83 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
83 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
Archive-name: Bondage/get-out.txt
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Archive-author: RICHH
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Archive-title: Just Get the HELL Out, Okay?
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Zipperhead's is a famous store here in Philadelphia. The store is
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on South Street, sell cools clothes and shoes, some handcuffs and leather
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and stuff, and is a great place just to hang out and watch people in.
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Well, I'm in there for a reason yesterday: Saltgirl, whom I am
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meeting at a kinky sort of party this weekend, bought a bitchin outfit
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she was telling me about, but couldn't find the wide shiny belt she
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needed to really complete the ensemble. No problem. I knew just the
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place.
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So I'm in there in the bondage-y section to your left as you walk
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in and there's this ultra-cool woman behind the counter, who has
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piercings in places well, that you wouldn't even find in a second-hand
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_Gray's_(which, incidentally, you could buy, just up the street, in
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Philly's largest used bookstore.
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She's helping me look through the belts.
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"This one's nice..."
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"Motorcycle chains, eh? A bit rough for this girl."
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"Ooh, how about this one?"
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It's gorgeous. Silver on black leather, extra wide, but it looked
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way long.
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"It looks great, but I'm pretty sure it's too long."
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She tries it on herself. "Fits me okay. What's your girlfriend's
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waist size?"
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"Um." I hesitate. "27."
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"I hate you both. Please leave."
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I laugh and she hangs up the belt. "Now *here's* a beaut..."
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She pulls down this cool-looking thing that was made out of large-
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diametered silver O-type rings connected to little leather doo-dads that
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connected to smaller leather silver D-rings that connected a wholemessa
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chains that connected to another D-ring etc all the way around."
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"Can we measure it? Looks great. She'll plotz."
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Gets out a tape measure. Shit. 32" at the smallest hole.
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"Sorry," she said, about to put it back.
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"No, wait. I know the guy who owns 'The Leather Rose'. It's on
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my way home. I'll just have him take out one of the O-rings, a doo-dad,
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and a set of chains. How many inches will that take off?"
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She measures. "About 5. Perfect."
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"Cool. And I'll come back and give what he takes out to you for
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being so helpful for being so nice. You could wear it through your-Then
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he walks in.
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In *my* town.
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Into the coolest street in my town.
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Into the coolest store on the coolest street in my town.
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With his ditzy blonde wife and his stupid little entourage of
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hangers-on.
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Yup, last night was the night Morton Downey Jr. did Zipperhead's.
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Everyone in the store immediately recognizes him and we all look
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at each other and shake our heads. It's tough not to laugh at the guy.
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Real tough. But wetry to be good. And we watch them walk through the
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store with this kind of disdainful mocking 'people-really-*buy*-this-
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stuff?' attitude that pisses us all off. I'm wearing a heavy leather
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riding jackets w/silver epaulets and little cat-o-nine-tail fringes
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hanging from the zippers, so you just know Mort wants *my* autograph.
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The woman behind the counter and I decide to fuck with them. We
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start talking about how good the Eagles looked crushing Dallas on Monday,
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but ever so often raising our voices and shouting a buzzword or two
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Morty's way.
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"Yeah, that was the best," I said. "I can't believe I didn't
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CAULKING GUN bet it."
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"Randall looked awesome FILLED WITH CREST & BEN-GAY? A 60/40
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MIX?"
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She's good, damn good. "OF COURSE. The offensive line was
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amazing. They were playing GAUZE PADS better than they actually are."
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"I know what you mean. Playing AND SOME BETADINE over their
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heads. ANAL SPECULUM."
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"MOLLY BOLT ENEMA. And you know, Dallas made some key plays too.
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The Eagles just looked Super Bowl. AND WE USED REVERSETHREADED SCREWS
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BECAUSE OF THE HEAVY VIBRATIONS."
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"YOU COULDN'T DAMPEN THEM?" she asked.
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"NOT UNDER Randall! ROLLER COASTER YOU DON'T."
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"GUESS NOT."
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By this time, Mort and co. had seen enough. As they passed us to
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get out the door, we smiled at them and all we heard them say was
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"Fucking freaks".
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It was the best.
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RICHH --cool town
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