In Which I Kiss And Tell

I do not think that it is morally reprehensible, Gentle Reader, to want to get trashed and make out with boys, from time to time. Unless you’re in a committed relationship, and your partner doesn’t know/approve. And I don’t think that once you go past that point it suddenly becomes some sort of horrific crime against humanity, or something; that’s just my personal comfort level with strangers. I figure that if you’re honest from the start that that’s as far as it’s going, then everything’s golden, yes? A story. Well, a series of vignettes.

Picture it! A late night street during the wee hours following the big-city Pride festival (If you’re unfamiliar, I think of it as Mardi Gras multiplied by Christmas). It was my first such event since I was 18, and … many years had passed since then. After a day of revelry and a night of carousing, my friend (and designated driver) and I were heading back to the car, when we found a little lost frat-boy sitting in a bus-stop, waiting for a bus that was six hours away.

Little Lost Frat Boy, Little Lost Drag Queen, ChiChi LaRue, Vida Boheme, To Wong Foo

It turns out that his name was also Tyler, so we decided to give him a lift. From that point, we’ll just say it was a good thing that my friend was driving.

A month or so later, I was camping with my household at the Renaissance Faire – you’ll have to get used to a few stories from there – I’ve been going for ten years, and it’s a riot. While setting up our ridiculously lavish encampment, we were a few hands short. A group of young men wanders up, announces that they always introduce themselves with wine, and proceed to do so – another Tyler, and a ridiculously fruity Reisling. As soon as camp was up, well, Tyler and I had Tyler business to conduct, in an incongruously frosty summer field, amongst the long grass.

That autumn, while we were doing one of our infamous Mimosa Sundays down at my favourite bar, the Mix, I heard the karaoke host call me up. As it turns out, it was Tyler Three. We wandered down to the Graffiti Garages (Tacoma has a designated space for legal graffiti art; it’s pretty fantastic), and I still have a cardigan with wet paint on the back, and sleeve. Light blue, if you’re wondering.

Graffiti Garages, Tacoma, Breakdancing, Boys, Tylers, Graffiti,

While you should always take caution in encounters of a sexual nature, and be ever-vigilant about your protection, it is awfully fun to fool around with someone who shares your name.

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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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16 Responses to In Which I Kiss And Tell

  1. Sarah Spectacular says:

    This post is marvelously sexy, my friend.

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  4. ekgo says:

    I just make all other Ericas my twins. I’ve never thought of kissing them. You know, I’ve never kissed a Tyler, either. Now I know why: they’re all gay. But also it may be because I’m not a very kissy person.

    Ok. This is the last post I can read today. I must get back to work and then I have an online author event to attend. And then I’m sans internet again until Monday. I shall resume my stalking then, barring unforeseeable circumstances.

  5. paisleyglen says:

    No worries, my dear.

    I’m not usually much of a kissy person, in daylight hours particularly. An occasional fling, though, is good for the soul, I think.

    • ekgo says:

      I fling things occasionally…like cutlery. Shoes. Cats. I haven’t flung a fling, though, in a really long time. I have never been much good at them; they wouldn’t stay flung and the guys always called back or tracked me down somehow. :/

  6. paisleyglen says:

    Oh, you never give out your real name. A fake name is good, Like Alexander Humphrey Von Humphrey. Or, better yet, giving out one of your friend’s names. Then you can lend a sympathetic ear to your friend about their stalker.

    • ekgo says:

      Oh, see, my problem is that I went everywhere with friends because I was the DD and drunken friends like to share personal information. Such as MY name and phone number. Because they care about me.

      • paisleyglen says:

        Ooooh. I’ve had that problem, before. That’s actually how I learned to never be the responsible one.

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