Saturday

Miss B had told Panties she would be by Wednesday. Panties got a text in the evening saying she would be leaving around 8. By ten, Panties was worried and called her. She explained that a friend had called and that she wouldn’t be coming. She said she would be over on Thursday and for Panties to be dressed and ready. Panties waited for her all day happily and prepared dinner for her. Then Miss B called and said she didn’t feel like training after yoga and that she was going home to be with her cat. Today. Miss B came by after meeting with friends. She looked extra pretty and relaxed and a after a very intense conversation (which is radioactive to the extent that is probably will be made available only by special request or maybe in the annex blog) with Panties she took a shower. She watched a PBS documentary as Panties served her a toasted ham and cheddar sandwich with garlic and olive oil with a cup of wildberry tea. She remarked matter-of-factly that she would not be going to the scene party that evening Panties had been looking forward to all week because she preferred to hang out with Miss T and one or two of her other friends. Panties hurried to refill her water glass which she accepted without a word. Just the sound of her munching. Her damp copper hair catches the afternoon light. She’s napping now lying on Panties’ bed with her feet on the pillow. Panties covered her with a blanket. “Wake me around 4,” she said.

It was dark when she finally woke. She was making plans to meet her friends when suddenly she remarked she would rather go to the party. Panties hurried to shower and make up and dress. Miss B looked at a few skirts but decided to go casual. We arrived before midnight at a downstairs space built up with a wood maze with peepholes cut out. There were several beds and a shower and slings and harnesses and workbenches. Some people had brought beer to go with the bottles of coke and plates of fig newtons and cookies. (Panties was hoping for mints to counter the garlicy meal she and Miss B had eaten.) There was mostly whipping and spanking. One women, getting breast tortured. Many high sighs of pain-to-pleasure. One big couple filled one closet with their coupling. Later, there was an activity where you tape on numbers so that anyone who fancies you writes down your number (Miss B: 6, Panties: 29, and Barbie: 47) along with what that person would like to do to/with you. Everyone was mostly shy about it. The idea is to discretely spy someone’s number so that it is a mystery when their number is called. But “6” was called right away. Panties ran into Karen who is from down South but sounds Russian. She was keeping an eye on her friend who was entangled under a lot of flesh on one of the beds. Late in the evening Panties met S. and E. who weren’t wearing numbers. They were watching an ambiguously gendered person in panties, bra and fishnets, ram, and cuddle, roughly with his/her lover. Panties had met S. possibly, somewhere before, perhaps at Cattyshack? Also on the way out, there was Julia, just for a second. It was a friendly crowd. And you didn’t feel you were going to get sprayed with something messy at any second. There was one big aggressive queen who didn’t bother to check his male shtick at the top of the stairs. But the party was clearly a feminine affair. Most of the smallish males were apparently F-T-M. Panties found Miss B sitting not that contentedly with her admirer in one of the cubicles. She had Panties come in and introduce Barbie. Soon after it was close to 2 and we exited, took a few purply photos at the front door and caught a cab. On one of the back streets Panties pointed to a corner apartment where the lights were on behind the drawn blinds. The apartment over it was also lit. On the street right below several men were hanging out. Panties didn’t have time to get the camera out. And that’s how the night wound down. Ω