lord of the rings

picture it: dallas, last sunday during the pride parade and accompanying monsoon; the orange.paper.bike took refuge inside of a country and western bar. you know happens to paper when it gets wet! as i ordered my beer [shiner for those keeping track], the handsome, scruffy bartender dangled some mardi gras beads in front of me and offered, "you want some beads?"

"sure," i responded.

"i've got the cheap beads," bartender said, holding up beads festooned with the budweiser crown on every-other bead, "or i have the really good beads." at that, he held up several long strands of shiney, marble-sized beads in the classic colours: purple, gold and green.

"what do i have to do for the nice beads?" i asked skeptically, a knot of nervousness growing in my stomach.

"you know the drill. show me your dick."

tossing my modest upbringing to the wind, the orange.paper.bike, eyes fixated trance-like on the glimmering beads twinkling in the dim bar lights, kindly asked my comrades to step away [so as not to see], looked right and left, unbuttoned my jeans, and in one smooth motion, joined the whip-it-out club.

"yes!" groaned bartender. he leaned forward to place the trophy around architect's neck.

fast forward: dallas, friday night, late; the same orange.paper.bike was out with friends and happened to end up in the same bar. after a quick bathroom break, approached the bar through the crowd to order a beer. to my surprise, it was the bead bartender smiling back.

"i'll buy your beer if you chow me your dick," he said, catching his customer of guard.

"can anyone see in from the sidewalk," i asked, pointing toward the storefront windows facing the busy sidewalk beyond.

"nope," the scruffy bartender told him.

and before the drag queen on the stage could bat her false lashes, i renewed my membership in the whip-it-out club.

"i would love to feel that hitting me here," the bartender said, tapping his left cheek.

i laughed, tossed him three bucks for a tip, turned around and saw the doorman with a huge grin on his face.

"you know we have you on camera, don't you?" the doorman asked with a grin.

"who do i talk to about getting a copy of that tape?" i sounded back, squeezing his arm as i walked by.

next night, as the same cast of characters found themselves in the same place, the scruffy, smiling bartender told the o.p.b. "you know that metal cockring you had on last night is worthless unless you are completely hard. i want you to take mine and go try it on." he reached into a leather bag beside the cash register and held out a long wide peice of soft leather with a couple of snaps and some chrome rings. after explaining how it all works, he took the o.p.b.'s hand and gave it too him, then smiled.

after waiting in line for a stall in the washroom, i put the new play-prett on and fastened it, cinching the leather strap tight in the way that one tightens a belt. hey, this is comfortable i though, but the loose end of the strap was awkward and looked not attractive. as i took it off and slipped it back into my pocket i was thinking, "did i just try on someone else's cockring? in a bar?"

"yes, and it's kind of hot!" was my silent reply. after all, it was worth the free beer that was certain to follow.

in the background::whip it:devo