So last night I got together with a bunch of girls from the local scene for what has been dubbed Vagina Friday. We met up at this AWESOME barbecue place that plays live music on Friday nights and, according to the unofficial coordinator of this get-together (a.k.a. the girl who kicked our asses into finally all showing up in the same place at the same time), is one of only two places in the area that serves a drink called a Zombie. I’d never heard of or drank a Zombie before last night; it was really good.
We stuffed our faces full of REAL barbecue, got a-few-drinksy and finally made our way out onto the dance floor to the sounds of some dudes on the stage playing what sounded like a mix of rock and zydeco. It was… a really unbelievable night.
In the car on the way back home – no, I was not driving – I got to thinking about what made it such a good time. Yeah, the great food and booty shakin’ music helped; they always do! But it was really the company that rounded it out. I began to wonder if I would have had the same great time with friends who were not kinky (not that I really have any of those up here).
Don’t get me wrong, ‘nilla people are not automatically lesser friends or worse company. But would I have had the same great time had the evening not been colored with kinky jokes and discussions about squirting, harnesses and needle play? Would I have had the same great time if I had not been with people who recognized, understood and accepted all aspects of me?
It’s makes me all the more grateful that for all the drama that seems to proliferate in this small-town scene, I do have a group of people with whom I can be completely myself and be accepted for the happy freak I am.