Everyday Stranger

All That For Some Nice Beads...

An update on my real life tomorrow, but I realized that this week was Mardi Gras week, and that takes me to something that I probably have never told anyone-but what the hell, you only live once. That's right-I have a wild Mardi Gras story.

I went to Mardi Gras in New Orleans twice when I lived in the U.S. Once when I was in university, and once when I was a grown-up working for a stockbroking firm. Both times, I went with Kim. And on the trip where we were in university, man alive did it sure seem like it.

Since we were poor college students, we had to take it as such-so we stayed two nights in Kim's minivan, parked in an underground parking lot. That's right-we really roughed it. The amazing thing is, we even had a portable toilet in the minivan with us, so it was all the comforts of home.

Minus a shower, of course.

I had been to New Orleans before and absolutely loved it. Kim had never been, so during the day we toured the French Quarter and the surrounding neighborhoods. Of course, we did this starting off with an Egg McMuffin and a Hurricane-and if you're not familiar with Hurricanes, they're one part fruit punch, one part Rum, and one-part Everclear (a grain alcohol that is something like 80 proof). So we-like the rest of New Orleans, really-walked around with an unmistakable red mustach and pink colored tongue for the duration of the party.

Mardi Gras is all about floats, and Crewes, and beads and alcohol and food and dancing. It was wild and out of control and yet happy and friendly all at once. Kim kept an eagle's eye on me the entire time-always protecting me and keeping me safe, yet glowing when he looked at me.

At one point, we used a line of porta-potties outside on the street. New Orleans becomes one big urinal otherwise, and so this was the best option. I walked into one, trying to hold my absolute desperate fear of those things in check. I fucking hate porta-potties, they fill me with horror that I or one of my belongings will fall down the Nasty Hole. As I started to hover above the Nasty Hole, the porta-potty rocked slightly. I screamed. It rocked again. "Don't fucking move this thing, or I swear to God I will kill you!" I screamed. I hustled the urine out of my bladder faster than I ever had before. People were trying to tip the porta-potty! I was going to be covered with the nastiest of the nasty! I kept screaming to leave the porta-potty alone, and I threw the door open before my jeans were even buttoned.

Outside, a crowd had gathered looking confused. Kim was convulsed with laughter. It turns out one of the support blocks under the porta-potty had moved slightly, so it was only a tiny bit out of balance.

No one was trying to tip it over. I had just been banging about in there like a gerbil on crack.

Humiliation.

At night, Mardi Gras gets even wilder. Some streets I found I could just pick my feet up and get carried by the heavy masses of crowds. Others you would spend dancing down the street, the sounds of beads, broken plastic cups, laughter and kisses ripe in your ears. With our stomachs full of incredible Cajun food and our brains full of Hurricanes, we spent time getting beads from the floats, me on Kim's shoulders, trying to look cute.

And, of course, flashing my breasts, too. I had no problem with it-after all, I think my breasts are fucking perfect. I had abandoned my bra to Kim's coat pocket ages before that, and the shirt got rucked up with regular abandon, to which I was always rewarded with some nice beads.

And so it was that it happened-pretty much fully intoxicated by now, it was late at night and the party raged on. Kim and I walked down one street, and I saw a middle-aged man wearing the nicest set of beads I had ever seen-silver, blue and white, with little silver King Babies on it as well. I knew I had to have those beads.

I stopped to talk to the man, who it turns out was a doctor from Ohio. He had gotten in to New Orleans late that evening, and so had bought the beads from a store for $10, having missed the parade. I offered him some of my masses of beads for his beads. He said he wasn't interested, what else did I have to offer?

I stood there thinking, then I heard Kim's voice pipe up.

"How about if you feel her up?"
Doc's face lit up.
Seemed fair enough to me.
They started negotiating the amount of time the doctor would be allowed to feel me up. Doc started at 15 seconds. Kim countered at 5. 14 then 5. 12. 5. 10. Kim relented and gave 7.
I whipped up my shirt, and doc's hands came out, cupping my breasts.
Kim stood beside me, counting off.

"One Mississippi!"
Doc's hands underneath.
"Two Mississippi!"
"Three Mississippi!"
Still just massaging me.
"Four Mississippi!"
They started moving upwards.
And so on, until 7. At which point, Kim hollered out: "Bonus second! 8 Mississippi!"
Doc's face lit up and he kept massaging, until Kim got to "Bonus second 10 Mississippi!", at which point he stepped forward and pulled my shirt down.

The doctor, a big grin on his face, happily removed his beads and placed them around my neck. I grabbed a whole chunk of the beads I had and placed them around his, along with a kiss on the cheek. We went our seperate ways then, and I Kim and I made out like madmen on the street then, hands all over the place, while we struggled to get to the minivan. Once we got there, we discovered we were too drunk to fuck, so we passed out in each other's arms.

I still have those beads. I will always have those beads. :)

-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at February 26, 2004 07:27 AM | TrackBack