Bears, In Theirs

And a little in mine as well. For last night was UnderBears, surely Zoo's favourite Mardi Gras festivity. It never ever fails to amaze me, every bear that ever there was (I did coat check 9-12, with a Smurphe and some others, and we had hit the 900s with the ticket numbers!) comes out of their den to descend upon the other ghetto, get most of their gear off and dance about in their underwear being lewd... Ahhh... I wore My Very First Jockstrap, a black cotton number which I daresay did suit me and showcased my Smurphe bruisings, 'rag' tattoo and new cuttings rather well (and something about such butch underwear under my leopard print skirt on the way there from work made me very excited). Boots, black hanky, collar, green camo singlet and Lone Star cap completed the ensemble. I danced handbag to Shania Twain (damn, I feel like a woman) and countless other travesties, groped, got groped, suckled, drank beer, danced more, smoked, swapped spit and generally had a sweet trashy old time with the boys. Ahh...

Aside from the odd 'So, are you a lesbian?' 'Nah, I'm a Bear', 'Say what?' conversations, and one bra'd and knickered woman expressing amazement that I was wearing a jockstrap (in a 'you're so brave!' kind of way) it was really comfortable, and I could forget about gender and just be sweaty and stinky and furry.
That said, I did leave my singlet on the whole time so maybe I wasn't as cool as I thought? Or maybe its just a case of sometimes not wanting to have to make a point as such, and these tits on a dancefloor full of gay men gets more questions and comments than keeping them under wraps. Sometimes I just want to DANCE!