DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #161- know your enemy

It's well past 2:00AM here in the tour bus, and we're all still well lit in this gang. All of us except Gerry, who's still weeping his guitar in the last row of seats of the bus. And except Sean, who's half asleep with his head on my boobies, while I'm kissing his forehead and rubbing his wavy, dark brown strands. He needs a haircut and I will never get tired of saying that, at least unless he'll get the damn haircut in itself... but man, what I'd do to have hair naturally as brown as his... ugh.

Anyways, back on the rightful track. I'm chatting to Bessie and the two other blonde chicks that we picked up at the gig of earlier tonight, and we're just doing the girly girls, and talking about girly things such as... makeup. One of the two blondies is asking me what brand and what shade is the lip liner I'm wearing... and I'm just frowning in confusion, because I literally ain't wearing any makeup at the minute. Maybe this poor girl is just very confused because my lips ain't pink or reddish like white people's, and there's an element of brown in their contour that really bugs people, at times... but sigh. Why is it so hard to be a non ethnically white, yet white skinned person, in this country? Why do people think that I'm always enhanced in some way? And most importantly, why do I always have to give people anthropological answers to their stupid fucking questions?

Thank goodness, the blondie seems to be chuffed enough when I just shrug at her question, rub my hand against my lips, and show her that the back of it ain't stained in lip liner. Then she moves on to Bessie, and asks her what foundation she's wearing, because her skin is looking shiny, glowy and flawless. Bessie frowns, to let her know that she's barefaced, and after that, the blonde chick and her friend look at both of us like they're wondering whether Bessie and I are human, or not quite. That, until Layne chimes in, says that he's found a new, amazing, big, makeup blender that's latex free, and that he uses it... on Sean, because Sean is allergic to latex. Sean resurrects from his state of semi-sleep and laughs his ass off at his bandmate's taunt... and honestly, so do I. I don't know if Layne is trying to make it sound like Sean is gay all over again, or if he's just hinting to the fact that he knows we get it on with no layers of latex between us... but it's funny nonetheless, and I can't help but laugh.  

After Layne's very humorous remark, the two blondies narrow themselves into their shoulders, because at this point, they don't even know what to say anymore... and when Bessie giggles and lays her head on Layne's shoulder, I do about the same thing with my man. More like, I half lay on his shoulder, and I stretch myself far enough in order to kiss him. He throws his one arm around my waist, slides his hand into the bottom hem of my crop top, and rubs my back while we're exchanging a sweet, little and pretty much harmless kiss. At this point into the night, I wouldn't say no to bidding everyone farewell for the night, dragging Sean out of the gathering by the fabric of his shirt, and walking him to the bunk beds area... but he wants to stay here a little longer, and he lets it be known by pinning me well against the bus seat, kissing my lips, and tucking my both hands well between his legs. Excellent !

'Honda Four, I can see your panties. Wow'. A male voice speaks from a couple rows of seats behind us, and I don't even have to turn, to reckon that it's Starr. I mean, Gerry thinks I'm disgusting, the road crew guys are sleeping, the bus driver is just driving and singing a song by Gloria Gaynor, Layne is fingering Bessie from under the table for what I can tell, Sean is too busy kissing me to speak... so who else could it be, if not Starr? Who else besides him could be making such a comment on how he can see my panties from under the low rise jeans (too big for me, meh what have I become) that I'm wearing? Only Starr in the world, trust me. This is lowkey disturbing, the fact that he's saying this in presence of my boyfriend is indeed the definition of disturbing... but I'm an optimist, a good natured person, and I can still see a silver lining in his horny extravaganza: he could've said he could see my boobs, because I'm wearing no bra and I'm getting kinda... ahem, turned on by my man's kisses... but he kept things easy, and he made everything about the panties. Which are clean as a rose, and worth a solid fifty bucks at some expensive Italian lingerie store in NY. Excellent !