Naming Ceremony.
My first and very last time inside the Noe Valley Lounge. I remember this place, before it was so cool, full of protestant hipsters, activists and politically gender neutral social scientists and shit. Boukowski’s, yeah that’s it! Pimps and thangs liked to hang outside and cuss. “Eep Opp Ork Ah Ah. Yo man that’s fresh, What’s mean. Like what language is that and shit? Oh and what can I get you. I’m Andrew and shit. Good to meet you.” Another coffee, oh and another pint of Stella, please Bro’. My server must’ve dipped to do a line or something. No one should be that energetic on a Sunday morning. I’m over there with the bacon burger with a side of bacon, with the writers and part time singers, between the juke boxes. And it means I love you. It’s from a cartoon.”
Trulie walked in between a puff of clove cigarette smoke and rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds that promised blah, she was wearing a yellow t-shirt. Bitch was fresh. She sat in my line of sight and not next me, nor next to our host who scooted through a lot of shit to greet her with a kiss and one hand hug and tried to usher her around the banks of chairs filled with the booties of lonely girls. “Hi Pen Man and no! I am not reading, critiquing, talking about my book or my next project. Oh they have bacon”. Trulie wiggled all over and cheered, “Ooh Bacon!” I’ll have exactly what he’s having! Yes!” Don’t you know the waitress, walked up, writing down and saying, “Oh yeah! I was comin over here to get you to remind me what you was havin’. “At that point, I had already forgotten why I was even there. A workshop or something, I’d even forgotten to be a snarky, insulting old ass hole. “Bacon burger, side of bacon, a coffee, sweat and black and another Stella.” I was too out done. I opened my notebook and wrote.
She’s Trulie Scrumptious. She’s more than Truly Skrumshus. If Ian lived in Detroit….
Shit. I was interrupted from my day dream by the echo of my own thoughts, projected at me through the house PA and a cute little orange hog nose amp connected by a long black cord, – “The DB 9 would have an ass like yours. Aw Pen Man, Really! Is that a microphone sitting in my fuckin’ face like some old dirty cop’s cock, ready to be sucked in exchange for a moving violation ticket. Really? I brushed away, “Pen Man, you know how much I hate those things, they’re so phallic. I promise I’ll project and enunciate if you don’t mind Bro’. If I can get over that assault to read at all. Hi everybody. Our host was Pen Hedgeman, goes on to saying something about me in this odd, Rat Pack-esque accent, just when the food arrives, he’s starting to say my full name and title. Papillion Byous Copelandf Theshingflail Styng. There’s this weird kind of pseudo applause you get when a bunch of people are sitting at a table with a microphone. “Anyway”, I interrupted, “I made up this story, about a Friar, kind of like a monk, but with different rules, you know, who leaves the abby and comes to visit Detroit, then I decided to live his life for the year of his pilgrimage to the Motor City. I kind of kept his life. You should read it, then we can talk about it sometime. That’s how I met Pen Man, he read my shit and invited me to meet his friends. I live in the neighborhood and I just came to check out the scene. Normally I’m an ass hole, so I sit in my little shop and make things for people and I don’t come out So, Hi there, if ya’ll don’t mind, let’s be done with talking about me and let me listen to what you all do. I simply couldn’t stop looking over at her little salt and pepper fade, neatly tapered, her glasses and glint of pride that sometimes dips into arrogance. It’s totally deserving. Right now, she could fuck anybody in this joint. Except me! I’m scared of that! She’d put a ring in my nose, lead me around like a pet and resent me for it. Hell no! Get me the fuck out of here! “Hmm! Bacon!” She bounced and cheered. “Thank you Honey. Excuse me what’s your name… I’m thinking, “Becky, says so right here on the tag.” Just as soon as the girl was out of earshot, Trulie blurts out. “Well Becky, I’m Handsome Rob. You aren’t too bright are you Becky? No. Perfect” & giggles like a little school girl. Who the fuck was this woman? Certainly not my next door neighbor. Claire Huxtable, Kielee, from Firefly, Mary Poppins, Dita Von Teese & Tera Patrick in one Coca Cola shaped package, with her tortoise, straw hats, Bakelite tea sets and shit. She plans to fuck somebody this day. She’s a predator. I scribbled some more gibberish while the circle of Earth Mothers, debutant activists and lost healing women for the temple of BAM or some iteration of Ron Allen’s verbiage orgy harems pretended that both her aura and pheromones weren’t distractions. Look at you all fanning like big hats on the front pew. I can’t tell you a damned thing about Pen Man’s writer’s block, but I scribbled my ass off. Went to my shop and made a pummel horse, with a white leather saddle. Some old man saw and paid me two grand to put anodized pink hitching rings and embroidered appliques of some cartoon cat wearing a pink bow on the ends. Bacon burger, bacon on the side, a cup of coffee, sweet and black and two Stellas.
Ready to begin.
I walk back in and begin loosening the laces of her corset. When she is able to take a deep breath again I tie the ribbons back into bows, then I fetch a cup of water from the cooler next to the door. Touch my fingers the water, then to her lips, until she nurses my finger like a tit. I sit on a bench near the main door to the studio and watch, when she regains alertness. I’m staring at her as I often do when she’s not paying me attention. Trulie tends to blush and soften when she feels my eyes on her. I hate that shit. I nearly never get to enjoy the tough, still tender woman I first had a crush on. I walk to her and pour a little water into her mouth. I offer Trulie a small piece of chocolate. I keep a bar in my jacket pocket for her. Tonight reminds me of the first few afternoon skies following September eleven, 2001. While the rest of the nation was in a massive panic, trying to recover from a long overdue and well earn sucker punch. I spent days staring into silent air, so clear and blue, my eyes hurt and filled with tears. Trulie has chosen me as her safe place to shed the burdens of her life and with that become the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I’m teasing her tongue and lips with the tiny piece of chocolate. I watch the feisty powerful woman emerge as she bites down on my chocolate covered fingers. I yield to the pain and as I relax, the bite becomes a gentle, but passionate sucking. I press my fingers to the back of her mouth and rub the small of her back. I’m still so uncomfortable inducing the level of pain Trulie seems to demand. I don’t want to hurt her, I adore her, but I understand. I know the space she seeks, I crave it too. I lean in and bite her neck, inhaling deeply the clean sweet scent of her skin. I hear and feel it, I’ve finally gotten the first sign that I’m inside her armor. Now I can begin to put aside my dream of making and sharing the love I’ve had for her from the first moment I lay eyes on her. I am present for her. I bite her slender neck again, strike her ass with more force than I’m accustomed to, and I hold my grip tight, caress her collar bone and breasts through the emerald green brocade of her corset, roughly reach in a cup and grab her areola, squeeze her nipple and pull at her leash. She’s moaning softly, her head lollies, she raises on her toes and cliches tightly at the silken restraints suspending her and preventing darling Trulie from embracing me or falling to her knees like a treasured servant girl. As my bite turns into a sucking kiss, “Sexy fuckin’ freaky ass Bitch!” I smacked her ass again and held it tight in my hand, nearly lifting her off the floor. I was a rage of lust. I found a loose sash on a bench nearby, took her hands from the bindings above her head and tied them behind her back. Trulie didn’t resist, she melted into my collar and rested, cooing like a dove. I kissed her temple and guided her to the bench to let her rest. She whispered in a dry strained voice. “May I have more water please?” I retrieved the sweating plastic cup of water I’d teased her with just moments ago and gently poured drops down her throat. Trulie smiled, slipped her head back into her comfortable spot on my shoulder. I held her in my arms a moment.
