twenty-seven-inch waist or less, you couldn’t work there. This, compounded by the situation we had, which was that there were six of us, made for quite an interesting and enlightening afternoon.
***
Sparkle and I arrived second to last, and were greeted uproariously by (now get this) Jim, Tim, and Slim. The three of them were roommates as well as frequent fuck-buddies, and each one was more outlandish than the next. They were also, not surprisingly, completely adorable. In any case, I sat down next to Slim, who had on hot pink nail polish and a t-shirt that had obviously been meant for a twelve-year-old girl, plus, on top of his head, big old Jackie-O sunglasses. He was glamour and glitz rolled up into a hard, little fairy body. I would’ve eaten him up alive right there and then if I wasn’t so sure that he would’ve given me cavities.
“Double Bloody Mary,” I implored the waitress.
Jim and Tim, though equally adorable, were working a different angle than Slim. They both had on army boots with the whites of their socks just barely showing. There legs were neatly trimmed with just a hint of hair on them and they both had on shorts that were shorter than any Daisy Dukes I’d ever seen. Meaning, when they stood up to great us, I saw nothing but bulge. For shirts, they both went with a classic white tee with rolled up sleeves. And both had striking blue eyes and raven-black hair.
“Waitress, is that drink coming?” I croaked out, because if it didn’t, I soon would be.
Suffice it to say, this was more like it: not a muscle clone in sight. The décor was also upbeat and not the least bit trendy. Kitschy , I would call it. None of the tables or chairs matched and neither did the plates, cups, or silverware. The walls were covered with old movie posters and faded pictures. And, best of all, when the drinks did show up, they were in huge hurricane glasses. This, I must say, was how a Bloody Mary was meant to be served.
And then our last brunch guest arrived.
Number six was decidedly more butch. Her name was Millie, and she had on army boots that she wore over her baggy fatigues. She was wearing a loose white tee that said: Nobody Knows that my Girlfriend Fists Me . I couldn’t even begin to imagine (or didn’t dare try) how that one worked. Blech . And she had Lesbian Haircut #3. You know the one: feathered on top and short all around, with a rat’s tail in the back. I swear, there must be just one lesbian hairdresser that travels around the globe giving Lesbian Haircut #3, because you can go to any town in any country in the world and see this haircut on at least one dyke.
Introductions and air-kisses were given all around, with Millie sitting down to my left. Apparently, this little group knew each other well and was already comfortable with each other, because the conversation turned raunchy almost immediately.
“So, Tim, how was your date with Randall last night?” Sparkle asked.
“Well, you’ll notice he’s not with us this morning,” Jim answered for Tim.
“Amen for that,” Tim added, nodding his head. “You just never know about some people.”
“Ooh, do tell. I’ve only heard secondhand accounts, and none of them were encouraging.” Sparkle scooted up his chair as he said this, even though the six of us couldn’t have gotten any closer if we were sardines in a can.
“Well, everything started off nice. He drove over from his house in Berkeley…”
“Oh no,” Sparkle interrupted.
“What?” I inquired, with the five of them answering in unison, “He’s geographically challenged”.
“Oh.” (Whatever.)
“Anyway, he does own. So points for that. And he did show up with a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers. So again, pointage for that. Actually, he was racking up the points all night long: dinner at Chez Moi, he paid, drinks at The Stud, he paid, and then back to my place, and…
“You paid.” This time it was Millie who interrupted.
“Boy howdy, did I ever.
***
Sparkle and I arrived second to last, and were greeted uproariously by (now get this) Jim, Tim, and Slim. The three of them were roommates as well as frequent fuck-buddies, and each one was more outlandish than the next. They were also, not surprisingly, completely adorable. In any case, I sat down next to Slim, who had on hot pink nail polish and a t-shirt that had obviously been meant for a twelve-year-old girl, plus, on top of his head, big old Jackie-O sunglasses. He was glamour and glitz rolled up into a hard, little fairy body. I would’ve eaten him up alive right there and then if I wasn’t so sure that he would’ve given me cavities.
“Double Bloody Mary,” I implored the waitress.
Jim and Tim, though equally adorable, were working a different angle than Slim. They both had on army boots with the whites of their socks just barely showing. There legs were neatly trimmed with just a hint of hair on them and they both had on shorts that were shorter than any Daisy Dukes I’d ever seen. Meaning, when they stood up to great us, I saw nothing but bulge. For shirts, they both went with a classic white tee with rolled up sleeves. And both had striking blue eyes and raven-black hair.
“Waitress, is that drink coming?” I croaked out, because if it didn’t, I soon would be.
Suffice it to say, this was more like it: not a muscle clone in sight. The décor was also upbeat and not the least bit trendy. Kitschy , I would call it. None of the tables or chairs matched and neither did the plates, cups, or silverware. The walls were covered with old movie posters and faded pictures. And, best of all, when the drinks did show up, they were in huge hurricane glasses. This, I must say, was how a Bloody Mary was meant to be served.
And then our last brunch guest arrived.
Number six was decidedly more butch. Her name was Millie, and she had on army boots that she wore over her baggy fatigues. She was wearing a loose white tee that said: Nobody Knows that my Girlfriend Fists Me . I couldn’t even begin to imagine (or didn’t dare try) how that one worked. Blech . And she had Lesbian Haircut #3. You know the one: feathered on top and short all around, with a rat’s tail in the back. I swear, there must be just one lesbian hairdresser that travels around the globe giving Lesbian Haircut #3, because you can go to any town in any country in the world and see this haircut on at least one dyke.
Introductions and air-kisses were given all around, with Millie sitting down to my left. Apparently, this little group knew each other well and was already comfortable with each other, because the conversation turned raunchy almost immediately.
“So, Tim, how was your date with Randall last night?” Sparkle asked.
“Well, you’ll notice he’s not with us this morning,” Jim answered for Tim.
“Amen for that,” Tim added, nodding his head. “You just never know about some people.”
“Ooh, do tell. I’ve only heard secondhand accounts, and none of them were encouraging.” Sparkle scooted up his chair as he said this, even though the six of us couldn’t have gotten any closer if we were sardines in a can.
“Well, everything started off nice. He drove over from his house in Berkeley…”
“Oh no,” Sparkle interrupted.
“What?” I inquired, with the five of them answering in unison, “He’s geographically challenged”.
“Oh.” (Whatever.)
“Anyway, he does own. So points for that. And he did show up with a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers. So again, pointage for that. Actually, he was racking up the points all night long: dinner at Chez Moi, he paid, drinks at The Stud, he paid, and then back to my place, and…
“You paid.” This time it was Millie who interrupted.
“Boy howdy, did I ever.
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