Highlights of the evening from the Midwinter Tiki Party at the House of Yes (this is literal, anything goes):
Telling Evil Mike; "you know, you can either have scantily clad, half naked females or low heating bills; choose." and without hesistation having him reply; "I'll go turn up the heat." And then promptly go do so.
Dipping my lei in my drink and spilling it all down bikini clad breasts. It doesnt sound like much, but you have no idea how much alcohol one of those cheap plastic leis can contain, it sent me to the bathroom to clean it all off, where one pretty female (who later became topless and had beautiful perky A-cups) showed off her brand new tattoo for me and another female.
The five girl, all lesbian flirt/orgy party I got to overhear in Evil Mike's bedroom--sans Evil Mike.
Waiting and waiting and waiting for the downstairs bathroom to open up, only to have the mohawk guy and a pretty girl come out, both sheepish and apologizing. I go into the bathroom to find:
A writing pen.
Black eyeshadow.
Two full packs of cigerettes and a lighter.
A hair band.
None of these were where you'd expect to find them, they were obviously very out of place and haphazard, one might even say strewn about the room.
I didnt ask.
Finding a shirt outside the downstairs bathroom later that night, donning it, and having no one that night say it was theirs or they were missing a shirt. I still have this alleged shirt, and if no one bitches, I'm keeping it.
Being stripped of said shirt and skirt, then having Deb pull off my bikini bottoms. The shriek I gave could have raised the dead and had everyone in sigfht laughing their asses off.
Flashing the guy dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow for his hat. I didnt flash my breasts.
Stealing first the hat and then the shirt of said topless female and having her chase me all around the party, those nice perky breasts just a-bouncing. It was even better when I restrained her arms behind her back and led her around.
Watching Evil Mike change from his Gilligan outfit to a titki outfit to a pair of black boxers and a straw skirt--a progressive slide to nudity that only got worse as the night went on.
Watching as the rest of the party followed suit. Its just not a party until someone gets naked. Its not my kind of party until sex and/or kink is involved, and this one had it in spades. I miss having these kinds of parties--Atlanta is so damned tame! Everyone here is so conservative, it blows my mind.
Playing with the Tiki god. He towered above my head, and if you pressed the button, he blew smoke from his mouth. I actually covered a girl in so much smoke she fled to the middle of the room. I also loved the manniquin, who was way too cozy with an inflatable Chiquita banana. The dissected Barbies in the stewpot with Chef from SouthPark cooking them up was a nice touch as well. And no one could miss the disembodied heads hanging from the lights.
Playing with the freaks. I love my freaks, we have more goddamned fun than anybody on the planet. Its all about flesh, alcohol, andf good times, and none of it is cheap thrills, these are people who can and have done some outragous things with one another, then remained friends the next day.
Watching the Bettie Page look alike; I really enjoyed her, especially since she looked so damn good in nothing but that skimpy leopard bikini. Having Winter say I was hotter than her might be the best compliment I've had all month. Especially when I saw his words in action.
But really, the best part of all:
Its 4 am and tiome to leave, Winter has to be to work by 5. I had a half hour nap, Deb forced herself to puke, and while we're sober enough to drive, we probably arent sober enough to pass a breatalizer, and even I can smell the fermented alcohol on my breath. We stop at a gas station, which isnt open, so my order for "anything that will mask my breath" is pretty much circumvented, and all I can do is use my card to get gas. Earlier that evening Deb and I stiopped on a supply run, and the C2 Cokes I bought were still in the car. I have Winter hand me one in hopes it will mask the smell, and we make the drive home.
Just outside the turn to his house on Moreland, we see a roadblock set especially to catch drunks. Oh, shit. Its WAY too late, and nothing I can do but pull in like a good little cattle to the slaughter.
So I do.
I grab my license out of my jeans pocket (in the back) before the cop even gets to the window, and start searching for my registration. This puts a spread of papers in my lap, covering the C2 can, but not completely. I'm VERY careful to keep my head tilted away from him, just in case the alcohol is still smellable on my breath.
He glances over my license and asks me something. Searching for the registration (which I find in my lap and start to hand to him) I dont hear him and ask him to repeat himself. Or rather, I say; "I'm sorry?" He repeats; "Whats in the can?" My reply is sing-song and almost child-like as I reply "So-da;" and bring the can up for him to see, sniff if he likes. He doesnt even make a move towards it.
He hands me back the license and says; "You can go," and the thing that had all of us in stiches all the way home; I swear he also adds under his breath; "You're sober." He probably didnt even know I heard.
Ummm...I was safe to drive, I know my limits. But I was not sober, neither technically by a breathalizer, nor by my own standards. I'm still laughing about that.
But Deb has moved Rachel from her bed, Winter is at work and the babysitter dropped off at home, and I'm tired. Bedtime for the girl of three leis and a stolen shirt.
Telling Evil Mike; "you know, you can either have scantily clad, half naked females or low heating bills; choose." and without hesistation having him reply; "I'll go turn up the heat." And then promptly go do so.
Dipping my lei in my drink and spilling it all down bikini clad breasts. It doesnt sound like much, but you have no idea how much alcohol one of those cheap plastic leis can contain, it sent me to the bathroom to clean it all off, where one pretty female (who later became topless and had beautiful perky A-cups) showed off her brand new tattoo for me and another female.
The five girl, all lesbian flirt/orgy party I got to overhear in Evil Mike's bedroom--sans Evil Mike.
Waiting and waiting and waiting for the downstairs bathroom to open up, only to have the mohawk guy and a pretty girl come out, both sheepish and apologizing. I go into the bathroom to find:
A writing pen.
Black eyeshadow.
Two full packs of cigerettes and a lighter.
A hair band.
None of these were where you'd expect to find them, they were obviously very out of place and haphazard, one might even say strewn about the room.
I didnt ask.
Finding a shirt outside the downstairs bathroom later that night, donning it, and having no one that night say it was theirs or they were missing a shirt. I still have this alleged shirt, and if no one bitches, I'm keeping it.
Being stripped of said shirt and skirt, then having Deb pull off my bikini bottoms. The shriek I gave could have raised the dead and had everyone in sigfht laughing their asses off.
Flashing the guy dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow for his hat. I didnt flash my breasts.
Stealing first the hat and then the shirt of said topless female and having her chase me all around the party, those nice perky breasts just a-bouncing. It was even better when I restrained her arms behind her back and led her around.
Watching Evil Mike change from his Gilligan outfit to a titki outfit to a pair of black boxers and a straw skirt--a progressive slide to nudity that only got worse as the night went on.
Watching as the rest of the party followed suit. Its just not a party until someone gets naked. Its not my kind of party until sex and/or kink is involved, and this one had it in spades. I miss having these kinds of parties--Atlanta is so damned tame! Everyone here is so conservative, it blows my mind.
Playing with the Tiki god. He towered above my head, and if you pressed the button, he blew smoke from his mouth. I actually covered a girl in so much smoke she fled to the middle of the room. I also loved the manniquin, who was way too cozy with an inflatable Chiquita banana. The dissected Barbies in the stewpot with Chef from SouthPark cooking them up was a nice touch as well. And no one could miss the disembodied heads hanging from the lights.
Playing with the freaks. I love my freaks, we have more goddamned fun than anybody on the planet. Its all about flesh, alcohol, andf good times, and none of it is cheap thrills, these are people who can and have done some outragous things with one another, then remained friends the next day.
Watching the Bettie Page look alike; I really enjoyed her, especially since she looked so damn good in nothing but that skimpy leopard bikini. Having Winter say I was hotter than her might be the best compliment I've had all month. Especially when I saw his words in action.
But really, the best part of all:
Its 4 am and tiome to leave, Winter has to be to work by 5. I had a half hour nap, Deb forced herself to puke, and while we're sober enough to drive, we probably arent sober enough to pass a breatalizer, and even I can smell the fermented alcohol on my breath. We stop at a gas station, which isnt open, so my order for "anything that will mask my breath" is pretty much circumvented, and all I can do is use my card to get gas. Earlier that evening Deb and I stiopped on a supply run, and the C2 Cokes I bought were still in the car. I have Winter hand me one in hopes it will mask the smell, and we make the drive home.
Just outside the turn to his house on Moreland, we see a roadblock set especially to catch drunks. Oh, shit. Its WAY too late, and nothing I can do but pull in like a good little cattle to the slaughter.
So I do.
I grab my license out of my jeans pocket (in the back) before the cop even gets to the window, and start searching for my registration. This puts a spread of papers in my lap, covering the C2 can, but not completely. I'm VERY careful to keep my head tilted away from him, just in case the alcohol is still smellable on my breath.
He glances over my license and asks me something. Searching for the registration (which I find in my lap and start to hand to him) I dont hear him and ask him to repeat himself. Or rather, I say; "I'm sorry?" He repeats; "Whats in the can?" My reply is sing-song and almost child-like as I reply "So-da;" and bring the can up for him to see, sniff if he likes. He doesnt even make a move towards it.
He hands me back the license and says; "You can go," and the thing that had all of us in stiches all the way home; I swear he also adds under his breath; "You're sober." He probably didnt even know I heard.
Ummm...I was safe to drive, I know my limits. But I was not sober, neither technically by a breathalizer, nor by my own standards. I'm still laughing about that.
But Deb has moved Rachel from her bed, Winter is at work and the babysitter dropped off at home, and I'm tired. Bedtime for the girl of three leis and a stolen shirt.