FROM WEDDING BELLS TO CHRISTMAS HELL
I was itchy, fidgety and a slightly damp at the forehead in a suit looking like a grownup at a fancy-assed wedding that was taking place in the Four Seasons Hotel.
My big-tittied bitch Linda was tying the knot. I was also reuniting with my big bootied bitch D.D. (sister of the bride) after three years. The back-story to this wedding is classic Cinderella. Girl falls in love with the boss, and boss falls in love right back. The groom is some top TV exec or other. He put a ring on it and the result was this oh so very contemporary wedding ceremony. Dee told me it was a black tux affair. I decided to wear a suit, fearing a tux would make me look like part of the catering crew. And thank gawd I followed my gut, cuz aside from the groom and groomsmen (and the help), there wasn’t a black bowtie on the guest list.
I arrived at the wedding early to get a good seat in the front. It wasn’t until the wedding was about to start that I realized I was the only Latin in my section. Was I at the right wedding? It turned out I was sitting in the groom’s section. Of course, the bride’s side was full of Kardashian looking Latin women sporting long jet-black hair, heavy eyeliner and pussy-length dresses, which I totally loved. I switched teams and ended up in the far back sitting behind reality star New York of VH1’s “I Love New York”. I believe her real name is Tiffany. I tried to get a good picture, but it was not that kind of party. All I got was this blurry shot of the back of her head.
Then came the bride…all dressed in um…off-white. The girl in front of me had goose bumps sweep across her naked shoulders. There is a lot to be said about this vintage tradition where love and devotion is on display with promises to love, honor, and cherish through sickness and health. There is also something about a beautiful woman in a wedding gown walking down the isle that we gays will never truly taste…nor should we want to taste it, let’s-be-real-here. I say keep the dress. I just want to be loved and cherished.
The last wedding I went to was in Kansas back in ‘06. Traditional vows and I dos were exchanged, but the overall experience was hardly customary. To this day I have strange flashes of a big woman in a dark velvet muumuu putting her hands down my pants and playing with my limp wiener in exchange for some bumps of cocaine. I was a huge coke whore in my in.comprehensible demoralizing days. It was a fun wedding.
Linda’s wedding reception was as uncomfortable as any reception could be when you’re forced to eat dinner with other grown single people you don’t know at a table that in the outcast corner. I had three trashy looking women sipping on martinis. They HAD to be reality TV personalities, judging from their slinky tranny getups (there’s drag, and then there’s tran; they were definitely tran inspired). Then I had the single hetero dudes waiting for those dainty martinis to kick in. I was better off at the kiddy corner.
I hung out. I danced a little. I dined. Then my ass DASHED. My friend Rocky picked me up on the sides streets of The Four Seasons. I ditched the suit for a t-shirt and jeans. We picked up my guy David, and his friend—I can’t remember his name. Anyway, we ended up at AKBAR in Silverlake, but AKBAR was yawn inducing. We went to MJ’s, but the $10.00 cover was insulting. SOOoo we ended up at the Eagle.
The Eagle is a leather daddy bar where hairy men—aka bears—like to hang out. It smells like bad B.O., but that’s a good thing at this place. They had their Christmas in July Toy Drive with a shirtless Santa posing for pictures. Of course, I could not resist. My friend Rocky had a camera, so I was determined to get my pic for future X-Mas greeting cards. I did what I do best. I removed my shirt and climbed on this pig-bellied Santa for a scandalous shot (I know, old behavior. They say it’s not old behavior if you’re still behaving poorly. And I say fuck ‘em). I didn’t realize the man’s hairy belly would be so wet and slippery from sweat mixed with so much hair, so I slipped and slid on his rotund stomach for a little bit. I also wasn’t banking on there being other cameras around. The flashbulbs were blinding. I planted a kiss on Santa’s cheek, all kewt style and he made a move to give me a kiss on the mouth. I was like, “NO! Mount me if you must, but not a kiss on the mouth!” Santa gave me a cock ring for letting him touch my private bathing suit areas, forever traumatizing my inner child. It was awesome.
The shirtless leather clad hairy men intimidated Rocky. He missed my X-Mas shot. I was pissed.
We were getting ready to leave when a man named Principal Bob came at me with a wooden paddle. “I saw you misbehaving on Santa’s lap,” He accused me. “You need a nice big spanking from Principal Bob.” I was horrified. “No wait, I have a flat butt.” I begged him, pulling away. “You’re going to break my butt bone, I swear it.” He dug into one of my butt cheeks and said my behind was fine for a good paddling. Rocky pulled out his camera and coaxed Principal Bob to let me have it. I didn’t want to do it—“I say who! I say when! I say how much!”—I did it. Principal Bob gave it to me. And it hurt kind of good. It turned me on. But just a little.
We left The Eagle and went to The Fautline for more Silverlake leatherness. It was close to closing time, but we were just in time to see a man walk past us completely naked. Of course, he had no business being naked, but I guess that was the whole point.
And that pretty much sums up my Saturday evening in a nutshell. There is no moral or much of a point to my story. It’s just another day in the life of yours truly. The end.
Oh yeah, CONGRATULATIONS TO THE NEWLYWEDS!!!
La Amore.
Luv,
Me
