So This One Time, at Goth Camp . . .
Went clubbing last night with E- & J- & R-. Good old Bar Sinister was still a lot of fun, even though it was wing night and the flippin' fairy goths were spreading glitter everywhere and poking people in the shoulders, or in the case of R-, knocking people in the head with their contraptions of wire and pantyhose.
It'd been another scorcher that day -- over 100 degrees -- and strangely enough the interior of the club was cooler than the patio. Most pleasant of all was the upstairs playroom where people were just standing around instead of dancing and generating more BTUs. There were a few little scenelets going on -- nothing worth watching -- so we faced the other way and talked about things like the unending awesomeness of District 9. We also made fun of E-'s friend lamenting his expanding waistline. "I just re-fuse to buy size 34 pants. I absolutely re-fuse."
A vendor up there had a rack of clothes as well as other accessories spread out on a table. I went to show her how nicely the corset I'd bought from her last year was holding up. She tried to interest me in a leather half-mask. It was nice but only covered one eye and sixty bucks was too much for that, no matter how cool it looked. Instead I picked up a sort of modified riding crop with a longer tongue that was doubled over so that it would make a nice sound, even if you hit lightly.
"Are you in your happy place now?" said E- eyeing my new purchase.
I shrugged. The crop was a replacement for another one that had disappeared at Bar Sinister years ago, so I wasn't particularly excited. Besides, the fun was more in the using.
"It's like going to Ralph's," I said, indicating the popular SoCal grocery chain. "You get what you need."
But then Covenant's Dead Stars came on and I just *had* to dance. So I handed my crop to E- and dashed downstairs. R- joined me in a minute and before long we were in synch with everybody else on the floor, swaying like seaweed. E-and J- came down for the next song, something about "christ fuck", and it wasn't long before J-, who had the crop now, was acting like a ham with it, tucking the end under his arm and marching around like the über-serious industrial dudes at Das Bunker while making appropriately goofy faces.
I danced over to J- and addressed him in that peculiar shout that's assumed by anybody who's ever tried to be heard in a club.
"You know I might never be able to keep a straight face while using that, now, right?"
He doubled over with laughter, smacking himself on the thigh -- with his hand of course. If J- is anything, he's not kinky.
"Oh, man, I'd hate to think I've ruined it for you," he said with a grin.
I took the crop back and started dancing with it myself, much to the interest of several looky-Lestats, who swiveled quite obviously my way.
But my statement to J- was a joke of course. Once the crop gets put to use, him and any of my other friends will be the last people on my mind.
It'd been another scorcher that day -- over 100 degrees -- and strangely enough the interior of the club was cooler than the patio. Most pleasant of all was the upstairs playroom where people were just standing around instead of dancing and generating more BTUs. There were a few little scenelets going on -- nothing worth watching -- so we faced the other way and talked about things like the unending awesomeness of District 9. We also made fun of E-'s friend lamenting his expanding waistline. "I just re-fuse to buy size 34 pants. I absolutely re-fuse."
A vendor up there had a rack of clothes as well as other accessories spread out on a table. I went to show her how nicely the corset I'd bought from her last year was holding up. She tried to interest me in a leather half-mask. It was nice but only covered one eye and sixty bucks was too much for that, no matter how cool it looked. Instead I picked up a sort of modified riding crop with a longer tongue that was doubled over so that it would make a nice sound, even if you hit lightly.
"Are you in your happy place now?" said E- eyeing my new purchase.
I shrugged. The crop was a replacement for another one that had disappeared at Bar Sinister years ago, so I wasn't particularly excited. Besides, the fun was more in the using.
"It's like going to Ralph's," I said, indicating the popular SoCal grocery chain. "You get what you need."
But then Covenant's Dead Stars came on and I just *had* to dance. So I handed my crop to E- and dashed downstairs. R- joined me in a minute and before long we were in synch with everybody else on the floor, swaying like seaweed. E-and J- came down for the next song, something about "christ fuck", and it wasn't long before J-, who had the crop now, was acting like a ham with it, tucking the end under his arm and marching around like the über-serious industrial dudes at Das Bunker while making appropriately goofy faces.
I danced over to J- and addressed him in that peculiar shout that's assumed by anybody who's ever tried to be heard in a club.
"You know I might never be able to keep a straight face while using that, now, right?"
He doubled over with laughter, smacking himself on the thigh -- with his hand of course. If J- is anything, he's not kinky.
"Oh, man, I'd hate to think I've ruined it for you," he said with a grin.
I took the crop back and started dancing with it myself, much to the interest of several looky-Lestats, who swiveled quite obviously my way.
But my statement to J- was a joke of course. Once the crop gets put to use, him and any of my other friends will be the last people on my mind.