I always I meet up with my lesbian friends on a patio at some point during Pride and have a beer with them. This summer was no exception to our now well-established tradition. I think the thing I love the most about Pride is the unpredictability of it all. Anything can happen at any moment if you’re the slightest bit open to it.
A young man with a clipboard might approach you and your two friends while you’re wandering around in the Village, say, and inquire as to whether or not you are a “trio.” And then one of your friends might sign you up for the gay matchmaking service he represents. The other one’s protests might get shut down by the one filling out the form who might, referring to your non-existent love life, say, “Well, she has to do SOMETHING!” Which can hardly be argued with. Just one example.
So similarly, that’s how we ended up at a party consisting almost exclusively of gay men dressed in studded leather g-strings and/or with their naked torsos bound up in ropes. The party was hosted by friends of Lisa’s friend, Gary, who I was so happy to see. Most of the time, I’m pretty comfortable and happy with myself and my body. In general, I don’t subscribe to negative self-talk. But a room full of gay men just putting it out there always reminds me I could get a lot more comfortable with myself.
It doesn’t take long in among a lot like this for the topic of fetish night to come up. And, of course, it did.
“But what would I wear?” I asked, mainly for the sake of making coversation because I already a pretty good idea based on ideas Gary presented on a previous occasion (fishnets, tall boots, black bustier, riding crop).
“Oooooh!” shouted Gary, “CINDERELLA!!”
“Oh my God: YES.” concurred Vanessa.
“RIGHT??! The glass slipper??” continued Gary, the idea man.
I wrinkled my nose at the whole Cinderella thing. “Too frou frou!” I said, secretly pleased that someone envisioned me as a Cinderella who has a prince out there somewhere looking for me. Gary kept on conjuring up my costume, Modern Cinderella. He did away with the poofy ball gown and the glass slippers were tall boots – obviously.
“Ohhhhh, no!” interjected another man whose skinny torso was bound in thin red rope. “I see the tongue ring. I see the glimmer in this one’s eye. I’m thinking: Little crotchless undies and a teeny bra with the nips cut out. What do you think? Amiright?”
I blinked. Vanessa, Lisa and Gary blinked.
“It’s a gift! The Fetish Fairy is never wrong!”
Left to my own devices I would probably dress as Joan Holloway, which might be cheating since I routinely try to channel her sexy secretary look for work. But, alas, I didn’t think of this until much later, long after the Fetish Fairy had whirled away in a cloud of magic glitter dust and kink.