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Jun. 16th, 2008 | 09:58 pm

Once I was a party in Albuquerque. This was when I was in school and ceramics/clay sculpture was my major at the time. I was with Laurel Foster who was also a clay person, who had just gotten in the master's program. She was slightly mexican with broad, white teeth, very pretty. The party at first seemed to be just a regular kegger. We didn't know anyone at the party, just got word of it and went.

After awhile some people were dancing, and then a few took their shirts off. We figured out they were on ecstacy, which is a hallucinogen and produces stimulant effects like amphetamine. It is commonly marketed as a "feel good drug" because of the positive feelings of well being and empathy toward other people, elimination of anxiety, and extreme relaxation.

I don't remember quite how I figured it out, but of course it was no big deal. They were just having a great time over in a little nook room by themselves, dancing.


This is where the story takes a little turn. From the little nook room comes a dancer, a curly headed man, probably 35, a beer belly, definitely not in shape, perhaps a teensy effeminate. His pupils are dilated, he 's all smiles. It's time for him to dance. He takes off his shirt, exposing a hairy chest, with fat pods that make them almost breasts instead. He swings the shirt in a strip-tease cabaret, swirling it and finally letting it go into the audience.

Off come the pants. "Wheeew! Wheeeeew!!!!!" he cries. "Wheeeeewww!!!!" catcalls the drunken audience, just us party-goers. The jeans twirl and swirl, 'round and round and round she goes, where she stops, nobody knows!!!' The denim jeans soar into the living room. His white legs and beer belly undulate in the sheer pleasure of being exposed to the crisp afternoon air. He can hardly wait to continue, and continue he does. His underwear comes off awkwardly, he must bend, lift pull through. He's no expert at this part. He twirls the boxer shorts over his head, he dances, his soft fleshy hips back and forth. He is free. The combination of music, beverage, the stage, the audience, the drug all combine into a new and pristeen experience for him, wafting in waves of pure electric pleasure, which he feels in every cell, beautiful light flowing through him, He continues to dance and smile crazily, by now he is aware only of himself.

He is a spectacle to be sure. There is an unfortunate fact of his birth and his life, which he has now shown to all of his. His penis, white, purplish, and perhaps slightly shrunken from the cool breeze, is no bigger than the day he was born. His tiny baby penis fails to sway as he moves his body to the music. In truth it has no weight of its own, it is only a small protrusion from his abdomen. Unlike his hairy chest and belly, this region is bare. Nature has left it to be infantile, forever a cherub's little pee pee.

He is smiling his widest smile, and suddenly while his underwear over his head, he notices Laurel Foster across the room.

'Come and dance with me!' he coos, extending a dramatic beckoning finger.

'I don't want to!' she issues back to him, smiling, not mean.

'But we're the only ones here!' he lavishes.

'Really?' she lavishes back.

'Yes!! These people are only figments of our imagination!' He twirls his underwear and fleshy white hip her way. By now the figments of imagination are laughing our asses off.


'I didn't know that!' Laurel says. 'I thought they were real people!'

'They're not!' he retorts convincingly.

'Well I still don't want to come over there!' says Laurel, establishing her boundary.

The guy, not a he-she but just a pre-pubescent man, twirled his underwear at her for another four minutes or so, trying to attract this specimen of the opposite sex. The audience by now is in a continuous wave of laughter, which he senses is encouragement for a little while. Then he began to look around the room, seeing the individual people for the first time in perhaps twenty minutes. Just as Adam and Eve he became aware of his nakedness, and was ashamed.
Helpers from around the room helped him gather his clothes, and then he ran away out of the Garden.


Later on I went outside. The sun had gone down. I saw him sitting in a rusted metal chair under a tree, fully clothed. He was drinking a Budweiser longneck.

'You okay?' I didn't want to bother him.

'Yeah, I'm okay,' he said. He wouldn't look up at me, only stared in the direction of the crimson setting sun. I went over and got him another Budweiser. He took it without turning his gaze.

'Thanks,' he said.

'Yeah sure,' I said.


Then Laurel and I took off, it seemed like the party was kind of winding down. I remember starting the car and rolling out of the driveway. I knew what he had just done, exposing his worst demons, his most coveted secret from the world. Despite all that, and feeling sorry for him, I was in a good mood, the crisp spring air moving around, I had confidence in the car I was driving as it rolled down the driveway. Laurel lit a cigarette for me even though she didn't smoke, and we drove back to our own neighborhood there in Albuquerque and fished out a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican food. Hot green chile dark brown greasy refried beans, really good relleno fried in egg batter. It was really good, just the kind you want.

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