I wake up with the instantaneous feeling of stress emanating from my body before I even throw off the covers. What should be a day filled with nothing but carefree thoughts on a rare occurrence of a day off begins with a free flowing to-do list so long and unrealistic I stress out all life forms within a 100-mile radius.I begin my errands, which I will not go into detail about to save you from feelings of overwhelming boredom that would no doubt result from such a long list of rudimentary tasks. A day set out to be a fun-filled accomplishment of monotonous tasks, followed by shopping and gossip with my recently single girlfriend turned out to be anything but. As spontaneity, inconsistency, and coincidence become words I increasingly use as buzz-words to describe my life to any stranger that will listen, these plans changed as they often seem to do. Plans for a lunch date, turned into dinner, and a quick bite turned into getting thoroughly intoxicated with my best friend at my place of work. To preface the relationship between my friend and I, she is my other half. We gossip, giggle, and have the strange ability to communicate more than one can imagine with a simple facial expression or what may appear to others as a quick glance. Both seemingly shallow on the exterior, but as far from it as can be imagined on the inside. Andie, tall and slender, head to toe in black, only to be described as reminiscent of a 50s pin-up burlesque dancer complete with fire engine red lipstick, garnished with a delicate flower, and four-inch black boots accompanied by yours truly. I stand beside her no more than 5'1, far from eye level even with the boost from my high zebra stilettos. Ornate beaded red necklace, collared black and white shirt, and black pencil skirt, Andie and I are overtly dressed for the upcoming night out, though those who know us see this as our usual attire. Our now dinner date conversation ranged from gossip and men to the current political climate as described on the Colbert Report. Deciding to drink outside the norm of my usual Guinness stout, I decide to consume a cocktail chosen for me by the waitress among the vast array of drinks on the menu. One cocktail turned into a few, and early dinner on the patio turned into a buzzing summer night. We leave the restaurant giddily buzzed and decide shoe shopping to be the only viable option after a few cocktails with dinner. Both of us unable to say no to a shoe sale at Aldo, we browse awhile among the outdoor mall. We shop around a bit and let ourselves loose in a clothing store, women bursting with femininity, like sisters born apart return simultaneously to the dressing room with the same gathered red polka dot dress. Our eyes lock with a giggle and silent promises not to wear the dress on the same day. We finally leave the mall purses' a bit lighter, and enter my silver coupe. I reluctantly enter the address of the fetish club into my GPS that I by some miracle have been coaxed into attending. Despite my reluctance considering fetish is not among my many pastimes, I cannot bring myself to let Andie go alone to meet this anonymous photographer for her modeling gig. Later realizing that this decision had been a wise one, Andie and I begin this mess together.
A simulated robotic Australian accent echoing in my ear so amicably programmed by my tech-savvy friend, Andie and I inefficiently follow the turn-by-turn GPS directions. Uneasiness settling in my stomach though I am grossly unaware of what I was truly getting myself into. Inevitably my keen sense of direction failed me once again, after getting sufficiently lost we finally find the place and a parking spot right out front what I later refer to as the "Club from Hell". I reluctantly step out of the car anxious but happy to accompany my friend as her compact 5 foot chicly dressed body guard/photographer. We swiftly approach the club doors where two bouncers are stationed. Two middle-aged bald men engaged in what seemed to be an undaunted conversation radiant of masculinity, sports, and boobs. The seemingly more arrogant man on the left instantly recognized my friend from her unparalleled modeling portfolio via a modeling website. He ushers us inside assuring us he will follow though not before taking my friends hand and pressing a few free drink coupons into her palm in an unexplainable covert manner. We open the doors and enter a hall lit dimly with imitation torches and constructed in such a way to give the illusion of a seemingly boundless cave. Already overcome with apprehension this was the last venue to offer any bit of solace. The usual authoritative click of our heels slowed to a hesitant creep, exacerbating the ominous overreaching hallway. We exchange a squeamish look that is quickly remedied by Andie's contagious giggle, we then nonchalantly make our way up the stairwell. We finally reach the top and I warily reach for the door handle to open it, we enter a room that could be the large ballroom of a haunted house.What I failed to notice at this point were sporadic empty cages scattered throughout the room embellished with gargoyle staircases, these cages would become less foreign later on that evening. The poorly lit room, ornate with Halloween decor remained virtually barren aside from 2 bartenders across the vast space. Feelings of overwhelming relief at the thankfully unpopular fetish night overcame me as we approached the nearly empty bar. Andie and I sit at the bar and wait for what seems like an eternity for the two women behind the bar to finish their animate conversation in Spanish. Trying to decipher their conversation with my minute knowledge of the Spanish language, to no avail. As time goes by and we receive not even as much as a glance, we increasingly feel as though we are inconveniencing them by simply attempting to be customers at their godforsaken bar. The woman on the left infinitely more animated than her co-worker to the left is dressed in leather skirt so short any sudden movement would undoubtedly reveal at least one if not both ass cheeks. Her co-worker no less revealing with a deep plunging neckline revealing the majority of her breasts and shorts so short I see no hope for any semblance of comfortability. Little did I know this would only prove to be the beginning of a fun-filled night of debauchery and masochism. The at first less than ecstatic woman in the leather skirt greets us and asks us what we want to drink in an accent so thick I understand more based on intuition than actual verbatim. Already less than thrilled at the extremely unfamiliar ambiance, Andie laughs at my lack of enthusiasm and orders us both a Vodka and Sprite. The woman lethargically prepares the drinks and returns with two tiny plastic solo cups complete with classy miniature red straws. The woman announces the amount of the unjustifiably overpriced drinks, and reluctantly accepts the coupons given to us by the bizarre bald man at the club's entrance. Unable to mask my fascination of Latin American culture I strike up a conversation, and not before long I am showing off my less than proficient Spanish-speaking skills. Andie rolls her eyes as Carlita and I practically become long lost amigas as I go off on my tangent regarding the injustices involving Colombia and United States foreign policy that Andie has no doubt heard for the umpteenth time. After Andie and I leave an overly generous tip, Carlita directs us towards the upper level of the club where she tells us we should wait for John. Before we make our way to the upper level I decide to make a stop at the bathroom. This being for reasons one would think of as conventional uses of a bathroom, not not to partake in what it is that women normally do for so long in there. These reasons being gossip, make-up, other miscellaneous primping, or sometimes escape. After a minor search with a few wrong turns only to be blamed on the steadily rising level of my Blood Alcohol Content I find the bathroom in the most accessible straightforward place, where I had started this adventure. I enter immediately coming to a sudden rigid halt, I stand motionless at a sight I had never seen in the flesh. I stood there glaring remaining oblivious to the fact that there was virtually no justification for my bewilderment. Considering that my current location was that of an obscure fetish club I should have been more expectant, despite this I remained static. I remained latent in the doorway unknowingly gaping for what no doubt for this woman had to be an uncomfortable length of time.The woman was leaning over the sink casually applying her ebony black eyeliner smudging it to gain the desired effect.The dark eyeliner and overwhelming mascara gave high contrast to her fierce steel blue eyes. She stood at least 5 inches taller than her natural height due to her clunky combat boots with innumerous quantities of chains jingling from head to toe. Her nipples and their adornments discernible even with the thick crisscrossed duct tape attempting to conceal them, I can only conceive of this as being painful later, though it seemed by her attire she must be into this kind of thing. Her breasts drooped as they lay pressed against the sink as she continued to apply what seemed to be a never ending supply of make-up. She wore ripped leather pants so tight the only indicator that they were in fact pants and not painted on were the fishnets emerging from copious amount of rips, leaving them ultimately useless.Lastly the most delicate part of her outfit being her delicate lace thong complete with skull and crossbones. Our juxtaposition remaining in high contrast the woman without hesitation nonchalantly looks at me unaware of the time that has passed since since I had remained uncontrollably fixated on her and asks "You got any cover up?". Unable to withdraw my attention from her jaw engrossed at the piece of neon green chewing gum protruding from her mouth, I somehow contrive the ability to refocus my gaze on my own array of cosmetics in search of some cover up. I find it hand it to her reluctantly and enter the stall, I stand there for a minute now even more apprehensive than when I first walked into the place. I exit the stall and she is still caking on my cover up in a way that many would deem as inappropriate and I can't help but think I would not be using the cover up again.
