This is The Black Orchid, my sweetie pies, and my petite feet ache from dancing at Lady Lynda’s Summer Soltice Soiree this 5th of May. T’was a beauteous night with the full moon and silver stars in the sky and the scent of grapes growing in the wet, verdant earth of the vineyard. She also had yellow roses in the back near the lighted swimming pools and orchids floating in the pool. Her Soiree in Bryn Athen was egually lush compared to my fetes. The wry Bitch is not, however, as wealthy as I, and this gives me no small amount pleasure.The mansion had tall pillars on the front porch and inside polished green marble floors. Very remeniscent of the movie, “Gone with the Wind.” Vases of calla lilies graced the many serving and end tables and were faintly like the female flower and I’m sure this disntinction never occurred to their dainty sensibilities.
They both wore elegant, simple back cocktail dresses with low pumps of metallic gold. Pearls accentuated their soft, pink necks and garnished their ears which were like tiny shells. I wore my long green chartreuse gown with the slits up the sides and low cut back to my ass, and jewelry of amethyst to be a contrapuntal color to my gown. Also I wore purple suede seven inch high stilletoes to compliment my over all look. I took four of my most beauteous slaves to the party, two dark, muscular Latinos, and two albinos with misty gray eyes. They all wore leather thongs and had well oiled chests with small chains draped accross them. If air had a color it would be the platinum color of their long locks.
My small, hard, peaches, ached to be caressed by a large, masculine hand. Below in my nether regions I felt the familiar heat and yearning for I am always lustful like an empty vase seeking to be filled. My sex scent infused with my frankensense oils, permeated the room. All other scents were obliterated. I looked at the chains on my alcolytes and knew I did not hold them with these chains: my chains are of the spriritual nature. I laugh at the old movies where Herculs busts the chains on his chest before demolishing the temple. Yay, I laughed because I knew Hercules was a weak man in spirit and easily deceived.
My acolytes took my mink stole from my slender shouders putting it in a safe place, and rubbed me with more frankencense before I enter the ball room. My long black hair was braided in the Nigerian way as Cleopatra would have worn. To say it was lush is to understate it. There was a carved ice swan with raw shrimp, and oysters on the half shell and entire lobsters piled high. I ate the raw food eschewing the many kinds of cooked meat. I drank gallons of the expensive, sparkling, champagne and became quite merry with all who approached me. I ate a fish head so I could see what the glassy eye tasted like and it was fine, indeed. I ate little morsels of the fine cheeses, canembert, brie, boursin, and many others too numerous to mention. Yet I was careful to maintain the ravenous thrill of my hunger and ate very little.
Lady Lynda, being the big hearted person she is, invited all the freeks from the Carnival Show she had been helping in their lives. There was the man with the deviated septum, the lady with no sense of direction who continually found herself in the men’s bathroom, and the man from Texas who learned to talk like Dan Rather. It seems like the poor dear had helped them overcome their afflictions for the most part. The rest of the guests were like out-takes from the movie, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?”
The music was in fifties mode, sambas, rhumbas and cha chas. Then they played oldies like Elvis’s “Blue Suede Shoes,” and the always delighful, “One Eyed, One Horned, Flying Purple People Eater.” Lady Lynda knew all the old dances and demonstrated them even though she was quite inebrated. Lady Lynda once worked as a “dance hall” hostess but being unwilling to perform certain acts with the male customers, she made little money and quit to investigate further pursuits.
The last song, “Die Kluge” styled by Elizabeth Schwarzkopf was a fine prelude to the morning sun streaming in through the stained glass windows.
There was, however, something quite untoward. Auntie Carol developed a strong attraction to the Hermaphrodite, Herman Sherman, as well as his feminine alter ego, Emma Enigma.She was making out with him on the back porch, and touching his tits. I admit he was a strikingingly handsome entity with his long black hair and violet, thick lashed eyes and a face out of Italian Vogue. I know Auntie Carol wondered after that if she was a lesbian.
They didn’t know whether they were coming or going. Life is truly strange. And wondrous.
Bon Soir, mes Cheris.