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Lipstick and Lust

Lipstick and Lust's own 'best and worst,' as well as looking ahead and another part of 'Prayerland'
by Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid - SGN A&E Writer Ah, what a year (and are we all glad its over, you bet your little toes we are!). There was Dyke drama (in public, no less and Lipstick and Lust hates public scenes, unless theres leather involved!), lusting and kissing and lusting some more and meeting some very hot new grrrlz, as well as (gasp!), at the end of the year, a Russian amazon who made my gym sizzle. Lets hope we get to see her again, and hey, if she ever wanted to move our little workout sessions (its just weight lifting and such, get ya mind out the guttah!) to a more intimate setting, Id be so pleased. Can we say I want her for my birthday? Oh yes, yes, yes! And, speaking of the kids birthday, Im so hoping to party every day of January, and have a big, huge, fabunormous bash on the weekend before the 26th, and the one after. So, if anyone wants to take me out, or just drop by cute stuff, or wrap yourself up in ribbon (especially if youre a curvy redhead, or that gawgeous Russian hottie from my gym) and show up, Ill be a happy camper. Oh, and just know, my birthday, that of Ellen Degeneres and that of Angela Davis all fall on the same day (Oprahs is later in the week), so how cool is that? But enough about moi, here are some very cool things to try as you start a whole new year. In my continuing to explore the masculine side, Ive been checking out not only perfumes like Donna Karans yummy Black Cashmere, but also Diors Pour Homme, which is just as sexy as my new fave, Fahrenheit (which I wrote about a couple of weeks back, and which you can score at Sephora). I also tried and like Follia di Aquarama, which I expect to be a new fave soon. And for deliciously soft skin, try Origins Cocoa Therapy, which is a perfect match for my new absolute fave lip balm, Ganache for Lips, which you can pick up at Anthropologie. Everything else, pick up at Nordstrom, where the hat to match my new personality of butch sci-fi writer is just waiting for more cash to come my way, before it leaps into my anxious little hands. And, do check out the photo of my new do in this column. Hey, new year, big birthday, whats a Dyke to do, but cut her hair and get in fighting form for that new femme I hope is about to enter my life and rock my world! Baby, Im waiting. Oh yes, and I simply must tell you about my little adventure going to that big Castle Megastore on Broadway. Your enterprising reporter was hot on the lookout for new adventures to fill these pages with, and, after getting my new do, I decided to wander into Castle for a look see. The place is hugantic, and filled with everything one needs to turn the heat up, either solo or with friends, including some stuff called orgasm, that one of the sales-folk told me has come highly recommended by those whove tried it. Not that yours truly has trouble reaching that magic red starburst, but I thought Id get a little bit, just in case I find someone to tease to that same delicious rainbow. Also, I bought these cute, black frilly socks to wear the next time I go to The Wet Spot, with my bitch heels. They should look great with the ones Im getting for an early birthday present from myself from my totally favorite catalogue, Fredericks of Hollywood. And finally, do check out the soaps sold by that wonderful soap lady, on the 15th. Shes usually near the QFC on 15th, and shell be having a sale, so go and get something unique and sweet for yourself, or someone you like. So, before I give you another edgy, tasty treat of Prayerland, let me just give you my own personal best and worst for the year past, and trust me, its a very short list. First, the worst experience last year, was the Dyke drama I found myself involved in. I Hope theres none of that in 2006! The best experiences were the kisses and hugs from some pretty ladies, and me finally joining The Wet Spot and continuing to have the time of my life. Looking forward to having at least one of my birthday parties there on the 26th. Now, for those of you who are brave, and like a little action with your lust, Prayerland, and know that the words used in this story are intrinsic to building a mood, and are not indicative of a carte blanche by SGN to use similar language anywhere else. We are, after all a paper with high journalistic standards. Now, Prayerland. Wait, dont swim so fast& A giggle and some words in a language I cant understand, but they remind me of&what&fish, whales, yeah whales! Got you! Shes so smooth, so soft, and her mouth is the color of that blue lipstick I pinched from the store that used to be where nothing is now. But, that doesnt matter. None of that matters, because I am wrapped in the arms of this mermaid, this impossible creature from the stories of so long ago. And as she kisses me, Im suddenly running, and the sun is shining brighter than it ever has, and theres soft ground under me, and grass, real fucking grass, thats so green! Come on, I think she said. Now, she has legs and hair the color of a summer sunset, all gold and flame colored, falling down her back like running water. Hurry, theyre waiting for you, I know I need to hurry, but Im getting tired and having a hard time breathing. I think Im dying, but shes still calling and I struggle to keep up. Then, Im on the ground gasping and faces are above me, only they look like wolves, like lions, like, oh-my-god, like elephants only a lot more human. And I think theyre praying over me, in some weird language that sounds like wings, wind and drumming all at once. Im dying and Im being lifted up and, somewhere, I hear Jelly crying, crying, and someone old saying welcome to Prayerland, little one, welcome& And in that blackness before I wake up, Im happy, happy that Im finally dead, and, yet, Im being born all over, brand new. Honey, honey, wake up, I think someone at the door and it sounds like trouble, wake up! Its Jelly, and she sounds scared, and that wakes me up in a hurry. Im a bit groggy and kind of missing; what Im not sure. Im kind of sad for no reason other than some images fading from a very strange dream. What? The banging on the door gets louder and I know its Vex, the manager, and I know shes brought some more folks I know Im not gonna like. Housing, we have to check out your spaces, see if you might be hiding any extra tenants, or& I leap from the bed, am immediately dizzy, but manage to wrap my nakedness before a key in the lock tells me their coming in whether I let them in or not. Part of the consolidation of governmental security and ject budgets after the collapse of the federal programs is this regular invasion of our lives on the spur of the moment. To refuse means you get kicked to the curb, end of story, period. Whos she? Vexs not unhandsome face (if she ever wore anything but the worst make-up and had a decent hair cut) is wrinkling and her mouth tightens as she looks Jelly up and down and then back to me. Shes my lady. Why lie, when theyll find out from the snitch down the hall anyway (the same one who got snoopy about our kid, Spark. So, we had to leave her with the Kaybers during the day, then bring her back to sleep with us at night). Jelly, Goddess love her, is only wearing a tee shirt and the panties I gave her for last years holiday; the red ones with the bow on the front that I nibbled at last night. The guy with Vex is trying to look professional, but he cant stop staring at my little sex bunny, until I step in front of her, glare at him and Vex and take the paper Vex pushes at me. Fill this out, and Ill get her a key, but know, shes the last and only and no pets are allowed on your lease, I do my best bow and scrape before majesty gesture and then breathe again when they leave. Shit, that was a bit of crap I could have started the day without! Jelly yawns and moves to go back to the bedroom, but I stop her by putting my arms around her, rubbing our sexes together and pretty soon, were on the counter in the micro-tiny kitchen, getting clam juice all over where well be making breakfast. Later, as I scream my orgasm into the quiet, late morning, air of our apartment, Im aware that my manager is probably in the apartment next door with her leering cohort and I cum even harder, as does Jelly, with her usual porno cries and moans. I had that dream again, the one about that place where the animals talk, and this time there was a mermaid. Jellys cramming dumpster dived muffins into her rosebud of a mouth and gulping tea (another present from the holiday just passed, from the vet on three, who gets such niceties from a friend he refuses to tell us about). Was she pretty? I know she wants to know was she prettier than me?, and I touch her face as I say, Yeah, but in a strange way, like an alien, and I couldnt understand her language, She looks pleased, gives me a sip of her tea from the cracked tea cup we found in one of the vacant apartments in a ject across town on one of our weekly rummaging trips. Its her favorite, because she likes delicate things, pretty things, things that make her remember a time before the pimp and selling her body and the death. We forget breakfast, as gorged as we can be on our feast of cast off goodies, and do it right on the wobbly kitchen table, my mouth full of her, tasting sweetness no fruit, even if we had fresh fruit, could ever match. Then, its off to our day of more rummaging and her meeting with the one doctor still practicing some sort of medicine for us low-lifes with nothing but our smiles to pay. Or, in some cases, our bodies, only I dont think about that, never think about that. Later, Im patrolling my block thats what I call it and think of various scenarios that could happen, but usually dont on my way to meet Black Rachel, my ex, when I hear crying coming from one of the abandoned stores on my way, and the sound of heavy breathing. My adrenaline starts a deep beat in my chest and my feet are moving fast, my mind hoping, praying, Im not about to see... I do see her, a little girl, about ten, sitting in her underwear on a filthy blanket, and a man, an old, dirty man, his stuff in his hand, moving, and his rough breathing. I also see the metal in his other hand, dont think if its a gun or a knife, just leap on him, not a mother, but a feral thing, a defender, a sheriff stopping the gunslingers from shooting the innocent saloon girl. Bastard, bastard, gonna kill you, fucking& Were wrestling and hes strong, fear stinking in my nostrils and Im hating him, remembering something I never like remembering, of being her, only older and the men who made me beg for an end to their game before I was left, sore and bleeding in a dirty alley in the middle of the winter of nine, wishing I had died, secretly glad I didnt. My fists punch into his guts, his balls, my teeth bite him, my nails gouge into his eyes. All the while, the kid keeps crying, a broken little doll, watching it all, watching me with the knife above my head, straddling his fat middle, my other hand banging his head on the grubby floor of the building. Dont kill him, dont kill him, please! Shes screaming and crying and Im crying then too, and I drop the knife and just hit him and hit him until he isnt moving anymore and my hands are sore and bloody. We dont talk while I walk her out of the place, leaving him alive, but battered like so much meat, wearing the mark of phile on his chest. Thatll make him easy to spot and the law, those renegades who took over keeping the peace when the cities cut the budgets so thin nothing was left for the civilized enforcers of the past, will take it from there. I almost pity him, remembering coming on a scene of a man who had apparently been caught taking some food from one of the barricaded Megaplexes inside the Fortresses of Light, being tortured. I could still hear that screaming now as we walked, making sure to stay shy of the alley, lest the crags come after us, the ones sent into the streets, crazy without their meds, who now harbored in the dark places of our city, waiting, waiting for anyone, anything innocent. After we gathered enough from the few regular places on my route on the border of the Fortresses, for a decent meal, I took her home, never asking her name, where she was from, and we all washed. Jelly and our kid, the girl and me, until it felt like we were better, though I knew shed never be better. You have to take her to Rache, you know that, dont you, Jelly whispered above the girl, who looked like a little angel, now that her hair was a dark, nappy halo around her thin face. Yeah, I know, I know. But tomorrow, okay. Sure, babe, sure. And, when the sorry rain started to fall and the last polluted streaks of color turned to a black outside, we sat by candlelight, because the occasional power wasnt on tonight, and I told Jelly again of me plan; the one where wed live in the country and have animals and parties and cats and a garden. Hmmm, that sounds good honey, she sighed and started to fall asleep. When I slept, I woke up in that place where a woman who looked like the fairies from a childhood, only with fur, spoke to me in a language that sounded like water over stones spoke to me, welcomed me. She smiled and hugged me, and whispered, She is your fealty, guard her well, and Prayerland will be yours, Prayerland will be again, And I didnt understand it all, but I know I felt warm and that I was glad a little girl slept safe in the other room, a little girl who looked like an angel. There you are, and do e-mail me and let me know your thoughts at, ijanaral@yahoo.com. And, if youre wanting a special treat, do get yourself over here, and stop in to see Naima at The Tea Suite, at the front of the building which houses our offices, and enjoy a cup of peace and calm. Happy New Year!