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misstree
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file this one also under beware_of_demon_drink.
so no shit, there i was. i'd had a few. i hadn't been able to go out for two weeks, dying, but had enough entanglement with a staff member to get into a local burlesque show. some truly amazing entertainment, that, but it's its own story.
i bellied up to the bar as the ozzy cover band spun their last few songs. pretty impressive, good guitarwork and the evil old man shuffle was dead on. as i scoped out the gent i was meeting from a dating_site, random feller compliments me spiked_collar. i get to talking to him, or a vague approximation thereof mostly pantomimed. one thing leads to another, i find out he's a writer, we nip outside and trade poetry, and his is delicious and should be sopped up with bread. i head back inside to claim my date after trading numbers and regrets at a previous engagement.
the conversation starts off quite well. shots and a drink are procured, we immediately confirm that we are both of a very carnal nature, as well as a bit ogrish (in so many terms). he's another wordgeek, which is good, and not bad looking. not that spark, but enough warmth to snuggle with during the night.
now, as i said, i'd had a few. wine_and_weed in me before i left, and a beer as soon as i got there. a vodka_tonic as real drink to go with the *two* "shots" of jack (friendly_bartender)... i ordered one for each, and he suggested i catch up.
and as i also said, i hadn't gone out in two weeks. there had been some drinking, but i wasn't in prime form anymore, and hard alcohol is hard for me to come by in this town (gawd bless it). i remember bits and pieces of the rest of the night, as if there were a 10-minute timer on memory's camera.
i remember telling him i needed to go wander the crowd, talking again to the poet, and wandering back. i vaguely remember getting another drink. from what he said, he didn't buy me another drink all night; every time he saw me, i had another. i kept checking in, sitting for a bit, and wandering off. i also don't remember any of the performers past the third.
i remember that it wasn't horribly late when he suggested that we leave. i was happy to mosy along, i've had plenty of hunting on my excursions but not much private time. i remember weaving all over the sidewalk on the walk home, and i remember that it wasn't very far.
i don't remember going in. i have a snapshot of him taking my boots off. of running to the bathroom. another time in the bathroom, fingers in my throat, trying to get it all out so i can get better. of puking on his carpet, probably fairly early because there was a lot there. of finally stripping down and climing into bed, and that's when the recorder restabilized, i came back into myself.
i realized with warmth and amusement that my hands were shackled together; two large rings held by a padlock, far enough apart for comfort. the cuffs were fairly loose but i could reach them with each other hand but... wait. those were padlocked *on*. very nice. the gent and i chatted and tangented, traded gaming stories, and then he read to me until i needed to sleep.
i'll leave the physically intimate aspects out of this, they've been rare enough that i'm hoarding them, but suffice to say it sufficed.
the next morning, woke up with my shoulders only slightly jacked from sleeping all night, very much not wanting to have to make my court appearance. unshackled, fed a burrito, treated well, on my way.
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051130
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