Vista Ave Chronicals: The Dangers of Kink
The conversation topics that seem to arise within the confines of the Vista bars often go far beyond strange and into the surreal. But that is the nature of the neighborhood dive bar; a giant confessional booth where the priests are just as drunk as you meaning that they can hold up their end of the vow. They won't judge you and they won't remember come morning. They will just listen; or at least provide a living, yet immobile object to talk at. I suppose that is where this comes from.
It's at Vista bar just a little after midnight. I had just got off of work and therefore am reasonably sober still. Erik was at the other side of the bar fiddling with the jukebox and talking to one of the other regulars leaving me talking with Crystal. I should qualify this by saying that, as of late, talking with Crystal is the conversational equilivant of a prison break. Sneak along quietly, do not draw attention to yourself. Just keep moving before they catch you. Call me paranoid but ever since Erik stopped seeing her and started ignoring her, she seems eager to add me to the list of, I would guess hundreds, of other men she has had sex with. Me, well I have enough issues in my life without opening this Pandora's box of crazy and jumping right in. Don't get me wrong, if this was good old-fashioned no-strings-attached sex I would be all over it. Sadly there is at least one large string attached. I think it's the one her husband used to hang himself with.
So my strategy is to avoid saying anything interesting or funny in hopes that she will lose interest and go away to bug Erik some more. It's a bit like playing dead so a bear doesn't maul you. Well I don't know how well it works on the bear, but it's not working on her.
After a little while, she does excuse herself to the restroom. And I get a moment of reprieve from the crazy. The guy next to me notices the situation and asks me in a heavy southern accent what the problem is. I shrug and say, "Oh you know I gots me some problems with the crazy."
"Oh lady troubles?"
"Something like that."
I don't know why he did it at this point, but he almost immediately launched into this story that happened about 10 years ago.
He had a girl who's had a fetish that involved hot wax and certain sensitive areas of her body. A bit kinky, but nothing exceptionally depraved and something he was willing to help her indulge in. So one day he went out and bought a large, three-wick candle, lit it and went out for a romantic dinner. A couple hours later they get back. They start kissing and undressing and so on. She is naked and laying on the bed and he gets the candle that is now filled with hot wax.
Now apparently, he tells me, where he went wrong is that to properly pull this off, you are suppose to drip the wax one drop at a time. Not pour the entire thing right on her crotch.
He tells me this and I wince as the mental image appears in my head. "How bad was it?" I ask.
"Third degree burns"
"So I imagine that that was the end of that relationship."
"Nope she stayed with me for about a month after that."
"What in the hell did you finally do to get her to break up with you?"
"Apparently I snore."
I can't help but laugh my ass off.
When I finally regain composure, he asks me again what my story is.
I look back at Crystal who has resumed her proper roll of bugging the shit out of Erik, and I simply say, "You know, I don't remember."
It's at Vista bar just a little after midnight. I had just got off of work and therefore am reasonably sober still. Erik was at the other side of the bar fiddling with the jukebox and talking to one of the other regulars leaving me talking with Crystal. I should qualify this by saying that, as of late, talking with Crystal is the conversational equilivant of a prison break. Sneak along quietly, do not draw attention to yourself. Just keep moving before they catch you. Call me paranoid but ever since Erik stopped seeing her and started ignoring her, she seems eager to add me to the list of, I would guess hundreds, of other men she has had sex with. Me, well I have enough issues in my life without opening this Pandora's box of crazy and jumping right in. Don't get me wrong, if this was good old-fashioned no-strings-attached sex I would be all over it. Sadly there is at least one large string attached. I think it's the one her husband used to hang himself with.
So my strategy is to avoid saying anything interesting or funny in hopes that she will lose interest and go away to bug Erik some more. It's a bit like playing dead so a bear doesn't maul you. Well I don't know how well it works on the bear, but it's not working on her.
After a little while, she does excuse herself to the restroom. And I get a moment of reprieve from the crazy. The guy next to me notices the situation and asks me in a heavy southern accent what the problem is. I shrug and say, "Oh you know I gots me some problems with the crazy."
"Oh lady troubles?"
"Something like that."
I don't know why he did it at this point, but he almost immediately launched into this story that happened about 10 years ago.
He had a girl who's had a fetish that involved hot wax and certain sensitive areas of her body. A bit kinky, but nothing exceptionally depraved and something he was willing to help her indulge in. So one day he went out and bought a large, three-wick candle, lit it and went out for a romantic dinner. A couple hours later they get back. They start kissing and undressing and so on. She is naked and laying on the bed and he gets the candle that is now filled with hot wax.
Now apparently, he tells me, where he went wrong is that to properly pull this off, you are suppose to drip the wax one drop at a time. Not pour the entire thing right on her crotch.
He tells me this and I wince as the mental image appears in my head. "How bad was it?" I ask.
"Third degree burns"
"So I imagine that that was the end of that relationship."
"Nope she stayed with me for about a month after that."
"What in the hell did you finally do to get her to break up with you?"
"Apparently I snore."
I can't help but laugh my ass off.
When I finally regain composure, he asks me again what my story is.
I look back at Crystal who has resumed her proper roll of bugging the shit out of Erik, and I simply say, "You know, I don't remember."