Putting the Madge in Danna (17 page)

I said, “Oh, my god, that’s it.”

A little while later, I
was decked out in a black leather motorcycle cap and black
over-the-knee boots, and wearing thick black eyeliner, false
eyelashes, and bright red lipstick. The only other item in my
wardrobe was a big, black dildo attached to a leather belt that
went around my hips. Ford positioned me in front of the large paper
backdrop, a sort of
Easy Rider
motif, like a desert type thingy with blue birds
flying in the sky. I kneeled on a shiny motorcycle, a Harley that
he used as a prop. It had been visible in a number of selections
from his lookbook portfolio.

We listened to
Madonna’s
Hard Candy
CD while he paparazzoed me from every angle. I draped myself
over the seat, on the handle bars and against the back tire. I
twirled and squatted, and smiled my head off. I became more daring
as I felt more comfortable, fingering myself heavily – hooey,
nipsey-russells, lips and back-end. He really liked it when I
masturbated the dildo. This continued for nearly an hour. I needed
to make a transition to sex, somehow.

I said, “You know, I had a dream that I was
making love to Madonna like this. Well, she was wearing this type
of cock contraption and I was getting it in the ass.” I couldn’t
believe how bold I was, taking matters into my own hands with my
dirty talk and not feeling the least bit embarrassed. I was finally
getting the hang of this, I thought. Let the fucky-wuck
commence!

“
Why don’t you show me,”
he replied. “You be Madonna, and I’ll be you.”

I said, “Uh, okay.” That is not how I had
envisioned it, my friends, but I had hope that we’d take turns,
since I was kind of like the guest.

Ford Jitsu stripped himself of his white
button down and the wife beater underneath. He yanked off his
khakis as if he was in a hurry to proceed then removed his yellow
banana hammock thong. God, he was just about hairless, a doughboy
in every sense of the word, except in the pricker department. He
revealed a massive Mr. Hard-on, do you believe it? I mean, come on!
I knew he was probably gay, although somewhere inside my brain a
little part of me thought I shouldn’t stereotype, hoping for the
purposes of my journey that it wouldn’t matter or maybe that he
might have been one of those liberal types that doesn’t
discriminate gender.

But, I’m not gay savvy. I
didn’t even know that the guy who gets it in the booty-boot has an
engorged pricker too. I guess that makes sense though. Plus I was
flattered that he got it up for me, right? Or rather for the big
black rubber appendage I wore. I needed him to be my artist lover
because it was really too late to find another. I was relieved when
I saw that gy-normous boner. His pricker rivaled Zeus’, truth be
told. I was sure there would be enough of it to go in
and
around.

Ford Jitsu went into his back room and
retrieved a small bottle of KY.

“
Lube me up,” he
ordered.

Are you sitting down with a full bottle of
Ouzo? Good.

I slathered the KY on my whole hand. I
clearly did not know what the hell I was doing. Zeus and I never
need lubricant of any kind – just the regular love induced flavored
pre-cum. I popped a finger into the photographer’s bunghole. Wow,
you should have heard him moan! Gradually, I added two more fingers
because I didn’t think it was greasy enough. I mean, that dildo was
a lot bigger in real life than it looked in my dream. How would it
fit in there? I wondered if Kai Goldrodblum’s cock was that big.
Bunky Hewitt is always bragging about how her husband’s cock is so
big that it doesn’t fit all the way inside of her. Of course, I
didn’t get to see Kai’s rod because he was repulsed by my Mother
Nature’s blood.

It was weirdly erotic
watching the doughboy’s asshole stretch. He could have the biggest
fucking bowel movement in America with that thing, I thought.
Sorry, if I sounded so
clinical
. It’s just that this
experience was, in a way, the most educational of all.

I steadied him against my giant attached
rubber man-part and squeegeed inside. At first, it didn’t budge. I
kind of had to thrust my hips. It was a lot of work and I started
feeling empathy for Zeus, especially when we’re playing our kinky
games where he’s an intruder and he’s thrown me down on the bed and
he’s raping me and such. No bondage, as I’ve mentioned before, just
me offering no assistance and even pretending to fight him off to
make him work for it. Good times.

I saw a picture in a tabloid of Madonna and
Guy Ritchie, and she was holding a recently purchased device like
the one I used on Ford. I kept that vision in my mind. Madonna does
this, you know? I glided in and used my tummy-tum-tum muscles to
withdraw, and then, summoning all my strength I did it again, and
again until it seemed almost natural. Ford sounded in agony, but I
think that was just his style of moaning. Everybody’s different I
suppose. He masturbated his cock like crazy.

I said, “I’m fucking you
in your ass. I’m a girl and I’m fucking you silly.” I upped the
ante on the dirty talk and he moaned like the Skipper calling for
Gilligan – sorry, another
TV Land
reference, but funny, right?

That did it. He shot his load and it hit the
tripod. Ew, I thought. I wouldn’t want to be his cleaning lady. I
would be mortified if Zeus left a mess like that for Petra – but he
never would because he’s got great aim (hooey, mouth or
titty-on-the-bang-bangs).

“
Wow,” he said between
deep breaths.

It was finally my turn. I said, “I need a
cock to finish me off, you know, in my hoo-ha.”

“
Good luck with that,” he
said.

And that, my friends, was that. No nothing.
I couldn’t even make sense of this in an Oz way except to say I was
like Dorothy, trying to find my way in a very confusing world. But
I was over the rainbow, right? There had been a rainbow flag
hanging as the entrance to the darkroom. I had to walk behind it to
get to the sink to wash my hands afterwards. And there were
bluebirds flying in the backdrop to my photographs! How weird.

Like I said, all artists are not created
equal. Madonna found a drugged out hetero one with a functioning
pricker that loved her if only for a fleeting moment in time, and I
got to use a rubber shaft then got the shaft – but not in the
hooey. Some seduction.

Comments: 3

Jean-Michel Basquiat was
one of the most prolific artists of the 1980s. He was an
inspiration to many of his contemporaries including the great Andy
Warhol.
Dr.
Mark Cole, Ph.D., University College, Rockville, MD

Basquiat was a dear, sweet
man.
Nonni, USA & UK

You will live to tell the
tale of our tryst at the Marriott Hotel. You won’t have to act like
you like it. No toys. Just you, me, and hot sex.
Rob, NY, NY

****

‘
Till Death (or close to
it) Do Us Part

Sunday, August 23, 2009 - 3:00pm

I’m getting married in exactly one fucking
supercalifragilistic week! When you are in a relationship for as
long as Zeus and me, it seems like the wedding shouldn’t be such a
big deal. Like our lives will continue as they had before, and
la-la-la. But it isn’t like that. I spent a majority of my
childhood dreaming of this day – collecting pictures of wedding
doo-dads, which actually gave me the idea to do a CD in the first
place, you know, as a wedding favor. Having a man declare his
undying love to you in a church in front of all of the heavenly
world and your relatives is just the pinnacle of my existence,
especially since the man is someone I’ve known for more than half
my life – Zeus Archimedes Zepkos.

We have all of these plans
for the future that harbor on a married life together - travel,
babies, volunteering on church committees and saying
I-love-yous
on all of
the days of our lives – all that and more. I truly want to be the
wife that Zeus has always dreamed he’d have – as sexy-sexy as he
can stand in addition to the friendship, fun and family life we’ll
create together.

I’m almost there, bloggers. Although I
haven’t been totally successful in my hooey-pricker fluid exchanges
(since I’m just a fledgling Madonnite), I’m hoping the best is yet
to come. In my dreams, Madonna has encouraged me and those visions
have felt very real, my friends, an omen thingy, as I’ve mentioned,
but more than that. Spiritual, I guess. Because, you need to know
that I had never done anything like this before I began this blog,
and I just went for it, kind of like a sickie with a bucket list –
like Mr. Carter’s wife. I only have one fuckster left. The
actor.

I’m glad I did it all because I feel
different now, closer to being a better person like Madonna, and
closer to finding my way home like the fictitious Dorothy Gale. Of
course, it’s not exactly lady-like to divulge fucky-wuck conquests.
In the back of my mind, I sort of wondered what would happen if
someone close to me found out.

Do you ever get that thing
where your stomach just…drops? It’s like this bizarre excitement
mixed with fear thingy that feels like an invisible cord is tied
from your neck to your hooey and somewhere in between your stomach
gets all knotted up. Bunky Hewitt had something similar happen to
her for real – her uterus fell out. I guess it happened soon after
she had given birth to her son Joey, which had been on her
forty-second birthday. I thought she was kidding when she gave me
that as a reason for why she didn’t have more kids. I didn’t know
your parts could get all disassembled and fall out of your
orifices. But apparently they can – I looked it up. Gina Romano
signaled my queasy squeeze last night and I thought I would drop
dead. I pictured Zeus dressed in his white bridegroom tux at my
funeral saying,
she couldn’t justify my
love
.

I had just finished writing my blog entry
when she’d arrived with a bottle of Champagne. We toasted to a
bunch of things as we sat at the bistro table on the back deck of
my apartment, drinking out of my new Lenox flutes à la Zeus’ Great
Auntie Alexandra. I’m going to miss this sweet view of the sunset,
by the way, that is if Zeus and I ever buy a house.

Gina is my bestie. I really love her like
the sister I never had. She’s so pretty with her amazing cheekbones
and those beautiful blue eyes that look like the Mediterranean Sea.
We have worked together for a year, and in that time, we’ve bonded
via a mutual love of Champagne, silly tom-foolery and secrets. It
helps that Zeus gets along with Gina’s husband, Vince Romano,
because we get together as a foursome a lot. I think the guys bond
over sports, a fondness of foreign films and similar senses of
humor – you know, fart jokes.

Okay, so we usually pick a sparkling New
York wine as our drink of choice, not actual Champagne. It’s the
same thing, but you can’t call it that because it isn’t made in
France. Did you know that? The French have patented the name or
something. I wonder if there are laws against naming a child
Champagne, especially if said baby isn’t born in France.

I said, “Zeus and I have already picked out
baby names. We both like the name Zoe Zepkos, if it’s a girl. We
plan to add Thalia as a middle name in the hopes that my rich
auntie will shower her with gifts exponentially because of it. Is
that bad?”

Gina made a sound effect that sounded like
the ZTZ initials. “Tzutzs.” She spilled a little Champagne from her
glass as she moved to place it on the table. Her bare leg got wet
but luckily, she didn’t get any on her new dry-clean only. Gina
likes sundresses too.

I continued, “Another girl
could be called Helena, because my family name’s derived from a
long dead great grandmother named Helen. Elinopoulous is
like
Helen Mountain
or something.”

“
Helen of Troy,” Gina said
as she pulled out her iPhone and started focusing on it the way she
does when we go out to lunch and I drive. She always responds to
whatever I’m saying, so it’s no biggie. “I think she had gy-normous
mountains.”

I said, “It could have been Helen of Troy,
but maybe not. I don’t know how popular that name was in ancient
times. I’ll have to ask my dad. For a boy, we thought we’d name him
Odysseus. That way his initials would be OZ.”

Gina laughed. “I know you
like
The Wizard of Oz,
or at least your father does. It’s his favorite
movie.”

“
I don’t remember telling
you that, Gina. But you’re right,” I said. “Coming to America was
his
over the rainbow
. Did he tell you?”

“
Nope,” she said and
smiled as she continued to check messages or whatever. Maybe she
was playing Bejeweled Blitz, I thought. She’s obsessed with it –
worried that the lady in Amarillo, Texas might beat her score if
she doesn’t keep up with it.

I said, “If we have more
than one son, which we only joke about because three children is
our ideal, then Zeus said he’ll be called Toto, so that when we
introduce them we can say,
these our our
children, Zoe, Helena, Odysseus and Toto too
.”

“
Uh-hmm.” Gina continued
to multi-task. She kept her eyes on that tiny screen while sipping
her drink and listening to my chatter. Sometimes she pulls the game
up on her computer screen at work too. It’s her thingy, her
Achilles’ heel.

“
One of these days, Mr.
Cochran’s going to catch you blitzing at work. I hope you don’t
bring that thing to my wedding. That would be rude.”