it leans sort of heavy on the dirty old man side - but tonight the place was filled with hot hot young guys - and I was dying, grabbing Sarah's leg to squeeze it when I what I really wanted to squeeze was boy after boy after hot boy. Nicholas tends bar on Mondays and Thursdays and wanted me to come visit him - how fucking sad - that I could not have meet this nice boy earlier. Then LaTroya, the resident drag queen, came over and said hi to us.

Earlier Sarah and I had been talking about how hot she looked, and so when she came over, I told her this. Or maybe I told her that Sarah had thought so. That Sarah thought that she was red hot and said she wanted to marry her. LaTroya, then started playing with Sarah's hair, giving her advice for a makeover, and then I decided that we should share our red hot cheer with LaTroya. I told LaTroya that we had a cheer about her, and Sarah looked so confused so I briefly reminded her, but then a few seconds later when it was performance time, she got a little stage fright and I was left there chanting by myself. R-E-D-H-O-T. RED HOT. RED HOT. R-E-D-H-O-T. RED HOT. RED HOT. WHOOO!

She liked it a lot and gave both of us a big kiss on the cheek and then advised me to hide the big X's on my hand when I was drinking. She was so cool. Me and Sarah were in love with her. I was also in love with Nicholas and was still so so excited. And hello, don't forget the fact that there are naked boys dancing with their cocks in our face, showing us their Gods - their beautiful bodies. And god, fucking god, I love Wet - why didn't I go more while I was at home - I think watching naked boys may very well be my favorite activity. And when we left the club, two guys approached us, asking for money for booze, I gave each of them a dollar. They asked for another one, saying that two dollars could buy them a joint. I laughed and told them that I was trying to save money. They said, "That's cool. We understand. You're with your girl." And I just left a gay club with a dyke and I was with my girl, and lovely lovely lovely, the world is the funniest place. And so, I laughed and told them to have a good night. But I didn't say "have a good night guys" as merely a parting expression. No, no, it was advice, maybe even an ultimatium from learned experience, from having such a good night, I wanted everyone to have one - to love this moment under these stars and to have a good fucking night.

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