My Dirty Laundry: Would've Been Nice To Get Laid

What's up Afro Punk. I'm Dorian. Coming at you from the Deep, dark, damp recesses of the Dirty South in the fucking Bayou. New Orleans, Louisiana. Everyone thinks that New Orleans is the land of sinful opportunity, where people walk around, dicks whipped out with hats on ready and rarin' to fuck.

Ladies in heat, swingin' from the balconies, titties hangin New Jack City CMB style...feelin too fine all the time. A queer playground. An adult playground. Every flavor of genitalia you could imagine, and even some you couldn't.

I am a Performance Artist whose roots start in Burlesque. I identify as Black, Queer, and I am known for my experiences in Occult science and other "Exotic" religions. If you really wanna take it there, you could say I'm an "adult entertainer" because Burlesque is "sexie nekked dance". (I prefer the term "erotic artist". *virtual wink*) I own my own performance company. I'm ambitious, hot to motherfuckin trot, and I play a mean ass air guitar. One would think I'd have no problem getting laid. Right?

(yep, that's me in work mode)

Wrong.

As you all know, this past month was two things: Black History Month, and the month of Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day for me...well, it's my favorite holiday. If not for anything but the aesthetic of it all. Anytime I can look around my surroundings and notice that everything is covered in bright red and hot pink shiny foil, feathers, and everything is heart-shaped, I'm good. And in the spirit of Black History Month, I was fishing to get laid by a sexy Black dude with dreads down his back, tattoos up and down his arms and cute little hipster glasses on. I'd seen him around flying on his skateboard, and from stalking him I found out that he worked at Urban Outfitters.

(and yes, that's me during the day)

SIDEBAR::::: DORIAN LIKES BLACK BOIZ ALL THA TIME, THEY JUST DON'T LIKE HER.::::

So, it was around February 1st and I was concocting a sexy plan to sweep him off of his feet. I was gonna go into the store, and buy something from him. Three times I would do this, each time my outfit would get sexier. (It's all about the tease, right?) The third time, I would make sure to buy my item with a credit card in order to give him the receipt back with my phone number and "call me" on it. (I'm sure you're wondering "well, if you're a performer, why wouldn't you give him your business card?" Well, believe it or not, guys get really intimidated when they get handed a card from a very tiny punk chick who does anything from Go-Go Dancing to Shock Art to Tarot Reading for a living. And I wanted to fuck so I had to get that number, right? Can't scare him away!)

The first day comes around, and I put on a pair of black skinny pants, some multicolored Vans sneakers, a manbeater (*virtual wink number two*) and my Bad Brains hoody. Before I walk out the door, I make sure to put on a touch of pink lipgloss and my signature glasses without the lenses. Glitter on the eyes to soften the edge. I catch the streetcar downtown and make my way to Urban. Tromping around the store for a couple of hours, I'm lookin....I'm lookin...I'm not seeing him, so I go outside for a clove and I come back in...

At this point, all of the pale, skinny, hipster goblins are looking at me strange, and he's nowhere to be found. So I throw up the deuces and peace outta there.

There's still hope in my heart--I mean...my vag as I catch the streetcar back uptown. That night, I reached between my legs and stroked myself to orgasm as I blasted my eardrums out with Tricky's Maxinquaye album playing in the headphones.

Alright, so, a couple of days have gone by, and it's time for me to hit up Urban again to see if I can catch him. This time, I put on a sexy cherry print wiggle dress from the 1950s, some red stilettos with ankle straps, and my red Dolce and Gabbana specs.( Oops, can't forget my frames and my Bad Brains hoody.)

After leaving the mundane energy of the streetcar, I'm busting through the door of Urban Outfitters, adjusting my specs and getting my hands ready to unzip my hoody...

Five minutes go by and the hipster goblins have asked me if I need help.

Ten minutes, I'm stalling at the dumb ass coffee table book section.

Twenty minutes I'm tapping my foot and trying on specs.

Twenty five minutes, I'm over it.

I click my heels all the way to the door of that store and I'm on the street again, pissed and jaded, thinking I'm gonna spend another V-Day alone.

It's maybe two days later and I'm wanting to maybe try for Day 3, but I'm losing faith that he even works there anymore. Not to mention that it's raining outside and cold as fuck. I remembered I had needed a backpack that I could latch my skateboard on when I'm walking and I figured I'd go out anyway. So, I get up, put on 2 pairs of sweatpants, about 4 t-shirts, and a beige colored fleece over my hoody in order to keep me warm while I stay dry out in the weather.

About 30 minutes later, I'm downtown again and I have walked to Urban again. Eh, just checkin', and of course I don't see him there.

So, I walk about ten blocks away to land at the local skate shop, Humidity Skateboards.

Lo and behold, guess who the FUCK is there?

Yeah you guessed it. The guy I'd been looking for. Not only was I pissy as hell that day, I looked like a fucking noob in my beige fleece jacket with the hood jutting outta the top like Hammer Time! But that's okay, I wasn't gonna panic.

I played it cool and asked the clerk there if he had backpacks, and he showed me the last one. It was on sale and I expressed interest in buying it. As soon as I put the money on the counter, Hottie Mc Hottieton says :"Dude, I wanted to get that..."

"Oh I'm sorry..." I said in a voice that was 2 octaves higher than my normal timbre...

"T's cool. Hey, didn't I just see you at Urban?" he said suspiciously, as I purchased the bag.

"YEAH!" I said with a little too much excitement in my voice.

He snickered.

He fucking snickered.

It made me wet, his smugness...but he wasn't gonna know that. I had to redeem myself. I thought about this as I looked upon the walls to check and see if I could reference any of the signed decks on the walls. I saw the Christian Hosoi board, all shiny and bright red with his signature slathered on it in Sharpie, and the bell went off in my head.

"Hey, is that board REALLY signed by Hosoi?"

"Yeah..." said the clerk.

"Sweet! He's one of my idols." I said.

"Really? He's not the best of idols to have." said the clerk.

"Yah, really..." said the Hottie...

"Not person wise, but as a skater and an icon, I liked him when he was first comin out. As a performer I respect him..." I said...

"Oh"....they both flatly exclaimed in typical skater douche fashion. (Please note, I don't think all skaters are douches, but some of you guys need to get over yourselves. Mjust sayin'.)

I kindly said goodbye and made very contemptuous eye contact with the guy in question as I hooved it back to the streetcar. Not only did he meet me at the wrong time, he wasn't the nicest of dudes.

So, I'm sure you all are wondering... "When do we get to the dirty parts?" or "What does this have to do with "Dirty Laundry"?"

Well, lemme explain. My Valentine's Day ended up consisting of a Burlesque show that night that was filmed by Playboy. I spent the night covered in glitter, dancing on Bourbon Street the old school sexy way. I felt powerful, glamourous, and in control. I went home to a warm bed, my warm hands, my soft body and everything I had to offer myself between my top of my head to the bottom of my toes.

I curled up in bed Valentine's night and slid my hands between my legs and pictured myself being banged from behind...my eyes open and looking into a mirror on a vanity. Hot breath coming from my lips as my partner's hands grasped my thighs, fully realizing how tangible my thick physique is. Teeth sinking into my neck, sweat forming on the surface of my skin, my ass jiggling with every thrust from his pelvis and my body trembling as I am pushed closer and closer to orgasm. I felt my insides convulse upon my fingers and I remembered how the crowd went wild when I did the splits on stage. I heard how wet I was and I tasted myself and rolled over in a reverie of Egoist pleasure.

My point is....I didn't need to get fucked for V-Day because all I needed was right there with me. My love for myself was enough this year.

Still woulda been nice to get some dick, though.

Tags: Afro-Punk, Burlesque, Dirty, Laundry, My, Sex

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Comment by JUstLovebeatZ on April 17, 2010 at 8:13pm: Almost forgot. Nice touch with the bushwacked Cupid. That lil winged bastard...

Comment by JUstLovebeatZ on April 17, 2010 at 8:12pm: Hey Dorian,

I feel your pain. It ain't easy being punk (blipster/ artsy/ different...) All in all it's hard to find someone you think is smokin' hot and then, as in this story, they may suck as a person. Sorry about your skater boy. I hate it when the inner beauty can"t match the outer. Big up on the love for self! In the end that's all we really have...

Comment by Bipedalthumposapien69R on March 30, 2010 at 2:25am: Now that's a nightcap! Great tale. You rubbed one out that's great stuff.

Comment by Clarity Star on March 30, 2010 at 12:36am: haha this was funny lol

Comment by Reg on March 29, 2010 at 4:03am: loved the writing and the spirit. looking forward to seeing your work in nyc.
curious: i guess i'm old skool, but doesn't "queer" mean you like the ladies? or does that mean you'll go how ever you feel with whomever you're feelin'? it's all good, i'm sure.

Comment by Darkness Unlimited* on March 5, 2010 at 2:33pm: All this Valentines shit is over-rated anyways. What's soo special to be had on [that day] that can't be had on any other? And until all the other useless non-"holidays", Valentines doesn't even have the "ligitamacy" ov religious origins. It's completely manufactured! Cheap, grossly over-priced candy, rotting flowers, & guilt-trips. Why do folks fall for this shit, year after year? Can't we have a REVOLT against V-Day?

Your photos are AWESOME, btw Dorian. Had to mention...