Thursday, November 16, 2006


Ah, those quiet nights never do turn out to be so quiet do they? Was planning on spending the evening working away at Uni, until some unexpected free tickets to see the Francois Ozon film Time To Leave at the Verona turned up. It tells the story of Romain, a gay 31 year old fashion photographer diagnosed with pretty much incurable cancer. Not being big on 'terminal illness films', I was a little hesitant about the content, but was most pleasantly surprised. The lead character reminded me of a long-forgotten fetish for French gayboys, and a lot of the plot resonated with my own recent experiences...

Had a mind to head home after this adventure, until NeverTooOld pointed out that Bridgett was doing shows at The Sly. Despite minor exhaustion and a strong yearning for beddy-byes there was no way I was missing out on seeing her perform, so after tea and fruit toast at NTO's we drove over for a look. And in doing so, I somehow ended up being the 'audience participation plant' for B's second act. This entailed being dragged out of my seat, blindfolded with her necktie, arms restrained by a convenient piece of rope she keeps in her boot kit, then sat down on a chair while she polished and licked my boots. Did I mention before just what having my boots done does to me? Swoon... I was completely out of it, and trying not to too obviously be getting off as she massaged the polish into the leather, around my instep and up my calves and... ooooh, the smell! Was shaking so hard when the show ended I could barely hold my cigarette, and when the blindfold was removed I realised that B had somehow gotten her shirt off (just leaving the gaffa tape saying 'boot' and 'slut' in her nipples) and her mouth and tits and torso were covered in polish, as were my thighs and... that was enough to send me swooning all over again...

Cute bar boy came up to me afterwards to say how much he enjoyed the show, and somehow we got discussing hanky codes (am I that old? what DO they teach kiddies in gay school these days?). Gave him that basics, and went looking to find him a good guide on the net. In doing so, I came across my old fave: The Goth Hanky Code. And found this rather comprehensive list that includes 'Holstein' for lactation fetish. For the curious, Holstein is a type of cow it seems. Well, I guess I ain't called MooZoo for nothing! But can I wear cow-print with camos? Or maybe dye some cow-print Hunter green and flag for a lactoDaddy?

Rest of night was rather entertaining, entailing a hyped-up GC and friends putting on quite a floor show for (and at times involving) me. Dancing, frotting, snogging, butch on femme, butch on boy, butch on everyone at once. And as I wasn't drinking alcohol at all, just full of sugar and fizz, it was even more amusing watching the exquisately intoxicated shenanigans. Eventually dragged GC to bed, but daresay I'm probably more exhausted than before I did!



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