Bisexual Girls Club

Luckily I ran from the train station to meet my friend (of course I was running late anyway). It started raining right after I made it inside.

We’re at Stanton Public outside in the back getting wet under the umbrellas. So much for protection. Some white guy douche trying to flirt with us. No free drinks here though. Glad I brought my own stash. Just met the owner. I wonder if he knows I’m not actually drinking water.

Ah an old favorite, but I won’t say the name since it’s not it’s usual best… tonight it’s filled with jocks and bridge and tunnel types who aren’t all that friendly. What a waste of comfy couches and a rough, edgy vibe.

On to some cheesy looking all white restaurant. Just a quick food stop for my friend. Over-priced though. Makes me lose my appetite. I think I’ll stick to my “water” and try to catch a bite at another place soon.

My friend had to take out some money at her old deli place (near where she used to live). Almost bought a banana, but then I realized.. Shit! I left my bag at the cheesy looking white restaurant. Food will have to wait.

Thank goodness, bag was still right where I left it. Couldn’t leave my water behind.

Next stop, awesome wine place. Just what I was looking for. Shrimp apps are delicious. Finally something to soak up all the rum “water” I’ve been drinking. Didn’t realize I had so much. Luckily I brought the smaller bottle.

Now that I have some food in my belly, I can enjoy some wine too. Asian girls who live by are a lot friendlier than most people all night long. It’s only now that is seems like the lower east side I remember.

Hey we might as well stop at Katra.

Or maybe not… some stupid guy smoking my cig, now says he doesn’t even smoke anyway. How annoying is that?

Okay, now this is getting ridiculous. Some guy grabbed me so I grabbed him back, held on really tight, squeezed pretty darn hard, screamed No! at him and stuck my middle finger at him. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Too often I just let that shit go and they think they can do whatever the fuck they want. I didn’t let him leave my sight until the bouncers got involved. Man I was pumped. No one was going to mess with me.

Okay, time to leave. Hispanic guy who doesn’t smoke but asked for a cigarette anyway earlier now tried to kiss me goodbye when he saw me heading off. Woah. Fuck off I told him. Grabbed my friend now that she finally got sick of some random guy pressing his penis against her and calling it dancing… Off to the next place.

Random stop number what? Luckily the last place didn’t kill my party mood, or maybe lucky we found this band place. So awesome and spacious I had to do a cartwheel… I happened to be wearing my mini dress and wedge heels. Yeah that seems kind of crazy. I probably wouldn’t have done it with other heels on. Wedge heels are pretty sturdy so it was okay.

Sexy band just cause the leader was all sweaty and fit looking like he was working out with every note he belted out… gets your heart pumping more. That’s the great thing about watching a live band. You can fall in love with life in an instant.

Now where to? 4am and not a clue where to next, but not ready to call it a night. Walking around aimlessly might possibly help.

Oh, what do you know some brits started talking to us and offered to buy us some beers. So we followed them to a bodega and then a nearby park and sat down to enjoy sharing a sick pack while the light of dawn came up. How romantic??

That was a lot of drinking. I had to pee and so did the other brit, but he had a shy bladder. I had to show him how to pee fearlessly against the tree.

Okay, 530, buzz is wearing off. Time to go home. I guess it’s going to be a long way home with all the weekend train problems lately. Maybe I can doze off and eventually I’ll get home.

Wow, now I am awake! I was on the train for who knows how long, dozing off, when I realized I had to pee really bad again. I got up and got out of the train, not knowing or caring where I was, started up the stairs to the outside world, went up to a vestibule without a booth, found no one around, so I just peed right there in the vestibule! Ha ha! Then I went back downstairs to try to get back on the train and realized I was actually at a station with a better transfer direct to my house, got on that train which was right there just waiting for me, lay down and fell asleep till suddenly I was at my home station just like that. Magic happens on a random night out.

Next day my friend got a text from someone she’s not sure who. Probably the guy who was grinding his penis against her. I told her it must be love. Not sure what ever became of that “connection.”

In just 20 minutes I’ll be at The Sea and relaxing with a drink in hand. I’ll have just one drink or two and then head back home. Getting out of the house for a little while is okay for tonight. No need to overdo it.

Damn, it’s been almost an hour and I’m still waiting for this train to leave. That Shuttle detour took even longer than I imagined.

Finally! It took yet another half hour to go just one stop (at this hour I was not going to walk around in my mini dress and heels by myself. I don’t know these streets as well as Manhattan). At least I’m out of the station now anyway. So I’ll just make it in time for one drink at least.

Standing outside – it looks to me more like a Bridge and Tunnel crowd. Not what I expected from Williamsburg, but I came all the way over so I have to at least check it out inside.

Ah, what the heck, I’ll find another place. It’s just a little bit after 130am and the bartender is giving the last call already. That’s a few points off this place. And I heard it was the place to be. I’m so much more used to places like Cafeteria in Manhattan!

Fortunately it sounds like a party, though the place is a bit too large and bright. In any case, maybe this night won’t be a complete loss. It is going to take me a while to get back home, so at least let me get some semblance of a buzz going. Karaoke may not be my favorite thing, but at least it’s something that’s open. I’ll just have one drink and then try the more mellow surf bar up the street.

Wow, STIFF drink. And only $5… me likes, me likes…

Still it’s kinda noisy and people aren’t all that friendly – they all seem to be out on dates. I somehow think Europeans got this socializing thing down better than Americans do. If I’m not on my top game, I’ve noticed that nobody is ever really that open to branching out of their own little world. I’ve always found that attitude to be very different outside of here. I remember when I went to Morocco, all you had to do was bump into someone and they would share their hash. Then you’d instantly have a new friend for that night. Let me check out the surfer bar if I can fare any better there.

***

Okay, that was another dud. Sand on the ground was interesting, but the drinks were at least $2 more than at the Karaoke bar and the company was not exactly pleasant. The place was practically empty and two of the four patrons were actually employees visiting on the night off. Some girl said she wore the wrong shoes and I responded, “When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.” I could have parlayed that (from some spam) into a good flirting technique, but her wimpy looking borefriend whined till she agreed to go back into the deserted bar.

At least the last place had cheap and strong drinks. Taking my own advise, I decided not to lose the lesson and figured it was better to go where I could enjoy a drink and at least that way the night would not be a total loss. As soon as I realized there was a Karaoke bar downstairs I figured I’d give it a shot – at least there was some possibility of meeting people there.

There was way too much sausage and the company wasn’t all that inviting. I mistakenly had such high hopes for Brooklyn, but I suppose this was just not really my type of neighborhood. Well, It was a smidgen better than any other place I’d been to so far, so I was at least going to finish my drink. A cute girl and her date sat next to me. Every time he got up I would chat her up. Hell, guys do that shit to me all the time when I’m on a date. Not that it panned out to say taking her back to my place, but at least it was temporarily entertaining. They had just reunited after some time. They had known each other in high school but never dated. She confided to me that she might sleep with him that night. Unfortunately, the bar had a very straight vibe. It felt a little like midtown Manhattan or even Queens. Note to self: Don’t come back. In the meantime I decided to enjoy a second drink before taking the journey home.

Soon I had a bunch of large unattractive guys make a few attempts at flirting with me till an older guy sat right next to me and just ordered a drink. I would say he was a bit heavier set than I am usually into, but he was cute and he made me laugh for some reason. We somehow got to talking about his gun. He was a cop. He had his gun strapped to his ankle. Wow, I wanted to squeeze that. It is taking entirely too long to fulfill that fantasy of mine. I checked out his badge. I took a phone picture with it. He bought me two or three drinks and a shot. I was VERY happy, despite not having too much conversation and not meeting any hot chicks. He offered to take me home after I told him I’d be fine going back via train-shuttle-train. It seemed like a good idea at the time to accept his help, but I did insist that I just wanted to go straight home.

By his car, I leaped on him and kissed him and it felt good, but I was probably high from the drinks and the thought of shooting his gun (his real gun not his flesh gun). He let me in his car, all the while probably thinking he would be getting sex. Luckily for me, I noticed he wasn’t quite going the right way and he kept talking about his place. I insisted emphatically that I had only agreed to let him take me home. He seemed worried that I didn’t trust him (which I momentarily did not, but trusted my fighting instincts well enough to prepare myself immediately in case this got ugly) and assured me that he would not try anything. He reminded me that he was a cop and he had no bad intentions.

He pulled over (at which point I was ready to run from the car if I had to, but he said he was just going to take a leak. I saw him get out and waited for a little further information before making my next move). He did indeed take a leak on the side of the road. Suddenly I needed fresh air. I opened the car door and threw up all over the ground. Some of it got on the car door. Phil the cop didn’t seem to get too upset. He just asked me if I was okay, drove me home and even kissed me goodbye (yuck-did he forget what just happened? Was he drunk too??)

All I thought later was that I could have really gotten myself into a big mess. Somehow I managed to use some judgment and also got a lot of lucky too. Phil the cop did not harm me, but he could have! I pride myself in being able to get myself home safe, but simply being drunk by yourself and going home with a stranger (who had also been drinking, though he had said he had sobered up, but was I in any state to really know the difference??) can be a recipe for disaster. I am reminded that the buddy system is always best. It probably would be better to just improve on my judgment calls going forward. How many women find themselves not being fully aware of their surroundings after a night of drinking. Not all the people you come across will be as nice as Phil the cop.

It really was quite an uneventful Monday night. I knew I had a gathering to get to so figured it would be a night to chat up some people and get my drink on a little bit. Earlier in the evening, though, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to get to the party destination safely. It was shortly after work, before I made it to China1, that I was offered a quick smoke. I had mentioned that I was very tense (it had been a tough couple of weeks), but it was my intention to grab a cocktail and let loose that way. Regardless, before I knew it, I was outside, about a block away from the building I had just left, and going in the opposite direction of which I needed to go, waiting for my turn, thinking “ah, what is one hit gonna do really?” Even after I considered that I might inhale too much, I convinced myself that I would just take a short breath and probably not feel much of anything at all. It ended up being a pretty good hit, and unfortunately it took my heart and mind to some crazy dark places for about 40 minutes. I had to use up all my strength to fight the feeling of wanting to fall apart. My heart threatened to explode (it was racing a mile a minute even though I felt like I was moving at a snail’s pace); my mind threatened to implode (probably with the pressure of all the paranoid voices screaming in my head). My adrenaline was pumping.

I couldn’t get the right timing for crossing the street. I kept thinking everyone was laughing at me because I hadn’t figured out the unspoken pedestrian traffic rules… if there are no cars coming, you don’t have to wait for the green light or the yellow walking figure. In fact you pretty much look like a fool if you just stand there on an empty street waiting for the official sign. But what if I misread the signs and lack of focus and depth perception led me astray? What if I ran at exactly the moment that a car was heading right into my path and I broke all my bones? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Then I started to think about what people are really afraid of in that situation. Are they afraid of death or life? Because if there is death in that situation, you probably will just find peace. But if you survive and have to live the rest of your days in pain, then it’s life that you should really be afraid of. I kept thinking about my thoughts (what was happening to my mind?) and all the fingers pointing at me and all the faces laughing at me. I became almost paralyzed and wondered if my legs would stop working. They felt like jello and I knew I was walking unsteadily, even in my sturdy timberland boots. It felt like I stood a full five minutes at each light, yet I still somehow made it 30 blocks in about 30 minutes.

It had been cold out before I ventured on this journey, yet I was not feeling cold. I knew that had to be asking for trouble so I was sure to keep my jacket closed tight and my glove less hands in my pockets. I had to be careful or my self would begin to seep out of my body.

Eventually I made it to the lounge, but I was dying of thirst or out of breath or out of my mind. My bones felt very heavy and I could hardly hold myself up so I forced myself to sit down. The place was filled with dim red lights and you could hear the laughter coming from the basement despite the lonely and quiet bar upstairs. I had to compose myself or, I considered, I might get arrested (!) for public lunacy. After I sat down, I asked for some libation and the “water boy” quickly complied. He saved my life really. He sat a few tables away from me, eating his dinner, but also talked me down from wherever I was, confirming with me that although sometimes we over do it, we just need a moment to gather ourselves and then everything is all good. He got in my thoughts somehow and helped to relax me. All the time I was texting my hubby wondering when he was going to make it to where I was. He was stuck on the train somewhere in Brooklyn, trying to figure out how to get into the city more quickly. The “water boy” and my phone where my lifelines.

I had a hard time interpreting people’s responses to my questions because I imagined there was hidden meaning in everything. Did, “go downstairs and enjoy yourself while you wait,” really mean what it sounded like, or was it just a test? Did, “I’m a really cautious driver, you know drive at the speed limit, stop at all the stop signs,” mean my cousin was a conservative driver or was she talking about me? What could these text messages really be telling me? Who were these people? Could they be trusted? Did they see inside my soul or were they just fucking with me. It all felt so fucking deep, you know? But as long as I kept looking at my phone, looking at the time, looking at my messages, listening to the water boy, it was all going to be okay.

When I finally made it downstairs, 10 or 15 minutes after I arrived at the lounge, I was feeling quite uncertain. I worried that if I dared to talk to anyone I would completely unravel. So, mostly, I kept to myself. There were a lot of strangers. I wondered if they thought I had crazy eyes.

An attractive tall dude did actually approach me, but as soon as I said the “h” word (husband), he literally did a 180 turn and walked away from me without so much as saying goodbye. Clearly, some people did not get the memo before they stepped into the joint that this was a poly cocktail hour. Everybody who heard my story about Mr. 180 said that was his problem, not mine. That incident is not going to make me want to hide the fact that I am in a relationship because if it is going to bother someone that much then why should I want to know them. Yet still, I wondered which of my faults caused the unpleasant experience at that moment. Was it my stoned state of mind? The subtleties necessary when revealing your true self can sometimes look like a lie (which I do not want to do), but sometimes they are just well timed information deposits. Does my lack of mastery in this field make me a bad flirt? Am I just incapable of flirting with men?? It made me think about whether I’m really addressing both sides of my sexuality. What conflicts do I have that might lead me to push men away? You can work on one part of yourself for a long time, but neglecting other things for too long can’t possibly be healthy. So that’s something that I’m going to have to digest later of course.

Finally I struck up a conversation with someone and we began to discuss the true meaning of life. Pot makes me think about that you know. I revealed my observations from earlier as I had attempted to cross the street, and I must have made some sense because the long haired dude responded in an agreeable manner by offering his own two cents worth. He noticed that I was obsessed with my phone because I kept glancing at it every minute or so. He didn’t understand why it was my lifeline. He didn’t understand how stoned I really was, even though I might have warned him about of my state of mind. I couldn’t tell the difference between my thoughts and my words. My brain was slowly leaking out.

I exclaimed in confusion about one particular email. It came from an unknown sender with a picture of a Tinge Razor, of which they wanted to send me a free sample. Apparently it was a sex toy in disguise. The long haired dude found it odd that I get random emails from people sending me such intimate information (it wasn’t spam) and I concurred. That is until I remembered who I was and what my life was like and then I realized it’s not odd at all. Then I knew I had to walk away because clearly he didn’t even understand why HE was at a poly cocktail hour. There are many reasons why I would get a “random” sex related emails from a stranger and it was actually perfectly acceptable. I could not wait to read the message thoroughly and figure out what it was all about, but that would be later when I had a clearer head on my shoulders.

At some point, however, the long haired dude told me I was mixing metaphors and I had him totally confused. That was my cue to walk away because I was clearly in another world and couldn’t communicate my thoughts.

Eventually I saw somebody I recognized and I made another attempt to hold myself together and communicate. Apparently, unless I heard the name wrong (which is entirely possible in my state of mind), he was dating a girl Lex and I fucked about once or twice. Not sure if he was aware of that. I didn’t bother to tell him. He might have known it already though. I guess these things can become a bit incestuous sometimes, which is why we try to find different environments rather than going to the same things over and over again. New York is such a big place and such a small place really. And people really do travel in the same circles. I have always loved that you can feel so comfortable here, knowing your surroundings so well so quickly, but that too can be a hindrance to getting a fresh perspective. It’s good to get out of your comfort zone sometimes and meet people in different worlds. It is possible to find people who understand you even if they’re not necessarily living your kind of lifestyle and traveling in all the same circles. There is a whole other world out there that does not have to be poisonous to your way of doing things. It is one matter to have an inclusive group that sees the world like you do and is accepting of who you are, and another matter altogether to have an inclusive group that isolates you from the rest of the world, expecting that you would get all that you need in just one place.

In any case, this time the conversation led us to, among other things, the difficulties of dealing with younger chicks.

Just because I am older, they often seem to expect me to do all the work (as if it didn’t involve two people reaching out to each other) to keep things going and interesting. His comment? “Now you know how men feel.” I told him that I have found them to become cold after a night of sex maybe because they regret the “dirty things” that happened on the previous night, maybe because they lack the maturity to deal with sexual encounters and are afraid to become vulnerable to others for fear of losing control. And even if they may be afraid they tend to be more manipulative. Because of this, I often don’t know for sure what they are looking for and I don’t know for sure how to keep things from getting weird/awkward.

I have found that you have to allow yourself to be vulnerable in order to gain control of your life and find meaningful, fulfilling relationships, even if you are just looking for good sex. Connecting emotionally doesn’t mean you give away everything that you are. You don’t automatically have to have an attachment with someone after fucking, but if you allow yourself to both enjoy that for what it is and then attempt a connection beyond that then you will find your world opening up a lot.

Many of the younger women I meet, however, can’t seem to go that far. Although I do prefer to date younger women, because they can be the least jaded and are more likely to try anything, they can definitely be a huge pain in the ass. I used to think that men would be the worst in that department, but it turns out that younger chicks seem to be the most insensitive. Yet, I am still most interested in younger women. For that reason, I rarely actually date the women with whom I have sex. It’s not that I’m necessarily looking for a relationship, but well maybe I am looking for relationship junior.

I think that interaction with Mr. 180 stuck in my head. That and being stoned didn’t help… because I started to talk about how sometimes I am so uncertain about what sexual experience I’m looking for that I wonder if I am a big fraud when I say what sexual orientation I am or what lifestyle I am about. He assured me we all feel like that sometimes. I guess the thing for me is that my sexuality is more fluid and sometimes I really dislike labeling it. Giving it a name or label, you know, like putting it in a box, helps to find others who might be experiencing a similar type of life, who might be in that box too, but giving it a name also forces you to always have to either be true to what is in that box or become that person who isn’t really supposed to be in that box (like in order for you to fit in, you have to identify who DOESN’T fit in… one of these is not like the other). And that I find difficult. Because I am continually working on figuring out what it all means to ME. What if I just want a custom label for what I am, like a custom license plate… if I must have one?

And then there’s the matter of having to look a certain way. At this particular event, I wasn’t as sexed up as I normally am. Someone noticed it and kind of called me out on it. So I guess having to always look the part, though obviously is fun when you’re into it, can be aggravating, exhausting, and really kind of makes me want to not bother all together sometimes.

I really just want to have an exciting sexual experience with someone and build from there. I love to meet new people, but when you constantly have to rebuild something, it becomes taxing. So I have less energy to explore different aspects of my sexuality and it seems I’ve learned to tough it out with women more than with men. It’s not easy as a sexual being is it? If I were texting this I’d say LOL. Have to lighten the mood a bit. It’s not that terrible really. Dating is the best remedy for me…

Yes, I was going to some dark places that night. I probably would have just brushed most of what I saw and heard off my shoulders if I hadn’t been so stoned. I look forward to going back to that party and NOT be stoned. However, there was definitely a lot of fodder for later analysis. You have to be affected by it all sometimes, otherwise you’re just cold and what’s the sense in that. But if you’re affected by it too much all the time, then you’re mind and body and soul just become mush. And what’s the sense in that?

I walked around for a while looking for a free cocktail with great difficulty because somehow I couldn’t ask directly. Being stoned was really screwing with my head. I’m usually very direct. I tried to hint at getting someone to buy me a drink, but all I could get was guys telling me that if I really wanted a drink I should just get one… so not having the power to pull myself out of this mind fuck I was in, I had to wait for Lex to arrive and amuse myself in other ways. Yeah, there seemed to also not be too many women around, but part of the problem was obviously my less social state of mind. And I guess I give off very strong vibes whether I’m feeling open or closed up, so mostly people seemed to stay away from me. Until the junk in my head finally wore off.

But not before I happened upon my nemesis, who always makes me feel stupid, no matter how much I want to not care. The nicest thing she ever said about me was that I was a lot smarter than I look. Obviously an insult. That’s just what she does to make herself feel smarter than other people. I usually play the dumb girl in front of her because really, why should I even bother to try to prover her wrong. She doesn’t deserve to know what’s really inside of me. What helps (or doesn’t help) is that I’m usually stoned or inebriated around her because well those are the kinds of environments we find each other in. In any case, I made it through that interaction and I was on to other things.

At one point the “water boy” came by and I reached for his arm, thanking him for saving my life – calling him by his proper name as I knew it, “Water boy! My savior!” Realizing he might have been offended by that, I explained that is was honestly a compliment. Fortunately he had no hangups about it he ended up offering me that free drink I was waiting for. Of course Lex had already arrived and gotten me my drink as he had promised, but still, it’s always nice to be complimented with at least one free drink (from someone other than your hubby) if not five or six when I’m out partying.

Eventually I did come out of my funk and the night turned much brighter. I found myself talking to a woman, Jessie, I had looked at earlier who had, I thought, looked at me too… but I confessed to her that I thought she wouldn’t want to talk to me, and that I was also too stoned to approach her. Surprisingly, Jessie confessed to me that she too thought I wouldn’t want to talk to HER. My god! All that time wasted. Before long we were making out. Honestly, I hate to just jump into that and not give an explanation for how that happened, but there really is none. I mean, at first either I was not open or was not meeting open-minded people, and after, I was open and I started to find those open minded people. I think sometimes there is some magic about how I can flirt with people or soften them up, because when I can’t do it, I have no idea how to do it. And when I’m doing it I don’t even know how I’m doing it. I just do it. What I did do was strike up a simple conversation (which I was incapable of doing earlier). And from there, you either get someone who is receptive or you move on. Because dwelling on my inability to get over my stoned state was definitely not helping my cause at all. And certainly being under the influence of something that is really going to restrict your ability to reach out does not help either!

I also struck up a conversation with the coat check girl from the Valentine’s party. We compared tats and had some drinks and I started to plan my next Bisexual Girls Club party (officially in May, an unofficial one at the end of April) and things started to go a little more smoothly. But by then, the night was really over for most people. What happened to partying till 4 or 6am or 10am? I only feel asleep once in that situation and that was after some fun sex… but usually, even after the first round of sex, I can last a pretty long time, especially when it takes me a little while to get started! At least the Jessie and her boyfriend gave us a ride home, but you see, it was quite an uneventful Monday really.

Once, when I was 14 years old, on a visit with my favorite uncle, in Brooklyn, we went over to his sister in-law’s apartment. My uncle was not there at the time. He showed up later back at the house. Going to this woman’s apartment made me very happy because I had a crush on her 13-year-old son. He was not a blood relative, so it was okay for me to flirt with and fantasize about him.

I don’t remember what they were celebrating, but they were making Piña Coladas. While the adults danced and drank in the living room and kitchen, the kids piled up into the 13 year old’s room and played a card game. I think I was supposed to be the responsible one in the bunch, seeing as I was the oldest one there.

I don’t know who’s idea it was to get some Piña Coladas, but it was easy to do because no one was really watching us or stopping us from entering the kitchen and taking anything out of there. I remember laughing with the adults and sneaking my way over to the Piña Coladas pitcher to serve myself some. It was fun because I was going back and forth between both worlds, as I often do. Actually at that age I didn’t usually socialize with adults, unlike my sister who at that 13 was easily debating important historical and political issues with anyone over 30 who had something to say. I was usually too shy or scared to talk much around adults. If I did it was usually to say something silly and have them remind me how much of a kid I was. So, it felt pretty cool to be able to be a part of the older crew somehow. And of course a few Piña Coladas later and I felt invincible. I thought I had a connection with everyone (I’m just describing what alcohol does!). I seemed to put a smile in everyone’s face and I was the center of attention. I wasn’t imagining it all, but I wasn’t completely aware of all that was happening.

I do remember wishing I could kiss the 13 year old. I usually didn’t lower my standards to anyone even a day younger than me (though my crush from 3rd to 6th grade was a boy who was 7 days younger). This boy was different (aren’t they all?). In my opinion, he was a mature 13 year old. And I was obviously a lot less inhibited once I started pouring the drinks back. I remember a conversation about favorite things and the boy and I seemed to connect (I’m sure I must have told him how cute I thought he was, that’s how my troubles usually start), but the next thing I realize (I’m pretty sure I blacked out – though not sure for how long… maybe 10 minutes, maybe 1/2 an hour, probably not much longer than that) was that we were making out. And all the kids were watching, not saying much. So here I am, this goofy (not exactly nerdy, but not exactly cool), skinny kid with braces (though many boys always told me I had a nice butt and nice legs), who usually only got attention from old men as I walked down fifth avenue in my neighborhood (which both disgusted me and made me feel oh so pretty and desirable), making out with the one guy with whom I wanted to (not like there was anyone else that I would have done it with anyway, but still I did think he was absolutely adorable and usually that was just a surefire way for me to completely shut down and shy away) make out.

I don’t remember leaving the place, though I do remember realizing I had forgotten my sweater. I don’t know how many drinks I had. I don’t remember getting back to my uncle’s house with my aunt and cousin (not a blood cousin either – my uncle had three sons who were actually his wife’s kids from a previous marriage – only one, the youngest, 7 years younger than me, was the one who we took to the “party”. The two others showed up back at my uncle’s house later).

The next thing I remember was waking up to G (the oldest of the three boys and a year older than me) thrusting his fingers in and out of my cunt. I was pretty surprised, but not exactly shaken. I remember thinking “What the hell did I do?” How did I get here? How did I feel about that? How was I supposed to feel about that? I remember thinking that if he was already doing it, I guessed I must have been asking for it.

It was very late. The house was dark and quiet. Everyone else was sleeping. I almost thought I would hear a knock on the door from my uncle asking us what was going on and for us to stop making noise. I guess we were being very quiet too. I guess the walls weren’t that thin.

He did it for a while and it felt okay, maybe even good. I mean I was a horny, drunk teenager and it was a sensation that I was curious about I guess. As I lay there thinking about it I was kind of not completely there. I was coming to and blacking out a bit too. It’s hard to take action in that situation.

Finally I asked him to stop and while I was still a little out of it, he started talking to me. He stayed with me till dawn. Eventually I was awake enough that I started to try to make sense of all that had happened. I liked the middle brother who was about a year younger than me. Damn, why couldn’t I have woken up to him with me? I never liked G. He also used to try to beat me up maybe as recent as a couple of years prior to that moment in the bedroom. When I was about 10 he used to bully me and hit me even when adults were around. He would always reach over and punch me and nothing any adults said would keep him from hurting me till he had the last say (usually just a punch or pinch or slap or two on my arm). The only thing I could do was really keep my distance from him and usually tried not to instigate anything. Anyway, I never liked him at all.

I felt stupid too because he had even convinced me to do other things with him when I was about 10, telling me that all the “grown” kids did that type of thing (his description of it actually sounded to me as if all teenagers were having what I now in my adulthood know to be called orgies).

Then suddenly here he was being “nice” to me.

Well, I actually kind of hated him. I kind of felt ashamed for so many reasons. I felt ashamed that any of it felt good. I felt ashamed that it was with him. I felt ashamed that it was in my uncle’s house. I felt ashamed that no one found out and stopped us. I felt ashamed that I drank so much. I felt ashamed for not being able to forget it.

I told him that I had been drinking. He said he hadn’t realized that I was drunk.

Later when everyone was awake and gathered by the television and kitchen area, while they were distracted, he walked over to me and tried to talk to me. I told him that I had been blacking out. He said he couldn’t tell. He said I seemed perfectly lucid and that he specifically stayed with me so long because he wanted to make sure I was ok with what happened once he realized I had been drinking. He said I had asked a lot of questions, like, “Why me?” “Do you like me?” and “Am I pretty?” He said we talked for quite a while though I only remember bits and pieces. I do remember asking, “Why me?”

I had been drinking so much I wreaked of alcohol the next day even after my shower and brushing my teeth. Well, at least that’s what my other 7-year-old cousin (blood relative) told me. “You stink. Are you drunk?” I think my grandmother might have called me an alcoholic that day. It didn’t even hurt when my uncle accidentally closed the car window on my finger. I just stared at it and my uncle finally noticed after I called out his name a couple of times. He told me, “Why didn’t you say anything?” It was funny because I was thinking the same thing about everyone else. Didn’t anyone notice something was wrong that morning? What about the night before? What about that morning in the bedroom? Why was I “getting away” with all this? Why was G getting away with all this? How come the 7 year old was the only one to say something?

G came over to my place on another night when I knew I would be alone in my apartment. I wore a mini skirt. I had to find a rational reason for what happened, especially since I never liked him. So, I figured I must like him or something like that. He brought vodka. I got drunk again. I woke up to him doing stuff to me again. I was blacking out again, in and out of it. Don’t remember him leaving. He said later we just talked a lot after he ate me out a little. I was still pretty confused about what was happening. I hadn’t gotten a lot of that kind of attention from anyone, though I had a boyfriend before with whom I used to make out at the subway station.

We talked on the phone later. He wanted to be my boyfriend. I thought it was a bad idea, but again maybe we were supposed to be together and screw what other people thought. I imagined how doing this bad thing might make me kind of cool (but not, cause I didn’t really like him and in fact was kind of grossed out by him). Maybe I was being unfair to him. After all, he did stay with me the whole night when it first happened. I thought maybe I was supposed to continue along the path I had already started. I was too embarrassed to really tell anyone so I couldn’t really get advise on the matter. Oh, it was all so confusing.

I just figured that since it happened and it didn’t hurt or anything and I was flirting and making out with the other boy that I must have at some point indicated to G that I wanted it and since it sort of felt okay (but very weird and like I said he’s the last person I wanted on me – I kind of hated him). I tried to make a decision (decisions were never my strong point) and he stuck around and tried real hard to convince me that I was supposed to be with him. Apparently he had always had a crush on me though I always thought he had a crush on my sister.

Finally, the second time I told him it was okay for him to come to my apartment, I just didn’t let him in. He knocked and knocked and banged and banged on the door for a while (maybe like an hour) and I ducked under the windows and hid in the back laying on the floor even though he wouldn’t really be able to see me where I was. I covered my ears till he left. I just wanted the nightmare to end.

But still to this day, I am left wondering. Did I want this? Did I ask him to do stuff to me? Did I come on to him? Did I dump him because I had no backbone to take responsibility for what I did? Or did I have no backbone for not saying “NO” in the first place?

I’ve told exactly two people. They say he took advantage of me. But he was only one year older than me. We were both children. The two people I told get very angry with this. They are angry with him for doing this. They get angry with me for not admitting that I was a victim and moving past it. I just think I was a foolish kid and thought I maybe I thought I was exploring my sexuality. I mean, at that age, I imagined having sex with A LOT of people and I thought about sex A LOT. I’m pretty sure I never wanted G, but that night… what did I do to make him think it was okay to touch me that way. I just don’t know. I wouldn’t tell anyone else this if they were in my position, but since it’s me, I really just blame it on my own stupidity, awkwardness, and need for attention.

So, did I ask for it? Did I tell him he could do that? I just don’t know.

As the Night of Hell in Long Island unfolded, I went along with my presentation and things were going swimmingly for a time. I was passing out the toys and various lotions and powders – one or two at a time from one end of the room to the other end. I was patiently giving massages with the Super Deluxe Smitten and the RomantaTherapy Alluring body lotion. I was numbing people’s lips with the strawberry flavored Nipple Nibbler, which can be used on your nipples for more plumpness. It also works as a chap stick, but it is not vagina friendly. For the clit, you can try the Tasty Tease instead. People seemed to be having fun. They even stopped yelling for the toys for and settled down a bit.

I’m not quite sure when it started to go bad. I think people were just beginning to get tired and just more drunk (calm before the storm) as the night wore on. Hence the real reason for the temporary lull. And I started to have to talk louder and louder over them towards the end. It was only supposed to be half an hour but ended up going to about an hour because there were so many people going in and out of the room who asked me to repeat certain things. That is where I should also have asked Marian, the hostess to control the crowd a bit – if they missed something we could go back to it later. Yeah, now I’m coming up with all these ideas. If was just frustrating and easy to get flustered, though I did handle it well for a while – just that it all fell apart like a cheap suit (!) nearing the end. And I know I was losing the crowd a little, but I started to hand out more vibrators, which they all seemed to like, though some were impatient for their turn. I needed an assistant for crowd control or passing things around so I could attend to the people who were ready to buy NOW.

I too was eager to get to the purchases, but people started to get up. And I tried explaining again that they have to fill out the form – well the only reason I didn’t do it before I started to presentation was because they were already tired then! See, it was a recipe for disaster from the beginning. A big problem was that I was trying to keep them stimulated from the beginning and then later while attending to those who were ready to buy.

My mistakes were numerous.

1. I should have made them fill out the forms in the beginning for sure and I did have that planned, but I skipped it. I skipped when I should have been more disciplined about it, and I didn’t skipped things that I should have.
   
2. I left those toys out (though I did put most of them away, that wasn’t good enough). With the toys it has to be all or nothing. People are fiends for those things! And I have been warned about the toys. So many of the other consultants have had those stolen.
   
3. I really should have skipped some of the lotions in my demonstration (although I find them particularly stimulating, these people just wanted to dildos) so I could have gotten to the sales part more quickly!
   
4. Oh yeah, and I shouldn’t have done the party – yeah, that would have been a wise mistake to avoid
   
5. I shouldn’t have done the raffle; yeah, I’ll tell you about that one shortly…
   
6. I shouldn’t have let the party continue after each ridiculous nonsense that these people tried to pull on me left and right…
   

At some point, Tashala (the bitch!) came back around and I asked her for my feather toy. Not surprisingly, she wouldn’t give the toy back. Another mistake! I should not have asked (another stupid mistake). I should have either stopped the party or told the hostess to get it, but I was trying not to ruin the mood and I guess I was more shocked then I really should have been. Obviously in her state she was going to be as rude as she could be – then she could just blame it on the alcohol and say, “that is not like me at all, I just got carried away,” and that was exactly what she did. The closest thing to an apology, but did I ever get my payment? She’s good for it, and I’m good for it is all I heard from the hostess and from Tashala. By the time I realized she had left, she was calling Marian the hostess back and Marian had to ask her if she left with the toy.

Not concerning myself terribly with the feather toy (not imagining Tashala had actually left – but hell of course next time I will say, “The toy back in my hand or I put everything away immediately and the party ends!”), I went about the business of putting my Magic Monarch, Jelly Osaki, Pink Passion and Gigi (masturbation sleeve) away along with the Nubby G (G spot locator with nubs at the bottom of the shaft). I certainly did not want to lose any of that.

For a moment I panicked for the Gigi. While it may have been a false alarm for the Gigi, maybe that should have reminded me that I had brought out the Ultimate Stroker too! And that one was unopened… so nice and brand new, fresh and ready for anyone to use!

I put all my toys away, or so I thought. The Ultimate Stroker was definitely not put away and the person who had it was probably gone too – snuck out like a rat – or perhaps had it in their bag and smiled at me sheepishly, while saying goodbye, without me realizing it!

Now I was ready for the sales. And lo and behold I get a guy who wanted to bargain with me! He put is like so, “I’m doing you a favor – to make sure you get the sale.” He wanted to get a $10 discount on two items that combined to less than $30! I mean come one. And I was just losing control more and more by the minute. I ended up not charging him for shipping. But for what? I guess I felt I kind of had no choice, but hell, I should have gotten some balls right at that moment and reminded him that this is my source of income (not my only source but as far as anyone’s concerned and the whole reason for me doing the party to begin with – but no everyone has a sob story – even for sex toys) and just said “NO” to him!

He kept pressing me for the Love Smitten (a harder version of the Super Deluxe Smitten) at a ridiculous bargain (actually I forgot I even had a new unopened one with me!) and I refused him. So he finally paid me for his order and I moved on.

Now stupidly I continued without regrouping and just deciding to cut my losses. Why bother doing them any favors. I had started with the idea of a raffle and all I had to do was call out the ticket number which I had chosen before giving out the tickets (allowing people to randomly grab them so no I did not see who would have the winning number). And I proceeded to read the number out loud. Given the disastrous turn of events, even already at this time – 5 purchases totaling under $300! – I should have read a false number. Screw that, why should they get anything?? And then I still could have given a tiny prize for the raffle, but I felt like they were under whelmed and so I wanted to leave with a wow maybe? I did not have my thinking cap on or my business cap on because frankly I was exhausted. And so for some reason trying to please people with my presentation in all the wrong ways, I gave out the Love Mitten which probably would have been better just to keep for myself or hell I should have sold it to that guy for twice as much. It just all happened so fast, and rather than stop myself I just wanted to run away and so in a way rushed through the last half hour I was there without thinking things through better. I felt bombarded by everyone. I don’t know, maybe I was intimidated. This was my biggest party ever. And some people seemed rather sweet; maybe it confused me because there were others that were such assholes I almost just wanted to gain some alliances. Or maybe I felt obligated to finish absolutely everything I set out to do from the beginning. I was a slave to my own plan in a way. Maybe I’m not so good on the fly when money is involved. And certainly not being used to this type of business practice… How could I have made so many mistakes?

Now as soon as the guy saw the raffle winner get the toy he wanted in a raffle, he gave me the most evil look! And I merely shrugged my shoulders and said, “I can’t help it. She won it. Sorry.” But he didn’t even deserve my apologies. Though if my head were in the right business mode, I would have given her a tiny lotion and sold the Love Smitten to him!

And it wasn’t until after the raffle that I noticed my Ultimate Stroker was missing.

I started my presentation around 10pm and didn’t leave till after midnight.

Getting up to the train was another disaster. In my mind, I would grab the handles of the suitcases on wheels that contained all my belongings and just pull from behind me as I entered the escalator. That didn’t quite work as the red luggage toppled over and the handles of the bag that sat on top of it broke. So I tied the leather handles of that bag tightly onto the metal/plastic handles of the red luggage. Then I tried again. I placed the black luggage in front of me and moved the red one behind me. That didn’t quite work either. I nearly fell over the front one as the back one pushed me when the escalator moved forward. All the while my “helpful” driver was just watching me and asking if she could help. It was pretty embarrassing actually and even though I could have used the help, I didn’t even know where to start. The red luggage fell again but seemed to be stuck in one place. So I just told her I had it and that I would pick the stuff up at the top of the stairs so she need not worry about me. But I knew it was all pretty damn precarious.

Once I got closer to the top of the stairs, I could tell that the luggage in front of me was not budging. Not only had it jammed at a weird angle, it was extremely heavy. So my idea of tossing it over the top of the escalator as I got to the edge wasn’t really my best option. No, going up those escalators was not my brightest moment. Somehow I became stuck at the top. My arms had no strength left in them and I helplessly watched as the leather straps of the smaller bag (which sat on the red luggage) began to break again. And the red luggage now sat on the highest incline of the escalator. Then the leather bag started to spill out all the folders it contained.

Not to lose yet more of my belongings, I bent over to grab the folders as quickly as possible (it’s possible I was somehow able to secure them a little), but seconds after realized I might be in danger of toppling over myself. So I threw the folders over the top of the staircase and then jumped over the black luggage in front of me so that at least I could be out of the danger zone myself. Then immediately after jumping over I turned back to grab more folders. As it turns out they weren’t going anywhere. They were pretty jammed against the escalator wall and at the same time getting chewed up by the escalator’s teeth.

I got scratched up but finally got all the folders onto the platform. Then with the last bit of strength I found somehow, I pulled out the red and black suit cases and gathered around my mess to pick it all up.

I did see some people there, but they were too busy minding their own business so I tried to simply assess the damage. Finally I got all the folders and crap I had with me in one place and sat down. The folders suffered minimal damage (some torn up some with foot prints all over) all things considered.

I felt almost lifeless at that point. Waiting for the train for about an hour made me rethink a lot of things. And I called Lex and he comforted me. And I waited some more for the train.

Exhausted though I was I stayed awake through the whole ride (probably another hour) – not wanting to wake up with all my shit gone!

At Penn Station I made my way along the platform, only to stop dead in my tracks at an escalator. As if I was reliving a Pavlovian nightmare, I couldn’t move forward. No way I was getting on the escalator again. So I started to search for an elevator. A man noticed me and, figuring what I was looking for, assured me that there was an elevator at the other end of the platform. I followed him for a couple of minutes and it seemed eerily quiet all around me (at this point it was past 2am). So, I stopped once again and thought, “No way, you’re going from the fire into the frying pan! This man might mean you harm. Think! There’s no one around. You’re going to have to force yourself up the escalator again. That’s your only choice!” And also, “Am I about to get assaulted??” That did cross my mind. So I rushed back to the escalator telling the man thank you and that I would find another way. Luckily part of it was only my paranoid thoughts (though I still think it WAS SAFER to just head back to the escalator) because the man offered to help me up the escalator. So I hesitantly let him grab one of the suit cases (he could still steal my shit! Come on, this is New York. You can’t underestimate anyone!). And he safely got me up the stairs. Finally, I met a Good Samaritan.

So here I was, still alive. Ready to take the train home (yes another one!). And at that moment I just thought fuck this. I’m taking a taxi the rest of the way. And even though I started to make a plan for how I would get myself to the 1 or the E and then transfer at a station with an elevator for the L, I just gave up the fight and got out into the street for a sweet ride home! Eating up more of my measly profits on the way, I couldn’t be more relieved to just be able to sit back.

I made it home after 3am.

****

Several calls and emails to Tashala and Marian trying to get payment for my feather toy – two months later. Tashala insisted that the check was in the mail, even though I initially asked for a credit card number. I shouldn’t even have given her my address. I even started to get paranoid about that. Because I imagined harassing her for the money, yet not knowing where she lives she could more easily come over to me and threaten me back more seriously (? Don’t know where my head was?). Hell – what was I going to do to enforce any of my requirements! The company doesn’t help in that situation. How can they really? And I certainly didn’t have time to knock at their doors. It would cost me more than the toy to go back and forth to Long Island! I still don’t have the payment for my feather toy and no of course Marian never found my Ultimate Stroker.

And I never heard from anyone else from that party even though they said they were interested in more (products, parties, even becoming consultants themselves). I guess when they saw that my shit was stolen they decided to be smarter than I was and not bother with this shit.

I got a ride to the LIRR station, but that was almost the only bit of luck. That and I guess not getting robbed and well, I made it home in one piece. None the worse for wear. No, that type of party situation is not what I ever bargained for! At least the night of hell in Long Island was finally over.