So let me tell you about the love of my life. I first met Shdwkitten at a mutual friend’s
housewarming party. We’d been roughly in
the same, kinky social circles for a couple of years, but never before
met. But I spotted her at this
particular party, and we were introduced or (I think) introduced ourselves
around the fire pit. I thought she was pretty
hot, and she returned my interest. (Time
would reveal that she prefers tall, skinny men w/ long hair. This, I am.)
The soft conversations around the fire punctuated by bursts of laughter
fading into the background, everyone sipping drinks, both of us drinking
pumpkin beer from plastic cups, I liked everything about her… except her
smoking. Legend has it that I started
kissing her to distract her from her smoking.
She started making out w/ me and forgot that she had the cigarette in
her hand until it burned down to a tinny stump of ash. It could be true. When we started dating, the second sign I had
that we were perfect for one-another was that she quit smoking for me. The first sign was when she discovered and
revealed that my bike (a 2004 Yamaha FZ6) was the exact make and model bike she
was thinking of buying herself. (Legend
also has it she just collared and married me for my bike. It could also be true.)
But I’m getting ahead of myself. First I need to insert a flashback. Therefore, for your pleasure – or to test
your patience w/ me – I am re-posting my 11/21/2004 post.
Enjoy… if possible:
* * *
This weekend was fairly fabulous. I spent Saturday just
fritting away time w/ a fine book. Then I fled town for Charlotte
to fraternize at Mystrys’s house warming festival. I arrived to find that Caravankidd
was already rendered feckless by the fermented libations. As more and more
frolickers partook of the featured field juice (filched pumpkin beer), we all
found ourselves becoming frighteningly frivolous. It was fairly a fantasia of
singing silliness. Oh, our faculties were failing, but there’s nothing like
alcohol to forge a group of friends into a happy family at frightening speed.
There was a fearful moment among the fanfare when some faulty
footwork almost felled an inoffensive fig tree… but our fabulous hostess flung
forth w/ the reassuring cry, “Don’t fret, friends, that’s only a fake fichus!
It’s all fine!” Our faith inflated. (Later the fake fichus was fairly freed by
the Fake Fichus Freedom Front which fights fiendish fascists who bind their
fake fig trees in fetters.) Aw, such fine flashes of fun may be few and far
between at other festivities, friends, but Mystrys knows how to make her fans
feel full of joy. To find this a mere fad is fully fallacious -- this fine lady
can facilitate some fabulous frolics and fantasies, I say!
In addition to drinking, singing and the near-felling of
fake fichuses (or is it fichi?), there was other fine naughtiness. A fearless
few females flashed some fabulous frontage for waxing and flogging. (Far
fetched, I know.) The famed Wax Whore of the South was featured, and he
fulfilled anticipations for one and all. Yes, there was fun frolicking,
fondling and *a-hem* well, another word that starts w/ f. Finally I flopped
down on the sofa for the night – at around four. Mystrys, the party was just…
fantastic!
Sunday began w/ further fun from British comedy on TV. At
noon I swung by Lava Bistro for more fine festivities celebrating Rorie’s
birthday w/ more friendly faces and first-rate food. A fine time was had by
all. So glad I could make it.
For now... farewell.
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