This Saturday I went to Gary’s annual Pagan Party to celebrate the arrival of autumn. I dressed as a peasant, Gary was Puck, there were people in togas, or witches robes and a guy dressed like Capt. Jack. Fabulous food and good music and a great environment also….there was a basket of fake tattoos. Gary said to pick one and I chose a heart with roses and tribal spirals. Then he asked where I wanted it and I said the small of my back, by my butt.
The rule is, “the tattoos must be licked on.” So he politely asked if I wanted to do it in front of everyone or go to a private room.
I opted for the room.
So it happened that as I was on my hands and knees with my dress mucked up around my chest and my bum to the door, and Gary-dressed as Puck was on his knees behind me licking a tattoo onto my butt crack – that an innocent partygoer staggered into the room, saw what must have looked like something much more fun than it actually was and sputtered a stream of apologies, stammering over herself with embarrassment before rushing outside and slamming the door. Whereupon Gary and I both broke into fits of laughter and he pulled the tattoo off before it was wet enough which meant only the sides of the heart stuck and the middle was missing.
How appropriate.
I’ve known Gary for about four years now and as we went back downstairs I said, “Gary, I hope you know that I don’t let just anyone lick my butt. Only my really good friends.”
Thanks for being my friend, Gary.
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