September 15, 2010

Beer and Cigarettes

Diary, Ma Cherie No Comments

When people ask me about my Labor Day weekend, my polite answer has been the aforementioned title (since I love film references). The reply closer to reality would be: beer, sex, and cigarettes. Since I’d rather not write an entire novel on this lost weekend, I’ll give you the blow-by-blow by the hours.

Friday

5:30PM: Slow day at work. Got permission to “train” the new girls with the single tail whips in the dungeon with the suspended ticklebed. Oh, yeah, and my manager snuck me two vibrators.

8:00PM: Got the cab driver to wait while I got a peach cocktail from King Dong. Conveniently poured me the whole shaker in a plastic to-go cup. Cabbie liked my face so he paused the meter for me.

Saturday

1:00PM: Packed my bags with at least 5 interchangeable outfits because I was determined not to sleep in my bed that night.

2:30PM: Told the sexy security guard at Zara that he was cute and he must hear that a lot. He said no. I gave him my number and told him to tell me later whether he had a girlfriend.

3:00PM: Slow day at the dungeon. Clients are with their families (how dare they?). Smoking ALL SHIFT.

11:00PM: In a cab to King Dong’s bar as usual. Texted Taj Mahuge who was in the city and posed as a potential sleepover buddy.

Sunday

12:00AM: Chicken wings and some drinks later, Taj only tells me he’s in the Meatpacking District with no deets. King Dong and other bartender Cheech are up for going but need to close.

3:00AM: Near fight with Brits. Asked two dudes for a smoke and they asked what was I going to barter with. I said a free dance lesson because I was about to barf watching them attempt to salsa dance.

4:00AM: Super-Asshole Taj texts me after I get to the Gansevoort Hotel that he is already on his way home. Etiquette lesson: text me before you drive off, especially if I needed a place to sleep! Told Cheech, thanks but no thanks, I can’t sleep at his apartment.

4:30AM: On way to Bar Boss’s apartment who answered my sleepover text, tall white dude invites me to a house party. I said, is it a party of one? Few snide barbs later and after I met his two whitebread friends, I went up to a posh West Village apartment party. P.S. I told them I carried a switchblade.

6:00AM: Left house party with six white people calling me “Switchblade” and “8 o’clock.” (I told the guy that I only tell my name after 8 o’clock.) They tried to get me to put my knife down on the table as if it were a club and I refused like the born and bred New York tough chick that I am. I said I wasn’t going to risk the lights going out, someone grabbing the candlestick, wrench, and my switchblade, and finding a body on the floor.

6:30AM: Related my party story to the cool peeps at Just Roasted Coffee. Being people of color originally from New York did give us a good handle on the humor of that entire situation. Told them the guys danced with me to Willie Nelson and The Bee Gees over Bud Light. And no, they wouldn’t have put down their switchblades either.

7:00AM: Waited for Bar Boss by wandering the East Village. Lamented the fact that all book shops open at least 11AM. Taxi crashed near Bar Boss’s area so the blocks were closed off.

9:30AM: Finally arrived at Bar Boss’s apartment and undressed for bed. No hanky panky with my period so sleep was uninterrupted for six hours.

3:45PM: Erection poking my back so I woke up. I agreed to anal sex with a shrug until… the fucker admits he doesn’t have condoms. My mother passive aggressively threw away my condoms in my bag (which is why temporarily staying over with family blows). No bareback sex with this sex braggart. Ick, he loves ass-to-mouth. I’m not going there without latex.

5:00PM: Walk to the bar and get a bottle of beer from B.B. as consolation for no freaking sex. Thought I would pick up a shift but ended up spending next five hours talking with dudes at the bar, including Jr. Bar Boss. Jr. said he was abstaining from sex due to embracing Catholicism recently. Jr. introduced me to Patrick, the bar’s own Malachy McCourt, full of Irish wit and brashness. (His first words to me were that he was going to punch Jr. full on in the mouth as soon as he got outside.) Also met Bass, the writer/designer/production whiz who regularly has suicidal ideation and talent for editing. Befriended a funny gay queen named Monty (can’t make it up) and argued with his bitchy friend. I insulted his name (what kind of name is D.J. for a gay guy who’s friends with a charismatic personality named Monty?) so he said, “Honey, I can’t change my name but you need to change that vest because it is sooo not working with those pants.”

Last but not least, spent a lot of time straddling Shaw, another bartender, from behind and talking like we were meant to be attached to the hips. I would balance myself on the bar stool behind him and take pulls from his Marlboros. Later, I got a shout-out from the DJ as Shaw’s hot girlfriend since I was drinking my beer on top of the bar.

10:00PM: Shaw couldn’t leave his shift so Jr. was my only option to escort me to the fetish party at China 1. Jr. conveniently forgot he was Catholic when I massaged his back, and simply asked, “Do you wanna fuck?” That was a yes on my part.

11:30PM: Condoms, good. Wild animal sex with twisted tits and bruised chests, good. Jumping on his hips like a human trampoline, also good. Taking off the condom in the complete darkness during a position change, NOT GOOD. When we fell down from exhaustion for a break and I felt his dick, I almost swung him through the window by his cock. Screaming and yelling did proceed. That much I can say in my favor. Perhaps continuing the violent sex with a second condom contradicts that earlier position. Fuck all, don’t judge me.

Monday

12:00AM: After thoroughly bathing and trying to soothe my aching breasts in the shower, woke up Jr. to escort me. Got more cigarettes.

12:30AM: Party was a block away so easy to spot (20 people all in black with patches of vinyl and PVC on a sidewalk were a tad conspicuous).

Damian broke protocol and kissed me hello before I could greet my protector Sir Magnum. Dickhead. Sir asked, “Did you come here for him because you didn’t tell me you were coming?” Oy vey. I could kill Damian for complicating my relations in this community.

1:30AM: Wandered throughout the two floors looking for manager Lucy because I thought she was doing a public scene. Damn, no dice. What I did get was to show off spanking skills to three frat boys in their underwear. They were spanking this pain slut like they were fucking her and I gave them the proper lesson.

4:00AM: Let’s summarize the party with this: met The Grey Gentleman, who has past history with Sir and whipped me on the arm without my permission (MAJOR offense). More networking and moving up the social ladder for me as I posed for pictures with a dragon tail whip and got two slaves to worship my feet. Struck up a conversation with a vanilla passer-by who asked me where to get a good handjob. I told him ask the whores on the piers because I’m a domme, not a fucking madam. Sir and some other men almost made him history but I saved him. Oh, and Damian took pictures with an Asian girl he roped not even five feet from me. She was not even cute (yeah, I said it).

5:00AM: Slave Thing One got the privilege of driving me home, only after Sir photographed his license. Thing One also got me a burger and milkshake after I sweetly mentioned how hungry I was.

6:00AM: Texted Sir I was safe and sound but he didn’t get it so we had yet another tiff later that day.

3:00PM: Slow day again at work so I had funny girl-talk with the dommes. We posed with cutesy Japanese poses (peace signs and blowfish faces) in our leather corsets for pics. So boring when the clients are with their families.

10:00PM: Yet another beer-filled night at the Lounge. I approached Shaw since he looked like he was ignoring me. He totally denied it. Whatever. I straddled him again and we made a cute, smoking/drinking couple. Bar Boss walked in an hour later and sniggered. Fucker. Hoped he wouldn’t tell Shaw we fucked.

Tuesday

12:30AM: Shaw piggy-backed me two blocks to Delancey and promised to call me for a date on Thursday. I said he could get a milkshake with me at Sugar Bakery and tell me about his date ideas. He said no, nicely, and said that’s what Thursday was for. I told him I had trust issues so I need to be a controlling domme all the time.

1:00AM: Bummed cig off three Swiss guys and was my charismatic, talkative self again. Fucking swear I must be trying to live out a Choose Your Own Adventure book. A Puerto Rican girl in the cutest curls and fedora passed by so naturally I had to compliment her. She returned it and we kinda made out. That made the Swiss guys turn and make their Snaggle Puss exit, stage right. Rude much? Drunk Curly Sue invited me out and I said maybe after my strawberry milkshake. I called her Babyface, her friend Sugar Tits, and third friend Pinky Lee (lips were the brightest neon pink evah). Talked to Algerian owner at the bakery after I said he wasn’t speaking French (he had a slight Arabic dialect).

2:00AM: Yellow taxicab driver gave me his number so I would call him anytime I needed a ride. He loved my face, he said.

2:30AM: Doorbell’s broken and lost my keys so I threw stones at the window until someone let me in. I was so close to buying beer and a pack of Marlboro Menthols if my feet weren’t practically crippled in my boots (imagine the Wicked Witch of the East when her toes curled up).

So, my pets, what has Ma Cherie learned after this whole weekend of beer, sex, and cigarettes?

  • Never part with your switchblade.
  • Always carry condoms and lube.
  • Always check the condom is still on (!).
  • Seriously consider owning a bar in 10 years.
  • Recruit a slave who drives a cab.

Ma Cherie (@CherieDAmour) is in the market for a boy/girlfriend, kinky sex partner, willing slave, and sugar daddy, though not necessarily in that order. When not working as a dominatrix, Ma Cherie is cruising online dating sites, hitting up fetish parties, and regularly pleasuring herself. Unironically, her favorite song is “Kiss With A Fist.”

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We're your creatures, putting to words things to inform you, amuse you, educate you and move you. Be nice to us, we already have a cruel mistress in our editrix. We say that with love, of course, we do love her whip.

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