Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Ring Them Up: The Party that Went Too Far
Kel had just moved to LA a few weeks prior, from her subdued Poconos hometown. We both had the false sense of wisdom that comes with a newly-minted college degree, but I felt especially sophisticated with my familiarity with the city and my old friends around me and my enormous thundering ego. Kel had, at least, the native wisdom to maintain wide eyes. Mine had to be re-widened by an outside agency.
That “outside agency” turned out to be a party in Woodland Hills. My sister got us invited, though she was out of town and did not herself attend. Some of her friends from the Renaissance Faire were hosting it. I wouldn’t know anyone else there, but it was a good way, I thought, to prove my smoove. This is further evidence of how clueless I truly was.
Kel is, by nature, somewhat retiring, disinclined to overexpose herself to rooms full of strangers, but I somehow convinced her she’d have a good time. I’m not sure if that turned out to be accurate, but it was certainly a memorable night.
Woodland Hills is what every suburb wants to be – tidy, quiet, cool at night and warm in the day, and crammed to the gills with comfortable ranchstyle houses. It’s where the Brady Bunch would have gone when they got a little more money. To speak of Woodland Hills is to speak of healthy lawns and wholesome living. It certainly never made me think of bondage play. At least, not till that night.
Things started off quietly enough, with drinks and chips and small talk. We sat on the deck near a hot tub where, by a strange coincidence, a good friend’s boyfriend was hanging around. Eric was graciously answering the questions of several young women regarding his hair (yes, he highlighted the blonde streaks), and they discussed coloration products with cool enthusiasm. It wasn’t an interesting conversation for me, but it was an interesting phenomenon.
But the really interesting phenomena were going on, it turns out, inside – where, through the sliding glass patio doors, we could see four or five women standing together in the den, laughing excitedly in a tight ring. All were bare breasted. A silver chain wove between them, linking them all together. By the nipples. Kel looked at me with understandable curiosity, we shrugged to each other, and opted to stay outside and drink.
However, at some point we had to go back inside for more beer. While there, a guy arrived with a pistol. He was a scrawny weaselly fellow with a wan complexion and leather pants. Actually, there were a lot of wan folk there, wearing lots of leather and lots of jewelry and all manner of piercings, and the more of them there were, the more enthusiastic they seemed to be to see each other. Handgun dweeb was waving his piece around asking, “What do you want me to do with this?” Some chick knelt down in front of him and wrapped her lips around the barrel of the gun. Then they all laughed.
“These are your friends?” Kel asked me. “I’ve never seen this before,” I admitted to her in a quiet voice. “They’re kind of freaking me out.” “I’ve had enough,” Kel responded with quiet finality. “We’re out of here.”
That sounded fine to me. I really didn’t want to know what those shrieking bondage hags and firearm fetishists had next in mind. We left the party. Kel asked me, once we were on the road, if I’d enjoyed myself; her voice was guarded and her question was loaded. I don’t recall my answer, but the truth was that I’d enjoyed the party just fine – but it hadn’t been quite what I’d expected it to be. We never did go to another party like that one. In retrospect, I’d have to say I’m relieved.
