An Intimate Encounter
When we walked the streets of Key West, me clad in six-inch paten leather thigh high boots, a paten leather miniskirt and a paten leather sleeveless crop top, clinging on his tattoo-covered arm as he carefully guided each of my steps, an old lady approached us, exclaiming about what a nice looking couple we were. At the Green Parrot, meeting up with the rest of the cruise ship people after the photo shoot as Donna The Buffalo had just finished playing, we get this random compliment. This is the same bar where just a little over a year before, I clung to my Ex, clad only in the black and gold glitter paint of a leopard.
It was the first time I ventured back to the island since the break up, even though I still had the apartment that I paid for, having left it for my ex and, as it would turn out after a bad trip of meth that resulted in him tearing up his identification in a paranoid binge, my attorney. At least I did not have to step foot alone, especially in those heels. I had Boo Ray to guide me, and nobody has really hooked me like he did, probably because he was a first.
I was all alone, and then he was beside me. That’s all I remember. He just came up and scooted in the booth beside me.
Yeah, he was wasted. His accent was so thick, I could not even understand what he was saying, especially with the slur of alcohol. All I could do was stare at him, but then he was gone.
He stood up and walked away, seemingly disappearing out into the mists of the ocean. Not knowing what else to do, I went back to being oblivious. I just stayed in one spot.
Unlike him, who re-appeared at the edge of the bar, falling to the floor. I couldn’t help but laugh, which caught his attention. He came back over to me.
“You just plum fell in love with lil’ ol’ Boo Ray, huh? You can’t even help yourself. You’ve fallen in love with me, didn’t you?”
I couldn’t even answer. Words would not come out, only a baffled smile. I blinked at him, speechless.
“Kiss my muther fuckin’ lips,” he ordered, but I was still in awe, completely dumbfounded. “It has to be like this, as it’s nothing if it’s not passion. Now I said, kiss my muther fuckin’ lips.”
I think my jaw was dropped, and I must have looked like the deer in headlights that I felt like. He had made me shy. “Right here?”
“Right here. Right now. Kiss me on the lips.”
There might as well have been an orchestra of crickets. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I could just feel the presence of all the people around us. We were in our own little world, surrounded by glaring eyes.
“I, I … I don’t even know you,” I stammered. “I have to at least know one thing about you. When’s your birthday?”
“May 13,” his answer made a smile stretch across my face. He took notice. “Is that okay?”
My smile widened. I nodded, feeling intoxicated by his presence. “Does it have to be here though; can we go somewhere else?”
“Let’s get the fuck outta here.” He grabbed my arm to pull me up. “Come on…”
“Hold up,” I whimpered. Books were falling off my lap. “I have to get organized.”
For the first time, he realized all the notebooks and binders that I had with me, as I had silently been taking notes in the corner. “You got alota shit.” He seemed to waver as he tried to stand still, impatiently waiting for me to get ready.
Finally, I had bags packed up, books under my arms, camera over my shoulder, my portable office in tow. With the closest press room to the deck, I led the way down the steps, as my room was the first door, but he did not follow. I looked behind me, but he was gone.
My heart ached, but I thought it to be just as well. He must have merely been drunk, such a wicked game to play with ones heart. Oh well, I entered my room in resignation.
It did not matter where I looked, he was gone, simply vanished. What else could I do but wait to dock in Key West? My heart sank.
In the morning came the sun, and Boo Ray had on shades. Standing around with Frenchy, they were with another gentleman who reminded me of a Chihuahua, yappy and annoying due to a complex of being small in the pants…or so I’m guessing. I’m still not sure what the fuck happened, as I was going on days without sleep, but somehow Boo Ray had conveyed that he was playing a game with me, that he would disappear, and I’d have to find him.
Hide-and-go-seek. Round and round ‘til I found him at the Whistle Stop. Only then was I able to find him, especially with the help of my lovely assistant.
“There’s two of you now?” He did not believe his vision. “Did you double, like split in half and form another version of you?”
His friend may have tried to stop him, but what guy wouldn’t leave with two long blonde-haired girls? I mean, seriously. Especially dominatrixes like us.
Was he good enough to share? He was up for the idea, but I couldn’t bring myself to it. I guess I’m a greedy little cunt.
That’s when I transformed into the paten leather outfit, escaping into the room that belonged to two young girls. He followed me, assisting me with the process of taking off my clothes, as if I needed help. Though he wanted to play, I had to slap his hands to keep him at bay.
First, we needed to do work, and that involved getting out the leather straight jacket. Eccentric Mardi Gras masks, made of leather and black feathers, were able to conceal true identity. Boo Ray, however, did not trust me enough to let me strap him up in a rack that could be used to spin him in circles, backwards and up-side-down.
We settled for pot on my tits, while a mushroom-intoxicated photographer snapped pictures…bad idea. Not that we were that much better off, but… C’est la vie; live and learn.
I remember lying on the bed, a hand-carved chunk of wood with a trapeze bar and mirrors overhead. Beneath me had the capability of pulling out to a stage, but we were content on the down-filled mattress. His hands were creeping up my thighs, and I could not move for fear of dislodging the perfectly placed buds of weed.
Subtly aggressive, his hands allowed me to close my eyes in ecstasy. Before I could truly enjoy the sensation, I heard the barking. “We need to get back, or else we’ll miss the ship.”
The Chihuahua had turned into a drill sergeant. Whirlwinding the weed off my tits, the cameras into my bags, we wound up at the Green Parrot via a car ride where I finally had a moment to enjoy those hands creeping up my thighs. Though I was laid across a couple laps, Tommy and Boo Ray, Boo Ray’s fingers worked their way around my paten leather g-string, causing me to jump slightly. I would have swatted his hand away, but I was too busy twitching, and he was too amused at my corresponding facial expressions.
Everyone else leaped out of the car, convinced that we were late for something, but there was no leaping to be done while laid back in body tight paten leather, especially when there’s six-inch heels involved. Boo Ray waiting like a patient gentleman, offering his arm for my assistance. The smile he wore on his face may have been due to the discovery of metal in my twat, but he had not gotten the light to inspect what he had merely felt at that point.
Waiting as the other dominatrix and I clung to each other, not wanting to part ways again, I think he rather enjoyed the sight of two blondes pressing up against each other, mumbling sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Kisses on each cheek, fingers tangled in each other’s long blonde hair, our fingers clung to each other until the driving car forced them apart. We blew kisses at each other as she distanced herself in the car.
Taking my bag in one hand, my arm in the other, Boo Ray guided me slowly into the mass that was just leaving the bar to go back to the cruise ship. Familiar faces from home called out my name, hugs to go around to the doorguy, the bartender and the like, each asking when I was coming back home. Sighing that the scars were still too new, I explained that I was merely on a new adventure for the moment, that I would be back when the time was right.
Bigger celebrities wouldn’t have had as hard of a time walking down the street, as people knew this would truly be the last time that they would see me for a while. The Chihuahua had warned, “if you don’t make it back, I’m not going to worry myself looking for you.” Such a threat.
I snorted at him and coifed, “I still have my apartment here, if worse comes to worse.” Of course, my attorney knew this, and that’s why we did not see him again. I wouldn’t figure this part out for a while still though, as I was too busy saying good-byes to friends, some who had waited at the entrance to the cruise ship as they knew it would be the last place to find me.
Of course, we made it back to the cruise ship. Customs had purposely held us back, just wanting the opportunity to gaze at me for a while, offering to help guide my balance. They searched the outside of my outfit more thoroughly than my bag.
This time, Boo Ray did not hesitate in following me to my room, concerned by each of my steps forward. “You got it? You okay?”
It’s not too often that I let my alter ego out to play, but when I do have the Will To Beast, people notice. Eyes were glued to my paten leather, and the whispers followed. “Who is that?”
Seemingly, nobody remembered that I was merely me. Some did, but most thought I had merely materialized. Whatever.
Inching to my room, the key fit the lock perfectly, allowing entry. Casting the bag aside, Boo Ray lured me down to the bed, carefully guiding me in his arms. Snaking around me, we simply coiled for a moment.
The kissing started, and he laid me back onto what might as well have been a bed of flowers. Gently tasting my hair, breathing me in, kisses followed the zipper that trailed down the paten leather, exposing my pierced tits. Eyes wide like a hungry baby, his head nursed to my breast, sucking gingerly, then tugging for heightened arousal.
Mouth occupied, his fingers toyed with the zippers on my skirt. Pulling it off and discarding it against the wall, my leather g-string soon followed, only in a differently flung direction. When he finally allowed his eyes to take me in, he was breathless.
“You’re the most hardcore girl I’ve ever met in my life,” he whispered when his breath had returned. “I could feel the piercings, but I didn’t expect the tattoos. You look so pure from the outside, so clean from scars.”
As he said this, he grabbed my foot, peeling off my thigh high boots one at a time, “these come off.” When he went to stick my toe in his mouth, he stopped. “What’s this?”
He had seen my ankle, freshly scarred. Tracing just above each item without touching too much of the puckered healing, he outlined the X, the eye and the anch. “It’s still fairly fresh.”
“I had a bad breakup,” I confessed. “The eye was to remind me to always keep an eye out, the X marked that I had been a victim, and the anch is for protection against it happening all over again. It’s my way of controlling my pain, as a tattoo artist was not available at the time, and it was probably better than suicide.”
His deep inward sigh told me that he could understand, even if he did not agree with it. He kissed each freshly scared item in attempt to ease the pain, being gentle with me once again. “You know, I followed you.”
“What?” I looked at him with disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“The first time I saw you,” he confessed, “I followed which way you were going. I stalked your ass. I saw you the very first day and merely watched you, not sure of your situation with your attorney, as you call him; I literally stalked you out for days.”
“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You so did not. I don’t even believe you.”
Setting my foot down on the bed, he inched closer to me, sliding up so I could not escape the look on his face, “I’m serious. I saw you when you walked up in your little black business suit, looking so cocksure of yourself, then I even figured out it was you when you put on that stupid hoodie and tried to hide who you were. Try to hide all you want, but you still stand out.”
When I weakly tried to shake my head in a sign that I did not believe him, he continued. “It was like a high school love, and I was all nervous to approach you. I didn’t have the guts to say anything to you until I was really drunk, then I didn’t even have the courage to follow you.”
“Don’t lie,” I tried to protest. His eyes held my glance, even as I tried to look away. “You’re not even serious.”
Solemnly, he shook his head, “I could tell just by watching you that you were the most hardcore bitch here, but I didn’t know that you had all this.” Eyeing up my twat, he licked his lips, “trust me, Sweetie, you don’t see this type of shit everyday, and I know, because I’m from one of the most outlandish places there is. New Orleans you see all kinds of stupid shit, and everyone thinks they’re something, hard and slick.”
“You’re from New Orleans?” Something about his flaming sacred heart caught my attention, pulling my gaze to a level of understanding. He reminded me of someone I had met before.
“Baton Rouge, actually. I travel between there and the Carolinas for the summer, Asheville and shit. I live in Georgia now though.”
“How do you like it? I’ve had Asheville recommended to me by a few different people, and I’ve always wanted to check it out. I was thinking of moving there next actually, because now that shit when down in Key West, I gotta find a new chill spot.”
“It’s alright, I guess,” he curled up to me and lit a cigarette for us to share, taking a puff and handing it to me. The bright splashes of his rough exterior only called attention to his soft inside, but even his voice lowered to a deepness of one I had heard before. Familiarity was there, but I could not place the name.
After taking a few more puffs, merely enjoying peace for a moment, he abandoned his cigarette to me and picked up where he left off, at my foot, kissing from my toe, up to my twat. My wall was crumbling, being torn down. I had not allowed myself to feel such sensations in months, more than months, as my ex had discarded me after New Orleans, nearly a year before.
Such tender exquisiteness, spiked with just enough pain, could not be put into justifiable words. We explored every inch of each other, eager to play tit for tat, arousing every available sensation, from him sucking under my tit, to my sucking his balls. It was good, to say the least.
Two snakes slithered around each other, swapping sweat and smoke, my mind recalled my attorney. We had just gotten the bass signed, and he was going to make sure that it made the trip back to the kid’s room. Peterson, I think, is what he had us call him, but I remember a special bond about “Tommy the Cat.”
When my attorney instructed me, “stay here and wait for me to get back, unless you decide you don’t want to, in which case I’ll just run into you later at some point. Yeah, just stay here. You never know who might walk up.”
I listened and did not have any reason to argue his point. Biding my time, I took out my paper and pencil and started writing. Not too long passed before he was in the booth with me, the boy who had just tongued my ass, smacking it just to make me jump with contradictory sensation. We were naked and at peace with one another…
Until there was a knock at the door. Scrambling to snatch up the blankets that had fallen on the floor, I thought it easier to dress like a Greek than pull on paten leather. When I answered the door, my semi-toga falling halfway off the ground, I tried to hide my garment and only peep my head out.
I wasn’t very successful, but I was more relieved to see Peterson than somebody else at the door, even if his face was red as he covered his mouth while laughing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you from anything,” he chortled. “I just was wondering if you had seen your attorney anywhere.”
“Nah, I haven’t really seen him since the island, just before we got on the ship. I was a little, uh, preoccupied,” he laughed at me for a moment more. “Why; what’s up?”
“Well. I haven’t see him since then, and I have yet to find anyone who has actually seen him since then either,” he looked at me seriously. “I just thought you might want to know. I think he didn’t get back on the boat.”
I smiled at him as if he were telling a joke. “Well, he had my apartment he can stay at, and I have faith that he’ll be alright. He’s only got to make it up to Miami.”
“Well, that’s another thing,” Peterson shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously, shoving his hands into his pocket. “He kinda has some money of mine, along with a few other people’s cash. We all thought he was gunna hook us up.”
“How would he know where to hook you up there? He doesn’t live there. I’m the one who lived there; I’m the one with the apartment there, not him.”
“There’s some people that are really mad,” he offered. “Most of them only know that he came with you. I just thought you might want to know.”
“You should not have trusted him,” I said flatly. “Is he really not on the ship? For sure?”
“We’ve all been lookin’ for him pretty good,” he sighed. “There’s nothin’ we can do, and we all understand that. It just sucks.”
“Yeah, it sucks,” I agreed. “You shouldn’t have trusted him, when I was the one that lived there. I told all of you that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” he shook his head knowingly, “and we should have listened to you, but he was just tellin’ us all…” He paused and composed himself for a minute. “Ya know,” he smiled and looked into my eyes, “even though he beat me for some cash - and it doesn’t really matter to me, as I can afford it – he was pretty cool; I think I’d definitely hang out with him if I ran into him again. I can honestly say as much as it might have sucked to lose the cash, I had a lot of fun hanging out with him.”
When I closed the door, returned to bed and relayed to Boo Ray what had been said, he decided to drown my sorrows with another round. It was inevitable that we would have to explain to everyone, clarify the situation, making excuses for his actions as best I could. My attorney loved pulling a vicious burn and fleeing town.
Closely cuddlesome, Boo Ray escorted me to the main deck of the cruise ship. Spying his friends, he urged me over like a nervous little schoolboy on his best behavior. Perfect gentlemanly, he made proper introductions to those I had met before and a few new faces.
Frenchy was introduced as the artist who had crafted some pieces for the ship, and I don’t really recall the others for some reason. I probably wouldn’t have remembered Frenchy either, honestly, if it wasn’t for us running into each other after the cruise ship had docked. I had lugged all of my luggage and as much of my attorney’s that had been left behind after the customs had made their seizures (including the largest suitcase that had both handles broken off), and while I sat with my free bottle of rum and waited for Bait and his master to pick me up, Frenchy was there, the last one to talk with me.
The end had been abrupt, after the drugs were consumed before pulling into port, all the passengers trying to rid of the evidence by sharing with everyone else. My brain did not want it all to sink in, and somebody drilled me. “It’s over; give it up and go back to your room; pack.”
I had slowly become outcast, judged by my attorney’s actions, even though I was the one who felt the most betrayed, one of my best friends living with him ex-boyfriends in an apartment that I had paid for, making me sound like I was the one gaining something out of the situation besides a bad name by association. One kid went so far as to yell at me, “you can’t pull comparisons to the Doctor. Who do you think you are?”
“I was just honoring the movie,” I claimed. “Since when is it wrong to honor something? Anyone can do that, even a girl.”
“Movie; what about the book? What about all of his books? You talk about the movie?”
“It’s just a visual, a character reference, as my attorney happened to look like the attorney in the movie. So what gives? Why should I have to explain it to you?”
“I just don’t think you should talk about him or compare situations,” he responded but seemed to find my explanation useless. “This is not Las Vegas; it’s a cruise ship. You’re covering a music event, not sports, and just because there might have been drugs...”
I ignored the situation, but what I couldn’t ignore was the paranoia that had set in. The girls who had booked the gig knew I had just been broken up with my boyfriend, and I had this sense that there was a game for matchmaking, especially when back in the Mermaid Lounge. It seems nobody could believe that my attorney and I were not sleeping together, just friends as I had claimed all along.
There was too much talk of “reality TV,” and there were too many cameras around. Too many people were looking at me, and too many guys were coming up to me. Boo Ray seemed to disappear, and there were too many seekers coming up in a line to me like “I enjoy walks on the beach and hiking, though I’m more of an evening man, myself…” what’s your sign never seemed to matter again, there were glassy eyes and cold shoulders, handfuls of mushrooms consumed, a failed attempt at playing guitar, colors started to look brighter, sounds got even louder, then when everyone else was gone, sent back to their rooms for the evening, the knock came and there he was again, just when you thought he forgot about you, he lay beside you in an exhausted rage of non-sleep and intoxication, lowly grumbling like the one you had met before, seen in such a state, giving just the same vibe, the color purple, “you remind me of Phil Anselmo,” “it’s not that, it’s New Orleans,” “yeah but the vibe is so much the same,” “the vibe is New Orleans,” “I’m feeling the city through you?” “I don’t know what your feeling, but I’m feeling pretty trashed” “I’m feeling the wear, that’s for sure; how do you spell your name?” “it’s old French, Cajun I guess” “like B-O-O space R-A-Y?” “close enough” “I still don’t understand the city” “I’m inviting you there, not me myself, as I’m just a puppet, but the city is inviting you” “my ex used to say I was just a puppet on a string” “so how you want to end this?” “end what?” “this, us, the situation,” “how do I want to end it?” “where does it go from here?” “when your sick of everything, come find me; when your sick of all this bullshit that music is really all about, come find me” “sick of it all? girl it could just be me and you, me playing guitar on my porch back in Georgia while you sing with your sweet lil voice” “huh?” “nothing” “what are you sayin’?” “I guess this is it” more kisses and gone, never to appear again, all I have left behind of him is the hat, a dark denim hat covered in paint Pierre-style if you will, the hat goes in my suitcase with everything else, all those suitcases being lugged, four by one person, trying to maneuver the biggest one wiith no handles but wheels, no help from anyone until I’m well through the roughest part, just getting on the escalator to go down and out, a few random goodbyes and contacts, then Frenchy, smiling like he knew a secret, yapped at me just long enough for the Coconut representative to pull up in the convertible, he doesn’t look like a millionaire, millionaires are best when you can’t tell, and my attorney? he caught the fear and was loathing, got left behind, he’ll be alright with my ex at my apartment, he might as well enjoy it since it’s already paid for and I’m not there to enjoy it, oh you heard from him? when will he be here? tomorrow? who is he bringing with him? some dude who’s a Scorpio and wants me help with his show convinces me to go where “There’s Something About Mary” was shot, dress up in leather and dance on stage only to run into a girl who has the same vaginal tattoo, at least the top part of a tribal cheery, and she is from New Orleans, but then I get the call from Norris in New Orleans, my brain starts spinning and thinking, my attorney says no while sitting poolside with me at the Coconut House, I have a bad feeling about this, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, what if it kills you? I don’t think it will, it almost did before, but I lived, what makes you so sure, I dunno, I just feel it, it’s like a test, what kind of test? I can’t explain I just know I need to go, you feel it? I feel something, what if something happens? should I move to New Orleans?
Yes, turn to
Yes to NOLA
No, turn to No to NOLA
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