Click here to read Part I.
After mopping the floor twice, we ambled down to the Café at Cherries for a good enough brunch with surprisingly slow service. Something about only serving breakfast til noon on Saturdays just kinda rubs me the wrong way.
We’d told SEPTA she could sleep on our couch, even though it was more of a love seat (oops). She was supposed to take a 9am train, but after waiting on an RG friend who was an hour and a half late (friends, I would have texted you the best directions ever from the train), he rode with her to the Pines to a mutual friend’s house. Turns out we were headed to the Pines for a party at Calipornia’s house. I told her she was welcome to drop off her bag at our place in Cherry Grove, but we were already on our way to the Pines.
|This is not SEPTA.|
I insisted on showing Bohoken the Meatrack (the wooded trails between the Pines and Cherry Grove that are notorious for outdoor sex). He insisted on making references to the Degobah system (you know, the swamp where Luke finds Yoda).
When she greeted us at the harbor, SEPTA was perched atop of the centerpiece of benches already in a speedo, prominently displaying the cover of the philosophy book she was reading (because the cover of your Kindle is hardly a conversation starter). The 3 of us skipped down the yellow brick road in no need of a Dorothy as I blasted warmup music from my phone and passed around the Gatorade bottle I’d prepared for the walk (since Calipornia’s house was quite a ways from the harbor).
Let me tell you: this house was worth the walk. When you come in from the boardwalk, you’re accosted by huge windows on your left, a large pool and hot tub in front and an unobstructed view of the harbor (a few feet away) on your right. I’m not really one to go out of my way for a view, but this was fucking nice!
|No, Sarah, that's not Russia either.|
We found Calipornia, who gave us a tour of the house as she took us to her room to change. We saw the room with the two hot Asian guys changing into their speedos (heeeeyyyyyyy), the hookup room on the top floor, which was designated as such because it was the only room that wasn’t air-conditioned, and her room where the housemate I'd met the night before was changing. This is when I realized that said housemate from that on-stage makeout session with the pair of twinks was actually Calipornia’s roommate. Did I mention their twin beds were pushed together? Yeah.
Back on the pool deck was quite a bit of standing and posing, especially for me since I had no plans to get in the water. But the hot tub had all kinds of opportunity for mischief. Throughout the party, I planted the seed of “NAKED HOT TUB!”, biding my time until people were actually drunk enough to go along with it. Finally, I convinced 2 other guys to start it with me. That’s all the queens needed.
SEPTA: “I have to pee!”
Me: “Well, you can’t go in the hot tub!”
SEPTA: “But my speedo’s like 10 feet away!”
Me: “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I flung it over when I ripped it off you. Guess you gotta go get it, girl!”
SEPTA: “A staph infection upon your cock.”
|Ever, clever FiPi gays.|
Out of nowhere, a guy I used to fuck around with showed up with the boyfriend that he went all “We can’t fuck anymore” on me for. While his man didn’t get into the hot tub, it was clear from my former fuck-buddy’s aquatic conduct that they’d renegotiated the terms of their relationship (also clear was which one of them was getting the most mileage out of the new arrangement).
I was pruned up and wasted by the time the party wrapped up. SEPTA, Bohoken and I changed into more presentable attire (which, for me, meant putting on underwear and shorts because shirts are just rude out there), and we headed into town. I wanted to check out the new Pines pool party Shade, but it looked like a fucking zoo when we walked by. We opted for food at the Blue Whale instead, and I swear, that salad with the Italian dressing was the best salad I’d had in my life.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no! I just took you through the Meat Rack as a rite of passage. We’re taking the water taxi back!”
We (Bohoken and I, not SEPTA) got into bed, and I set my timer for 30 minutes. Since I’d had trouble with it before, I set it and watched it begin to count down. And then I woke up at 5am. FUCK!
That next day, Bohoken’s childhood friend came out for brunch. She’s a delightful 40-something mother whose kids are almost grown and who has awesome stories from living her single 20s after divorcing her husband from a young marriage. She and her military husband have a total of 5 boys.
|Aw, I miss Fabulis.|
“So my step-son sends an invite for a wedding in Tucson for the end of August! Why the fuck would you do anything in the summer in the middle of the desert. I mean, fine, she’s pregnant, but when you’re pushing 300lbs anyway, is that really going to show in your dress in, say, November? But at least the flight was cheap.”
It was one of those rare weekends where her husband was away and the only son who lived with them was off camping with some friends for the week. She couldn’t wait to crack open the Bacardi Lemon she’d packed in her beach bag, and as gentlemen, we had to save the lady from her sober social distress. We had a few drinks on the beach while shooting the shit before Bohoken and I headed to the Architect’s house in the Pines for a drink (or 6).
We ended up at the Pines pool deck for Dr!p, which was a ton of fun! Shequida was present (as a boy), refusing to leave the water, even to speak on the mic. I expected Scotty Rox to be dj-ing but I found plenty of pleasure in Matty Glitterati’s tunes. Bright streamers punctuated the deck while Andrew Marcus Isley, posing as a pixie (who gave an impressive water-proof performance), fluttered around the pool, adding a hint of the club-kid atmosphere that Dr!p in the city was known for.
Did I mention we ran into the failed-threesome guy from the Palm Springs White Party? Yeah.
Click here to check out that party where I did the "Single Ladies" dance. There may or may not be a video.