I told Munsie that I wanted to see other people and she accepted it but not without being miserable about it, which of course made me feel miserable, but I think that in general, both of us can handle it, plus, she has such an advantage over all these other women they can’t really compete- Munsie is in a league all to herself.
Let’s take this leggy Argentinean one, let’s call her Carolina for the sake of convenience. I met her one day when I sprouted a temporary testicle. There she was on the subway, all legs, with like a greek mini toga type affair, long fingers, long neck, a bit of overbite- I love overbite and I liked the way she clutched her tobacco and her lil phone but I didn’t want to go right up and chat her up, even though my three balls were urging me on. But she got off at my stop, I was on my way to pick my motorcycle up and drive it from Barcelona to the Harley distributor up the coast, my clutch was fried…and then Carolina just crossed the street and there she was, walking three feet away from me, so I chatted her up.
Then I signed her up to my Facebook friends, we went out to a fancy restaurant, I dropped a bundle and dropped my napkin to catch her shoes up close- very nice peep toed affairs, slingback heels with a nice flower design and a small platform, very nice indeed. She seemed pretty classy , but for reasons I can’t seem to explain, maaan there was just no spark whatsoever. Whatever- we went to a couple of gallery openings, she came by to the Badalona Basecamp when it was still summery and so on and so on. But he thing that kinda creeps me out is her Facebook photos and her kinky roommate. You just start adding shit up and you realize that what we have on our hands is an individual surrounded by unsavory characters.
The Facebook photos show Carolina in a series of poses and situations around what I would call, for lack of a better expression “a clubbing environment”- going to a club, indeed, weren’t these places just called discos at one point? And before that discotheques? And before that, nightclubs? I like the concept of a nightclub, you know, the Cotton Club, Cab Calloway, speakeasies , gin joints, reefer madness, the whole magilla but these scenes are just too decadent for me at this stage of the game. Hell, I was never a fan of decadence in public, Lord knows I know about decadence on a one to one level, but public decadence is just not my thing. So all of her photos are poses of people making like they are having a lot of laughs in clubbing environments- she’s always surrounded by either two types of men; middle aged saggy jowly bald types and young gay men. I saw a collection of photos in her Facebook and Myspace and suddenly I saw pictures of us together and I was so relieved to see a guy who looked reasonable normal and even devilishly handsome by comparison: me!!! But the rest of it kinda spooks me. Being magnanimous and giving her the benefit of the doubt, I chalk it up to her job: she’s a fashion scout and a model’s representative, so she’s always parading fashion models around. I call these fashion models greyhounds because they’re so skinny and doleful looking and they all walk with that little bounce that greyhounds and salukis have, you know? Man, fashion models really do nothing for me- I’d rather ride a sexy farm tractor than an English racer over railroad tracks, if you catch my drift.
So the last night out, we went over to see some blood and guts homoerotic art gallery opening- it was her, her roommate, the roommates date, a greyhound who looked a lot like Uma Thurman and her boyfriend, Carl, the guitarist. Never mind Uma, never mind Carl, never mind the roommates boyfriend, let’s focus on the roommate.
Tall, long legs, great ass, lean ponytailed blondie Dutch woman with white jeans, a short black leather jacket and a pair of drop dead red patent leather dominatrix boots, we’ll call her Monik, for the sake of convenience. The gallery was closed, it was the day after the opening so I guess everybody had been out clubbing and nobody was around to open up the gallery. You’d have thought that selling homoerotic semi fascist photos showing genitals and viscera would be difficult enough under maximum store opening hours, but with the gallery closed, well, I rest my case. Maybe some twisted fairy collector...maybe an ad agency Art Director. Anyway, we went over to a plaça and hung out. This Monik is alright, I kinda like this chick, but I always get along great with the Dutch, they have excellent social skills and are funny as Hell.
Now I had met this Monik a few nights before, I dunno what went on, but I met Carolina with a friend of hers at some bar again , and we went up to her place and this Monik was around. I didn’t notice much, I saw that she had flat little titties and no nail polish on, her hair pulled back, no makeup, a sweat suit on. She looked like a very bookish administrative person at a publishing company; naturally my cock made like a frightened turtle.
Later that night, Carolina told me that when Monik isn’t painting her artwork, which I instinctively dislike, she supplements her income as a dyed in the wool Domme. And I’m suppossd to kep my mouth shut about that.
Cut back to the scene in front of the art gallery when I notice Monik’s red patent bondage booties.
“hey those boots are out of control”
“yeah I like fetish”
“ah haaaaaa…yeah I feel naked without my motorcycle boots”
I should have probed more in that department, and I figured for somebody who wants to keep it low key, she certainly had a funny way of dodging the issue. But you know, whatever. Carolina told me that this woman gets money to tie men up and leave them in a cage overnight and what have you and that she beat the shit of them.
Sometimes Carolina has to help out by watching over the slave when he spends the night tied up in a cage. I’m not gonna get into the big night out with this crowd, I just know that I was smoking one joint after another because between Carolina, Uma Thurman, and the Bondage Babe, I was volleying between disaffected indifference and morbid fascination. So that was the last night out.
Cut to another friend of mine, we’ll call her Itzel, for the sake of convenience. Itzel is a gorgeously cute young Mexican photographer/camera person, a little lesbian friend of mine who has been giving me pointers on how to improve my boudoir behavior, or, how to drive a woman nuts in bed, and I have been practicing my new techniques on Munsie; so far Itzel’s suggestions have been right on the money- Itzel and I like the same kind of women, like to do the same stuff in bed and have the same one track mind: we are both complete sluts. I could be Itzel’s father and I love her like a sister- Itzel is a female shaman; a shamanita- she is a brilliant, funny, sincere, affectionate friend and I really consider myself fortunate that we know each other. She has been a real friend. A real friend.
Itzel is no stranger to the wonderful world of BDSM either , she has been a bondage model and her photos are one that Facebook: Itzel will screw a guy for 600 € . One day, Itzel got mixed up with some kind of apparently high class prostitution group, I don’t really know the details and I don’t really care. It turned out that the whole thing was a setup where the Madame in question would lure in older or ugly or desperate prostitutes and have them work in a flat and charge them room plus half of whatever they could squeeze out of the John. The Madame told Itzel that the fee for screwing a guy was 40€. In fact, the Madame told Itzel, there was a John waiting in the next room and all she had to do was look through the one way mirror and go get him. Itzel looked and there was like the personification of the Monster career webpage mascot sitting there, plus for 40€ she can go and I quite “screw the mother that should have aborted him” so Itzel backed down and the Madame told her that all she had to do was beat him with a riding crop.
Anybody guess why I’m writing this? Because the Madame in question was Monik and the flat was the one I met Monik in; in other words, Carolina’s flat.
Talk about a small world!
Look, I’ll watch porno, I’ll eyeball prostitutes on the street, I’ve had some pretty sick encounters. Am I supposed to think that Carolina just happens to live there? Even if she just happens to live there, it's certainly not an environment conducive to a freedom of spirit, I would think, so at the very last, it's a stressful place to be around. I'm not better than anybody. I'm not judging anybody. But I choose to distance myself from inherently negative environments.
These days, I’m surrounded by positive events and people, by plenty of positive vibes, or energy or karma or however the Hell you want to call it. Do I really want to drag myself through the sewer…again? Probably not.
