All about balance

I met a rad guy last night. He is a writer for the Source and Spin Magazine and a couple different publications out of Boston. Dope dude. I was at the “Music Gym” in Austin helping some buddies throw a party, introduce some new bands, and have a good time. The good time is second nature, easy as ice-cream. The first band up was The Audible Mainframe, and they were fucking dope. They were so talented in fact that I asked them for their contact info so that we could collaborate on my upcoming Rough Sex line for Vivid. Group of hip hop heads, we sat smoking weed right by the BBQ man, at the back of the club. The club had this familiar feel, kind of like you are at your best friends house, but he has made this fantastic bar in place of his living room, and is playing porn on the walls of two different rooms. An entirely different crowd than any cali bar I’ve ever been to, a different crowd than anything I’ve experienced I suppose. Perhaps its because of the bars house-like nature, but the whole night was spent waiting for someone I knew to walk through the front door. Or even the side door. Of course nobody I expected to come through the door actually did, so I was glad for the friends that I made immediately which served to satisfy my nasty little house party fantasy. Mr. Music is in town for the “music” convention, has ties and connects with all the big hip-hop guys and pretty much everyone I love. So after the Audible Mainframe, he bounced to go check out another club and another band, and ended up coming back for the very last act.

Which is good because in the time he was gone, I drank one too many beers, smoked a bowl too many, ate some bomb ass BBQ and made an ass of myself first by tripping in my stupid pretty boots with a tastetastic sandwhich in hand, and then the second time by spilling my delicious BBQ chicken, sausage and miscellaneous meat products all over my sparkly silver dress. Fortunately its one of those slinky wrinkly you can get spots and just hide it away dress, made for messy dressy ho’s like me.

Anyhoot, but the time Mr. Music got back, the last band was into their set about three songs, and he and I sat down and spoke of prose, ho’s and all our favorite rappers. I asked him questions like a groupy, not necessarily for the guys and musicians, but for the peak into personal lives that have created beautiful music which seems to be the one thing consistent in my life. Hip-hop and rap have been forever in me, built part of my attitude and outlook, contributed to my spending issues, and kinda pimperistic ways. So much in the music flows with my lifestyle, and nobody ever wants to talk music with me. Porn porn porn. Always porn. Funny too because at the beginning of the evening, I met these two gentlemen, and they asked if I ever got sick of talking about porn. Told ‘em “when you have a nine to five you can’t bitch about going to business meetings. You do the job when the job calls. Then you go on regular, real life mode. Its just finding a comfortable switch between the two. Finding balance.

But isn’t everything?

Mr. Music and I chatted the night away. When it came time for everyone to go home, he asked if I wanted to hang out….smoke some herb…hang out. The thought of kissing him had already crossed my mind, but I didn’t wanna seem like a stupid drunk girl, so I left the wave pass, jumped up in its foamy wake. We came back to my hotel, and after talking for like two hours, we started making out. Then it started getting hot and heavy….at which point we both realized, no condoms. So he left to get some, and I lay in bed thinking about what a strange turn the night has taken. I never bring people home. First of all, they end up knowing where you live, and second of all, people who aren’t on the road all the time don’t understand that once tonight is over, we can’t become attached or anything silly like that. It just won’t work when you’re in your home town. But when you are in a different state, hanging out with someone who is going someplace totally different than where I am going tomorrow, and we may just see eachother again, and fuck eachothers brains out again, but it won’t drive either one crazy if we don’t because everything is taken at face value.

That being said, or thought, I passed out. After all, it was 5:30 in the morning. But I had given him a key to my room…..among other things.

(insert gratuitous sex scene here, multiple orgasms all over the nasty little travellodge, and with the last condom came the most insane part of the whole night which played out simply as incredibly intimate sex with someone I instantly felt a connection to.)

Then we passed out. He had to go back to his place to write in the morning, so I set an alarm, which I never heard, kissed him before he left, and slept long into the afternoon. But now we are going to lunch, before I go hop on a plane back to cali, and before he finishes his time here, and moves on to another town, with different musicians, and new feelings. Or maybe the same old ones. Either way, it was nice to have a guilt free night, a night with no repercussions, or hard feelings….or even difficult ones. Mostly it was just nice to get the shit fucked out of me by someone who I had wanted to mentally fuck all night.

All about balance.


~ by Penny Flame on March 13, 2008.

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