Leather thongs under assless chaps were a particular favorite

My Black Party night started at about 11:30 when I woke up from a disco nap.  Yes, PM.  I planned a late start since they sold discounted tickets before midnight and after 4am (and god knows I wasn’t showing up at midnight for an all-night/next-day circuit party). 

Since my group costume attempt failed pitifully, I had to come up with a look that I could pull off on my own (that I could afford).  In college, I had constructed a pair of lace-up jeans with a pair of shoestrings and a hole puncher.  Using those, I went with a sort of bondage theme, making a harness/web-type of top out of a shitload of white shoestrings, leaving plenty of length to hang down from the knots.  I topped off the outfit with a shoestring in the hair, some eyeliner, and a spiked collar. 

Then, it was time to decide what I was going to take to the Black Party.  With pickpockets and unemployed coat-check personnel, god only knows what would happen if I carried everything I usually do in my pockets.  AMEX: out.  Visa: out.  Debit card: out.  License: out...  Wait, no.  License in (I needed to prove I was under 28 for the discount!).  Insurance card, metro card, $100 in cash: in.  Against my better judgment, I took my phone since I remembered having it last year.  And of course (since I can’t afford don’t do drugs) threw a couple of 6-hour energy shots in the bag, too.

The next task was to get from the 170s to the Village (made a detour before the Black Party) with my ridiculous outfit.  Keep in mind I had on a lot of eyeliner.  I threw on my college hoodie with a vest (hood on, of course) and dusted off my shades from the summer. 

Of course I just missed the train.  I was in a hoodie and shades on the subway platform at 12:30am.  With shoestrings dangling.

After about 20 minutes of listening to Chi Chi yell at her friend about how her mother was going to killer her because she was coming home late and drunk (they couldn’t have been more than 16), the train came and whisked me down to W 4^th st. 

I met up with the girls at The Hangar.  Because the Ivy League Crew obviously needed at 2-4-1 deal at 2am (works for me; I’m still pre-gaming).  Bitter Commie Grad Student was at the point where her only communication happened via glaring, stumbling, and mumbling.  Urban Sprawl had her new QWERTY-keypad phone cocked and ready.  And Bottomless Pitt was… well, she was Bottomless Pitt.

“Oh my god!  Self-dating douchebags!” I giggled, pointing out the two skin-headed TSWBs by the pool table.  It was like a tracking device for Bottomless Pitt, who soon discovered their German accents.  Well, I lost track of them after they turned on the lights and kicked us out of the bar, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how that story probably ended up.  Jah?

It was pretty obvious that the night was ending for the Ivy League Crew, but TTT had won a VIP ticket at Therapy (those cheap bitches would give away a single ticket).  I finished off my Gatorade bottle and took one of the energy shots on the train uptown.

TTT met me in the line, surprising me with her theme-appropriate outfit.  She had bought a harness (though it was too big), and she was wearing it over a dirty-looking holy tank top.  It was the perfect solution to wearing leather without going topless and still looking hot.

ID check, admission, security search.  The butch lesbian who went through my bag pulled out the other energy shot, saying it had to go.  She said something about being able to check it with her right after I tossed it (thanks… good timing).  I stripped down to my shoestring-budget outfit, threw all non-essential items in my bag, and checked it, making sure to tip nicely just in case I had to get anything out of it later. 

TTT led me upstairs to see if we could get me into the VIP area (located where the Dark Room was last year).  We did the boyfriends-attached-at-the-hip thing, which worked, and went to the Bulldog Gin bar.  Of course, it was after 4, so they weren’t serving liquor anymore.  But it’s amazing how a kind “gesture”, a smile, and good lighting made us feel (wink wink).  We wandered around for a few, getting that “amazing feeling” once again, but it was actually kind of boring back there. 

We went back among the general population and found that the dark room had been moved to where the tents were last year.  The location may have changed, but the game was still the same.  And I was still the pervert I always was, never touching but ever observing. 

Cooper made an appearance.  I would have said hi, but that might have been awkward for the guy he was ramming doggie style. 

I have to say that the Black Party has really stepped up the ass game from last year (the Facebook note I wrote was entitled "You Really Should Be Doing More Squats").  Leather thongs under assless chaps were a particular favorite, and the variations on the traditional harness were endless (combining leather with chains seemed to be the most popular).  One style that was new to me was a piece of gear that almost looked like a massive leather arm bandage.  But hot.

I realize that made no sense, but just go with it.

Ms. W arrived maybe an hour after I did, and the first place she wanted to go was the dance floor.  It was all 'gay music', so I was more into walking around and checking out guys than dancing.  But I was amazed at how not-blaringly-loud the music was.  I had brought earplugs, but I didn’t need them at all. 

I remember running into Joey Israel at one point (a promoter who is the very handsome face of some very innovative NYC parties).  What I don't remember is if I said anything inappropriate to him.  Shit.

TTT and Ms. W left around 8:30, and I stayed and wandered til a bit after 10.  It’s always a shock to come out of a party with no windows and see daylight (especially when you work around the corner), but that’s where those shades came in handy again.  Part of me wanted to find a spot to sit on 9^th ave to pick up watch leather daddies while they walked back to their HK condos, but as soon as I stepped outside, it hit me how tired I was.  At 11 am, the sexiest thing in the world was my bed with orange sheets.

Did I mention I still woke up for an afternoon recording session and went out Sunday night?  Did I also mention that 5 minutes before posting this, I found a random email address in my phone?  Yeah.

Click here to read about a summer afternoon at The Eagle.


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