From now on, ever time someone writes “You never give details” I will write pages of personal details until you learn why we have #Exhibitionist, too.
It’s not just an Incest site, but I was just kicking my scooter up, and down the sidewalk. Meanwhile my brother kicked back under the bushes.
Now, let me explain some things. (I know, I know, but this is how it happened.) Our lawn is level, but then there’s a little slope that’s impossible to mow, so mom had dad plant juniper bushes out front.
However, my brother hiding in the bushes while I kicked his old (Remember when Razor scooters were cool?) Scooter up, and down the sidewalk, because he looks creepy. I look younger than I am for reasons I’ll get to in a minute, but it’s really more for making sure I don’t get snatched off the sidewalk, and driven away in a trunk.
Speaking of which, then the Party Van pulled up. It was just a minivan, but it had a [Party Van] wrap, and the door rolled open for a Naughty Nurse to get out. Right at the end of the driveway, but I had to turn around, and ride back. By then, she walked up the driveway (Which slopes all the way down,) and he got up to talk to the driver.
All black, trench coat, and a broad brimmed hat he put on once he crawled out of the bushes. He looks creepy on purpose, he’s Goth, and today he was dressed like Andrew Eldritch. Right down to the (A Slight Case of Overbombing) teeshirt, aviator sunglasses, and leather blinders on the sides of the arms. The “Well actually,” #NotAllMen… hat isn’t only part of the look, but also sunscreen, because being almost vampire white is as much of the look as the long hair dyed black, and hanging over the collar.
“So, you guys hire men, too?” He leaned over the door like a street hooker when I rolled up. Retracted the steering tube, and unclocked it to fold it up over the deck.
“Hey, you want to can it in front of her?”
He looked “Oh, no. That’s just my sister, but you don’t do parties for gay guys or anything, do you?”
“Happy Birthday. To. You.” The Naughty Nurse finished her Marilyn Monroe/Mike Myers/Mathilde impersonation, and blew a kiss. Mom stood up, leaning against the door, and gave her the Golf Clap.
“Why, you gay?”
“Oh, no. I was just wondering.”
“Well, actually you’d be surprised, most of our guys work the girl’s night out, prom night, and wedding shower scene. You 18?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“No,” my dad told the strippergram, “This is Nine Twenty Five. Nine Fifty Two is down past the stopsign.”
“Thanks for coming though, can I get your card?” Mom pulled up her pocketbook.
“Sure.” So, she pulled her bra out under the lab coat, and folded up the $5.00 bill to stick it in her pocket on her way back down the drive. She also had on a mask, but she blotted her lipstick on the outside. So, it looked like a mouth, even when she talked! “You got the wrong house, again.”
“It’s the digital numbers on the curbs.” Stenciled on, so they look like an old digital clock.
“Well you still need to get your eyes checked.” She got in, and rolled the door shut.
‘Graham, what are you doing down there, get her away from them?” Dad finally came down far enough to look over the bush.
“They’re lost,” they drove off, “Just giving them directions.” So, we had to go back inside to talk about it. I missed most of her song, and dance, but she had to be pretty good for mom to tip her like that. “Usually the mail gets mixed up.” My brother elbowed me for the punchline.
Not the first time that’s happened. “Yeah, I guess this time she was a female.”
All right, Exposition time again, so brace yourselves: Mom’s born again Christian, but she used to be a party girl, and did some things when she was younger, that she’d put in her Testimonial Video. If she was one of those ABBACs that did testimonial videos on Youtube. (That’s Ana-Baptist Born Again Christians. It has nothing to do with the Swedish Disco band.)
However, she’s also done table dances at parties, and let men stuff bills in her underwear. Done the Wet Teeshirt contest, and gotten an honorable mention, all before dad “Saved” her. Don’t even get me started on the whole Jesus Chrispie thing, you don’t want to read it, and I don’t want to write it.
So anyway, “Graeme,” (That’s how he says it now.) “You’re not bisexual.”
“No, but the baccalaureate party scene sounds like a blast.”
“Yeah,” I rolled my eyes, “You’d think so, but no.” I’ve been to some of those parties, and seen videos of others, that didn’t make it to Pornohub. “You think they do sorority parties like that, too?”
“I don’t know, ask mom, but it’s not like the job openings have been great over the past year and a half.”
“Yeah, and dressing like Riffraff to the job interview probably doesn’t help.”
“Hey, I didn’t dress like Riffraff, I put on a shirt. A clean suit coat.”
“You’re not that bald yet either, but you are a blond.” Naturally, at least. “That’s my point, do you think they hire goths?”
“I don’t know, you saw that Hellooo, Nurse!” I giggled, and nodded. “So, you’re basically talking about Trick or Treat anyway.”
“Hahaha, yeah.” So, we started going out to the park, and practicing our routines. I took Tumbling, Gymnastics, and Rhythmic Dance classes, then gave those up before I was a junior, to join the cheer squad. Which explains why I’m 15 going on 12. My competition diet, and not having any body fat pushed back my puberty, and dragged it out over about 10 years, I was still working on it.
Okay, you’re never going to get all my puns, and allusions if you never going to learn to fire up Google: Sisters of Mercy – Ribbons (Lyric Video) If you don’t want to do homework in summer, then don’t you have a sister/daughter/niece to knock up to make another grand/daughter?
I was his assistant, because somebody had to tie the red ribbon around his waist, and pull it out when he dropped the trench-coat and Stranger Danger hat. Spinning around, cruciform like Rocky Horror on his birthday.
“Uh!” Some girl finally showed up, and rolled her eyes. So I cut off the CD on the boom box. “The stripper pole taken on the playground?”
“You just came bye there, so you tell me. Besides, it’s not a stripper pole, it’s a fire pole, or a vertical bar.”
“Pf!” We’re all fluent in Scoff “Vertical Bar isn’t even an Olympic sport?”
“I know,” but that reminded me to kick up the baton, and hook it to the loop. My brother finished unwinding it from his Corset, so I could start my part of the routine. “But Rhythmic Dance is.”
“I’m the stripper here,” my brother came over, “So what did you think of my act?”
So, she recoiled in horror. “Uphf!” You can practically hear her eyes roll, but I was right around:
“Her lovers queued up in the hallway, huh!” to keep the Rhythm. “I heard them scratching at the door.” Deep breath to throw in a hands-free round off. “I tried to tell’em, ’bout Marx and Engle’s God and Angels.” I stopped, en pointe (Also a little Ballet) and started spinning, sucking it in, so the ribbon wrapped tight between my hips and ribs, so I couldn’t breathe.
“I don’t really know what for, but she looked good in Ribbons…”
“Flowers on the Razor Wire… Shit, I lost the mark!” I stopped, and snapped the thread, buttonhole stitched tacked to the corners of the ribbon, to start tying it deftly in a bow.
“No look.” He pointed, “Incomming!” Laughed.
I jumped out of the way, but then the running man skipped, jumped, did a hand spring with a half twist, and landed a back flip right next to me.
“Huh, huh!” He caught his breath, and shook his head. “Fuck it’s hot out here. So, what’re you 2 up to?”
Brian was a cheer leader. Probably would be again next year, but he never talked to me. What are you kidding? He was a Junior, and I was a Sophomore, but I looked like a freshman. A late bloomer, or maybe a savant that skipped about 5 grades, but still. Now I couldn’t breathe, but the ribbon was pretty tight. “Uhhhhh…”
“Graeme.” (Almost rhymes with “Grave”) He shook hands, “It’s just a dance routine.”
“A pretty fucking sexy dance routine.”
“Uhh,” my brother took his hand back, and tried to wipe it off on his pantleg. In a corseted leotard up to his nipples, fishnet arms, and legs, platinum blond roots grown out to his ears, still faded black below that…
“He’s not gay,” I finally stopped letting my jaw bungee, “but you are?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell anybody. If the girls on the squad ever found out. Bye the way,” he turned around, “You trying out this year?”
“Cheer Squad, or Gymnastics?”
“I don’t know, but it actually makes sense.”
“A male cheerleader being gay?” He didn’t roll his eyes, but honestly, I had no idea.
“Yeah, I mean you’re.” I spread my hands out, “On the bottom of the pyramid?”
“Yeah, base man.” He nodded.
“So, the girls up on your shoulders don’t have to worry about you holding their legs, or looking up their skirts.”
“Well, I don’t know about the upskirts thing, they’re cheerleaders. Isn’t that part of the outfit?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a cheerleader!” We all laughed, but finally, Graeme lugged on the end of the bow. “Well, I guess that’s enough practice for one day.”
“So, what are you man?” Brian turned back around, “A. Uh….” Vampire? Satanist? Phantom of the Opera? “Transvestite?”
“No, I don’t like labels,” he crossed his arms, and shrugged, “I’m just Goth.”
“Not really, I guess I went through a Manson phase, but then I found some of the more old-school second wave bands. I always found his act a little to derivative of Alice Cooper’s.”
“Oh Gahud!” Now he sounded gay. “And then Lady Gaga came out.”
“Yeah, Lady gagme with a dick.”
“Well,” Brian held back a pinky with a thumb, “First, she got her name from a Queen song, and then she basically stole her whole show from Madonna.”
“Yeah, but I’m more into the. You mind if I go over here, under the tree?” At least he got a little sun on his arms, and shoulders. Down to the nipples, but we don’t tan. I freckle, he burns.
“Well, what about the trenchcoat?”
“The zippers rub my nipples raw if I don’t tape them at least.” It took him a while to get used to the fishnet.
“Mh,” he shook his head. “Damn shame!”
So then we got to know each other, and started working more Areals into the act. No offense, but my brother’s skinny, and can’t throw me high enough. Let alone catch me, but Brian? Yeah, I’m reconsidering Junior Varity if he’s going to be on Varsity, but we had this whole lust triangle chemistry that really helped.
Graham and I are brother and sister. There’s no dueling banjos in our family, but if that’s what you’re here for, I’m assuming you left your comment already, and fucked off to get back to the inbreeding. Brian’s gay, and Graham’s not. He’s a “Performance Artist/Dancer/Stripper” amateur, scenester, and wannabe hipster. Okay? Gender Nonconformist, maybe a little transvestite, but still definitely not a drag queen.
Brian’s only 17, and I’m not even 16, so we’ve got a couple years to polish our act, but we’re not going to know how good Graeme’s is until Halloween. It turns out the best advertising was practicing out in parks, and fields, because eventually someone came over the river from Missouri (Either East saint louis, or Kansas City, Kansas. I’m not saying which) to ask us if we do parties.
“Well, that’s a problem, because technically it would be across state lines for immoral purposes.” Brian played Lawyer.
“Well,” she looked him up, and down. I’m going to call it a wrestling outfit, but we’re talking lycra shorts, and suspenders, all 1 piece. She bit the end of her glasses, but they’d seen a lot of that already. “Hm,” she thought. “Well, the age of consent is 17 there.”
“What kind of party we talking about?”
“Oh, my daughter’s Quinceañera.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to remind me. I took French insteada Spanish, that’s?”
“15 years old? But the FBI don’t have to get involved.”
“In that case, bring her over here. That way it’s your crime.”
“Fair enough.” He looked at her hand, and backed away, shaking his head.
“Oh, he’s gay,” I shook on it.
“Oh, well.” He’s also a Gymnast, so yeah. Kind of a hunk. “Too bad, I guess the best ones always are.”
“Well, I’m the only other one over 18 here, so let me shake on it.” She looked at his hand, as if to check it for bloodstains, or bits of fur from some dead thing, but she let him take her hand, and kiss the back of it.
“Ooh woahohoh! Well, aren’t you creepy?”
“Yeah, but I ain’t gay.” He winked.
Ariel (Stage Name)
So, cut to the chase: We started out with Ribbons, then we got a little boredly polite applause until Brian came out in a black leather jacket, matching pants, and a greaser curl to lip synch his rendition of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”
I had to hop down, and go over to “You must be the birthday girl,” I guessed, because she lit 15 candles, one by one, to gave them to her friends, and mother. “I’m Ariel.”
“Quincy,” Not her real name either. “Who’s that?” Drooling at both ends, she didn’t look down to notice my hand, so I held it behind the seat of my leotard. (Red ribbon girdle, bow tied in the top.) He’d dropped the leather jacket, but his ripped teeshirt wasn’t down to his chest. Not as hairy as Freddy Mercury, but not as toothy either. Still working on the mustache…
“He’s the best Elvis Impersonator I’ve ever seen!” She giggled, back and fort to her closest friends, who nodded, and giggled back. There was “WAOOW!” all over the room from their mothers, and aunts, though.
“Uhm, Freddy Mercury.” I leaned over, ‘actually. You know, Queen?’
“Uh, as in Drag Queen?” Close enough, I just nodded.
“Oh! Yeah!” The aunts, and mothers were up on the stage, helping him tear off the rest of his shirt.
“Crazy little thing called love. (Yeah Yeah.) Crazy Little Thing Called Love!” They practically dragged him off stage, while the music changed to a synth Organ intro.
“There’s No Time For Us…” He stepped out in the spotlight, following a cloud of theatrical smoke. “There’s no place for us.” Practically like Frank n’ Furter stepping off the Elevator except for the afro wig. “What is this thing that fills our dreams, yet slips away from us? Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever?”
He spread his wings, and lifted them from crucifixion to the Y in YMCA.
“Ooh! Forever… There’s no chance for us?” He shook his head, and started pacing. “It’s all been decided for us.” Somebody tugged my arm, and I looked back.
“Who is that?”
“Oh, that’s my brother.” It was kinda hard to take my eyes off her clown makeup. Okay, it’s a Quinceañera. They had us instead of a live Mariachi band, but I swear to god, they did the Polka. So, there’s gonna be some Chiquitas in the audience, but what bugged me was she shaved her eyebrows, and then painted them back in with what looked like a Sharpie. “Oh, are those gothic arches?”
I winked, and she winked back, but that weirded me out even more. Because not only has somebody gone to the trouble to paint her eyes in iridescent indigo flake, but they also drew Peacock eyes on her eyelids.
“Don’t tell me he’s gay, too.”
“Oh, no. He’s gonna love you after his set!”
She turned to giggle at her friends, they turned to giggle back, so I rolled my eyes. Yeah, I’m 15 too, but I’m not Catholic? God, grow up a little, but I guess we don’t get to pick the party. I was hoping for something better for my first professional gig, but I guess with 2 guys in the act, it’s probably twice as likely to be a taco party.
I mean that as opposed to a Sausage Party. It’s not racist, it’s homophobic. I don’t know about my sexuality yet, I’m still not halfway through puberty, but I’m pretty sure that ain’t it. So anyway, I had to pull the bow, and un-wrap the ribbon so me and Brian could do our Finale.
You know what? I guessed right, it’s actually comforting to know that the guy picking you up, throwing you around, and catching you isn’t going to get distracted, or drop me trying to cop a feel.
Still, too bad he’s gay.
Afterparty (GmM NS. MG Sext.)
“So,” Brian drove back from the gig. “Anybody get lucky? He shrugged, It looked like a taco party to me.”
“Well,” Gràve grinned. “Hahah, yeah. Mrs. Rios sure got over the creep factor with a quickness!”
“Oh my god, what about Mr. Rios?” He wasn’t there at the after party, they all piled into pickups and luxury sedans up on SUV rims. (No low riders, high riders? No idea what you’d call that, but like a boxy Cadillac on Escalade rims. Wire spokes instead of spinners, but lots of chrome trim all over it too.) I just assume the dads, and uncles went off to smoke something, probably Ribs. Maybe Barbacoa for all I know, but the girls stayed with their moms, and aunts to catch our show.
“I only made $150.00 in tips, but it’s funny you should mention that.”
“And you’re into that whole Catholic Sunday school teacher thing?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, she did have a naughty nun costume in her closet.”
“Satin?” Brian guessed.
“Vinyl, with a zipper crotch.”
“Uh!” Can’t get that image out of my head now.
“Here,” He handed me his phone with a $50.00 bill “For your share. He wanted to chat with you, though.”
I braced myself for the inevitable dick pic, but then I cracked an eye, and peeked. “So, we’re talking prostitution now.”
“No, of course not. Prostitution would be illegal.” He winked, and looked over. “You think you can handle that?”
“I don’t know, I’m a virgin.”
“Yeah, I mean the prostitution part.”
“I thought we’re not talking prostitution here, so what are we going to call it?”
“I don’t know, it depends on if you’re in or not.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, he just wants a private party.”
“Yeah, I bet, just the 2 of us?”
“Well,” Brian shrugged, “Would it make you feel any more comfortable if I come along?”
“Yeah, a lot.” I literally trust him with my life. If he throws me wrong, and I don’t land it, I could break my neck, or even an ankle could end your career, if it’s bad enough.
Look, I know damned well what kinds of men I attract. Even before I opened the photo, and saw that it was shaved, completely. “It’s not child molestation if she only looks 11-to-13.”
“He actually say that?”
“No, but you know he’s thinking it.”
It wasn’t even erect, un-circumcised, and “It’s just kinda hard to judge the size from this photo without something for frame of reference.” A dirty old man.
“Then, why don’t you ask him to hold a ruler up, or something?”
“Yeah.” [Cute dick, does it get any bigger when it’s hard?] Maybe if I’m too sassy it’ll turn him off.
[Yes.] He sent another pic, this time of his boner. The foreskin pulled back, but I don’t know if I like it or not yet. It’s a dick, and let’s be honest, they’re all funny looking, but I’m not not interested yet.
[You got a ruler or something you can hold up? Better yet, make it a bill. The biggest bill you have in your wallet.]
Believe it or not, there isn’t a whole lot of money to be made in Gymnastics, Rhythmic Dance, and Performance Art.
[How bout this, big enough?] $100.00
[I don’t know, maybe you should add another bill, to really appreciate the size of it…]
Now, we’re talking prostitution, but it’s not like there’s a legal age for prostitution. So, what does underage prostitution really mean? I had to switch back to Google the Age of Consent in Ohio again, but he’s not 19 or under. Okay? He’s got a 15 year old daughter, but even if I do report him for transporting a minor across state lines for immoral purposes (That’s a Felony, but it’s like a class W felony. But still, it’s a felony.) I’m still a whore.
I mean, that would make me a whore. He sent another picture, with another $50.00
[Okay, so what are we talking about here?]
[You took Ballet?]
[Of course.] I wore Pointes for the performance, they really help with a lot of moves. Expecially spinning fast enough to twirl the ribbon around me, so it can wrap tight enough to cinch around my waist, and tie it in a bow. Which is pretty much our signature move now.
[I thought so,] meaning his daughter told him. 15 year old to 15 year old, he wouldn’t know ballet if it bit him on the leg. [So, maybe you can show me some moves. I know a studio, with mirrors, and everything.]
[Just you, me, and Brian.]
[Who’s Brian?] I looked up, because we stopped. “Brian?”
“What’s up?” Turn lane, still a Red Arrow<
“Say cheese.” He did his best Grease sneer. (Musical theater. Duh.)
[I do not wish to do anything homosexual.]
[Yeah, well I don’t want to wind up tied up in the trunk of a car.]
[I would never do that. I love girls.] Yeah, young. Got that. [I would never do anything to hurt you.]
[Yeah, and if you’re a serial killer you would totally tell me that. For my protection, I don’t feel safe going it alone without him, because I’m a virgin.]
[Oh,] that was quick! [That is okay then. When can I pick you up.]
[You have other plans?]
“Tonight?” My brother echoed.
“Yeah Brian.” [We better drive over there. You know, state lines, immoral purposes?]
[No, what is this?]
[Just send me the address to your dance studio, and look it up on Google. We’ll meet you there.]
“Oh, would you mind excourting me to my first trick?”
“You really going through with it?”
“Not without you there, but I have to stop by home, and change.”
“What do you need me for, he want a threesome?”
“Oh, no. The exact opposite, he’s intimidated by you. So, I know he won’t try anything funny with you watching.”
“Oh okay, but you owe me.”
“There’s a hundred dollar share in it for you.”
“Okay, deal. We’ll shake on it when I’m not driving?”