Monday, December 15, 2008
Dot Doesn’t P. Freely
Whoa, it has been a long time people! Look at this gap in posts. No excuse, people, no excuse. You know how Dot said that she started her comedy act so she wouldn’t be depressed, sitting on her butch butt and drinking Bud Lite? Well that’s exactly what Dot did after her last break up. That is until her ass kicking mother, Fatima Lazarius, came all the way to St. Louis from Southern Illinois and dragged Dot’s ever-widening butt to a Coptic Christian retreat at Lake of the Ozarks beautiful Tan Tara resort. People, Dot isn’t kidding when she says she’s a recovering Armenian Orthodox but the Metropolitan that ran this retreat really made Dot think about a couple things. People, Dot had a vision while gazing into a gorgeous Byzantine icon of the Blessed Virgin – The BVM said it to Dot loud and clear – get back into your act, get back into your activism.
You know what I did people? Right when I got back up north, I quit my job as the manager of the Qdoba on Grand (another story, people, another story) and became a full time volun-QUEER for Barak Obama. Dot took a lot of heat for that, and not just from the regulars at Qdoba. I’m talking about the Hilary supporters, people. Dot lost friends over this election, and she certainly lost pussy to lick, but that’s okay people. Having a vagina doesn’t disqualify a person from office, but neither does it qualify a person, people. It does, however, qualify a person to sit on Dot’s face! See, it’s the old Dot back people!
Politics are for another post people, this post is about some wild shit Dot got into with a pretty kinky lady down at Tan Tara. That’s right, people, Dot got laid at a Coptic Christian retreat. Hey, I said I was depressed, I didn’t say I was dead!
So Dot’s kneeling down at the daily service, the incense parts, and I lay eyes upon a gorgeous dark beauty in painter’s overalls and a KC Chiefs jersey. And people, this lady was as butch as they come—almost as butch as Bathsheba Zyad, who, for those not in the know, was the only womyn butch enough to crash the Counsel of Constantinople. Dot’s eyes went out of focus at the cognitive dissonance of seeing such a perfect specimen – or should I say “speciwomyn”--of butch dykehood wearing the jersey of one of Dot’s most hated teams. But you know what people? Dot was in the mood for game and only beaver would hit the spot.
I tapped the dyke on the evil jersey. She turned around and looked at me suspiciously.
“Dot” I said, extending my hand.
“Kris” she said, smiling and extending hers.
“So…Chiefs fan, eh?” I asked.
“I bleed bits of arrowhead.”
This dyke was serious! But Dot’s no fair-weather fan. You might not believe it, but I’d go to the mat for the Rams, before I’d go to the carpet for a munch. Am I right people?
“Do you now?” Dot asked, thick eyebrows raised, “Well Dot eats arrowheads for breakfast.”
Dot thought for sure Kris was going to get pissed off, in fact I was trying for that aggressive sexual tension between butch dykes thing, but she seemed to get…I don’t know how to put this…sexually excited by Dot’s anti-Chiefs comment.
“Kinky.” Kris said, looking Dot up and down. I’ll tell you what, people, Dot was looking fine. I was wearing my Obama/Equal Rights Campaign long-sleeved T, relaxed fit Wrangler jeans, and hiking boots just in case some outdoor activity presents itself. Also, I had just been to Angie at Best Little Hair House for a touch up on my hair.
“So,” Kris said, hooking her thumbs into the empty hammer holders of her overalls and rocking back on the heels of her Timberlands, “think the trout are biting today?”
“I like the way you think.” I said, honestly. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Next thing Dot knew, she was skipping out on the afternoon session about Pope Shenouda III’s encyclical on touching the divine and renting a speed boat to go fishing on the lake. If Shenouda saw Kris, I think he would give Dot dispensation to skip out on the lecture in order to get a chance to touch her divine, if you know what I mean people! That is, of course, assuming he were a butch dyke and not a presumably heterosexual man!
As we walked down toward the boat, I got the impression that Kris and I had the same thing on our mind, and it wasn’t trout. I hefted my fishing pole and wondered aloud if it would hold up. Get this people, Kris says, “Dot, if that thing doesn’t hold up maybe you’ll have better luck with my strap on!”
“You get many bites on it?” Dot asked.
“Not from trout. But it usually gets me quite a bit of tuna.”
Hey-O!
Kris and I get in the boat and cast our lines. I’ll tell you what, people, if Kris works a strap on half as good as she works a fishing pole, Dot’s in for some good lovin’ in the ‘Zarks! We brought a six pack of cans of But Lite with us, and after a couple three brews, Dot started having to take a leak. Problem was, the trout were really biting and we didn’t want to lose our prime spot to someone who doesn’t appreciate great fishing. I told Kris the lease on the beer Dot was renting was about to expire. Again, Dot’s prediction didn’t match up with reality – I expected Kris would be a little irritated by the fact that we’d have to go ashore, but instead she seemed….sexually excited by Dot’s full bladder.
“Kinky.” She said, looking Dot up and down again.
“Not really,” I replied, “just uncomfortable.”
“Go here.” She said, not taking her eyes off Dot. She pointed over the side of the boat. Dot was confused. I looked around. There were a couple other old men fishing alone, not too far from our boat, but Dot could probably take a leak in the lake of the Ozarks without them seeing. The problem was that Kris, who I had only met two hours ago, would see. This seemed pretty intimate. Even at the end with El we closed the door when we took a piss. I mean, once, El was taking a shower and I really had to go bad but El promised to stay in the shower, with the water on and not peek out of the curtains.
Kris was still starring at me, now her gaze moved to my wranglers. She was clearly watching my crotch. I positioned myself closer to the edge of the boat. I told Kris to turn around but she kept starring at me with a naughty smile on her face.
Then it dawned on Dot (finally!): this lady is into golden showers. Now Dot has heard about the golden shower, but it has never rained down upon her. Dot’s attitude about piss has always been the same as that Jamaican guy in the circa 1980s 7-up commercial’s attitude about caffeine: “never had it, never will.” Dot just doesn’t see the appeal. I mean, maybe if her plane crashed in the desert and Dot needed water she would maybe drink pee. But it wouldn’t turn her on! I don’t know, I mean are these people turned on by toilets? Do they fuck toilets? Are they turned on when a car splashes water from a nasty puddle on them? Doesn’t compute, people, doesn’t compute.
On the one hand, Dot is anti-piss. On the other hand, Dot is willing to try anything once. On the third hand (aka the strap on – am I right people?) Dot thinks Kris is super hot. So what did I do, people? I dropped my wranglers, hung my butt over the side of the boat and took a piss while Kris looked on, excited. That wasn’t so bad. Kris got a strap on boner and Dot got to relieve her bladder without losing her prime fishing spot.
If only that were the end. That night after an awesome dinner at the Tan Tara Lodge, Dot and Kris retired to Kris’s room – Dot was sharing a room with her mom, which may have cramped the styles of two hot butch dykes! Sex in front of parents is never a fun thing. Am I right people? We get into the room and Kris pushes me into the shower. Dot wasn’t offended. I know I was a little ripe from the fishing and the excitement of being with a new lady (it’s been a while for more than just blog posts, people!). But Kris didn’t want to wash Dot off. Oh no. In fact, quite the opposite. Kris took off my clothes and then took off her own and piled them outside the bathtub.
The Kris laid down in the bathtub between Dot’s legs.
“Pee on me.” She said.
Well, Dot had to go, but nothing would come out.
“Release your bladder!” Kris said.
Dot looked up at the ceiling and tried. I began to pee. It went down my leg and splashed all over the tub. Hardly any of it hit Kris. Kris squirmed, trying to get her golden shower and yelled at me to squat down. I did but the piss just went out the side of the tub, for some reason. Hey, Dot wears a strap on people but she doesn’t have a dick, ok!
Around this time, Kris is getting pissed rather than getting pissed ON. She starts cussing like a sailor and gets up and turns on the taps. Dot apologizes. Kris says it’s ok, not everyone is as kinky as she is.
So, people, Dot’s first experience with water sports didn’t go so well. Dot and Kris may not be a love connection, but we’ll continue to be friends, bonded forever over our love of sports, fishing, and our Coptic Christian heritage. You know what they say, people, make new friends, and keep the old. One is silver and the other [likes] gold[en] showers.
Am I right, people?
Whoa, it has been a long time people! Look at this gap in posts. No excuse, people, no excuse. You know how Dot said that she started her comedy act so she wouldn’t be depressed, sitting on her butch butt and drinking Bud Lite? Well that’s exactly what Dot did after her last break up. That is until her ass kicking mother, Fatima Lazarius, came all the way to St. Louis from Southern Illinois and dragged Dot’s ever-widening butt to a Coptic Christian retreat at Lake of the Ozarks beautiful Tan Tara resort. People, Dot isn’t kidding when she says she’s a recovering Armenian Orthodox but the Metropolitan that ran this retreat really made Dot think about a couple things. People, Dot had a vision while gazing into a gorgeous Byzantine icon of the Blessed Virgin – The BVM said it to Dot loud and clear – get back into your act, get back into your activism.
You know what I did people? Right when I got back up north, I quit my job as the manager of the Qdoba on Grand (another story, people, another story) and became a full time volun-QUEER for Barak Obama. Dot took a lot of heat for that, and not just from the regulars at Qdoba. I’m talking about the Hilary supporters, people. Dot lost friends over this election, and she certainly lost pussy to lick, but that’s okay people. Having a vagina doesn’t disqualify a person from office, but neither does it qualify a person, people. It does, however, qualify a person to sit on Dot’s face! See, it’s the old Dot back people!
Politics are for another post people, this post is about some wild shit Dot got into with a pretty kinky lady down at Tan Tara. That’s right, people, Dot got laid at a Coptic Christian retreat. Hey, I said I was depressed, I didn’t say I was dead!
So Dot’s kneeling down at the daily service, the incense parts, and I lay eyes upon a gorgeous dark beauty in painter’s overalls and a KC Chiefs jersey. And people, this lady was as butch as they come—almost as butch as Bathsheba Zyad, who, for those not in the know, was the only womyn butch enough to crash the Counsel of Constantinople. Dot’s eyes went out of focus at the cognitive dissonance of seeing such a perfect specimen – or should I say “speciwomyn”--of butch dykehood wearing the jersey of one of Dot’s most hated teams. But you know what people? Dot was in the mood for game and only beaver would hit the spot.
I tapped the dyke on the evil jersey. She turned around and looked at me suspiciously.
“Dot” I said, extending my hand.
“Kris” she said, smiling and extending hers.
“So…Chiefs fan, eh?” I asked.
“I bleed bits of arrowhead.”
This dyke was serious! But Dot’s no fair-weather fan. You might not believe it, but I’d go to the mat for the Rams, before I’d go to the carpet for a munch. Am I right people?
“Do you now?” Dot asked, thick eyebrows raised, “Well Dot eats arrowheads for breakfast.”
Dot thought for sure Kris was going to get pissed off, in fact I was trying for that aggressive sexual tension between butch dykes thing, but she seemed to get…I don’t know how to put this…sexually excited by Dot’s anti-Chiefs comment.
“Kinky.” Kris said, looking Dot up and down. I’ll tell you what, people, Dot was looking fine. I was wearing my Obama/Equal Rights Campaign long-sleeved T, relaxed fit Wrangler jeans, and hiking boots just in case some outdoor activity presents itself. Also, I had just been to Angie at Best Little Hair House for a touch up on my hair.
“So,” Kris said, hooking her thumbs into the empty hammer holders of her overalls and rocking back on the heels of her Timberlands, “think the trout are biting today?”
“I like the way you think.” I said, honestly. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Next thing Dot knew, she was skipping out on the afternoon session about Pope Shenouda III’s encyclical on touching the divine and renting a speed boat to go fishing on the lake. If Shenouda saw Kris, I think he would give Dot dispensation to skip out on the lecture in order to get a chance to touch her divine, if you know what I mean people! That is, of course, assuming he were a butch dyke and not a presumably heterosexual man!
As we walked down toward the boat, I got the impression that Kris and I had the same thing on our mind, and it wasn’t trout. I hefted my fishing pole and wondered aloud if it would hold up. Get this people, Kris says, “Dot, if that thing doesn’t hold up maybe you’ll have better luck with my strap on!”
“You get many bites on it?” Dot asked.
“Not from trout. But it usually gets me quite a bit of tuna.”
Hey-O!
Kris and I get in the boat and cast our lines. I’ll tell you what, people, if Kris works a strap on half as good as she works a fishing pole, Dot’s in for some good lovin’ in the ‘Zarks! We brought a six pack of cans of But Lite with us, and after a couple three brews, Dot started having to take a leak. Problem was, the trout were really biting and we didn’t want to lose our prime spot to someone who doesn’t appreciate great fishing. I told Kris the lease on the beer Dot was renting was about to expire. Again, Dot’s prediction didn’t match up with reality – I expected Kris would be a little irritated by the fact that we’d have to go ashore, but instead she seemed….sexually excited by Dot’s full bladder.
“Kinky.” She said, looking Dot up and down again.
“Not really,” I replied, “just uncomfortable.”
“Go here.” She said, not taking her eyes off Dot. She pointed over the side of the boat. Dot was confused. I looked around. There were a couple other old men fishing alone, not too far from our boat, but Dot could probably take a leak in the lake of the Ozarks without them seeing. The problem was that Kris, who I had only met two hours ago, would see. This seemed pretty intimate. Even at the end with El we closed the door when we took a piss. I mean, once, El was taking a shower and I really had to go bad but El promised to stay in the shower, with the water on and not peek out of the curtains.
Kris was still starring at me, now her gaze moved to my wranglers. She was clearly watching my crotch. I positioned myself closer to the edge of the boat. I told Kris to turn around but she kept starring at me with a naughty smile on her face.
Then it dawned on Dot (finally!): this lady is into golden showers. Now Dot has heard about the golden shower, but it has never rained down upon her. Dot’s attitude about piss has always been the same as that Jamaican guy in the circa 1980s 7-up commercial’s attitude about caffeine: “never had it, never will.” Dot just doesn’t see the appeal. I mean, maybe if her plane crashed in the desert and Dot needed water she would maybe drink pee. But it wouldn’t turn her on! I don’t know, I mean are these people turned on by toilets? Do they fuck toilets? Are they turned on when a car splashes water from a nasty puddle on them? Doesn’t compute, people, doesn’t compute.
On the one hand, Dot is anti-piss. On the other hand, Dot is willing to try anything once. On the third hand (aka the strap on – am I right people?) Dot thinks Kris is super hot. So what did I do, people? I dropped my wranglers, hung my butt over the side of the boat and took a piss while Kris looked on, excited. That wasn’t so bad. Kris got a strap on boner and Dot got to relieve her bladder without losing her prime fishing spot.
If only that were the end. That night after an awesome dinner at the Tan Tara Lodge, Dot and Kris retired to Kris’s room – Dot was sharing a room with her mom, which may have cramped the styles of two hot butch dykes! Sex in front of parents is never a fun thing. Am I right people? We get into the room and Kris pushes me into the shower. Dot wasn’t offended. I know I was a little ripe from the fishing and the excitement of being with a new lady (it’s been a while for more than just blog posts, people!). But Kris didn’t want to wash Dot off. Oh no. In fact, quite the opposite. Kris took off my clothes and then took off her own and piled them outside the bathtub.
The Kris laid down in the bathtub between Dot’s legs.
“Pee on me.” She said.
Well, Dot had to go, but nothing would come out.
“Release your bladder!” Kris said.
Dot looked up at the ceiling and tried. I began to pee. It went down my leg and splashed all over the tub. Hardly any of it hit Kris. Kris squirmed, trying to get her golden shower and yelled at me to squat down. I did but the piss just went out the side of the tub, for some reason. Hey, Dot wears a strap on people but she doesn’t have a dick, ok!
Around this time, Kris is getting pissed rather than getting pissed ON. She starts cussing like a sailor and gets up and turns on the taps. Dot apologizes. Kris says it’s ok, not everyone is as kinky as she is.
So, people, Dot’s first experience with water sports didn’t go so well. Dot and Kris may not be a love connection, but we’ll continue to be friends, bonded forever over our love of sports, fishing, and our Coptic Christian heritage. You know what they say, people, make new friends, and keep the old. One is silver and the other [likes] gold[en] showers.
Am I right, people?
# posted by Dot @ 11:22 AM 
