Fashion Booty

WELL HEY NOW *purrs*

This weekend. Let’s start with that…

(It always starts with a weekend.)

This weekend was notable for two reasons. I got ass, and I photographed a fashion show. Sorry; I “videographered” a fashion show.

It was Blacklord’s camera; a Go-Pro with a self-stabilizer (like a steady cam) built into a grip. I waved it around with authority, although I had none in actuality. And certainly no relevant experience to be filming a fashion show.

But when we came downstairs from our hotel room to the lobby of the W hotel in Hollywood, I was given misplaced respect. People saw the camera and assumed it was mine (why wouldn’t it be?) and assumed I was the videographer for the fashion show.

Everybody thought that shit too.

Oh sure, I had a bit to do with it. When one girl asked me, “so how’s videographer life?” I responded, “oh you know, a show here, a show there, keeping busy.”

When the fashion show started, me and two black guys named Chris snuck up to the front of the stage and started filming all of the male models walking down the stairs to the stage.

I did have a real cameraman tell me to sit the fuck down because I was getting in all of the shots but for the most part I think I blended in. I was a wolf in a sheep’s clothing.

I should mention that I was drunk as fuck when this all took place too. Me and the two Chrises were upstairs prior to the show drinking the classy combination of pink lemonade and tequila.

Here’s a view from the window of our room:

And if you are wondering why we had a hotel room in a city we all live in, well… sometimes you just have to get a hotel room in a city you live in.

We returned to the room after the show, except this time we brought a few more people.

Okay, well not a few more. A bunch of motherfuckers. Models. So many models.

(Don’t get excited most of them were male models)

But the party was good vibes, and I felt right at home with my people.

I’m talking about black people of course.

At some point we made it to a bar across the street, where I knew I shouldn’t drink anymore but I knew I wouldn’t be able to say no. My body was all over the place now since I had been smoking on these little disposable weed oil pens, and regular vape pens set at their strongest settings.

But yeah when a drink appeared in my hand I promptly disposed of it. Right down my throat.

The night kind of gets hazy from there but I was on the bathroom floor of the hotel room later on, and based on hearsay I did tell everyone going to the after hours parties that I would meet them there.

I did not meet them there.

I woke up in the hotel room the next morning, sharing the bed with Blacklord and feeling like I was best off abstaining from drinking for a month.

Yet as soon as the words “Saint Patrick” left Blacklord’s mouth, I knew that I had just voided my one month no-drinking contract.

And that is the one time when you should unquestionably drink whatever alcohol is in the mini-bar: Saint Patrick’s Day.

Blacklord and I put down some celebratory Coronas and I was headed back to my house for the first time that day, at 2 PM. I made sure I picked up a 6 pack at the 7-11 and then came home and… napped.

I would need a little nap to achieve maximum drinking capabilities for the night. Besides, I was going to a party.

The party was in a part of Los Angeles I had never been before. On the GPS it looked like the place was in Inglewood, and that’s never a good sign. And then the Lyft driver starts telling me that he thinks it’s in a “rough area” and I’m like umm…

The party was a pizza party apparently. Either that, or, I was just eating someone random’s pizza. And then I became the pizza police and started asking everyone if they had “proper credentials” to be eating the pizza. The pizza that wasn’t even mine.

I helped myself to some “bevs” and went into the other room, where reggaeton music was playing, and a short curvy girl moved with moves that told me she was a Latina.

Paula, she said her name was, with a thick South American accent. I put aside my eternal loathing for reggaeton and swayed my hips in sync with hers.

There was something sexy about how she let the rhythm control her. It dominated her. It caused her to exist in a world outside of the real world. Paula allowed me to come into her world.

To grasp her. To run my hands through her hair. To rub our noses together. To press my body closely onto hers.

I’m talking about sex. Yes, we’ve changed topics.

When we arrived at my home it was early. It wasn’t even 1 AM. The party still had life in it.

But our urges needed to be fed.

When we walked in my front door, the clothes just magically jumped off our bodies. It was one of those scenes where you could see a clear path of clothing leading into the bedroom. Go three feet, throw a sock, go another three feet, receive oral pleasure, etc.

And the sex, well… let’s just say it was a real scorcher. We banged so hard that we raised the temperature of not just our bodies, but the whole bedroom.

Sometimes you get lucky, and you just physically connect with someone, and you throw all rules and conventions straight out the window. That’s what happened with Paula. We did some naughty things.

I think what helped make it so enjoyable was that, she was only in town for the weekend. We knew time was limited. Hell, there was a chance I’d never see her again. She was moving to Australia. But while she was here, by god we were going to enjoy ourselves.

And we did. Not just the sex, but we kicked it too. We held hands, walked along the beach, cooked together…

And then she was gone.

Paula, I want you to know you were a very important person for me. Although we only knew each other a short time, you were made a big impact on my life. You were only the second woman I’ve been with in the past 4 years, and the first after my break up. You have a big heart and you reminded me how to live again. Something that is easily forgotten when you devote yourself to one person.

I’m excited to be single again, but I’m excited to meet more people like Paula.

Here’s to hoping everyone else finds their own Paula.